Okay! Sorry for the wait; I've been working on…well, a collage of other projects. Ha-ha, anyway, thank you so much, everybody, for the reviews! I sent a mental cookie to each of you. Hope it was tasty. ;) Also, I would like to note that a character dedication is in order. The new character in this story, Caterina, is in honor of my exquisitely fantastic friend, Evanescence-in-Constantinople. :D (Also, I'd like to stress that none of Caterina's acts in any way represent Evanescence-in-Constantinople).

Chapter 3

A blood-curdling shriek hurled James into a frantic state of consciousness. Mind reeling, James forced his stupefied eyesight to focus so he could determine just who had screamed and why.

Finally, brain ready to commit mutiny from the severe throbbing that pounded upon it, James made out the figure of his daughter standing several feet from where he lay on the ground. Her eyes—so like his own—gaped at him, fear flashing its ugly face in them. James looked down at himself in confusion. What he saw made even his own stomach churn in disgust.

There upon his breast it was painted, a hideous layer of scarlet; there upon his hands it crusted a sickly brown; there upon the ground it sprinkled like smashed berries.

Blood.

Shifting his eyes back to Quita, James choked, "No."

Tears spilling from her emerald eyes, little Quita took a step backward; just then, however, a fathomless pit split in the ground behind her. The little girl lost her footing, plunging into the deep blackness below with a horrified scream. James called for his sweet daughter, but someone kept calling his name in the distance, as if through a wall of glass.

James's eyes burst open, and he scrambled to sit up. His face and back drenched with abnormal sweat,—for he was indeed a vampire, creatures that do not perspire—James fumbled to know his surroundings, for they were not familiar.

He was situated on a rickety, wooden pallet with thin blankets beneath and atop him for cushioning; at his bedside, there knelt a woman of breathtaking allure. Her sweeping, silver gown flowed like water around her, and the jewelry strung about her neck and wrists held a delicate nature which only enhanced the attraction of her stunning appearance.

"Ah, you've awakened, James. Wonderful," breathed the woman in a seductive, disgustingly sweet voice.

Shoving himself quickly onto his elbows, James gasped, "Who—who are you? How do you know my name?"

A hand fluttering to her lips, she giggled a syrupy-sweet chuckle. "Oh, I am a dear friend of Oliver's."

"O-Oliver?" James repeated, his mind still attempting to untangle itself from his dreams.

"Why, yes. My sweet Oliver…" The woman trailed off with a reminiscent sigh. Her eyes, the color of spring stars, glazed with memories, and James took the opportunity to regain his full consciousness. Trying not to wake the woman from her reverie, James carefully pulled his feet up to place them on the ground. But the woman's pallid eyes snapped to his face, and her steel grip landed heavily on his knee, freezing him. "Don't think I'm letting you go so easily."

"What do you want from me?" James asked, surveying the room. It was small and dark and stuffy and had only a single door. By the smell, James figured they were in an old, abandoned workshop; for from the wall swung a variety of tools that could be used in a manner of ways, most of which, James imagined the woman torturing him.

"I want a way into the palace." The woman's words surprised James, and he looked at her in confusion. "Oliver has been avoiding me recently, and I don't like it."

"I-I don't understand."

The woman flashed a toothy, seductive grin, raising the hair along James's arms and neck. "All I want is to follow you into the palace. Then I'll leave you alone."

James paused, considering her proposal. "Why do you want to get into the palace?"

She scowled. "Come now, don't act so dimwitted! I've not time for these silly games. I told you. I wish to speak with Oliver."

A sudden rush of unexpected protectiveness washed over James, and he frowned at the woman just as coldly as she had at him. "I get the impression that Mister Oliver would not wish to exchange words with you. Now if you'll excuse me." James stood up, but the woman materialized in his path, a snarl distorting her angelic features. But then she composed herself and replaced her enraged manner with a light, flirtatious expression.

"Oh, don't be so cold, dear. I really must apologize. I have yet to even introduce myself! My name is Caterina Cloven. You must understand; I only wish to see my love! He is my world, and I have been separated from him." When she saw that her approach had not fazed James in the slightest, her features darkened, expelling the beauty from her face and turning it to a malicious, hateful glare. When she spoke, her words were sharp and fast. "Look, you ungrateful newborn, if you wish not for your fellows to hear of your little escapade last night, I advise that you to help me."

James's expression was wiped clean with shock. "What?"

"That's right." Caterina's lips flicked into an arrogant sneer as she continued, "I saw it all. You lost control. You killed that poor woman. Bishop will have your head now that you've stolen one of his precious pets. That is, unless you allow me into the palace. Perhaps then I can fix your little problem."

A look of disgust overcame James's face. "I will not be blackmailed." With that he, shoved past Caterina to grab the door handle.

"What of your dear, little daughter?"

James froze.

"It'd be a pity for her to have to witness her father's terrible, monstrous acts. Who knows? Perhaps someone might slip up and deliver the bloody mess you left right to her door…" Caterina drifted off, obviously making a point.

"You wouldn't," James said, turning back around to glower at her.

The moment he was facing her, Caterina sped over to him and slammed her hands on the door behind him, pinning him against it. "Oh, darling, you can be quite sure that I would." And by the horrible glint in her eyes, James knew it was true.

Swallowing with some difficulty, he consented to aid her, only grudgingly, however. With an arrogant sneer, Caterina reached around James and opened the door, pressing her body uncomfortably close to his body all the while.

O.o.O

By the time the pair reached the palace door through which James had escaped last night, the sun was beginning to paint the sky with rosy shades of pink and pallid hues of yellow. James led her to the door, which he now realized was completely hidden from the outside view by several large, thick bushes, and reluctantly let her inside. The silver of her dress glowed like a dim star in the darkness of the passage. She breathed deeply as if the stench of damp stone and rotting things pleased her.

"Thank you, James," she sighed.

"How do you know my name?" he asked sharply.

Caterina hardly glanced at him while she waved her hand dismissively saying, "Oh, I overheard your meeting with Oliver when you first got to town."

"You were spying on me?"

"Not you, you fool! Oliver. I always follow him."

Suddenly, James felt the tingling of apprehension in his gut; he'd known she was dangerous, but he hadn't known she was so bad as to tail Oliver.

"Uh—" began James, but he was cut off by an incredulous voice gasping,

"Caterina?"

Through the shadows of the passage, James made out Oliver's slim figure. Something inside James fluttered at the sight: guilt for letting this woman into the palace and something hotter that reached deep inside him to warm parts that hadn't been alive since Sofia's death. Confusion and guilt stuttered James's words as he stammered,

"O-Oliver, I—we were just…"

"Oh, Oliver, how I've desired to see you," breathed Caterina, slithering on graceful feet toward him like a snake.

"You have seen me woman. You always, always watch me like a panther stalking its prey from the shadows. When will I be ride of you?" he cried in exasperation and anger.

Caterina pouted her luscious, pink lips and whined, "But you left me all alone, Oliver! I want you to pay attention to me!"

A dark fire burned in Oliver's eyes, and James felt the dangerous atmosphere rising; he wished he could get this woman away from Oliver—who'd shown such kindness to James. A stirring of protectiveness continually washed over him like the sea berating the sand; he started to interrupt until Caterina's mischievous, enticing expression morphed to one of puzzlement then anger. "Oliver! Is that Amelie I smell on you!" she gasped, standing erect and offended.

James thought that, had Oliver been human, his face would've lit up like a blazing hearth. Instead, he quickly overcame his embarrassment and smirked at Caterina. "Why, yes. Indeed it is. Now, be gone from me, woman. I wish to have no more to do with the likes of you!" With that, Oliver swept past Caterina then James and out the door. As the older vampire passed, James noticed that he did, in fact, reek of Lady Amelie's scent. Somehow, it made James feel a bit jealous of her, though he didn't know why. It was alien to feel these things for a fellow man; not particularly wrong,—as was often thought in James's day—James felt, but then, he'd always kept an open mind and always judged fairly.

Caterina huffed in disappointment, crossing her arms over her generous breasts, and glowered after the absent Oliver. Shaking his head, James stepped to get around her and continue down the passage, but when he'd taken several steps, he noticed a second echo of resounding footsteps behind him. It seemed this moping female, a wounded pup, intended to follow after him. Before she could complete the idea, James whirled on her, his finger in her face. "Now, listen—" But his words were cut off by the sight of the teardrops showering down her cheeks. Silently, she sobbed, clutching her arms as if to fold herself inward in hopes of curling into so small a being she might disappear. Caught off guard, James stammered, "Uh—What—" For a moment, he searched frantically for the words. Then he finally sighed, "Oh, just come on." Wrapping a comforting around her shoulders, he led her through the passage until they reached the door to his and Quita's living quarters. Opening the door, he allowed her in first, but nearly froze when he heard voices inside the room.

Someone was in the room with his daughter.

Before he even tried to distinguish who the tone belonged to, James tackled the person. Crashing to the ground with a grunt, James straightened up to look at the intruder and recognize the shock of curly black hair, the glasses,—knocked askew by James's attack—and the pallid skin.

"Not the traditional greeting from a returning party, but I won't complain," chuckled Myrnin, holding his hands up in surrender.