Author's Note: The more I write, the more the plot seems to thicken up on me! It's kinda fun... Nice to have a story that's going somewhere for once. Thanks for everyone that read the first chapter, and even more for those who are coming back for more! Hope very much you enjoy, and please, be free on the advice and suggestions!

I also don't have a beta, so excuse me for all the little foibles you find... I generally write each chapter very quickly and post it up as soon as possible to gauge the reaction (before I have time to catch the little things). So again, *ahem* pardon me.

William hesitated at the opening of the alleyway. The sun had begun to peek through the dismal London sky and he was wary of its searing rays. He remembered quite clearly his "vampire training," as Angelus had called it-- except for the moments (or hours) where he had blacked out from the pain. However, as he acclimated to his new unlife, the "rules" seemed overrun by animalistic instinct. For instance, he didn't have to be told twice to feed; the mere thought of the copper-flavored nectar pumping away in a human heatbox was enough to make him salivate.

Wandering into the back of the alley again, he stared into the lifeless eyes of Marie Kingsley. It was odd-- she had always been the nicest to him at those dreadful parties he was forced (by society) to attend, never mocking him for his attempts at poetry or obvious admiration for Cecily, and yet he felt no remorse, whatsoever, in violently ripping her throat out. In fact, the reward was even greater than the kill; the blanched look of unrestrained horror on Cecily's perfect, round face was enough to bring a smile to his face even then. It was as if a nightmare had come true for her: William was her Terror on the Streets of London.

A backdoor, leading into the alley, opened on rusting hinges, causing William to glance up with a certain amount of human trepidation. A large, sadistically pleased smile found its way to his face when the figure stepped out the back entrance to the town house and he opened his arm widely in a grand gesture.

"For you," he offered in an almost gentlemanly fashion. His Dark Princess, a wisp of a woman clothed in lacy white, swayed closer to the still-bleeding corpse. She smiled at her new Black Knight, but the smile waned and faded quickly. She put two, delicate fingers to her temples and began to moan.

"All wrong, all wrong," she whimpered. "Somebody's slaughtered the lamb, but forgot to invite all the guests to the party." William sidestepped Marie to take Drusilla by the shoulder, turning her to him with concern.

"No, love, I was about to invite you out, I just--" she cut off his excuse to her misunderstood lament.

"Where did the guest of honor run to?" she questioned, trying a different approach. "Her friend is all dressed up, but now has nowhere to go," Drusilla paused a moment, directing a pointed, somewhat lucid look to William. "The pixies whisper that she came for hors d'oeuvres but my Prince let her leave before the main course."

William bit the inside of his cheek. It was true, he had stood by, entranced by the indescribably pleasing and overwhelming scent of fear that had wafted off his former love in waves. It had kept him frozen for seconds too long, allowing her ample time to scamper back out into the breaking sunlight. Touching his face, William finally noticed the crusted gore around his mouth and turned to Drusilla.

"I don't think she wanted to stay for dinner, pet," he answered with a disarming grin. "But I'll invite her back soon enough," His answer seemed to appease her and she reached a hand out to him. Taking it, he led her to the back entrance and promised her for his error, he'd let -her- clean him up.

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Tripping over herself the entire way, Cecily somehow made it back to her home in one piece. The hem of her sunshine yellow traveling gown had been stained a brownish-red; when her gaze traveled to her feet, she felt ready to empty the early morning tea into the bushes. She was unconsciously crying, tears marring her complexion as they seemed to so often these days. Jacob stepped away from the carriage where he was fastening the luggage, his young brow furrowed in an uncharacteristic expression of worry.

"Miss Woodsworth... Are you alright?" A sob wrenched from her throat and she violently shook her head-- it wasn't the only part of her shaking. How could she ever be alright again? Her most dearest friend and only confidant... Murdered? It didn't add up in her head; Marie was the most likable person she had the good grace to know. Why, she even seemed to favor William at parties, always chatting kindly to him, rather than down at him.

Oh God... William.

"William," she managed to gasp. "William Wainright. He... I saw... Oh Lord," Jacob was barely able to catch Cecily on her decent to the ground.

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Cecily woke to Lydia's concerned matronly visage. She started to sit up, realizing she was in her four-poster bed, but the happenings of the day crashed quickly back into her mind. Suddenly she was assaulted with images of gore and death, things she read about at night to send an entertaining chill up and down her spine. Glancing nervously over at the book on her night-stand, she knew that she would never be able to read such things again without having to envision her best friend's limp body with dozens of small, trickling streams of blood decorating her petite form. Those green eyes, open even in death, that bored into Cecily's memory; they burned into her soul with the indelible mark that only tragedy bares. Looking back to Lydia, she brokenly relayed the scene to her, having to stop in the middle of sentences--words--to gulp back the tears.

When she was finished, Lydia made soothing noises and embraced her employer in a hold of solace. *The poor thing is still a child... She shouldn't have to deal with the things that go bump in the night. So much blood runs loose in this city, but she didn't have to notice it yet... Not like this.* Lydia mourned silently to herself. When the tears had ravaged her complexion enough and burned her eyes and the back of her throat raw, they finally subsided.

"Lydia..." Cecily began hesitantly, "It was William Wainright, the 'unwanted suitor.'" Lydia had been well informed of William's ardor towards her employer; aside from Marie, Lydia was her closest friend.

"I didn't think I would affect him so," she continued. "I had no idea he would go after someone so close to me... Or that he was capable of such... Such... Atrocities. He's always been such a sweet, gentle man." Lydia did her best not to interrupt her while Cecily tried to suss it out, but the more she talked, the more uncomfortable it became. At the look of trepidation in the older woman's eyes, she stopped.

"What?" she prodded. "Lydia, what is it?"

Silence reigned for long moments more before Lydia cleared her throat.

"Miss Cecily, William Wainright was found dead the morning after your party, two weeks ago... In the same alley you're describing, I believe. The funeral was held a few days after and he was buried in the Wainright's family plot. I thought it best you not know; for a while at least." To say the news stunned Cecily would be as big an understatement as it were to say that certain actors who wear long, black leather dusters on hit TV shows were merely "cute."

Lydia hesitated, wondering if she should go on. There was an explanation for such things as Cecily had just described, but nothing that the Police would accept. Seeing as how they had been alerted roughly an hour ago, it appeared that it was not the time, nor place, for Lydia's revelation to her employer. Such a decision made, Lydia squeezed Cecily's hand in comfort.

"Don't worry, Miss Cecily, I'm sure the police will figure it out just fine. I have no doubt that it was someone looking very much like the late Mr. Wainright; he has a very universal face." These words were of shallow solace to Cecily, however, but she accepted them with a grateful nod. Once her maid had left to fetch her tea, she sunk deep back into her bed. She had a hard time believing that it was anyone -but- William. The way his piercingly blue eyes had caught hers for those few frozen moments reminded her of every time she met his gaze at a social function. They were fixed on her face in a reverent, almost awestruck way.

There was no -rational- explanation, of this she was sure, but even more certain that it was indeed the "late" William.

*But I'll be damned before I profess that to the authorities* she figured wryly, noting the amount of skepticism that would be involved. And yet there was just no accounting for what she had seen.

Closing her eyes, Cecily drifted off into an uneasy sleep plagued with haunting images and insecurities.