I do not own Blood and Chocolate. I do own my characters. Sorry about the wait. Its getting a little crazy around here and I've been blocked.


Layla:

Now I was even more anxious. I knew how to get out. It wasn't all that hard, not at all. The thing was, what was I going to do when I got out? How could I outrun the werewolves? How could I slip past them? There was nothing around for miles. Maybe if I got a head start I could run to the car, but that required speed and I haven't driven anything for months. There was no way I could just peel out of the driveway and stomp on the gas screaming the whole way home.

I looked up at the camera having not been able to sleep all night I was still up as it was morning.

What to do? What to do?

Why what else should a hostage do? Mess with the camera. I stood up and paced trying not to look like I was up to anything. I went to my own little personal bathroom and got a roll of toilet paper. I soaked it in the sink and rolled it into a ball. I stood across the camera and threw it as hard as I could.

Miss.

I tried again.

And missed again.

Hopefully, to anyone who was watching I just looked bored, trying to hit a bulls eye. But what can I say? I throw like a girl and this was quickly getting boring. Then I gave up and stuck the wad over the camera lens with a squishy plop. I grinned. All I had to do was wait now.

I sat at the edge of my bed and clasped my hands listening for someone to come up the stairs and yell at me for messing with the camera. No one was coming. Was I even being watched at all? I looked over my shoulder and tapped my fingers impatiently on the bedpost. There were different books I had attempted to read all over the floor. It scared me that this room was starting to look a lot like my bedroom at home, the bed and its sheets were starting to feel familiar, not like its stranger hotel bed feeling it'd had when I first got here.

Still no one came into my room.

I sighed impatiently, eyes went back and forth from the window to just looking around the room. That's when I saw something I hadn't messed with for a while. The tear in the wallpaper. I made a 'hmph' sound and cocked my head to the side. It was pretty hideous wallpaper.

I stood up and took the corner. I pulled it slowly, to not leave any sticky, flaky white bits behind. Behind it the wall was brown and unpainted. It was pure dry wall. I pulled further with the tact of pulling of a band-aid. Then the wall wasn't so plain anymore. A red mark, possible from a marker appeared from edge. I pulled it further.

Someone had written something. I pulled the wallpaper further hoping it wouldn't tear. The writing was huge, the first letter was as wide as me (which isn't that huge, at least by my standards).

"I", the first letter. I pulled further, the paper ripped a little. I slowed my tearing and continued. "I HA-"

"Well, what were we supposed to do!" Michael's voice roared suddenly from the other end of the house. I jumped at the suddenness of noise in my room. Boy, those werewolves were loud when they wanted to be. I looked down at the floor, remembering that I needed to be paying attention to them.

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place!" Gideon responded.

"Well, what are the chances-?"

"We can't take ANY chances, Michael! NONE! And now she is going to come here to check on our progress, and we'll have nothing to show but the bigger mess we made!"

"What about Layla? She's progress," Bridget's voice intervened.

"She's only been adding questions for us to answer," Gideon said their voices were lowering. I looked at the wall with a sigh. I was going to have to curb my curiosity for the wallpaper mystery later. I laid myself flat on the ground, ear to the floor.

"Yeah, but you have to admit she's going to be happy about Layla's weird...ness," Anthony said slowly as though trying to find the correct word to describe me. My weirdness?

"She was forced to run someone off the road last night, for God's sake! She is not going to be happy!" Gideon barked suddenly. His volume shook the frame my ear was against. I winced, thankful as always, that I wasn't in the same room as them.

"YOU said no one was going to get hurt again!" Michael suddenly erupted. My brows raised. What exactly did happen last night? Whatever it was, I must have missed a lot.

"YOU were supposed to do what I asked instead of putting aside your duties for some fun!" Gideon retorted. That was the end of that argument. The old floor creaked as though someone were pacing. I sat down on the floor. "Now that she insists on coming we're all in danger. You three have to know to keep calm around her, especially you Michael."

"I know. I'm not suicidal," Michael's comeback was silence.

"Is Layla ever going to know?" the voices were quieting. I was straining to hear. It was almost as though they were being careful in case I was listening.

"No," was the faint reply. "I will be preparing some last minute tests. One of you get Layla. I want to have a few more results before Marille shows up."

Marille? I looked as the wallpaper that was half peeling off the wall. Those three letters were still huge on the wall, stopping just short of the book case. "I HA" I stood up suddenly and ripped the rest of the wall paper aside with one huge rip.

"I HATE YOU MARILLE" That's what the words said. I felt a shiver. Marille? My heart was panicked. It suddenly dawned on me. The friend who was giving the money to Gideon for this little project. Gideon had said it was a she, and that she'd already owned this house. It looked like she'd had former prisoners in this room.

I kept an eye on the door, so that I could see whoever's face when they saw what I had revealed.

It happened to be Anthony this time around.

"Hey," he said looking tired. "You're up early... And you've... destroyed your room apparently?" Then it dawned on him what was behind the wallpaper I tore off.

"Who is Marille?" I asked him. Anthony froze in place, unwilling to respond.

"Um..." he started.

"Why is she doing this? Who wrote this?" I demanded. Anthony made a face as he bit his lip.

"Look, Layla... The doc's gotta do some more tests," Anthony said. I raised a brow and folded my arms.

"What does Marille want with Jonas?" I said narrowing my eyes. Anthony hesitated. My blood boiled in a burst of sudden rage. I clenched my fists. "Answer me, damn it!" Michael appeared in the doorway beside Anthony. He immediately looked concerned.

"Shut the door," Michael said.

"But Gideon said..." Michael turned to give him a glare.

"I said, shut the door. Don't let anyone come in," he said with a cooler more stern tone. Anthony did. Michael and I were alone in my room. He glanced at the camera that was covered, sighing with relief as he did. With that he made the few strides it took him to reach my mess. He started to reapply the sticky paper. I watched him, tensing as he was undoing what I'd done.

"Are you going to answer anything for me?" I asked him.

"No, and do you know why?" Michael snapped so suddenly it surprised me. "Because you don't have any right to know. You're a prisoner, Layla, not a guest."

"That's exactly what gives me a right to know."

"And what good will it do you?" he said. I had no answer to that. I wasn't going to tell him I was planning an escape. He saw my hesitance with a suspicious glare. "If you have any self preservation whatsoever, you will not mention that name ever again. She could rip you apart like wet paper."

"What happened last night?" I asked him.

"Nothing."

"Michael!" I demanded. In an instant I was pushed down on the bed on my back. His hand was pressed on my chest holding me down. Michael hovered over me with serious shining blue eyes. I kept my mouth shut as a growl rumbled from him.

"We have tried to make you comfortable and you don't seem the least bit appreciative," he growled. "DON'T make things harder on us than they need to be. We don't like to make hasty decisions, but we will if we have to. Remember, Layla, you know nothing of our world. There are some things you should keep your distance from. Jonas should have been one of them, the subject of Marille is another. We don't need anymore people hurt." What he meant by that I had no idea. I kept on my game face to show that he wasn't intimidating me. Even though he was. I think I might have fooled him as he started to back off.

With that he backed away letting me up. He even offered me a hand. I glared at him and pushed myself up. Michael shook his head and smoothed over the wallpaper once more so it didn't look any different than before.

"Come on. We need to run some tests," he said, calm again. I stood still. "Layla..." His tone was a warning. I reluctantly followed him out the quiet door that was my way out of this place. I was not going to stay here much longer. My patience was wearing thin.


Paulette:

It was strange to be half awake and delirious with blood loss as I was rushed into Chicago Memorial. Bright lights passed over me. The people pulling the stretcher were nothing but blobs. The pain had either subsided or I had gone completely numb. Either way, my eyes started to close, but I was still listening.

"Car accident, around 10:22 this evening. She and a sister were in a cab that ran a red light," someone reported.

"Do we have an ID?"

"Yes, a driver's license. Paulette Anne Reigh. She's from out of town," said a woman.

"Where?"

"Danwell, Montana."

"Hm... Interesting..." said the other voice. "Could you ask for Dr. Bloom?"

"Certainly," said the woman.

The doctor shouted some orders some people stood around me reaching over me for bags or towels. I laid there perfectly still unable to move. I thought about Phoebe. I wondered how she was fairing. I wondered how many sympathy points I was going to get from my parents.

"She's losing a lot of blood," someone said worriedly.

Me? I was losing a lot of blood? I was dying? No, I couldn't be dying.

"You rang?" said a new voice.

"Yes, I need a certain transfusion." There was a hesitance.

"What kind?"

"Everyone! OUT!" barked a voice.

"But sir, she's still crashing!"

"I SAID OUT! The other one was in much worse shape than this one. Go help them!" muffled shoes went to the other side of the room. It was oddly quiet without all of the people hovering over me.

"Get the transfusion."

"THE transfusion?"

"Yes, we could make a fortune. Besides, the other one's not going to make it. This is the only chance she's got," he said.

"But the incubation period-"

"She's from Danwell, Montana."

"Oh... Well, alright. I'll contact the council."

"There's no time. We'll ask them after the process is over."

"And if they say no?"

"Its Danwell. Who's going to find out?"

"Ah, good point. Besides, the less the council knows, the better."

"True."

"I know just the guy for the job too."

"I'm confused," I blurted. There was a stunned silence. I groaned and turned my head. My eyes wouldn't open. It felt like they refused to.

"Put a rush on that order."

Blackness. I dreamed of really weird things. Spires on castles, stained glass windows, people dressed in black appearing and appearing out of nowhere. Orange eyes, sly grins, and music was softly humming. It was my dad's music. Older classic rock. I recognized the few repetitive strums, but couldn't place a face to the flashes of the black shadowed people that kept disappearing and reappearing.

The final image was a young man with ghostly white skin.


"She's waking up," said a familiar voice. My eyes opened slowly. White walls grabbed my attention. Everything hurt. I saw a smiling handsome face in front of me. He was strikingly handsome. I was shocked that heaven had its own super models. Then I felt arms wrap around me and someone collapsed into sobs.

"Paulie!" My mother cried.

"Mom?" I groaned. I guess I wasn't dead.

My father was on the other side of her looking concerned with his hands stuck in his pockets. That was never a good sign. That was his nervous twitch. Beside him was another man. I was immediately self conscious. I felt like my hair was a mess and my make up was still smeared.

"It's a miracle," my dad said to the doctor, but his face was still solemn. My dad was an ER doctor. He would know a miracle when he saw one.

"You're telling me. Overnight recovery. Let me tell you, if I was a glory hog I would ask to document this case," he said to my dad. He nodded understandingly.

"Paulette, we'd like to ask you some questions. I understand that you must be a little disoriented, but we time really is of the essence," said the other man. "I'm Detective Larson." My mother pulled away from me holding onto my shoulders.

"Paulette, where's your sister?" my mom blurted.

"She was in the car with me," I said. How did they not know where Phoebe was? My mom looked physically hurt by the statement. I looked around the room. No one was speaking up.

"Mrs. Reigh," Detective Larson said. My mom pulled away from me almost reluctantly and stood beside my father who put his arm around her. Detective Larson sat at the edge of my bed. "We need to know where Layla is."

"Layla?" I asked. "She was supposed to stay home." My parents exchanged a concerned look. My mother had tears pouring down her face. She was quick to wipe them away.

"We haven't heard from her for a couple of days. Your parents are very worried about her. Are you absolutely sure you haven't heard from her?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Why? What happened to Layla?"

"We don't know," Larson said. He took a photo from the manilla folder he was holding. "Do you recognize this boy?" He handed me a picture of someone familiar. It was a school photo. I recognized the back drop immediately. The forced smile made didn't help, but the emo hair was familiar.

"That's Layla's ex boyfriend. That guy she's obsessed with. Um... I think his name was John?" I said. Larson's brows went up.

"Jonas?"

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

"Really? Ex boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Well, they didn't really go out. But they always had a weird... thing, you know? They always stared at each other. They had a thing last year, but it was short lasting. Jerk just blew Layla off and she hasn't wanted to date since," I said as my gossipy self took over.

"Why do you need to know about him?" I asked again.

"He's missing too. Do you know if there's any way they could have run off together?" Larson asked.

"Doubt it," I snorted. "Layla would never do anything so fun. And she would have at least told Phoebe and me about it. Besides, they haven't really spoken in like... forever." Larson sighed heavily. He looked at my parents and whispered something to them. They nodded and hurriedly went outside. Manilla folder was still at my feet.

The doctor had moved onto the next patient. I edged up in my bed. Pain struck me hard in the ribs. I winced, but I wanted to see what Jonas's folder looked like. My curiosity was more important than pain. It always had been. I finally reached it. I snatched it and opened it. His file had notes jotted down about him. I raised my brow at some of the things that were written.

Prone to psychotic breaks?

"What the hell?" I mumbled. That was a statement from Jonas's dad. I was immediately concerned for my older sister. Memories flooded back to me about the night I'd had. The Gideons. I'd seen them. Could they have had anything to do with Layla? With our car accident?

"I know someone who can tell me," I mumbled. I felt around for a pen. There was one in the drawer beside me on a 'Get Well' card. There was a phone number inside. I wrote it down on my hand, straining the IV that were in it at the same time. If there's anything I can do as gossip queen of the school, its get information. Just as I'd jotted the last number the door started to open. I tossed the manilla folder on the floor hastily.

"Oops," I said. Larson shrugged.

"Don't worry, dear. I'll get that," he said bending down to pick up the papers. My mom and dad came into the room. My mom had started another sobbing fit as soon as she saw me. My dad walked around me and sat down at a vinyl covered chair.

"Sweetheart," my father said. He looked me straight in the eye. I felt a deep sinking feeling in my chest. Either he was going to yell at me or tell me bad news. I just knew it. He swallowed hard. It was bad news.

Wait a second...

I felt myself pale. All of the sudden I knew what the news was before anyone said anything.

"What about Phoebe?" I said. My voice shook with the question.

"Honey, Phoebe didn't make it," my father said.


Jonas:

I was bored, as usual. Hanging around in my robe wasn't really doing much good. In an instant my nose picked up a strong scent. It was as refreshing and inspiring. She was heading this way, but wasn't quite there yet. I couldn't smell anyone else with her, but her smell had always overwhelmed everything. I really couldn't smell anything else in this concrete prison, but somehow, hers always seemed to reach me. She could be accompanied by Gideon, or maybe she escaped.

I shook my head to myself. No, there was no way a human could escape werewolves. It was impossible. And she certainly wouldn't comeback for me if she did escape. Her scent traveled up to the one way mirrored room where I could only see my reflection. I self consciously caught a glance at myself.

I grimaced. I really did look like hell. My hair was greasy, my robe torn at the arms from unwillingly going through the Change in a burst of frustration a few times.

"Layla?" I called out to her.

"How do you know she's in here?" asked Gideon. I shrugged.

"I smell her," I said.

"Do you smell me?"

"No," I said. There was a pause. "Could I talk to her?"

"We'll see, Jonas," Gideon said. I rolled my eyes and busied myself by pacing. "That's a remarkable sense of smell."

"Yeah," I grumbled folding my arms over myself. I slumped over to the chair that was once bolted to the floor and stainless steal. Lately it'd been my throwing device. One of the legs was permanently bent and strained.

"Can you smell her when she's in the house?"

"I smell her all the time. Does that narrow it down for you?" I asked testily.

"There's no need for that kind of tone," Gideon said. I snorted. If what he wanted was my respect he was going to have to work a long time to get it.

"I cannot wait to rip out his throat," said the monster within me.

"Yeah, me neither," I grumbled.


Layla:

It was kind of funny seeing Jonas again looking like I felt. He was tense with frustration. I found myself grinding my back teeth watching him. I pushed my glasses on the bridge of my nose. Michael, Bridget, and Anthony were standing partially in front of me, occasionally blocking my view.

"How can he smell her?" Bridget asked. "I can't smell anything in this room when I'm outside it."

"Selective scent?" Anthony suggested.

"And out there when she's in the house? First of all she's up on the second floor. Then of course there's how windy it is out here. I can barely smell anything," Michael said. I hoped no one was paying attention to me that second because then no one could see my face as the idea of the century popped into my head.

"Alright, let's get on with this interview," Gideon said.


Paulette:

I hadn't moved for a few hours now. I was still overwhelmed that my best friend, my partner in crime, my identical sister was gone. She was the oldest, she was the happiest, she was the prettiest, and now she was just dead? How could that have even happened? And Layla? Where the hell was she? By the time I'd been able to compose myself and be alone I looked at the number I'd written on my hand. My eyes narrowed.

One thing was for sure. I was not going to lose more than one sister.

I was going to get the answers I needed to get my remaining sister back and that was that. I reached for the phone at my bedside. I had gotten the coveted phone number no one at school had ever had the gall to obtain. I'd gotten the Carter House phone. The phone rang once, than twice.

Wait? What was that guy's name again?

"Hello?" someone answered. It started with a T. I knew that for sure.

"Hi, is Timmy there?"

"Who?"

"Timmy?" I asked hesitantly.

"I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number," said the calm voice.

"Wait! I don't have the wrong number. I need to talk to the guy that hangs out with Jonas. Or the girl. This is a life or death matter," I said sternly. There was a hesitating pause.

"Did you mean Tommy?"

"Yes! Or his girlfriend. This is really, really important," I said.

"This is Katrina. I'm Tommy's girlfriend," said the girl. I sighed with relief and then took a breath for my rage to spill out.

"Look, you have a lot of explaining to do. I'm in Chicago right now and those Gideon kids you know? Yeah! They tried to kill me and my sister!" I said voice seething.

"Who is this?"

"Paulette Reigh. Layla's sister," I said.

"They tried to kill Layla? You know where Layla is?"

"No! They tried to kill me and my other sister. The blonde ones. In fact..." I said. I choked on my words. I shook my head reminding myself that there was no time for this now. "They did kill my sister. We recognized them and they chased after us. A black convertible chased us into an intersection and... The point is what are they doing in Chicago when Layla and Jonas are missing?"

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Shit!" I cringed. At least she was still there. In the background I could hear frantic footsteps. She was running whatever she was doing. "Tommy! TOMMY! Get down here!"

"Listen, Christina. You'd better get to the police and tell them about the Gideons..."

"No! No, don't tell the police anything!" Katrina said.

"Of course I'm going to tell the police. I just wanted to let you know that your friends are a bunch of psychos first and if they did anything to my sister I swear to god-!" My threat was cut off short.

"It's Katrina and the Gideons are NOT our friends. You're right about one thing. The Gideons are a bunch of psychos which is exactly why you CANNOT tell the police. They will have Layla and Jonas moved by the time anyone shows up. They're very careful about unwanted attention. We all are," she said. My brow furrowed. Who's we?

"Tommy and I are going to get down there and take care of it. If you don't here from us in two days, go ahead and tell the police, but you have to wait first for any chance of getting your sister back," she said. I felt myself getting angry again.

"Does this have anything to do with your family's weird cult?" I asked her. Everyone knew they're weird living situation. The huge gigantic mansion with about five families living inside. You tell me that doesn't sound like a cult to you.

"Cult?... Um. Yeah, sure. Whatever. So keep your mouth shut and we'll get your sister back, I promise," Katrina said. Her voice was muffled. "Tom, get your bags. We're going to Chicago."

"You promise to get Layla back?" I echoed Katrina.

"Yes," Katrina said confidently. I felt a little better. I sighed.

"Thank you," I said. She hung up. I stared at the receiver for a moment. Worried tears for both of my sisters came to the brim of my eyes. They fell reluctantly. The worse thing was that now all I had to do was wait and hope that two days wasn't going to be too late to call the police.


In case you're wondering, Paulette's little weird thing has something to do with the sequel. Yay!