A/N: Hi guys! Your reviews are what brought a faster update. Not saying you should review for me to update, I would never say that, just know that you've encouraged me enough to get off my butt and get this baby going. Thanks!

36. Devils

"I'm telling you, Killua Zaoldyeck is like wine."

"Umm…he gets better with age?" I tried to guess, holding the phone with my shoulder and using my hands to tighten the laces of my boots.

"No, smartass," Marcus snorted in my ear. "What I meant is, he can be good, and he can be terrible, but either way, who cares? You're definitely going to get wasted. Pun intended."

I rolled my eyes. "Uh-ah."

"Don't roll your eyes. You know I'm right."

I'd been listening to the same tape for twenty minutes. In that time, I'd said about ten sentences, mostly consisting of 'uh-ah' and one 'are you done?' for variety, waiting for a lull in the conversation so I could hang up and get a break. I had a lot of affection but a low tolerance for Marcus when it came to my personal life. Listening to him bitch about Killua and drone on how he could be 'the Devil' was less than an ideal way to start my morning.

"For God and Lucifer's sake, Yuki, have some sense and open your mind just this much, okay? He's a disaster. Being a Zaoldyeck is pretty much like riding a bicycle; once you've learned how to do it, you simply cannot forget. Are you going to be able to handle it when he finally surrenders to his dark, ugly side? You just told me yourself that he's still got some secrets he can never spill. Haven't you considered the fact that he might always have secrets? Are you sure you know him well enough to make that judgment call?"

"Yes." When I thought of the guy I saw last night, I felt relieved at how sure my answer was—at least at that moment. But that shouldn't be a problem. As far as I knew, the only people who could get a good rise out of Killua were me and his family. And the only thing that could get a great rise out of Killua—to the extent that Marcus spoke of—was me with his family in the same equation. And I'd never let that happen.

"You're my best girl. I just want you to be careful. And since you're at his place, beware the cooties. God knows the number of sluts he'd brought there to cave in to his incubus demands. Careful what your hand's touching."

"Hey. No slut-shaming, dickwad." I started backing out of my room. "I'll catch up later. See ya."

I padded down the hallway until it emptied into the expansive open floor plan of the main living area, and an unexpected sight stilled my movement.

Killua was sleeping on the sectional sofa instead of his room. He was sprawled on his stomach, one leg slightly dangling off and his arms draping all over. His face was turned facing me, relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake. Frowning in confusion, I walked over and sat down at the edge of the sofa, debating whether to wake him up or not.

I ran my fingers through his hair, brushing away the errant strands that had fallen on his face. He let out a quiet hum in his sleep… and then turned his head to the other side. Rolling my eyes, I tried again; running my hand down the side of his neck, shaking his shoulder lightly to wake him up.

Nothing.

It was at that point that my patience wore out, and I gave up on waking him with loving caresses. After all, I could caress him lovingly once he was awake, and that would be so much better. Shaking his shoulder forcefully, I waited until his movements indicated consciousness. He turned his head back towards me, maybe sensing the body sitting next to him. He opened his eyes and looked up at me through his eyelashes, then closed them again. A few seconds later, he repeated the motion; opening them once more, then closing them. This time, he kept them closed but let the biggest, sweetest smile spread across his face. Then finally, he opened his eyes again and grinned at me, making my heart do a little jig in my chest.

"Hi."

He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled himself closer to me, burying his face in the side of my pant-covered thigh. "Hi, beastie."

I felt myself smiling; not at the nickname, but the idea of him giving me one. "Beastie?"

He just hummed an assent and closed his eyes.

"I'm having lunch with my uncle," I told him before he fell back to sleep, "then I'm going to work."

"Okay," he mumbled gruffly, moving his head into my lap. "Bye."

"You have to move your head."

"No."

I brushed the hair away from his face before I pressed on the tip of his nose. He cracked one eye open.

"Fine. Go to work. The sooner you go to work," he said, rolling onto his back and off my lap, "the sooner you can come home and make out with me."

I grimaced to myself, wondering out loud, "How do you go from cute to crude in a matter of seconds?"

"It's one of my many talents." With a rusty grunt, he sat up and snatched the black T-shirt that was tossed over the back of the sofa, yanking it over his half-naked body. It was a different shirt from the one he'd been wearing before I went to bed, which suddenly made me aware that he was fully dressed, too.

"Why did you sleep here and not in your bed?" I asked, trying to quell the suspicion from my voice.

There was a marred frown on his face when his head popped out of the shirt. "I don't know. Don't remember."

"Couldn't you at least kick your shoes off before you crashed?"

He replied with nothing but a shrug.

"Where were you last night?"

"Why the inquisition?" he snapped, brows furrowing and with a laughing scoff; as if my questions were so irrational. Swinging his legs off the sofa, he stood and headed into the kitchen. "You remember the receptionist from downstairs? She called. She asked me to take care of some necessary paperwork. Reservation crap. I had to sign some stuff, make some extra demands, and that was it."

Interesting. While I'd been sleeping soundly, the beautiful hotel receptionist had been enjoying some quality time with my man?

I prowled after him. "And she had to call you after midnight? Couldn't she wait for today?"

His brow arched. "Jealous?"

"Changing the subject?"

He didn't look at me when he answered, "Changing the subject because the subject is stupid." He grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard and the milk out of the fridge. "Coffee? Or do you still want me to make you breakfast?"

"Coffee's good now. I need some caffeine to keep me from kicking your ass."

I saw a flash of his grin before he turned around to flip the coffeemaker on.

As he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I watched his back. The way he looked right now—sleep-mussed hair and sleep-flushed cheeks—made me irrationally mad. How dare he not take my questions seriously? How dare he not tell me whatever it was he was up to last night? And how dare he look so good while not doing these things he really should be doing?

I walked to stand next to him, studying his rigid profile. "So…" I drawled, irritation suffusing my voice. Resting my hip against the counter, I crossed my ankles and stubbornly settled in. "What's going on? I smell something fishy."

He wrinkled his nose in mock thoughtfulness. "I don't."

"I'm serious, Killua." My foot began to tap against the travertine tile. "Something happened and you're not telling me."

"Enough." His gaze captured mine. "You asked me about last night and I told you. There's nothing more. Can we just let ourselves enjoy one, peaceful day without any fights? I'm not gonna let your neuroses destroy our morning." He filled mugs for both of us, adding milk to his and sugar to both. We hopped on the barstools, sipping our morning coffee—something I never thought we would be doing before today. "So what's up? You said you're having lunch with your uncle."

Annoyed with him for changing the subject again, I looked away, determined to keep my answers similar to his; short and clipped. "Yes."

"Where?"

"At his company."

"You look nervous."

"I am."

"Alright." Lowering his mug, Killua elbowed me gently. "Ask me what's up."

I couldn't help but fall into his trap. "What's up?"

He grinned that half-smile that could charm the scales off a snake, and said, "This chick I hooked up with last night is very mad at me right now."

It was so hard not to smile. "Bite me, Killua."

He smirked. "I already did," he said, tapping a spot on my collarbone covered by my shirt where he might have left a tiny hickey.

I rolled my eyes and said with exaggerated excitement, "Ohhh, that's so clever! It makes you so sexy! I must have you this instant!" I scoffed at my own theatrical sarcasm.

"And you will." His smile was sweet, which threw me off. Setting his coffee on the bar, he swiveled my barstool with both hands so I was facing him, looked me straight in the eyes, and said like it was a matter of fact, "Just not this instant. But it won't be too long before you're sleeping in my bed."

My brows rose. "Is that right?"

"Oh, yeah."

Sucking in a deep breath, I took a fortifying gulp from my much needed caffeinated mug and contemplated him with narrowed eyes. "You have zero shame, you know that?"

"That's not true. I have a great deal of shame." His mouth curved. "I've just given it the day off. I've been working it hard recently, and now it's all exhausted and in need for a recuperation."

"Unlike your wit."

He pissed me off by throwing his head back and laughing. The full, throaty sound sent warmth spreading through me and swept a lot of my irritation away. "You really are mad at me, aren't you? Is it because of now?" he said, eying me over the lip of his mug. "Are you piling it over what I did last night?

And as if they were just waiting to burst through the dam, my brain was flooded with memories of how he kissed and held and breathed and… God, he drove me so crazy last night.

I couldn't quite meet his eyes right now, and nowhere else on him was safe to look either, so I busied myself with staring at the wall. "Nah, you're fine."

He nodded casually, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "Thanks. I've been working out almost my entire life. I was wondering when you'd notice. You're fine, too."

I glared at him. "Are you trying to be infuriating today?"

"Nope. Just comes naturally. Are you trying to drive me insane by looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

His voice lowered into a raspy, menacing tone. "Like you want me to throw you over that sofa and kiss you."

Dear god…

I forced myself not to move away or give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. My arms crossed in front of me in challenge. "Then do it."

His arched brow was a silent, sarcastic comeback.

My phone chimed then, informing me that I had a new text from Marcus.

Some famous once said: secrets… secrets are no fun. Secrets… secrets hurt someone.

His timing couldn't be more perfect.

I made a face. Not wanting more troubles at the moment, I didn't text him back. Unfortunately, ignoring it did not stop it from beeping at me again. I shut it off and slipped it back into my back pocket, aware of Killua's scrutiny.

There was a pause before he asked. "Who was that?"

"Nobody. Wrong number."

"Saved by the cellphone this time," Killua taunted. "Next time, careful what you wish for, beastie."

I closed my eyes, irritation burning through me as I slid off the stool on shaky legs. I needed to get away from him. And, when I got my head back, I needed to be alone with a big punching bag.

He was using our chemistry against me, and I wasn't going to let him. Not when I could feel the weight of his secrets all over my chest. The perceived lack of trust bugged me; he didn't trust me with whatever secrets he was keeping, and I hated that.

I walked across the luxurious room to where I left my bag and slung it around me. "You can't distract with a kiss or a laugh. Not this time. I don't like this, and you hiding after-midnight mystery outings from me doesn't make me like you very much."

Killua hopped off his stool when I reached the foyer.

He dissolved and reappeared an inch from me. I jumped, and he smirked and then turned it off instantly. "When I hide something from you, it's for your own good. Trust me. Some things are better left buried," he said, keeping his voice low and slick. "But even if I sometimes censor some stuff, at least I avoid lying to you." He stole the phone from my pocket with one lightning fast swipe, waving it—with Marcus' texts on display—in my face, while giving me an impressive scowl. "Don't ever lie to me, Yuki. Lying brings aspects of me that neither of us wants to see. I don't like being lied to."

"And I don't like being kept in the dark," I muttered, reaching for my phone.

He held it over his head, his eyes icy cold. "I keep you from the dark. Big difference there. I won't tell or show you anything you don't need to know. I do that for you. Don't you trust me?"

That hit me hard. When the roles were reversed—did I trust him? Did I trust him enough? The look on my face must have exposed me. I knew he saw right through me when his brows furrowed.

I retrieved my phone. "I should go."

Killua moved swiftly, and I felt him come up behind me. My hand was on the doorknob when his palm slapped against the door, holding it closed. "Turn around. I want to be clear on something before you go," he said tightly in my ear. Spinning, I sagged against the door and briefly wondered if I imagined the wince that crossed his face. "You don't completely trust me, do you?"

Grimness thinned my lips, but they stayed helplessly closed. He didn't want me to lie, and I couldn't. "We're back to square one, Killua. You hiding something from me because you think it's better this way. But it's not. Last time it happened, both of us got clobbered. I just…can't take another round of getting clobbered."

"Secrets are something we can work on; trust isn't. I don't want to give you any reasons to doubt me."

"You're giving me one now," I said, avoiding to look into his eyes. He was standing in front of me, but he seemed miles away. "What kind of hotels calls its guests after midnight to do something like sign papers? Can you explain that?"

"I can't, no."

I paused, then switched gears. "Do you want to explain that?"

His jaw tightened. "No."

The flat-out answer made my throat tight. After I spent the morning defending him, bearing to listen to words that were only half-lies, it turned out to be all useless. Sometimes I wanted to believe something so badly, but then I deliberately manufactured excuses and ignored reality. Marcus wasn't completely wrong; I wasn't completely right.

It was kind of like a blow to my ego, really.

I ducked beneath his outstretched arm. "Okay, then. Let me go."

Killua reached out and yanked on the door handle for me, ushering me out. His mask was in place, showing no emotion whatsoever. "Take care. Give me a call and I'll pick you up from wherever you are."

I left. He didn't stop me.

Minutes later, I was thirty-something floors above the ground, inside one of the preeminent records companies in the country—one that also happened to be owned by Gary. I was sitting by myself at a conference table in his spacious office, eying a catered lunch for two. Nervousness cramped my stomach. I had no reasons to look forward to this lunch. I loved my uncle dearly and knew he loved me back, but my relationship with him was a rocky one. Between his disapproval to almost all my decisions and his perfectionist edge, Gary was a handful. He and I were like night and…later-that-night. Too similar, too incompatible.

Gary came in ten minutes after my arrival, looking distinguished and bossy in a dark, three-piece suit. The soft blue of his tie high-lightened eyes that were exactly like mine. He greeted me with a brisk nod before he moved to sit next to me. No hug, no handshake. That was just how Gary rolled.

Business. Cut-and-dried.

As we ate, he asked me about my job and what I was up to. He didn't mention my days at the hospital even though I knew he knew all about it. He didn't smother me with anything related to my private life the way a parent would. He didn't talk about himself or delve into any specifics regarding his business. His questions were tentative and reserved, but the tension in the room was still very palpable.

"So…" Gary spoke without looking at me. "When was the last time you saw him?"

I tensed at the vague mentioning of my master and prepared myself for the much-expected onslaught. "'Him' has a name."

"And I choose not to pollute the air in my office by saying it out loud."

I resisted rolling my eyes; I wasn't rude enough to do it at my uncle, but the frustration was there. Gary hated my master more than he hated the Zaoldyecks. At first, I thought it was a matter of guardian rivalry, but I recently got the feeling that their issues were much deeper than that, going way back over the years when they were younger. The indisputable dread wasn't something I could change about him. I didn't just get my uncle's eyes; I also got his obstinacy.

Not taking my eyes off of my plate, I tried to remain unaffected by his attempt to bother me. "I saw him few days ago. Only for a couple of minutes, though. You know his busy schedule."

Gary's smile was bitter. "Ah, of course. The mysterious case of the hunter's mind."

That was Gary in a nutshell: sarcastic fury.

"It pleases me, however," he continued, casually digging into his steak, "that you two aren't always in contact. You're better off without him. You were better off without him."

"You know that's not true."

His eyes met mine as he took a sip of his wine, his demeanor casual and non-expressive. When he raked me from head to toe, I knew he was giving me a makeover in his head. Then, he said the words I'd grown so accustomed to hearing over the past five years. "You were a much better person before he came along."

I deflated into my seat, still unaffected. "No. Before he came along, I was the self-destructive, bipolar child who had manic tantrums all the time and wanted nothing but to bring danger to others and herself. Do you still see her somewhere?"

Gary narrowed his eyes. "No, but that's hardly because of him and his glories. You were ill and trying to overcome a tragedy. Taking you away and pushing you to become a hunter wasn't the most effective healing method. And you know it. What you needed was balance, and that man provided absolutely none. The word balance doesn't even exist in his life dictionary. No balance and no stability. He's irresponsible and unable to control the direction of his life to control a ten year old's."

I spat every anger I carried from this morning into my reply. "At least he'd always been honest with me. His intentions came from a good heart. You need to stop doing this. No matter what you say, that man is someone I'll always excuse and defend."

Gary snorted delicately. "Look at you. Talking just like him. He clearly raised you to be his copycat."

"Well…" I unloaded, my inner bitch unleashed. "At least he raised me better than my parents ever could."

Gary paled. "Your parents were good people."

"If you say so."

His eyes widened with injured shock. "How could you say that? Since when do you talk like that? This is not you."

Teeth gritted, I pushed out of my chair in a rush. "This is the me who finally knows the true meaning of the word choice, Gary. My parents dug their own grave when they willingly stained their hands with blood. They chose to do it. They chose to put their life on the line when they started to kill for money. Live a dirty life odds are you die a dirty death. My brother paid the price for their mistakes. But I still love them, in my own fucked-up way. You know why? Because I stopped judging people the way you do. There are choices, and there are reasons behind choices, and circumstances behind reasons—"

"It's not good for you to get too emotional," Gary chastised quietly. "Please sit. We'll talk about something else."

I sucked in an unnecessary breath, my eyes drooping. "That man built me from scratch. He accepted me with all my flaws and helped me in every way a person can be helped. I owe him. Big time. If he asked me to go through hell, I'd do it. Why's it so hard for you to understand? I thought you want me to be happy. If you do, then you should never talk shit about him. Not in front of me."

Gary sighed. "You don't know him the way I do. You don't know everything."

Because he never told me. Gary wasn't the only man in my life who held back secrets.

"I know enough."

His scowl was disapproving as he gulped down the rest of his wine and swallowed back the stabbing words he desperately wanted to toss at me. "My driver will be waiting out front to give you a ride to work. We'll talk."

That was Gary's subtle way of kicking me out.

Business. Cut-and-dried.

This could have gone worse.

On my way out of the company, I saw a black limo idling at the curb for me. With a sigh, I rounded the sleek vehicle and kept walking.

The rest of my day passed in a blur. Upon entering the Nostrad's Renaissance-style mansion, I shut my emotions behind a glass wall where I was aware of them waiting in the background when my shift was over. I worked hard and focused on my job, using it as a distraction to keep me from thinking too much. The place was flooded with suited men and hunters scattered in every corner of the house. I'd seen Neon for a very quick minute before she disappeared inside her room with a couple of bodyguards and female attendants.

When I had no more mindless entertainment left, I spent the evening in a funk, avoiding calls from Marcus, preferring to mope alone in the Nostrad hallways. The uncontrollable mood was intensified by my lingering frustration with Gary and my more recent aggravation with Killua. What happened this morning left me with so many questions. I knew Killua well enough to believe that whatever it was that he was hiding from me wasn't something bad. Firstly, it's Killua; he wouldn't be putting himself in danger if he tried, and moreover, he would never try. But there were parts of his life that I might never know anything about, and that really, really irritated me.

No lies and no secrets, my ass.

I bought myself a juice box and decided to wander in the Nostrad mansion. The place was the size of a hotel. So far I'd passed by ten bedrooms, six bathrooms, a bowling alley, a library, solarium, the staff quarters, and a freaking indoor lap pool. I paused at a half-open door. What now, a room full of whips and chains? I peeked my head to see what was inside, and found a massive gym.

I strolled inside, awed by the huge variety of equipments. Full sized swimming pools, a spa, steam rooms, and sports courts and rooms. As I reached the seemingly endless rows of treadmills and machines, I let out a whistle.

"Don't act so surprised," someone's voice echoed through the empty space. It belonged to one of the bodyguards whom I hadn't gotten the chance to meet personally. All I knew was that this was his second year working for the Nostrads. I spotted him in a supine position on a bench press, lifting a bar with a thousand pounds of weight. He spoke to me without interrupting his work-out. "This mansion's like a fricking maze."

"What else they have down here, dungeons and torture chambers?" I scoffed and took another sip of my juice.

The nameless guy chuckled, and I took him in with a quick glance. He was in his late teens, I guessed. Average height and nicely tanned skin. His unruly bronze hair was damp with sweat, his eyes a reddish-brown and his cheeks dotted with faint freckles. "Maybe we can check that out someday. Are you adventurous?" he smiled.

"Immensely."

"Ah, a colleague after my own heart." His broad smile morphed into a snarl as he struggled with the weights. "You here to build some muscles?"

"Nahh. Don't need that."

"Why not? You honestly think Nen is everything?" he asked, highly incredulous. He grunted with each lift of his arms. "It's…not. Your raw physical strength is what gives you an edge against your opponents. You need…to balance the two if you wanna be a good blacklist hunter. Nostrad knows this very well. That's…why…he gave us access to this gym. To maintain that balance. If you don't think you've got it all, then you have a lot of catching up to do, sweetheart."

Huh.

Nibbling on the straw of my juice, I walked to stand behind him and over his head. When he brought the dumbbell down, I evilly clamped my hand onto the middle of the bar holding the weights and pushed. He grunted at the exertion, his breath coming out in a whoosh as he tried to lift.

"Holy…crap…" he croaked, pushing with all his might at the bar to keep it from crushing his face. I raised a challenging eyebrow at him, and he groaned. We played push-of-war with the bar for a few seconds before he laughed weakly. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! You win…just please stop!" He dropped his hands, breathing hard. I lifted the dumbbell and placed it on the rack attached to the chair.

Laughing, the guy reached out to me for a hand up. I gripped his forearm and he yanked him to his feet. "Jeez…that was impressive. I love strong women." He extended his hand, grinning. "Call me Pepper. Or Pep. Or P, if you're brave enough."

I liked his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. Just like that, I felt perfectly at ease. He reminded me of Gon in the way he carried himself with just the right amount of confidence and poise. Watching that was a great energy booster.

I shook his hand and introduced myself.

"Of course." Pepper looked at me with a mischievous grin. "Everybody knows you here. You're the Zaoldyeck girl. Can't say I'm surprised by what just happened. That's the least expected from the girl who landed the unattainable Zaoldyeck."

Oh, god.

"Is that what everybody here thinks?"

Pepper smiled apologetically when he noticed my cringe. "Not everybody. The majority, yeah. This isn't something you see everyday, y'know? A blacklist hunter romancing a wanted criminal. Kinda like Batman and Catwoman. It's huge! Some have written a history for you two. And let me tell you, some stories are, umm, a bit over the top. Like…" He breathed deeply and went for it. "Like some are saying you're just after his money and big name. Others think you're sent by the Zaoldyecks to seduce their rebellious son into submission—submission to them, of course. Some are convinced that you're sent to literally seduce the son because the Zaoldyecks are dying to get you pregnant with—"

"My god, I beg you to stop," I pleaded, gripping his forearm with both hands. With a shudder, I turned on my heel to storm out of the gym. "So in thirty seconds, I've become a con, a sadist, and a whore. Delightful."

Pepper hurried to walk next to me, chattering in my ear. "I know, I know. It's ridiculous. It's like we're in a soap opera episode or something. But… Tell me this, is it true that he's freakishly strong?"

"Who is?"

"The Zaoldyeck dude!"

"Uhh…"

"Is it true that he can crush rocks using just his pinkies?"

"Uhhhh…"

"What's his name?"

I swallowed past my awkwardness. "Killua."

"What a beautifully unique name. Exactly like I'd imagined it'd be," he said, and put a hand over his heart. "Killua. Kill-ua. It has such an inner strength, you know? Like a metaphorical stab to the heart. Killua. So powerful. So poetic. His name is like a curse word… or a prayer. As if the Hades caves in to him…" At this point, I gave him a strange look. "Oh hey, don't be creeped out; I'm obsessed with strange killer families. And cute boys from strange killer families," he clarified.

"Oh!" I grinned. "Awesome."

"Can I ask you something… kinda unprofessional?" Pepper asked as he followed me down the hallway.

I was both bemused and amused. Though he and I didn't know each other on a personal as professional level, I knew that he'd sure collect himself if I asked him to, so I answered, "Sure."

"I lied, actually. It's not kinda unprofessional. It's completely unprofessional."

"Okay, then. Definitely ask."

Pepper grinned, delighted. As we moved to stand outside Neon's room, he devoted his whole attention to me. "I've been wondering about this my entire life―nearly sixteen years, to be exact―and as the only person that I know and can talk to who's seen him, I must ask you… is Killua Zaoldyeck handsome?"

"Oh. Umm…" I struggled to come up with an answer. A legitimate answer that didn't sound like an understatement but also didn't make me sound like the smitten girlfriend. "He…" The answer was simply yes, absolutely. Despite the paleness of his skin and his frequent, annoying habit of standing far too straight and still, Killua was handsome. I always thought he was, but never really dwelled on it before today. I sighed, feeling like I could admit this to someone other than myself. "Yes, Killua Zaoldyeck is very good looking."

Pepper brightened. "Is he tall?"

"Yeah, somewhere between 5'11 and 6'1, not sure exactly."

"Slim or broad-shouldered?"

"Somewhere in between." I shrugged and quickly added, "He's absolutely not beefy, though."

"Have you seen him without a shirt?" he asked, a little incredulous but also clearly curious.

This question I really didn't know how to answer. I had seen Killua with his shirt off, and it wasn't anywhere near disappointing, except it wasn't something I allowed myself to think of often. "I just meant that he's not thin but I think he's… umm… quite, er… muscular."

"Wears a suit well?"

I gave up objectivity. "Very."

"Blonde or brunette?"

"Neither—his hair is white, silvery white."

Pepper's eyes sparkled. "Does he have a good bone structure?"

"Uhh…yes," I said, awkwardly squirming on my legs. "Would make a sculptor weep in joy."

Pepper giggled and I couldn't help but smile at the sound. "Thank you, Yuki."

"Thank me?"

"For the image. In my head." He sighed dreamily. "'Twas perfect. He's definitely the best parts of the mythical creatures that lived on another world."

I laughed, remembering the time when I believed that Killua actually was a mythical creature. "I can help you meet him someday. If you're game."

"Are―are you serious?" His pupils dilated with panic. "You will do that?"

"Sure, why not."

He clasped both my hands. "You're my hero! That'd be a dream come true!" Pepper said happily, his semi-deep voice coming out in a mix of a squeal and a shriek. I'd never seen a grin as wide as his, not even Gon's. "Oh. Oh." His eyes went impossibly huge, all of a sudden, as I watched him turn into a sweaty mess. "Oh, god, no. How am I supposed to meet a Zaoldyeck? How do people do that? Oh god, what if he doesn't like me? That surely cannot be good."

My smile widened. I was both bewildered and amused by his silliness. He sounded like a school girl about to meet her favorite pop star. "He's not that bad, Pepper."

His face was filled with worry. "Is he scary?"

I thought about it.

"He's not scary. He's…intense. He either likes people or hates people. And when he hates people…" I took a deep breath. "…Oh boy."

Pepper grimaced and giggled at the same time. "Add that to his extraordinarily appealing physique and voilà! you've got yourself a Zaoldyeck heir."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, you don't know that? It's rumored that the Zaoldyeck heirs all had this astounding, sort of sharp beauty accompanied by a smooth, methodical nature. This nature is what makes them the worst type of killers. They're calm, observing. They exploit vulnerability, get people to trust them, and then, when all the emotions are firmly in place—" he leaned to hiss in my ear "—they attack." He laughed jovially when I shivered. "It's also rumored that all of them have the same Nen type," he added in an afterthought.

My thoughts drifted back in time to that murky night when I saw the two white-haired Zaoldyecks outside the auction building, and now with the help of Pepper, I realized what my eyes had betrayed me to see, what the two men resembled—Killua.

"Oh, hey! Next time, I can show you my journal if you're interested to know more about the Zaoldyecks. It's actually more of an account of most of their missions and history, as I grew older, it got more detailed and more accurate…and sometimes more like a scrapbook. But it'll have all the dirty facts you need."

I forced a smile. "What are you, the Zaoldyeck Geek?" I joked, to break my own tension.

Pepper smiled, looking sheepish. "I'm just a big fan." Then he rushed to clarify, "Not of their work, though. I think all criminals are scum, naturally, which is why I'm here right now. My fascination with them is strictly platonic."

I laughed and checked my phone. It was nearly midnight; my shift would end soon. Neon was still in her room, bopping to some famous pop music as the song changed from Bad to Dangerous. Just as my hand was poised over my phone, I pondered Marcus and Pepper's words. Both of them were polar-opposites—two shoulder devils speaking at the same time, rousing and calming.

My outward skepticism betrayed my inner reaction. Was this nature—that seemed, all of a sudden, like much more than a joke—going to follow Killua around all the time? Was it the reason behind all his growing secrets? Would this legacy subject him to the inevitable destiny that had befallen the other heirs? And how severe was the confinement of that destiny?

As Dangerous shifted into Smooth Criminal, I determinedly stood and dialed Killua's number.

When my night shift was over, I ended up lounging in the city's central park—or more accurately, lounging high up on a branch of an old, oak tree.

It was the largest tree, tall enough that its highest boughs reached up and almost touched the clouds as they all slowly swung in the wind. I could see the richly colorful leaves, the drying ones, and a bit of sky. The light flickering through the widely spread branches was ghostly and thin, but otherwise, very peaceful. Here, I could pretend everything was good. I could be anything here.

Looking down at the swings, I let my imagination wander. What would it be like if Killua and I had a normal childhood? How different our lives would be now? Who would we be if we were never acquainted with heartbreak? No bullshit and dark secrets? It was too easy to imagine.

We'd grow up together. Our normal parents would be too busy making money to spend much time with us. We would escape our empty, hollow homes to go to the swings, our favorite place in the world; our home away from house. Our tiny hearts would soar, and our stomachs would somersault as we flung ourselves off the ride, giddy and giggling. We'd read books and pretend we were smart. We'd stay on the swings until the evening so the mighty chief of the town—who'd be our best resemblance to a hero—found us and gave us a ride in his cool cruiser. We'd beg him to flip on the loud squad lights on the car roof, and it'd absolutely thrill us, the way it'd thrill normal kids.

We'd never have to have imaginary friends. We'd have each other, and everything would be just…

…Simple.

"I always knew that deep inside, you're still a six year-old."

A wickedly calm, implacable voice broke me out of my momentary absentmindedness.

Lazily, I peered down the tree where Killua was standing, and felt the ripple of awareness that always told me he was nearby, heightening all my senses. He looked smaller and so far away from me. Standing there with his hands in his pockets, he was unmoving in the moonlight, looking almost invisible in his black attire; black T-shirt, black jeans, soft black boots. It was as if he carried a piece of the night with him, always.

Leaning my head back against the tree, I smiled faintly in spite of myself. "You came."

"Surprised?"

"A little bit," I said flippantly, returning to stare back at the sky but continuing to speak distractedly. "I didn't think you'd know where I'd be sitting."

"I found you once. I'll always find you." He looked at me sharply, dark eyes piercing under the shock of white hair. "What'cha doing up there?"

"I have a lot on my mind."

"Thinking about me?"

"I wish."

I hazarded a look at his too-appealing eyes, and noticed that he looked a little tired. It wasn't as though he could fall prey to dark circles or red eyes in just a few hours, but he looked tired nonetheless. Feeling guilty, I rearranged my position until I was perched among the spreading branch and told him, "I'm sorry about this morning. I know who you are, and I trust you. I really do…" I paused as our eyes met. Something passed between us then with that small admission. It made it easier for me to say what came next. "But your past scares me, Killua."

"Don't give it that power."

"I won't." I bit my lip. "But…"

Killua cut me off irritably. "Before you say anything, will you pretty please get down here? Firstly, this is getting annoying. Secondly, my neck started to cramp. And lastly, I want to see you."

"You can see me."

"Fine. I want to touch you. Get the hell down."

"Tch."

I flung myself forward.

Though the cat-like landing I thought I'd have never happened, and my feet didn't hit the ground. Instead, I fell right onto Killua's outstretched arms.

Shock froze my breath. Every train of thought I had disappeared, and my senses went right on recording; dark eyes dominating my field of vision, a whiff of some kind of sinfully sweet scent, strong arms holding me up. I felt weightless then; light as if I were a dandelion fluff, and a little light-headed as well, almost tipsy.

"You caught me," I said lamely.

He gave me a little wry sideways smile. "Surprised?"

"No." I knew he would always catch me. I knew I could trust him to always catch me. But I could still feel the uncertainty that was fed by the devilish voices I'd been hearing all day. "No. But…"

"No buts. You're questioning everything and driving yourself crazy." The hardness of his arms melted beneath me, and I was set back on my feet. I didn't say anything; just stood there and looked up at him. Catching me by the waist, he lifted me and sat me down one of the swings, before he knelt on one knee in front me. "I wanna show you something," he said, suddenly serious. "Hold out your palm."

In a demonstration of how far we'd come, I extended my hand readily, even if it was accompanied by a suspicious glance. But Killua was in one of his rare somber moods and simply pressed his hand underneath mine, while his free one rested above mine in the air, one finger extended. A spark of electricity erupted, right in my palm, from the tip of his forefinger, and I gasped as it didn't burn me, though it seemingly emanated from my flesh.

"Don't worry," he said softly. "It won't hurt you." But he didn't need to say that—I already knew it wouldn't. Despite his ultimate intentions to smother my mind to the point of no return, he had not once harmed even one hair on my head.

I almost didn't want to speak, in fear of interrupting whatever the silence might have been saying, because he had a point and he wanted to make it.

"I was taught that my life would always be like this current; if I'm not connected to my roots—" The electric spark began to shrink, desperately sucking at the limited strength he was affording. "Then I can't exist." Our eyes watched as the spark, once so grand in its silver rays and blue anger, withered away into nothingness, leaving not a trace that it ever existed.

"I proved them all wrong when I built my resistance, and cut every wire that linked me to their world. But…" he said tightly, trailing off. I placed my hand in his, and appreciated the reassuring squeeze he gave me. He looked down at our joined hands as he continued, "But no matter who knows that about me, and whether or not I share that information, it's a part of me that I can never forget." He spoke from the heart, his words seemingly as much of a realization to himself as an entreaty to me.

"I used to wonder if I can ever truly leave that part of my life behind, but such dark things don't fade with time—they just reverberate through the years. And whether I like it or not, I have to live with them." There was a brilliant depth of emotions in his eyes when he looked at me. "But you don't. I don't—I can't let you in when it comes to this. You wanna know what's in my secrets? It's that world of theirs. It's everything you have to stay away from. I need to keep you as far away as possible from everything related to that world. You have to trust me on this."

"Trust goes both ways."

His gaze sharpened. "There's no one I trust more than you and Gon. I don't want to tell you not because I don't trust you, but the more people that knew, the more real everything became. And you shouldn't be involved in my mess anymore. That's not what you want."

Swinging myself slightly back and forth, I stared at our hands and whispered, "I want all of you."

"You have me. I'm yours."

I shook my head. "Not every part."

"Only because I don't want you to see those parts." He raised our hands to his face and kissed mine. "Please don't make me."

I nodded, no longer sure of what I hoped to get out of him. My thoughts had been all over the map all day; I couldn't decide how I felt about anything. "So I don't need to know where you were last night."

"No, you don't."

I nodded again, feeling too emotionally invested to argue. Tracing the place on my palm where the electric spark had wilted, I asked, "Do I want to know how you transmuted your aura into electricity?"

He pushed the seat of my swing with the tips of his fingers, rocking me back and forth with a gently soothing rhythm. "Probably not."

"Good. Because I'd get angry."

"I know."

"Really angry."

That made his mouth quirk up slightly.

"I'm not kidding, Killua. I hate your family's fucking guts. I can't think of what they did to you without feeling violent."

"Then don't think about them. You don't have to. They're out of my life. For good. And I'm—" He interrupted himself to heave a long breath. "Look, I'm tired. This whole search for Gon's father isn't getting any easier. I'm edgy and restless. I can't focus on so many things right now. I need to know we're good before we go home."

I frowned. No wonder why he looked exhausted. "How's Gon doing?"

"He's good. Today was another waste. His father keeps jumping all over the place, but we're finding a way to get closer." He took my hand and got to his feet. "Come on now. Let's go."

I tugged hesitantly at his hand as we made our way out of the park. "I'm gonna sleep at my apartment tonight. We are good, but I can't stay at the suite three nights in a row. I don't live there."

"Fine. I'm going to be busy tomorrow anyway." He paused. Then with his eyes staring straight ahead, he asked, "What did Sherlock want this morning?"

"Marcus? Pshh. He was just checking."

Killua frowned. "Why, doesn't he have any other detective friends of his own?" he grumbled, looking distant and controlled, which was when I knew he was at his most dangerous. "What did he say?"

"Eh, not much," I replied with a shrug. "Basically, he said you're a disaster."

That earned me a smirk. "Tell me something I don't know."

The apartment was just as I'd left it; shadowed and unoccupied. Once I closed the door, it settled into its familiar silence, both comforting and depressing.

Just as I was about to hit the shower, my phone pinged with a text. From Killua.

See, I can text too. Ditch all your "friends" and text me instead.

I laughed and shook my head. Sometimes he had troubles letting some things go.

I replied, Like you ditched just now?

After he'd escorted me home, he had no choice but to leave. I wanted so badly to invite him in, but neither of us was ready for this. Admittedly, I was afraid of seeing him inside this apartment—especially my room—might change things. Or worse, change him.

But despite all of that, I was disappointed enough to type: I couldn't even say good night to you alone.

Two seconds later, I got his reply. You wanted to give me an alone good night?

I swear to god, the font of the message should be called 'smug'.

Well, since I'm not going to see you for at least ten hours… yeah.

He replied, What did this alone good night involve?

I smirked. Deciding to be a little evil, I wrote, Nothing that can be texted.

He didn't reply for a minute or two.

Oh, beastie, you're killing me.

Throwing my phone on my bed, I stripped out of my clothes and jumped in the shower. Under the warm spray, I felt spent, both physically and emotionally. I hadn't done enough resting. Sleep-deprivation and my usual neuroses didn't mix up very well.

Wrapping myself in one of my robes, I got out of the shower, turned off all the lights of the apartment and went to the small-ass closet to change. I was about to untie the belt of my robe when I felt the unmistakable creepy-crawly feeling of being watched. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. That was it; something was watching me from behind. The midnight sky overhead was not black but smoky gray and opaque, riddled with more stars than any other night.

The air coming from the open window was stifling, and I felt, more certain than anything, that there were eyes on me.

Turning slowly around, I came face-to-face with it.

It was an eagle, over my windowsill. And it was the thing watching me.

It was the biggest eagle I'd ever seen, plump and sleek, with golden shining in its brown feathers. I could see every detail of it clearly: the greedy dark claws, the sharp peak, the single glittering black eye. It was so motionless that it might have been a wax model of a bird sitting there on my window. But as I stared back at it, I felt myself swallow involuntarily, heat coming in waves up my throat and cheeks. Because it was…looking into my eyes. Staring at me with its bright, black eye, an almost human stare.

Tightening the belt of my robe, I walked over to the window. From my five-year experience in the wild and the waking hours I spent with the birds of prey, I was sure the golden eagle was male, at least, which was more than most people could know from a first glance. He merely watched me approaching, not faltering or flinching like normal birds did. The first time his eyes met mine, I knew that there was nothing natural about that eagle.

Looking into his eyes for approval, or perhaps permission, I carefully lifted a hand to his beak. The eagle made no move to harm my fingers, perhaps because I was probing my aura to be as soothing as possible, or maybe because he wasn't in the mood to hunt.

Frozen still on the windowsill, he nuzzled against my palm, and stepped up nicely onto my forearm, which meant that someone had trained him a little to be superior to any of his creatures, and that was all the assurance I needed to study him a bit more closely.

And it was when I saw why he was here.

My eyes caught the thin, short parchment that was attached to the bird's leg by a piece of tied, red chord. Cautiously, despite my rational brain telling him that this was not normal, I untied the chord and pulled the parchment free.

Not even a second later, the eagle flapped his wings powerfully. It gave a raucous cry and flew away. His work here was done.

I staggered back a few steps, my heart pounding. Anticipation and gun-gnawing fear ran wildly through my veins. I straightened up slowly, then glanced around, self-conscious. Now that the bird was gone, the sky felt ordinary again. A little wind made the curtains flutter, and I took a deep breath.

With trembling fingers, I unrolled the rather official-looking parchment to reveal the mystery that lay inside.

It was a short letter; only few verses long, written in a very neat, elegant hand with black ink, but with no address and no signiture. The handwriting was beautifully bold and cultured, swirling over the discolored paper. The beauty of it almost distracted me completely from the content.

Once I started reading, all hell broke loose.

My hand started shaking.

Blood drained from my face, and there was a dull roaring in my ears.

I felt dizzy, disoriented. Why? Because I didn't understand a freaking word.

The blaring sound of my ringtone made me jump. I answered my phone without looking at the caller ID, and heard Killua's voice.

"Busted. I know everything," he said, and I stiffened, my breath catching audibly. His words came so soon after the letter. "That's my punishment. That's why you wanted to stay at your apartment. To torture me from a distance?"

Relief was so sudden and complete it felt painful.

The sounds of cars honking their horns from the window, the hum of the heating system in the room, and the sloppy shouts of drunk passersby all faded into a steady buzzing in my ears. There was a flurry of activity happening around me and my brain couldn't process it. I had a sense of retreating down an endless tunnel, my reality shrinking to a tiny black point.

"…Yuki? What's wrong?" Killua asked, his voice softening with worry. He was just too perceptive.

I knew I was breathing too fast and my speeding pulse rate was dangerously high. In a distant part of my brain, I registered that there were thousands of people just down the window, going about their lives without a clue that another human being in this apartment was dealing with a catastrophic event.

Killua was insistent. "Is everything okay? Tell me what's wrong."

Tell him? Just the thought sent a violent shiver through me.

He said, "Wait for me. I'm coming back to get you."

"No!" I said too loudly. My chest ached, because I did want him to be here right now more than anything. "Don't. I'm fine. It's just…"

My fingers clenched in the parchment.

Don't ever lie to me, Yuki.

Still… "Don't worry." I'd never put as much feeling into those two words as I did then. I knew I was about to make one my biggest mistakes when I told him, "Nothing's wrong."

I opened the bedside drawer and slipped the letter there, hiding it away from everyone.

A/N: And then there's that … Tsk, tsk.

We are now reaching another critical (or the final) point of the story; please bear with me. If I made a mistake, don't be afraid/shy to point it out. I love emotionally charged chapters, but they take a lot out of me.

I'll say nothing more but: Review.

Next update, April? Sooner? I have a lot of stuff going on but I can manage to squeeze out an update. So …let me know.