A/N: I had to seek the advice of an Italian friend of mine for the little Italian phrases Paul says in this chapter, which was...one hell of a conversation.
Tara reached out towards Dwayne as he sat down beside her on the bed, and they listened as the sound of Cat's motorcycle grew quieter and quieter until it was gone completely, the din of the boardwalk taking its place.
"We've got a lot to talk about," he mused softly as he accepted the hand she offered.
"We've got all night," Tara replied "Will that be long enough?"
"Guess we'll find out," he gave the slightest huff of a laugh "There's a lot of stuff to talk through before we can even think about making a decision - before you can make a decision. But you can make a decision."
A strong tightness yanked at her chest in response to his words. She'd spent so long fighting for a chance - for her right to make the decision - that she hadn't much stopped to consider how weighty it would feel once it was placed in her hands. How much more real. While she didn't regret pushing for a chance, and didn't regret having it handed to her in turn - not even in the slightest - it certainly felt like it was due a bit more consideration now. It was like anything, she supposed. Everybody wanted to have their passion be their career, right up until it meant treating it like a career. Everybody wanted to be rich and famous, right up until their privacy was yanked from them and they had to stop and question if the people around them liked them for them, or for their wallet.
Everybody wanted to be a vampire, right up until they had to stop and question the real mechanics of avoiding the sun for eternity, and being alive for eternity in itself.
"Why was Cat turned?"
"That's probably the main thing we ought to talk about."
Tara said nothing, just waited. It was plain to see that he was weighing up his words, considering carefully how to move forward.
"Do you believe in soulmates?" He asked eventually.
Tara huffed a laugh "Piss off. I thought we were being serious."
He smiled his own amusement, but didn't laugh or come clean about whatever joke it was she thought he was playing.
"I agree," he shrugged "Wish there was another name for it - sounds so dumb. Cheesy. Like those couples who call themselves 'lovers'. Just a word that mortals resort to because the usual ones have grown stale and overused. But...misuse of the word aside, it's a real thing. Skeptics call it chemistry or, I dunno, extreme compatibility, but sceptics don't believe in vampires, either."
Tara already had questions. So many questions. But Dwayne had the demeanour of somebody who had no wish to be interrupted before they'd said what they wanted to say, so she added the first question to what was sure to become a mental list of them for when he was done. He glanced at her as though expecting interruption, and then stifled a smile at the great pains she was taking not to interrupt.
"It's not how most people imagine it. Each person has one, but there's no rhyme or reason to it. It's one other person, somewhere on the planet, somewhere in time. No guarantee you'll be in the same place, in the same century. In fact, s'more likely that you won't be. Yours could've been...oh, I dunno, Henry the eighth. A Swedish fisherman from the Viking age who never left his village n' never spoke a lick of English. Or somebody who'll be born five hundred years from now in a country that doesn't exist yet. When you think of all the different elements that have to be just right, finding yours is like...winning the lottery. Probably way rarer, even."
"...And Cat is Paul's."
"Cat's Paul's," Dwayne echoed "He knew right away. Right when he first saw her. She didn't, she just knew there was something there. It's a vampire perk - another thing to balance out the blood and the darkness and the danger. Humans can't really tell until they start getting to know the person. Vampires, though, we know on first sight. Not turning her was never a consideration after that. Not because of...of personalities or compatibility with the group as a whole, but because of the automatic bond those two have. Letting something like that pass by would be like...spitting in the face of fate. It wasn't all superstitious, though. It was practical, too. Can you imagine what it'd be like for Paul otherwise, spending eternity knowing he'd let her go? Mortal life doesn't feel all that long anymore. By our view of it, she'd have been dead in a handful of years. Plus, it wasn't like initiating a chick who didn't have that bond. It was less dangerous. Less risk for it all to go south and end messily. No risk of a break-up."
"Unless something happens to one of them. Then you have to watch the other cope."
"Trust me, when vampires start dying you have bigger problems than that on your hands. We're pretty good at staying alive. We don't die unless we're killed. As far as the smart ones are concerned, anyway."
"The risk versus the reward weigh out in a pretty safe manner," Tara nodded "It makes sense, I guess."
"It could have gone better, though, if she'd chosen it. That's my point. Any trouble and strife that's come from Cat joining has been because it wasn't her who made the decision. We - me, David, Marko - we don't have the same bond with her that Paul does, and we like her just fine. It's shitty to think that if that one twist of fate hadn't been involved, we might've easily drained her n' never thought twice about it. How many other members, good members who'd make life even brighter, are we missing out on because they just happened not to have the same...oh, I dunno, the same catalyst."
"I agree with you, but I'm not the one you need to convince."
"I got a little off track," he conceded "But my point is, we're not."
"Soulmates? I imagine if we were, I'd be one of you already. So that's been the big problem? What, that there's no guarantee I won't go nuclear and install a sunroof into the cave should things go south between us?"
"That was David's problem. Not mine. You're the type to cut and run if things go bad, not start a war. I'd be more likely to wake up and find you gone than wake up on fire."
Tara laughed...mainly to dispel the unease at how well he knew her, because in all truth it wasn't a bad thing. He didn't say it judgmentally, just factually. Almost fondly, even.
"So what was your problem then? Does it bother you that we're not?"
"It's...inconvenient, but not in the way you think. Consider it, doll, in becoming one of us you're upping your chance of meeting yours, whoever the bastard is. It's not like we live in some isolated middle-of-nowhere shit-hole where you only see the same five faces every day, either. Santa Carla's a tourist trap, we chose it for a reason, living here probably bumps up those odds a bit more."
"You do understand the irony in you giving me this speech directly after going on about how unlikely either of us meeting them is?"
"But it will never be zero. None of the guys thought any of us would, and then Paul saw Cat on the beach one night. Is it likely to happen? No. But in signing up for this, you're signing up for the possibility that one night we'll be on the boardwalk, and you'll look up and see some fucker across the way and know he's the one. You're signing up for the mess that would entail."
"...And I'm signing up for the fact that the same could happen for you," she sighed.
He'd been too good to say it, but the implication was there. The risk was on both sides. What would it be like, to be madly in love with him for years, only to have that be over less than a minute later due to no fault of anybody's, bar fate? There were...solutions, sure. She'd had friends back in New York who'd been in open relationships where jealousy wasn't a thing, but that wasn't the same. He would love this other woman more - it wouldn't be an equal footing on all parts sort of thing. And who was to say he'd even have any interest in her left the moment he clapped eyes on the one meant for him? There was no saying how it would work, honestly. Could she really live in the cave with him and some other woman?
Then there was the mess that would ensue if it happened for her instead. David would fucking love it - he'd take it as evidence that she never should have been one of them in the first place. And Dwayne, how could she ever look him in the eye and shrug, saying fate had worked its magic and they had to take the situation as it was?
If she was as unflappable as she liked to pretend to be, the idea of it all wouldn't have bothered her. Not for a moment. She'd have laughed and waved a hand and decided to cross that bridge when she got to it. But instead, any one of the various scenarios she'd imagined in those few seconds alone struck a heavy sort of nausea deep into the pit of her stomach.
However. It wasn't enough to scare her off. Dwayne had said it himself. Billions of people had walked the earth for millennia - longer, if cavemen were included in 'soulmate' scope. That sounded about right as far as her luck was concerned, for her soulmate to be the original inspiration for the character of Tarzan.
"To use your own logic, letting something like that impact my decision would be like giving up a career that I love because I bought a lottery ticket."
If she expected him to argue with her, she'd have been mistaken. Instead he nodded, visibly considering her words.
"And anyway, that's a danger in any relationship. Sure it's less likely to be instant and, well, a non-issue I suppose for those who do find their fated match, but when you get involved with anybody you're signing up for a list of potential issues. For the spark to die, for one of you to get sick and die first, for one of you to find somebody else, intentionally or not...being what you are takes out the issue of illness, and of the guarantee that someone is gonna die and leave the other behind...but no match is guaranteed to never have any problems. If I wanted something I didn't have to think about, or something that had no option for either wanting out ever, I'd get an arranged marriage. Nobody can offer that. Not even great big powerful creatures of the night. So stop acting like the absence of that is some great big deal breaker."
Dwayne seemed content to watch her as her reply morphed into a rant somewhere along the way, dark eyes filled with fondness as a smirk tugged at his lips.
"All right," he gently took her hand "You've convinced me."
A moment of quiet passed between them then, his thumb running over her knuckles. Then he inclined his head slightly.
"A career you love, huh?"
"What?"
"Just your analogy. Interesting choice of words and all."
Tara's lips thinned as she fought a smile. Here they were, discussing the ins and outs of eternity together, and he was needling her over an accidental love confession.
"What of it?" She sniffed with her best attempt at a nonchalant shrug.
He chuckled and let go of her hand in favour of wrapping an arm around her, pulling her closer as he rested a chin atop her head. He was the only man she'd ever met who could make her tall frame feel petite.
"We did things kinda backwards, huh? Sex, then talks of spending our lives together, then we agreed to be in a relationship."
"I don't believe we ever agreed on that," she pointed out.
"Be my girlfriend," it was murmured into her hair.
"Ask me nicely."
"No."
His voice was defiant, but teasing. Like a kid refusing to share their candy with their parents just to watch said parent pretend to be said about it.
"Really Dwayne, where are your manners?"
"Don't got any."
Well, he was nothing if not honest. Leaning closer, he ghosted his lips across the dip where her neck and shoulder met, pressing a kiss there before opening his mouth and letting his teeth graze the skin. Tara shivered. How many lives had those teeth ended? How many times had this been the last thing somebody ever felt? And - perhaps most importantly - why did sitting here, feeling it herself, excite her far more than it scared her? Man, she was going to hell. In that case, immortality would be her best bet.
Reaching up, she traced her nails lightly across the side of his jaw and delighted in the rumbling growl it earned her. His teeth pressed down just a little more, and she was painstakingly aware of the blunted point of his canines - not quite fangs, not yet - and for a moment she thought he was really about to bite her. For a moment, she suspected he thought the same, too. Instead, he settled for a light nip before he nudged his nose against her.
"Be my girlfriend," he said insistently.
"I'm still not hearing a question in there," Tara said thoughtfully "Nor a request, even. More of a demand, really. I don't do well with demands, y'know?"
"You sure are making plenty," he teased, voice muffled by her shoulder.
"Not at all, just a 'please'. Extol my virtues, profess your undying love, that sort of thing. Maybe beg a bit."
She felt him laugh more than she heard it, but before she could be too proud of her own wit he put his supernatural speed to use. Before she could even let out a noise of surprise, he'd pulled her so that she straddled his lap, motorcycle-callused hands squeezing her legs just above her knees where her dress had ridden up.
"Tara, you're the hottest chick in…"
"The boardwalk?" She hazarded a guess, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I was gonna say Santa Carla," he teased with a shrug "California, probably, but I can't say for sure. Gotta do some surveys and get back to you on that. Then we can start mapping out the geographical scale, y'know?"
"I never thought I'd meet a guy whose idea of wooing involved the phrase 'geographical scale'," she feigned a swoon, but couldn't keep the silly grin from her face "But I'm flattered, go on."
"And...you're for sure the most exceptional woman I've ever met."
Tara stilled, waiting for the joke. Hell, she'd make one had she been the one who had just said that. Instead, though, he met her gaze evenly.
"You're strong, you're smart, and you're an all-round hell of a woman," as he spoke he reached up and tucked a long dark lock of hair behind her ear "Be my girlfriend, would you?"
Tara laughed softly. It still wasn't quite a request, but everything that had preceded it made the technicalities matter little to her now. Taking the hand he'd lifted in her own, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
"Fine, I guess," she tried to sound casual, but her breath hitched in her throat over the praise he'd just heaped upon her.
It was funny - she'd known guys in the past who'd spent twice as long heaping compliment upon compliment far more extreme than the ones Dwayne had just given her. The difference was that they said the same things to anybody with a pulse and a miniskirt, very rarely stopping to question whether they meant it first. Whether they meant it didn't matter - what it could get them, however, did. Dwayne, though, was a man of few words. The ones he did say meant something. The ones he had just said? Those meant a whole lot.
Dropping his hand, she leaned in to kiss him, but he leaned back and cupped her jaw, their noses just barely touching as his eyes bore into hers.
"You need to understand first. It's a lot to take in, and you need to make sure you've considered it all. Really considered it, Tee, not just brushing it off because you don't want it to be an issue," he said quietly "Tell me you understand - no sunlight, no kids, no not feeding."
"I've never been a fan of the sun," she replied, but continued to carefully think over what he'd said all the same "I don't want kids. And the feeding…"
The hand that was still on her leg traced slow, careful circles against the bare skin.
"You select them, right?"
"I won't lie and say they're all evil," he murmured "Surf Nazis, lotta the time. Tourists. Usually men, sometimes there'll be a woman in the group. Never children. Frat boy idiots on bro holidays, surfer guys, that sorta thing."
Sighing heavily, Tara leaned against him. She'd never been much of a philanthropist type. She cared about her own, and deeply too, but she'd never been one to believe in the good in people in general. How could she, when her own father was a prize bastard? If she could find just one reason to believe the person she was feeding on was an asshole, she didn't think she'd feel a great deal of guilt. Especially if her own life hung in the balance. Surely the fact that she could even sit here, content in Dwayne's arms, knowing he was responsible for the deaths of countless people was a sign she'd do just fine? But the sight of the missing posters on the boardwalk had struck a heavy sinking feeling in her since she first saw it. She'd grown desensitised to it after all her research, sure, but not indifferent. Deep down, she did worry that she was treading some kind of ground between knowing herself, and knowing what wishful thinking wanted herself to be.
The truth remained to be seen.
But surely that in itself was a good thing? Surely then the need to feed would tip her into the territory she had to be in - the one that would allow her to feed. If it was going to be a great issue, surely the idea would fill her with nausea and dread even now?
"I'm wary of it, I won't lie," she said finally.
Lying about it - pretending that she was some kind of sadistic maniac absolutely raring to go - would help nothing. He'd recognise the bravado for what it was from a mile off, and he'd appreciate it far less than he would if she just admitted her trepidation.
"...But I don't dread it. It's like...oh, I don't know, a vaccination. Nobody enjoys the needle going in, but it's necessary. And you'll help me through it - right?"
"Shots don't have victims though, doll," he pointed out "But yeah, I'll be there."
"Is it difficult?"
"Not for me. Not for any of us, not anymore. First time's the toughest, but only at the very start. Once the bloodlust sets in it's...it's like a drug. Not like any drug I ever tried, though. Then after that, you're too busy chasin' that feeling to worry much about anything else."
"And there's no guilt? Afterwards?"
"It's them or us. I'm quite fond of us, got little concern for them," he offered a smirk with no trace of guilt or bravado.
What was more worrying? The mind-set itself, or the fact that she could easily put herself in his shoes and understand it? His response posed a question. Would she be part of the 'them', or the 'us'? It was a no-brainer.
"I'm quite fond of us too."
This time, he didn't stop her from kissing him.
There was a brief silence when Dwayne finished his recount. Which was a long silence, really, as far as they were concerned. David stared at him, and Dwayne stared back. It wasn't the stare he'd seen on his face plenty of times before - on the Boardwalk, when they were having their fun with Michael Emerson, when Star turned out to be everything they'd hoped she wouldn't be - the cold, challenging stare that dared somebody to give him the sheer enjoyment of being a bastard. No, this stare was more considering than antagonistic. David was taking measure of him. Then he spoke.
"Let's vote. Raise your hand if you're for it."
Dwayne dearly hoped his surprise did not show on his face. He expected an argument first - a chance to further make his point. David, however, had chosen to skip that song and dance entirely. But was that a good or a bad thing? He raised his hand but felt like a dumbass for it. He was the one who'd brought it to the table (or, well, the cave), of course he was for it. Cat's hand followed with no hesitation, and Paul's at the same time. After a few beats, Marko gnawed on his lip as his followed.
David leaned forward.
"This could be dangerous," he said mildly.
"Since when do you run from danger?" Dwayne shrugged "And anyway, if you really believed that you'd be out there killing her right now - not giving us a vote. The danger can't be that real. You might wash your hands of the decision-making, but you wouldn't let us vote for something you really thought would hurt us."
More of that damned look. This one didn't stretch on for very long though, not after Paul said a disgruntled "My arm's gettin' real tired here, guys."
David regarded them all as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing - or maybe he couldn't believe what he was about to do. Whichever was the case, he all but jammed his cigarette into his mouth and then raised his free hand into the air in more of a vague, begrudging wave than an actual raised hand. The other lit the cigarette. All of them dropped their arms, and then four pairs of eyes turned to Dwayne. Waiting. For what? A reaction? A decision on what to do next?
Either would work, probably, but his ability to offer one was completely tied up by his sheer disbelief. It must've shown on his face, because David huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
"Go. Tell her. Don't say I never do anything nice."
Dwayne chose not to point out the way he said 'nice' like it was a dirty word - and not the fun kind, either. He'd gotten his victory today, and a hell of a victory at that. He wouldn't stomp on it now.
Cat was covered in cobwebs, dust, and god only knew what else. Her body ached, but it was a good ache - one that spoke of hard work and distraction. Mostly, she just looked forward to showering.
The matter of where Dwayne and Tara would sleep was a tricky one. For a long time, Cat had considered it sheer luck that she and Paul had even managed to fashion themselves a decent bedroom and hadn't been doomed to bunk with the others, sleeping upside down. But it was the 'bedroom' of the others that provided an answer in the end. The crawl through to the cavern where they slept wasn't exactly a pleasant one, but she had noticed the occasional space that branched off to the left and the right, obscured by the occasional steel beam or chunk of rock. Rooms that hadn't quite collapsed with the rest of the place back when the cave was a hotel, she supposed.
So, Cat explored those spaces. All were filled with cobwebs and however many decades of grime and dirt, most were too narrow to get through, or barely the size of a closet once she did get through and therefore not worth the bother, but there was one that would work so long as they were willing to go through the awkward belly-crawl through the narrow collapsed spaces each night. A small price to pay for a bit of privacy and comfort. Well, it would be comfortable once she was done.
The candles were easy - they had a supply that any church would envy - and so was the cleaning for the most part. Cleaning supplies weren't exactly something they had in abundance, but she made do with some old rags and body wash when needed. It wasn't ideal, but nothing in this cave was ever pristine for long, and the soap left a nice apricot scent. The worst part was all of the spiders. Big spiders at that, who had been left undisturbed to reproduce for years. More than once she had to call in Paul or Marko to get rid of the ones that verged on being bigger than her hand, and endured no small amount of teasing for it. 'A creature of the night and you're afraid of itsy fuckin' bitsy'. But she maintained there was nothing itsy or bitsy about these fuckers.
It took a few hours of hard work, but it was meditative hard work. By the end, she flopped down onto the old beaten up sofa, covered in sweat and muck, and breathed a happy sigh. Dwayne was already gone, off to work out a game-plan with Tara - what she'd tell her aunt, the logistics of when she'd be turned, any housekeeping that needed to be done before it was too late.
Paul handed her a bottle of beer, lifting her legs onto his lap so he could sit.
"What next?"
"Nothing next, it's done," she breathed, accepting the beer and taking a gulp "She'll have to bring her own stuff, maybe her mattress, or we'll have to find one...something. Nothing more I can do, though."
"Not the space - but I do applaud your fine work," he clinked his beer bottle against hers "In general."
"I mean, it's not like I have a packed schedule," she replied.
As much as she could play dumb, though, she knew what he meant. It was pointless sitting around and hoping things would change - that this dark, melancholic fog would lift - just because she wanted them to. It was like that one quote about the definition of insanity being to do the same thing over and over expecting different results. She could burn as many letters as she liked, but if she returned to a daily schedule of little more than cigarettes and alcohol, along with whatever drugs their victims of the week happened to have on them, she'd soon find herself lost in the very same fog this time next year. That was not an option. But she'd already considered that, and she'd already done a little research. There would be a period of hard partying after Tara joined, that much was certain. An initiation was as good an excuse to ramp it up as anything else. But she had to make plans for what would follow when things quieted down.
Standing up with a groan, she dusted the cobwebs from her jeans and began to root around in her backpack where it lay slouching against the fountain, pulling out the pamphlets she'd left there. Paul accepted the lot of them, brow furrowed in confusion. As he leafed through them, though, the frown lessened.
"Night classes?"
Cat hummed affirmative "Santa Carla doesn't have a crapload - some basic languages like Spanish, French, German, Italian...sewing, baking, martial arts - even pole dancing."
She watched as he tried and failed to suppress a smile and laughed. She knew that one would appeal to him.
"I went down to the library and had a look at what classes were being advertised. Some I can't do for obvious reasons - surfing only happens during the day, and I'm pretty sure the guy who runs it is pals with the Surf Nazis anyway...More 'official' stuff that actually gives you credentials requires ID, so that'd be tricky...Any kind of self-defence is probably risky y'know, considering all it takes is a moment of forgetting your own strength or your partner having a busted lip or something…" she trailed off and then gave herself a shake, bolstering her positivity "But there are plenty that I can do. I figure once I run out of stuff here, I could always see what's on in LA. Drive out there a few times a week, get a hotel room to sleep in during the day and then drive back the next evening. They'll have a crapload of stuff. Enough to last me a few years, at least, if I do one thing at a time."
It was strange, doing these things without a goal. Back when she'd been a mortal, there had always been a goal. Finish high school to get into sixth form, finish sixth form to get into university, work hard at university to get the degree, get the degree to get the job. That's what made Santa Carla so liberating in the beginning - people did things for no reason at all, bar the sheer pleasure of doing it. And it was great, in the short term. In the long term, with nothing to replace the routine she'd once had, it just contributed to her feeling lost - and not in the good, capital-L sense of the word.
That small detail was probably what gave Tara a hell of a bigger chance at adjusting well to this life. Well, besides the fact that she was choosing it. Tara made her art for the sake of making her art. Sure, she wanted to make something of it, but she could focus on it for the sheer sake of focusing on it - no vague reward in the form of diplomas or employability beckoning in the distance. All she needed was time, and that was something Dwayne offered in abundance.
Cat, though, she needed routine, she needed learning. And this was where she'd found it.
"I'll come with," Paul said.
"To the pole-dancing classes?" She snickered "I'm sure that's your dream come true but I doubt the teachers would allow it. Maybe we'll get one installed in the cave."
"Not what I meant - but that is an idea," he smirked "To LA. Having one of us travel alone doesn't seem like a good idea, you gotta have someone out there to watch your back just in case anything happens. And besides, we can call it a drawn-out honeymoon. Get up to no good. Go to the Whisky a Go Go."
"I'd like that," Cat smiled "Next round of classes start up after Christmas, I'll need to sign up before then though."
"Which one you thinkin' of first?"
He held the pamphlets out for her to take back, but instead she closed her eyes and plucked just one from the stack. Opening her eyes, she looked down at it.
"Italian," she shrugged "As good a place to start as any."
"Ah - ho una salsiccia gigantesca," he said sagely.
"You speak Italian?" She stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Only that," he shrugged, but smugness rolled off him in waves "Wait, no, I've got another one - ho un pitone gigantesco."
"What do they mean?"
"Nothing you don't already know," he chuckled "Ask your teacher on day one - make a good impression."
"No, I don't think I will," the way he was laughing already told her such a thing would not end well "You're a notorious bad influence, you know that?"
"The worst," he wrapped a hand around her wrist and all but dragged her to him "This really is the start of everything being perfect, isn't it?"
"I think perfect might be reaching," she snorted, nuzzling her face into his shoulder "But pretty fucking fantastic, yeah."
"I can settle for that."
The pure joy in his voice told her 'settling' wasn't quite the word.
Tara gazed silently around her room, trying to decide how she felt. Trepidation, mostly. Excitement, too, warring fiercely with it. She'd expected to feel dread. A sudden sense of unsurety, once all was said and done, once she and Dwayne had secured their victory (a victory that seemed entirely possible not all that long ago) - that she wasn't even sure she wanted what she'd been fighting for all along. That, like a toddler, she'd just been screaming and stamping her feet for the entertainment of doing so. Cold feet. But there was none of that. Her feet were entirely warm - hot, even.
The pessimistic side of her was warning that it was all too good to be true. That there should be some awful price for it all - as if she hadn't lost so much already. It just seemed wrong that there shouldn't be some great impossible sacrifice - that Dwayne would turn her without ordering her to have her aunt be her first victim as payment. Or that one of the things vampirism would force her to give up - children, the sun, and so on - should be something that was actually important to her. Her experience had been that if something was too good to be true, it probably was. But here this was, true as steel. After her mom passed and her dad moved his girlfriend in, she stopped wondering if the next shitty experience would be the last, the one to finally earn her the fabulous life she was sure she deserved...but here it was.
The only clear price she could see was the blood drinking and, even she couldn't deny, it was a steep one. But what else was there? There was no other path that she had any interest in taking. What was it Dwayne had said? It was them - the 'mortals' - or herself, and she was rather fond of herself. It wasn't even just herself either. What future was there for herself and Dwayne if she stayed mortal? No interesting one, that was for sure. It also got her more time with her sister. By the time she was old enough to be truly independent and come find her, Tara would be pushing forty. It wouldn't be the same. This way? This way it might be.
Her hand floated upwards to tug at the butterfly dangling from her ear.
Carolina hadn't been pleased when she'd announced she was moving out to go stay with the Lost Boys. The pursing of her lips and the lack of any enthusiasm more than told her how she expected that one to work out. But they'd started the ball rolling in winter - the sun would set every afternoon. That allowed them to make this process a gradual one. It would probably be best for it to be gradual anyway, it was far less suspicious than moving out and suddenly acting like her aunt didn't exist at all. Hell, all she was taking to the cave with her that night was a rucksack. Dwayne had insisted that the turning would have to be done in the cave - an environment they could control, and one that would be undisturbed, for the...change.
It wasn't goodbye, not by any means. Which was why she didn't feel any temptation to turn around for another look when she ducked out of the window and began the journey down the fire escape, where a solitary motorcycle awaited her.
Dwayne greeted her with a smile far wider and brighter than half of the Santa Carla residents would've thought him capable of. The moment her boots hit the ground, he was pulling her to him, kissing her deeply with such want and enthusiasm that it threatened to consume her. As her heart thundered (which he doubtlessly felt, considering his hand never seemed to stray far from her throat) and giddiness reigned, Tara considered that such a thing wouldn't be a terrible fate at all. And an eternity of this? Well, that would be the very opposite of terrible.
Only when their kiss threatened to turn into something entirely inappropriate for alleyways - Santa Carla's infectious carefree attitude or no - did they part, but Dwayne kept her close, inspecting her face for any hint of reluctance or fear. Tara was thrilled to find the smile she gave him in reassurance wasn't forced at all.
"You ready?" He took a few steps backwards but didn't let go of her, hand sliding down from her neck, to her arm, to her hand.
"I was born ready."
He fixed her with an amused look at that, climbing onto the bike.
"The cave's empty, everybody's out for the night to give us some space, so it'll just be us. Cat procured a goddamn bedroom for us, believe it or not - but we don't gotta do it straight away. We can take our time first. No rush. No pressure."
Accepting the hand he offered to steady herself, Tara climbed onto the bike behind him and didn't bother to fight the smile on her face. Dwayne? Nervous? It was downright cute. But more than that was the consideration he showed - it touched her. As she settled onto the bike, she shimmied forward a little more than necessary, pressing a deliberate kiss to the side of his jaw.
"I'm ready."
And as the engine kicked up beneath them and they swept forth into the night, Tara felt more utterly at home than she had done in years.
A/N: Whew. So. Skip this part if you have no interest in a big emotional ramble.
I started this series not long after I turned eighteen as a way of procrastinating when I should have been studying for my final exams that would determine whether I'd get the grades I'd need to study English Lit and Creative Writing at my first choice university. I'm finishing this series, about to turn twenty-four, having graduated from said university, and with a giant brute of a novel half-finished that should be almost ready to send to agents by the end of next year. It's been the better part of a decade, and this series has been a constant for me throughout it - an outlet when no other ideas would come, and a comforting escape when things were too stressful.
It happened to coincide with some of the most tumultuous years of my life, which has been made more than clear through the various ridiculously long absences I wound up taking, but I'm so glad I stuck with it and finished it. This series seriously helped me hone my craft - I like to think you can see my writing improve from chapter one of TGTBATU, to the final chapter of this one. The hours I poured into this series paid off in bucketloads and helped me become the writer I wanted to be, but it wasn't all me at all.
You guys have been the most patient and lovely readers I ever could have hoped for, and I am so so SO grateful to all of you. You're all absolute stars, and I just wish that I could've been less scattered and more consistent concerning actually replying to reviews and being consistent with updates. THANK YOU - for your reviews, your follows, your interest, your time, your critiques, your patience, and your support. I can't adequately express my gratitude, but just know the main reason ending this series feels so bittersweet to me is because I'll no longer get to read your reviews and interact with you guys. Hell, that's a big part of why I wrote this sequel in the first place.
As far as what I'm doing next, in terms of fanfic I have two stories in the Harry Potter fandom on the go on here (Sirius Black/OC and Draco Malfoy/OC respectively) for anybody who might be interested in those. I'm not saying I'll never write in this fandom again, but I can't say for sure that I will, either. Who knows, life is a mystery, I'm at the mercy of fate. Concerning original works, I run a blog which is part creative non-fiction and part short stories, mostly documenting my progress concerning my original novel and a self-appointed challenge I undertook (successfully, so far) in January to write every day this year and every year hereafter. I also run an instagram which focuses on my writing. These would be the best places to find me if you're interested in keeping up with the original novel I have in the works.
The first draft of said novel will be finished come the end of next year, and subsequent edits and so on will come quickly after that, so I'd be happy to message anybody who is interested with my ig username/blog name - I'd put a link on my profile, but this site doesn't like links. If you'd like I'd also be happy to post an additional chapter on here alerting you guys if and when my novel is published and available to purchase, so if you're interested all you have to do is stay subscribed to this story or let me know in a review, and I'll dole out message with details when the time comes.
In closing...Thank you, I love you all, happy Halloween.
