Author's Note:

I love this chapter. I love it. It's amazingly beautiful. I know that's a little conceited, but here it is. I can't tell you how much I'm in love with this chapter. I can't believe I could write this scene so well. It turned out better than I thought. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter as much as I do.

Go on and read. I nearly cried.

P.S.

This has changed. This may be the only chapter, but this is from DL's point of view.

--W—

I knew it was there still. That little tiny spark. I could see it in his eyes. No matter how many times he closed them, moaning and throwing his head back. Every time our eyes met, through the sweat and pleasure, his eyes never dulled. They never dulled over. The silver orbs never dulled, never tarnished. That one little spark of sanity, that one piece of mind that kept him sane and calm in battle never left him. I knew he knew it too. We were both needy. We both wanted. We both wanted to let go.

I've always been a shadow. Always. My eyes are opposites. My hair, my clothing, my skin. My personality. Everything about me is opposite of who I was supposed to be like. Everything I was built to conquer. I was a shadow. I killed, I destroyed, but when it came to him. To the person I was hidden behind, the one I followed so ruthlessly, the one I hated so passionately…I fell. I fell to his hand, his sword, his power. Had I the chance I could have ended him instead. If I had ended the one who cast this shadow I had become…how could I exist? I could have destroyed him, but I didn't. Something inside me clicked, just before that final blow. I didn't want to die. I didn't want him to die. What would it be like…not existing anymore? What would it be like if he didn't exist. Just before that final blow, we made eye contact. He was the last thing I saw. He didn't like killing, I could tell. He looked so unhappy, so regretful…so sad. I felt so bad. In that moment everything I'd ever destroyed, everything I'd ever done, I felt I'd passed over to someone so pure. I wanted to tell him I'm sorry. I wanted to hold him and comfort a sad boy tossed into hell, like I'd been tossed into life. I wanted to say something before the darkness came again, before I didn't exist. But I felt cold slice my body. My eyes glazed over. Silence filled my mind. And I died watching him drop the sword and nearly begin to sob.

I had to tell him I was sorry. I swore to myself I would. I swore I would redeem myself in that that moment. I wasn't sure if I could do that after death. But somehow…I came upon life again. I wasn't sure how. It seemed like an eternity. From what I found out, it had only been six months. I had to tell him I was sorry. I had to tell him I loved him. I wanted to tell him it was all going to be okay. And now it was.

But then again it wasn't. My mission wasn't this. My mission wasn't to tell him sorry. I'd thought about this mission. This mission I despised. I wasn't supposed to be laying here with him, watching the pleasure replace the pain. My mission was to replace the pain with silence. I was supposed to rip him apart, tear his very existence into submission, to end it all. I was supposed to kill him. To make him not exist. I didn't want to hurt him, and yet I did. This pain, his moan, he scream; I made the silent hero speak. I made him talk, I made him groan.

But I couldn't get him to let go.

I was sent here to let go for him, to end his life. I wanted to make him let go himself of something else, not life. I wanted love. Love and death. Which is which? I can't tell. His pain makes me hot, but the thought of his blood makes me stiff with horror. I didn't want that. I wanted this, I wanted to hide him from the Witch who brought me back. I wanted him safe. But if he ever had to be felled, I wanted to do it. If anyone had to kill him, I wanted it to be me. I didn't want to watch anyone else spill his blood. I wanted to do it. Every fiber was pained if I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle that thought. I wouldn't let myself.

I wanted to kill, and I wanted to love.

What was I made for anymore? All I've known was death and pain, pain to myself and pain to others. I didn't know the difference. In the new days of my beginning, I was beaten and taught fear and pain and hatred. I was turned out into the world with so much anger I couldn't see anything but myself and blood. I couldn't see my eyes, I couldn't see the people watching me, but I saw their blood. I knew I was stained with it. Every time someone looks at me they can see the blood I've shed. The red, the spilled blood of innocence, and the blood I've shed myself. My own.

He killed me, I'll kill him. That's our trade he doesn't know.

He's already agreed.

--W—

Another caress. Another touch. Another kiss, another tongue. Another moan, another movement. I couldn't tell whose leg was whose, whose body was whose. I knew my mind and that's all I needed. Without him being able to let go, I couldn't let go. The shadow and the being were one now. We were the same and different. Two entities that had met and clashed. Eyes met, eyes closed, hair stuck to our bodies, and I could feel every muscle of him moving. I centered myself around the short cries of pleasure he didn't understand. I'd eventually identified some of those as my own.

It was a hollow sound. One I'd ignored but I'm sure it wasn't ignored in the end. We both would be long gone before the owner saw the divot in the wall at the headboard made.

I had given up my voice. It couldn't work, and by now he'd lost his voice as well. I could taste him, touch him, feel him, I was drunk with him. I wanted him so badly. He slid his hand into my hair, and once again we made eye contact. This was different. It seemed like an eternity as he pulled me down into a rather violent kiss. He wouldn't let me look away.

His eyes glazed over.

His eyes gazed over and he let go of my hair, nearly ripping at the bed sheets. We screamed into each other's mouths, canceling out any sound. Fire, pain, hate, love, passion all at once. I gripped at the sheets behind his head as our climax came. Yellow dots covered my vision until I could see nothing. I couldn't see him, but I could feel his rough, ragged breathing as his chest rose and fell. We broke the kiss and I let my forehead rest against his shoulder. I found a way to unhook my grip on the sheets and let myself lay gently on him, then felt warm arms wrap around my back and hands slip softly into my hair. There was no talking. No words were needed. I closed my eyes and relaxed, crossing my arms beneath his neck and trying to slow my uneven breath. I felt him lean his head against mine and softly run his fingers through my hair. I didn't want to move. Eventually I did, removing myself and laying sideways next to him, hugging his arm. He turned to face me, pulling me close and running his hands through my hair again. I dared not open my eyes. What if it was a dream? If it was, don't let me wake up.

He was hot, I was hot, but we wouldn't let go of each other. I felt cool sheets cover us, then pulled myself closer to him, tangling my legs with his and tucking my arms close to my body. He kept his arms around me. I rested my hands against his chest. He stroked my hair and held me close. I felt something warm flow down my cheek. My first tear. For the first time in my life, I felt normal. I felt alive, like I had some sort of purpose. I wouldn't let myself think of my mission. I just wouldn't do that. I knew it was to break him down, shed his blood, but I wouldn't let myself think that. All I thought of was the person I was huddled up next to, not wanting to move else he leave. I thought about the arms around me, the hand running softly through my hair. The soft breathing, the warm skin, the complete reality that I was suddenly so timid, submissive. No, I wasn't scared, but I didn't want to overthrow him. I liked behind held. Being softly touched and cared for, not beat and screamed at. Everything about him made me was to become so small against him that I could fit in his pocket. So kind, so warm, so pure and loving and strong.

For the first time in my life, I felt safe.