Vague Verity

by Adelaide E

Blinded by apathy and false beliefs, two soulmates reunite under the tense circumstances of a Daybreak mission. Aided and annoyed by well meaning agents, their worlds fall away as catastrophes leave only one thing for the human and the dragon: each other.

4. Slightly Disturbing

Author's note: Yeah, I figured none of you would take the whole Adrian situation very well. I mean, none of you even thought about that possibility. Y'all mentioned Jared, Kyros, and even Rik…but not Adrian. I mean, you guys must have read the first couple of lines of the first chapter. Would Kyros really ruin her life? Any way, I've gotten some reviews/emails concerning the possible return of stable boy. And my explanation is this:

I let the books I read influence me (duh.) And I've recently finished reading "Waiting for Godot," by Samuel Beckett—who looked a little insane on the cover, but said some really sensible things. And in that play, for those who haven't read it, Godot doesn't show up. The idea of somebody, who's totally and completely absent, having that much power to the plot really appealed to me. I mean, Godot doesn't show up for one millisecond, but they named the play after him! So, if you're still reading and you still don't get it, the stable boy and Adrian's extramarital person are like Godot. Absent, but still effective. Whether they, or their situations, stay absent is yet to be seen.

Tjones: Thank ya much for the review. Incredibly happy to learn that you're enjoying this fic…not sure I'd say the same thing if I wasn't the author. All the twists…yeah, well, there hasn't been many yet, but hopefully you'll keep on keepin' on.

Skylark: Hello! Thanks for reading. Also, thanks for the succinct but very encouraging…encouragement. Doh! Why can't I ever get phrasing right? But I meant it, really I did, even if I screw up on words.

Littlemissgiggles: SORRY!! I know cliffhangers are the meanest things, but it just seemed like a nice way to end the chapter. Rita's attitude changes a bit because she's on familiar territory. Of course she'd be a bit awkward and intimidated by Quinn, Rashel, Winnie, and Kyros herding her around. But, as it stated, she has a lot of control at Anomina High and was pretty much fed up with the way everybody's been treating her. Seniors who don't appreciate her work, inconsiderate Daybreakers, the supernatural in general (except for Jared, of course). I'm all extra nervous because everybody's saying that the last chapter was their fave. How are all the other chapters going to live up to that? I'm pretty sure life threatening…er, well, threats (terrible phrasing, I realize that) are against ff net rules, but I won't report you! :0)

Lil'ol'me: Oh god, school is AWFUL. Try and avoid it the best you can. Run if you must! My original plan was to drop out and sail up and down the Mississippi selling home made crafts, but then I wouldn't be able to update. If suddenly, the chapters stop being updated, simply conclude that my classes have given me a heart attack. You probably know that Kyros is a good guy (I mean, he is a Daybreaker and all) and any inconsiderate actions are completely unintentional on his part. Like I said before, he doesn't think things out. I'm glad you like Bryan, I was afraid nobody would after meeting Kyros, Jared, and Rik. And, concerning who she ends up with…yeah, well, the thing you've gotta remember is that, with family outta town, Rita's first priority is herself (school, and then friends). Not too promising, is it? But, well…argh, I just can't explain without giving things away!! Thanks for the review! I'm flattered this is one of your faves.

Maudlinrose: Sigh. It was bound to happen, and completely unavoidable. Yup, I'm talking about the sarcasm in the piece. I've written like that before, hideously caustic in school articles and stuff. So, when I wrote this, I was trying avoid it; to, you know, try something new. But damn! I honestly can't help it, Maudlinrose, I really can't. You know how bad my strain of sarcasm is? I've made little kids cry. Just shows what a bad idea it is to force a sarcastic sixteen year old to work on the kids' after school programs. Not on purpose you know, it's just that these mean remarks/observations just fly outta my mouth and well… So, well, if you must know, all the sarcastic things are unintentional. But hey, if they make you snicker, I guess it works out okay. Any who, I think I've fixed that problem about tautology or what not. Key word being "think." Hey, I'm bad in English too. There's something very wrong with the school systems if kids who spoke English from day one do better in foreign language than ENGLISH class. I'm going to reform that someday. No wait, you could because you're in politics and reforms and stuff…I babble. Thanks for reviewing!

Aife Bisclaravet: I know, I know…everybody's just so disappointed that Adrian's the soul mate. I mean, come on. You had a bad guy be the soul mate! You can't blame me for doing this…even if he is greatly less appealing than Diablo. Besides, if I had Jared be the soul mate, the story would only have four chapters. I was strongly tempted for the werewolf to be her soul mate, though…also a bit of a romantic myself. But we couldn't have that short a story, now, could we? Thanks!

Martha: Everybody feels that way. I guess I did a good job of making him a bad guy. Don't worry. Like I said before, everything will solve itself in the end. Gracias amiga.

Vague Verity

Chapter 4

"Never knock on death's door—

~*~*~*~

"There's no way all of us can fit in here," Winnie whined. She refused to budge as the others piled in.

Rashel was in no mood to deal with childish complaints from anybody, no matter how dear the friend. "Maybe if you moved your fat ass, Fayth's skinny one could squeeze in." Normally, school had no effect on her concentration of the mission. But the teachers and principal of Anomina High gave her a headache that only an ocean of aspirin would have cured.

Rik laughed as both blondes gasped, insulted to the highest degree. If there was any thing he had learned in his hundred years, it was that women were surprisingly sensitive about their rears, big, or small.

"Dammit, would you just get in already? Quinn, get in the trunk," Kyros ordered, fidgeting impatiently in the driver's seat.

"Why the hell do I have to listen to you, Vulpix?" Instead of responding to the barb, Kyros was silently surprised by the vampire's knowledge of Pokemon.

"Because," he answered in an exaggeratedly patient tone, "being a vampire, you don't need to breathe. 'Sides, I'm sure Fayth wouldn't fit if I told her to move back."

"What the hell makes you think I would?" The girl spoke, apparently flustered by the proximity of her room mate. Rik, on the other hand, enjoyed it immensely, a shameless smile resting on his lips. After whiny Winnie's further negative comments, his crush was nearly sitting on his lap.

Kyros finally left the school, disgraced at the sight of his beloved sports car turned into a clown's getaway vehicle. They had only progressed five miles before one girl ordered him to pull over. That same angrily embarrassed girl climbed out and slammed the door so hard the entire car shook.

"Fayth, get back in the car," Quinn demanded calmly, sounding very much like a police man talking to a jumper.

"I will not. That…slob," she sputtered angrily, pointing to Rik, "touched my butt."

"He managed to find such a little thing?" Winnie asked with fallacious surprise, examining her nails. All ignored her.

"Listen, you're on my lap," Rik said defensively, but failed to hide his delight. "I can't help but touch your butt. I thought you'd be glad I steadied you on a bumpy road."

"This is a new road, Rik, there are no damn bumps!" It was then decided that Fayth and Rashel would walk home, leaving plenty of room for Winnie's "fat ass." Kyros sped past them, annoyed for the delay. He had heard disturbing rumors earlier, and he had every intention of grilling a certain green eyed girl about them.

Rik motioned him to slow down. "Hear that?"

All four listened to the chilly silence. Winnie heard nothing save the faint whirs of car wheels and bird calls. She saw Quinn tense, and, without explanation, Kyros spun the car and sped the opposite direction.

"What is it? What?" Winnie demanded frantically. She broken three nails in the hair pin turn, but failed to notice. Nobody bothered to answer. Rik gave directions in a detached, mechanical manner only Jared had ever seen.

"There are two guys fighting," Winnie remarked softly, as if it was a mere distraction from the main task. "There are two guys fighting at the end of this road. It's none of our business, Rik," Winnie insisted.

"It's Jared," he responded shortly. "And that's Rita, over there." Kyros silently stopped the car twenty feet away.

Rita leaned on the Yota, momentarily unable to support herself. Here, not even five feet away from her, Adrian and Jared were once again in combat. And, once again, he was winning. Rita's wide evergreen eyes turned to the new spectators, her expression wordlessly imploring them to stop it. But Rik, supposedly Jared's best friend, gestured for them to stop any offensive tactics.

It's Jared's fight, Rita heard in her mind. Green flames darted to him, furious at his refusal to help. It barely qualified as a "fight"; more like a ruthless beating.

Jared tried a high kick, effortlessly balancing on one foot to have the other connect with Amaro's face. He did not anticipate Adrian catching it. His opponent twisted it the other direction, for the satisfaction of seeing the werewolf grimace at the torsion of muscles. Before he fell to the ground, Jared spun horizontally, mid air, and succeeded in knocking Amaro back a few feet. As Amaro neared again, Jared's feet swept underneath him, causing her soul mate to collapse beside him.

Déjà vu swept over Rita. Irrationally, her eyes scanned the ground surrounding the combatants, making sure no injuring rocks were available.

For a split second, icy blue eyes were parallel to a mahogany pair. Then Adrian reached back and punched Jared in the nose. Rita noticed with disgust that Amaro did not simply get up; the man had to flip backwards before dusting his clothes. Show off.

And Jared slowly rose from the dirt, obviously in pain. Before his blood could dry, Amaro bent down and charged at him; the same idiotic tactic Jared attempted when they first met. Except this time with success. Luna seemingly flew twenty feet, landing with a resounding thud against a tree trunk. A blur that Rita guessed was Adrian Amaro sped to him. With one hand, Amaro carried Jared far above the ground.

Rita couldn't help admiring Jared's verve as the werewolf tiredly kicked at her soul mate's chest. He even bit at his hand, and nearly amputated Amaro's arm at the elbow with his claws. But nothing worked. Adrian easily threw him to the road ditch, and soon followed. Rita moved closer to see exactly what her soul mate planned to do.

Adrian was kicking him. The same way Jared kicked him at the party. Except, this time, his foot aimed at the head. It was all Jared could do to uselessly bat the blows with bloody hands.

Furious, Rita whirled away and marched to his "friend." Each step hurt; knowing she was moving farther away from Jared and the monster. "What are you standing there for?!" she inveighed to the Daybreakers. "Help him!" Now, of all times, they decided to come closer.

"If I help Jared now, he'll wish he was dead. I know him, Rita, he hates help," Rik retorted, agitated. He refused to move his eyes towards the gruesome sight. Rita glanced at the others, who either coldly met her gaze or shamefully turned away.

"He's not a Daybreaker," Quinn stated brusquely. As if it were a good reason.

"No, but he's a friend," Rita returned. The men did not budge, seemingly fascinated by the mechanics of combat, and only Winnie looking around in desperation.

"I need to know what Ian is, Rita, before I could hurt him…" That seemed to be the gist of the reason. None of them knew what Amaro was, so offensive tactics were impossibly elusive.

By this time, Rita had turned away, determinedly sprinting towards the car. She had no time to listen to excuses; her friend was possibly dying. All she needed now was a weapon. Ignoring the crunches that was obviously not twigs under Jared's body, Rita scrambled inside the Yota, searching desperately for a weapon, be it a knife or a drinking straw. She thanked God when her hand stumbled upon a knife, for a straw wouldn't have inflicted much damage.

Shock paralyzed through her entire body when she turned around. Amaro stood a few feet from her, dragging Jared by the collar. He stopped when he saw he had Rita's full attention.

"What are you going to do?" he asked calmly, eyes falling to the rusty pocket knife in her hands. Her slender fingers were trembling so violently she thought it would slip to the ground. "It's tiny and dull, stupid," he pointed out maliciously. "With that little thing, you can't even put the mutt out of his misery." He shook Jared as if he weighed nothing at all.

She did not answer. Her mind produced nothing witty or helpful to the situation.

"Here, I'll make it easier," Amaro said, and stepped closer to her. "Go ahead and throw it," he invited. "It will make you feel better."

Anger bubbled up in her, an energetic wave that made her vision red and clear at the same time. Of course a little blade could hurt neither of them. It would only hurt a human.

"You monster," she said softly, her eyes shining with hatred. With startling ease, she tossed the blade so that the sharp end faced her. Before he could move, she moved the point to her heart; her hand poised to stab herself if necessary.

"Let him go," she demanded, pronouncing each word clearly. Distantly, she thought she heard Kyros swear and Rik scream an obscenity. No matter. If they refused to help Jared, then she was going to do it herself.

"You wouldn't dare," Amaro stated arrogantly. But, to Rita's keen eyes, he was perceptibly shaken by her resolve. "You're too afraid of God to commit suicide."

Rita's smile froze. She had forgotten all about Him. She caught sight of blood dripping from Jared's nose and she shrugged indifferently. Rita was sure He'd understand; this was, of course, a purely unselfish suicide. "If you don't let him go," she threatened sweetly, "then I'll show you how unafraid I am."

She almost laughed when Adrian tensed, looking ready to either explode or attack her. Then, with forced blandness, he smiled back. "Go ahead. You're nothing but a pest to me."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Oh, you say that to all the girls," she parried coolly, insides stinging at his comment. Some part of her mind insisted it was true. The other part raked for another argument, to keep him from totally destroying her new friend. He had no metal weapon, but that certainly wouldn't have kept him from ripping the werewolf's head off. Even as she scrambled for more words, Amaro began dragging Jared away, disappointed that his soul mate had no other threat.

"Then I win," she called, barely louder than a whisper. Amaro stilled and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "I win again," she said louder. Rita was delighted with her new discovery. Formerly, she believed Adrian Amaro only cared about himself. Now she realized the only love of his life was victory.

"You win nothing," he corrected, but half heartedly.

"I win everything," she returned with a little laugh. "You see, it's just as before. You fought…" Darn, what was his name? "…him to win me back. Now, you fight with Jared to make sure nothing taints your prize. But what if I kill your trophy, Adrian? What then?" She waited patiently for an answer. It never came, for all her adversary did was stare at her contemptibly. "Then you have battled for nothing," she answered for him.

Tired of his silence, Rita did the unexpected. She braced herself and the quickly sliced at her wrist. "That is the beginning," she warned him, ignoring the pain. And despite her impassive appearance, there was plenty of pain. Winnie better get her hocus pocus ready, she thought distantly. "You let go of him or I'll move to my neck."

"Gitana," he whispered hoarsely, clearly furious with her action. He eyed her self inflicted wound as if it was the most unholy thing on earth.

"Dear husband," she said, drawing herself to full height. "Either leave or cause your soul mate's death once more." Jared looked at her, eyes begging her to stop. Beads of blood dripped from her wrist to the ground, wetting the blades of grass. Slowly at first, and then at an alarmingly fast rate. Red warm life spilling onto the frozen barren land.

Blazing red on faded green, Rita noticed with a fleeting smile. Christmas colors. When she looked to Jared to see if he noticed it too, she learned that he had collapsed on the ground. Amaro was nowhere in sight. The wind swayed all branches, making it impossible to single out which path he had taken.

Rita was vaguely aware Winnie had taken her injured hand as she watched Rik and Quinn carry her friend to the car. When the witch let go, she found her wrist smooth and unmarred. All her numb mind allowed her to do was smile in thanks.

"You do realize he might be pissed off at you, don't you?" Rik asked her as they laid the werewolf on the Yota's hood. Already, Jared's wounds were closing.

"I don't care," she replied, tentatively brushing the hair away from his face. "As long as he's alive to be pissed off…it's all that matters." Her hand kept Winnie's healing magic at bay. "He's already getting better; don't waste your time."

The witch opened her mouth to protest when Jared stirred. Rita immediately held his hand, squeezing it to the point of pain, hoping the sensation would draw him out of unconsciousness. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and Jared returned the firm grip.

"You," he croaked, "You," he repeated again, this time stronger. With one movement he sat up, batting away any hands offering succor, except for Rita's. "Bitch."

Now, Verity considered herself a relatively tolerant person. She had withstood her classmates, her teachers, and the inconsiderate treatment of the Daybreakers. But she could not and would not, under any circumstances, tolerate that. Even if it was the half-dead Jared Luna.

Rita slapped him before she could help herself. "Well! That's the thanks I get for saving your life!?" she yelled, not caring if the werewolf was still enfeebled. "I didn't see your friends doing anything!"

Rubbing his cheek, Jared hollered in response, the profanity making even New Yorker Kyros step back in surprise. Disgusted by the lack of gratitude, Rita spun on her heel and walked away. After two steps, Rita only had a few seconds to register the arm around her waist before she was trapped in a bruising bear hug.

"I really am happy you helped," Jared murmured. He had twisted her so she could hug back, which she didn't. In fact, her arms were busy trying to push away from him, because it was terribly embarrassing. Then his hands, inadvertently, she was sure, slipped below her waist…

It took some kicking and shoving to escape the suffocation. A menacing flame appeared in her green eyes, warning that her patience had long drained away. In some part of her mind, a part she never paid attention to, Rita knew Jared had done so by habit or accident, without fully thinking of her response. The male mind had violence and sex wired closely together. Jared couldn't have helped it; but Verity decided to ignore the scientific explanation.

"Hey, I did it because it was my thanks for saving my ass," Jared countered, arms up in surrender.

"So you think touching mine will show your gratitude?" Because of its earlier success, Rita slapped Jared again, this time the opposite cheek. His head snapped back, and she heard Kyros laugh. Why on earth was he laughing?

"You did the same thing," she warned, meaning his uninvited kiss. "I see no reason for not hitting you." Perhaps it was the disturbing light in her eyes, or the shaking anger in her voice. But, for whatever reason, Rik saw it fit to hold her from behind, with arms safely pinned to her sides. It was then that they learned that the Yota had slipped into a coma.

Winnie, amused, climbed into Kyros' car. Quinn slid in beside her, knowing very well another argument would erupt if Jared assumed the seat. Next came Rita. When the werewolf took the seat in front of him, Jared refused to turn around to speak to any of them, lest his eyes met indignant green ones.

"Great. Now where am I going to sit?" Kyros asked when he saw Rik occupying the driver's seat.

"Are you totally opposed by the trunk?" Quinn suggested with a cold smile. Kyros whipped out a cigarette and stepped away from the car.

"Ha. Ha. I'll wait here for the tow truck, and I'll get a ride from whoever. Just take care of my-"

He never got to finish. Rik squealed the tires to drown out the rest of his sentence, leaving behind Kyros shrouded in a dust cloud.

"Now," Quinn said, as if the entire incident was a daily occurrence, "what's this business of soul mates that I hear?"

Rita closed her eyes, wishing she could shut away the world. Especially the supernatural part of it. A nap was all she needed. Peace until she reached her house.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past

"And where were you last evening?" he asked Gitana as she coldly brushed past him, leaving the dining hall. When she raised her chin and defiantly did not answer, he grabbed her arm and forced her to face him.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, meeting his chilling gaze. Adrian regarded her with a lip curled in disgust before releasing her. When he turned his back to her, Gitana rubbed her arm, predicting another unintentional bruise.

"Didn't the servants tell you?" he sneered disdainfully as he moved away. Towards the main entrance. Is he leaving again?

"No, Adrian. No, they didn't," she said again, this time pulling him back to face her. Lately, their relationship had grown more physical, and not in the romantic sense. When Rita saw his apathetic expression, she wished she had let him strode off. But there was no use in letting him see that. "They didn't tell me, Adrian. Where were you?"

"At Senora's Nepthys' dinner banquet, of course. You, after all, were the one who told me about it." Gitana couldn't repress the pained look in her eyes.

"But…you told me you couldn't go."

"Wrong," he contradicted, with an unreasonably cruel smile. "I said I couldn't go with you. I had the distinct feeling that it would be more enjoyable if I went alone." Gitana's breath caught in her throat, and when she looked back at her husband, she saw his heart breaking smirk through tears. She turned away, hoping the crystal drops would not fall in his view.

Leave then, she thought to him. I don't care if you walk off the ends of the earth.

Just as she reached the main stair case, she heard, And where were you? I've answered your question, answer mine. He felt utterly earnest, losing all malice and mockery. Now, he felt grim and threatening. Refusing to show how much his words stabbed at her heart, she drew herself to full height and turned to him with a cold smile.

"Riding, husband dear. The new stable boy has been giving me lessons."

I bet he has, she heard faintly, and knew immediately she was not supposed to pick that thought up. Gitana didn't dare show she had; her husband had been violently protective of his thoughts from day one. And he had underestimated her ability to sense them. Adrian underestimated everything about his wife.

"Riding?" he scoffed, coming closer. Much to her dismay, Gitana learned the closer he came, the weaker her will became. "At midnight?"

"I had been home all day. And every time I pester you to go out with me, you tell me to see your precious horses. So I did, and received some exercise at the same time."

"Exercise," he echoed, eyebrows drawing together. Gitana could see his anger rising, and acted quickly to dam it.

"Quiero, no," she assured him swiftly, hands moving to caress his face. On her tip toes, she tilted her head far back to smile at him. "No, not like that. Riding the horses, I mean." Gitana ran her hands through his hair, massaging his temples. "You know I don't speak like…" she was going to say "you," but instead let it trail off. The fury had been quenched, but his eyes remained cold on her face. She simply smiled, knowing she was wearing the barrier down. Her husband could never resist her when she truly tried her best.

"Stay with me," she pleaded, hands still stroking his face. Adrian closed his eyes briefly before breaking away from her, so abruptly she stumbled against a pillar.

"I can't," he said flatly, and again strolled to the main entrance. "I'm going to Senora Nepthys' for…breakfast. We decided upon it last night." It was a boldfaced lie; Adrian Amaro never ate breakfast.

"Senora Nepthys," she repeated angrily, walking fast to catch up with him. "Is she your wife then? Will she bear your children?"

"No," he snarled, whirling to her. "And neither will you."

"You promised me, Adrian, the day we were married that you would give me a son, and then a daughter, and then a-"

At first, she didn't fully understand what made her cheek burn, or what force had thrown her against the door. Gitana didn't understand what, or who, made her cry. She couldn't fathom what could have harmed her, after all her husband was standing right there…

When she looked up, she saw nothing but an open door, harsh sunlight pouring through the opening. Now, out of the sight of her husband and the servants, Gitana buried her head in her hands and wept. She unabashedly let forth loud, reverberating sobs and a flood of tears. Adrian wasn't around to taunt her for it.

~*~*~*~

"Would you like anything to drink?" Uninvited guests they might be, but Rita refused to ignore the rules of host decorum.

"I'm guessin' you don't have any alcohol?" Kyros asked tiredly, lounging on the couch. The shape shifter had arrived just thirty minutes after them. Seeing as his long legs occupied all three cushions, Winnie and Jared were forced to sit on the coffee table.

Quinn was outside, presumably calling Rashel.

"Sorry, my mother and I have an inexplicable aversion to drunks pissing on themselves in the house," she answered curtly, but still with the plastic cheerful smile. From the piano bench, Rik glanced at her sharply, as did the witch, the werewolf, and the fox, for her choice of words.

"I guess finding your soul mate can affect you strangely," Winnie murmured, twirling the ends of her hair with perfectly manicured fingers. Rita glared at her. How would she know?

"And I would have bet my life the stable boy was her soul mate," Kyros sighed, examining a bowl of potpourri. "You paid four bucks for this? I could have made one out of all the things in your back yard."

"Tell someone who cares," Rita snapped, suddenly frustrated. And to think she wanted some excitement in her despondent life. Now all she wanted was to be left alone. Unfortunately, the fox shifter didn't take the hint.

"I mean, I just don't understand the point in potpourri. Is it to cover up the house smells? And, what exactly do you cook that needs to be covered up by a bunch of dried petals? But, you gotta ask yourself, is it really the petals that give off the smell, or do the factory people just spray them? Because, if that's all it is, you don't even need the petals and crap, just some smell good spray…"

"How do your wards work, exactly?" Rita asked, extremely unwilling to listen the boy any more. Winnie smiled, seeing how highly insulted Kyros was.

"Anybody who's already been in your house is allowed to get in. Anybody who hasn't, like Amaro, can't. Unless you invite them in, of course. They also stop harmful spells and such."

Quinn walked through the backyard door, abruptly snapping the building tension. He found a moody fox shifter, and equally moody witch, and a human trying like hell to get the drowsy werewolf off the coffee table. The lamia on piano bench seemed oblivious to the unhappiness around him.

"You can all leave now," she ordered icily. "There was no point in coming with me in the first place."

Jared's eyebrows arose. The werewolf looked as if he had never entered a tussle. "Um hello? We drove you home." Rita shrugged as she unlocked the front door.

"I would have walked." Heck, if I could cut my own wrist, I'm certain I can face walking home alone. And walking to anywhere in Anomina usually took thirty minutes.

"Maybe one of us should stay," Kyros suggested as they rose to leave. He gave a quick dazzling smile to Rita when the others did not see. "To, ya know, protect you."

"I can't depend on stronger people forever," Rita replied smoothly, not at all affected by his suggestive tone. This one cannot be trusted, she calculated. If one could not be trusted, then the less of his presence, the better. Something Gitana should have learned long before she met Amaro. "You better go. I have homework."

"It's the first day of the semester," Rik pointed out, leaning on the door way. He and Kyros were the only two still in her home, the others waiting rather impatiently in the car. "Nobody gives homework. It's the rule."

"I have to figure out the budget of the AS since the drama club has demanded more money for the sets. Plus I have to make the outline for tomorrow's student council meeting." And such fabrications were needed to get what she wanted; Rita learned such when the vampire nodded gullibly and sauntered away, practically dragging the pouting fox shifter with him.

"If only she had lied whenever he interrogated her," Rita reasoned as she accompanied Dog to the library. The cat's black eyes stared up at her, as she settled into the love seat and turned on the radio. As if he cared about what she said. Considering the recent events, she wouldn't have been surprised if her pet had alien telepathic abilities and antennas sticking out of his belly.

"Then he wouldn't have had any reason to hurt her. No ammunition, understand?" Dog nestled atop her stomach, now disinterested in her musings. "She's not at fault, of course. But one must be of tougher cloth to make it in the world, especially against all the Adrian Amaros out there."

Rita brushed through the pages of the book flippantly. Normally, she skipped the introductions and headed straight for the climax of the story. But now…it all seemed so useless. Novels were her escape from the prison sentence, some forbidden excitement in her life. Then Circle Daybreak, the Night World, and even a soul mate for goodness' sake had to go and stir up trouble. She was knee deep in the ferment and about to sink lower. The last thing she needed was more excitement, and with that thought, she closed the book and tossed it onto the desk. Absently, she stroked the Dog's slim belly, smiling as she heard the cat purr. At least somebody appreciated her, even if it was just a normal animal.

Spanish music thrummed softly from her humble radio. She understood only half the words, despite her lineage. Which was why Adrian Amaro's casual "querida" comments always peeved her. It wasn't fun being called something she didn't fully comprehend. Her strokes on the feline torpidly halted as the soft foreign words lulled her to sleep. Miffed, Dog hissed at something in the hallway, most likely a reflection or sun beam, and scampered out the room. Rita sighed, finally reaching a peaceful haven to relax.

But, of course, rude concerned thoughts burst in her mind. She had her outline to do. She had pesky Daybreak agents. She had a sister and a mother to check on in Boston. She had to do the laundry, dishes, and not to mention go out for groceries. And, the horror of all horrors, a soul mate to deal with.

"And worst of all I can't lie to him," she complained aloud.

"I consider that a good thing." When her senses set in, Rita scrambled into a sitting position and gazed frantically at the speaker.

"You," she said accusingly, pointing a finger at him.

"Me?" He asked, looking behind him innocently to see if anybody else was addressed.

"You are not supposed to be here. Winnie set wards against you." Amaro smiled, and sat in the pink chair. Her overstuffed over sized pink chair. Already he was walking around, or rather, sitting around like he owned the place.

"Well," she said, timid of the silence, "why did you come here?"

Before he answered, he drew her to him and studied her. Rita did not resist, knowing very well that, comparatively, she had little more strength than that of a toddler. She suddenly felt like a new student being appraised by the principal. Except for the fact that principals like her. With his hand, gloved thankfully, he raised her left wrist to eye level. Pleased with the lack of scars, he allowed her to step back, and she crossed her arms protectively.

"At least they're good for something. I came here to discuss what we're going to do about this."

Rita was clearly perplexed. "This being…?"

He sighed impatiently, wringing his hands as if they were around her neck. "You never could catch on quickly. This, us, our relationship."

Rita's brows furrowed. What am I, another business deal? Call a staff meeting, we have a soul mate situation here…

"We have no relationship," she pointed out. "Is that why you came to An? Because you knew I was here?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he rebuked. "I'm here on business. It was by sheer coincidence that you were here."

"Don't think I was just sitting around waiting for you to come," she snapped, irritated by his patronizing tones. Circle Daybreak popped into her mind from out of the blue. Deciding to be generous, Rita attempted to pry on his business. "But what could be going on in Anomina that I don't know about? I'm president for goodness' sake," she sighed in false disappointment falling artfully into the love seat. "I'm supposed to know all the social activities to put on the bulletin boards," she lamented.

And they say I can't lie, she thought slyly, as Adrian threw her an indulgent smile. Probably pitying my position in life. "Well, you do know about it. Actually very involved," he allowed. Inwardly, Rita winced at his timbre. Like some husband thoughtlessly saying whatever to calm his nagging wife.

"Do not," she corrected, using a petulant voice from child hood. "I've just learned about all this. How could I possibly figure out what your people do for fun?"

"I'll give you a hint," he murmured. Goodness gracious, what am I, a child?

"Well?"

"But only if you swear to God you won't tell your…acquaintances."

"I don't swear to God," she stated firmly.

"Swear to me then."

"But you're nothing to me." Oh well crap, she thought hopelessly and cursed her disobedient tongue. Perhaps there was a surgeon somewhere who could let her mind connect to her mouth, effectively stopping her verbal diarrhea. There goes the whole trying to get information plan.

"Then I won't tell you."

"Fine then," she said coldly. "Leave."

Instead of standing, he leaned back against her chair, stretching comfortably. "What's yours is mine and what's yours is mine. Your home, for example"

"Isn't there supposed to be a 'what's mine is yours'?"

"Glad for the offer, querida," he grinned. Rita's mouth dropped open in surprise, hating his trick. And there was that "querida" business again.

He is a static character, she decided in the same manner she analyzed Kyros. No depth, no inner conflicting thoughts. Just a hopelessly bad, bad, very bad guy. That's it she realized. There was nothing to do about a soul mate, other than to let him sit around to be defeated.

Abruptly, he let out a laugh, as pernicious as sleek magma. Only it did not warm his face; contrarily, Adrian only grew colder, his eyes icing over with the sound. "You're trying to analyze me…and it's taking quite a while. Come now, Tana, even I know that you are not that slow."

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, emerald eyes holding nothing but gentle confusion. At once, Amaro found the situation familiar and smiled again, knowing exactly what to do.

But, contrasting their marriage, she did not wait for his haughty answer. Still with the puzzled eyes, yet mysteriously glowing anew, she persisted, "Why did you come to my home simply to taunt me and invade my privacy? Aren't you angry with me? Three times I've rejected you, and yet you pursue. What do I have that you need?" Amaro solved the mystery as to what was in her eyes; suspicion.

"It's simple really. My other half."

"It is impossible to be a half to somebody who has nothing inside him," she said quietly, primly seating herself on the love seat, as far as possible from him, ere he lost his reins on anger.

"Oh, Tana," he scoffed, "you said that in an emotional tantrum. How could I be empty if your soul is connected to mine?" He dismissed her words like a pesky fly.

"Needless to say, I would like you to leave. You may have been my husband at one time, but Gitana Benevita and Verity Glisscielle are entirely two different people. Yes, I have her soul, but I put a back bone in it."

His expression did not waver, but Rita spied the tensing of the muscles around his mouth. Ha! Adrian Amaro clenching his jaw over her hurtful words, biting back a comment. This was certainly pleasantly new. Only seconds had passed after she spoke the words, but they were a few seconds too many. Rita picked up the phone and daintily made a call, ignoring Adrian Amaro's intimidating stare.

Daybreakers were useless. She knew that now; every time she confronted this heinous monster, nobody except Jared had been there to help her. Of course, it would have been selfish to summon Jared again.

When the rings were answered, Rita lowered her tone to a theatrical whisper. All the while coolly meeting Adrian's frown with a disdainful smirk. "Hello? Bryan? This is Rita…yes, yes, whatever you want. I have a stranger in my house, I don't know how he got in…I'm in my room right now…does it matter? Please come, I'm afraid he'll find me." A victorious flame blazed in her eyes as she hung up. Furthering her entertainment, Amaro was now openly incensed.

"Idiot! Do you think this Bryan can fight me? That this pitiful boy will forcefully throw me out?"

"He is a vampire," Rita informed him, with as much arrogance as he had. Her heart stilled when she saw his lips slowly curve into a smile.

"A vampire? Is that all?"

Rita's confident expression instantly transformed into one of open worry. She didn't like the idea of fighting at all, much less in her home. Rita had hoped Bryan's species would just intimidate him enough to make him run away, because Bryan had told her he was lamia. Granted, she had no idea what lamia was, but still, it sounded impressive. Now her soul mate told her Smith was nothing more than an inconsequential pest.

Crap. Now, of all times, her mind decided to give her a flash back.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past

He had to convince her to return home. As tempting as she appeared in her form fitting scarlet gown, and moist pink lips shyly asking to be kissed, there was no excuse for her being alone in the stables with another man. But she looked so dainty and desperate for comfort… Desperately, he racked his mind for smooth comments and persuasive arguments as Senora Amaro studied him apprehensively aloft her straw throne. Unfortunately, he lacked all the suave skills of her husband.

"He was so…calm," she continued brokenly. "I know him, he does not act on his feelings. He thinks of the consequences of his actions. You know that, and I know that. Adrian knew how much it would hurt me, but he did it any way. And all because he didn't like what I talked about."

Gitana sighed in relief when he did not say it was a husband's right. Instead he said, "Well…you can't stay here forever. There's only enough room for me and the horses."

Much to her own surprise, Gitana smiled. But as soon as it lit her face, another thought darkened her features. "But I can't go back. I hate him," she whispered violently. "I hate him as much as I love him. I don't know how that's possible, but I do." If he were of lesser strength, Jorge would have cried himself when Gitana lifted her teary intense eyes to his own. He almost saw the crumbling fortitude, revealing the hopelessness beneath amidst the despondent embers.

He wanted to save it. He remembered that bewilderment, around thirteen or fourteen. When you had to stop pretending and playing with those silly little dreams, because someone was going to crush you when you slept. It hurt to grow up, and Senora Amaro hadn't done that yet.

"But…you do love him," he said gently. Although his heart ached for the delicate innocent, Jorge reluctantly refused to speak against his master. "And he loves you."

"Oh," she sniffled, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand, "no he doesn't. He believes I'm stupid and silly. If he thinks of me at all once a day, it's most likely because he regrets ever marrying me."

"You're a terrible liar. Of course he loves you. Senor Amaro said years ago he would never marry, because marriage was nothing but a tortuous trap laid out by…sly women." His master had actually said whores, but such words were not pleasant at the moment. "Why would he, a confirmed bachelor, marry you if he didn't love you?" She stared at him, and realized he would never fully understand.

"You're right," she lied, and struggled to maintain the artificial grin. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

With unseeing eyes, Gitana ambled through the hills and gardens that surrounded her home. If a man as kind as Jorge couldn't understand, she guessed none of her maids would comprehend. Troubled and confused, she settled on a marble bench, and watched the lonely sunset through a watery film. Before, she had her dance and music. They were her friends, they embraced her without judgment, and she called upon them without hesitation.

But Amaro had disallowed such indulgences. He called them unnecessary and undignified and disgraceful for the wife of any Amaro. In other words, she was a whore.

"Heavens," she said quietly to the surrounding flowers. "I never thought being married would be like this." The sun sunk below the horizon, making Gitana wish with all her heart she could accompany it on its magnificent journey. How lucky it was, to be able to leave, or hide behind the clouds. Like the fiery sphere, Gitana rose every day without any expectation of thanks or appreciation. Wanting attention or gratitude, but never receiving it. The sun would always be there for the earth, and Gitana would always be there for her husband.

Unable to uphold the dam of sadness, Gitana let out a shamed sob. She tried to restrain them, fearing somebody would come and frown upon her behavior, but the thought of Adrian's harsh words caused another. Many soon followed, bringing with them bitter hot tears. Her body convulsed with emotional pain. She thought the release would ease the ache in her chest, but the dull pain only grew. Night crept upon her, and the moon shone his unsympathetic face. A chilling wind swept ruffled her carefully kept hair. Gitana didn't care. Deep down, she hoped she died of the cold. She wished Adrian would find her frigid corpse and weep with irrevocable guilt. The only flaw of that fantasy was she would not be able to see his regret.

"Gitana." Wonderful. He was here. He would see her crying and then scold her on her lack of discretion. She turned away from the voice, and shifted so that her back faced it. A hand, almost as cold as the night around them, gently pressed against her back. She shuddered, hating her body's treasonous response to his touch. Gitana snapped her head up, seeing everything in silver and shadow. That cruel hand eased its way to her neck, lovingly massaging her with something deceptively called love. Without thinking, Gitana leaned back. Another, muscled, hard body cushioned hers as an arm around her waist drew her closer.

"About this morning," he finally said after clearing his throat. "I was in a bit of a rush… It was just bad timing…"

Say it, she pleaded silently. Say you're sorry for once in your life.

But he did not hear her. If he had, she knew he would have pushed her away in contempt. Instead, he gently placed a bouquet of red roses in her lap and kissed her cheek.

It's an apologetic gesture, she reasoned. As if afraid of a bite, her fingers delicately gathered the thornless stems. It shows that he's sorry, she thought half heartedly. But she couldn't deny the fact that he didn't say it. That he was too proud, even to his soul mate, to say that one word. And that he would never, ever apologize.

The drugging kisses were relentless, and did not wait for her response until he had kissed the corner of her mouth. She imagined to a passerby they were the quintessence of young lovers. No one would have guessed her heart slowly broke with each passing second. He would not admit wrong, he would not ask forgiveness. How many times had she begged forgiveness for clumsy mistakes and improper actions? And now, for an action that surpassed all her crimes combined, he would not say sorry.

This is your soul mate, her mind…or was it her heart, argued indefatigably. There is no other man to complete you. Gitana brushed the thought away, with every intention of breaking away and demanding an apology. She didn't give a damn if he threw her out. But another, the voice of reason, resolutely told her she had no place to go.

Cheeks still wet with tears, Gitana turned her husband and bravely returned his kiss. It would be the first of many forgivings.

~*~*~*~

Rita pinched herself for the fifteenth time. Yup, she was awake. And nope, Amaro was not leaving any time soon. She had hoped it would be one of those disturbing dreams one had a laugh over. It was a comforting possibility.

Amaro had decided to kill time before he killed Bryan—she had rolled her eyes at the corny joke, greatly displeasing him—by "small talk." Rita suspected it was a ruse to draw information, just as she tried. Problem was that he was much better at it.

"I'm going to have to kill this Jared fellow, I suppose," he said as casually as one would lament carrying an umbrella for the weather. Just as he expected, she started, her green eyes flashing with protectiveness.

"Why? He has done nothing to you. Well, at least without provocation."

"If you two have a relationship that is more than platonic, then what choice does a soul mate have?"

"But we're only friends," she exclaimed heatedly, trying for all the world to ensure Jared's safety. The condescension in his tone only made her more passionate to save him.

"Friends," he scoffed, crossing his arms like a sulky school boy. "I suppose you have the same friendship as that Rik and Fayth have."

"Of course not. Jared hasn't known me long enough to develop the unrequited love Rik has for—oh. Oh dear." Rita planted her hands over her mouth, wishing to God she had a stapler. But too late. Adrian already knew the vampire's weakness, and, through observance of Jared's horrified eyes while she wounded herself, the werewolf's as well. "I'm not speaking to you any more," she said through her fingers, her voice muffled.

"All right," he agreed easily. Much too easily. "We'll talk about Bryan."

"No we won't," she contradicted, her voice barely decipherable.

"Yes, we will." His rich voice sounded conversational, but Rita felt it told her not to contradict again. "And in detail. Smith is not a common name in their world, most likely inconsequential. What's he to do with you?"

"My, my aren't you flattering? Why did you enroll in high school?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine," she challenged, losing all rational fear of him. Rita loved the way he tensed when irritated.

"I asked first."

"And I asked second. Why are you worrying about numerical order when you have a question to answer?"

"I've never finished my high school education," he finally replied, shocking her into silence. Rita had fully expected him to continue dodging her assault of queries. He wasn't supposed to answer her after a few seconds. Gosh darn it, she thought, concerned, he's gone and ruined the plan.

"There now. What's this business between you and Bryan Smith?"

"I never said your answer would guarantee mine," Rita replied smartly, deciding to play unfairly. She figured she needed every advantage she could get when Amaro had the urge to manipulate.

"Why you little-"

"If you will please leave…"

This isn't so bad, Rita thought to herself as she determinedly marched down the hall. A looming shadow followed, closing the distance between them. All she needed to do was push his buttons, confuse him, and then show him out the door.

She only got as far as unlocking it before his grip on her shoulders forced to turn and face him. Solid blackness forbade her human eyes from discerning his expression. Despite the fact that his face was dangerous inches apart from hers, not a sound reached her ears. Of course he spoke to her…or rather at her. Flinging orders and insults like sticks and stones. A few times he would break into Spanish, and then Italian, and then French, and a variety of other languages she couldn't quite catch. Inwardly, she believed he was either showing off, or switching vocabulary by habit. No matter; she barely registered half his sentences.

Somewhere after "Nobody has treated me with such disrespect…" and "Apres tout j'ai fait pour toi…" she had voluntarily withdrew her attentions, focusing instead on her inner thoughts. Briefly, she thought she glimpsed twin blue flames before her when she opened her mouth to speak. Then they died the moment she shut her jaws meekly.

Oh dear, if this is criticism, I don't like it. Detached thoughts such as that sped through her mind as his words jabbed at her like spears. Most likely the reason I try so hard, she realized during her inner analysis. A mechanical growl shattered into her internal monologues. Finally, realizing she couldn't stand and take the verbal assault all night, Rita wet her lips and sliced through his incessant ranting like a polite dagger.

"Well," she said brightly, deftly unlocking the door behind her, "this has been a very pleasant visit. But please understand that another visit would be most inconvenient. Have a nice night!" Artfully escaping his grip, Rita flung the door open and ran out to join Bryan Smith in his Land Cruiser.

~*~*~*~

Prior Past

On a rare occasion, "Sunny Spain" proved to be a misnomer. Thunder and lightning sadistically pummeled the people of Morta Vitez, most likely compensating for their absences. Dark gray clouds formed a cavern around the village. Thus, the isolation, already borne by the merciless desert, grew by the tortuous weather. Heavy rain and silvery veins in the sky kept almost everyone in their homes. And they trapped meek wives with suspicious husbands.

She watched forlornly from the door way, silently fearing the charged atmosphere of the study. She began to think the storm would be haven compared to her husband's presence.

Adrian sat at his marble desk, his expression almost as lifeless as the furniture. "I told you not to go riding any more." It was a statement, one said in a glacial voice. "And yet you did. Why?"

Tana remained stationed at the door way, like a stalwart sentinel. "You had told me you would be gone for two weeks," she explained helplessly, feeling that he would find some way to condemn her even if the Inquisitor himself declared her innocent of any wrong doing. "But, by the fourth, I assumed you were injured or sick and I-"

"Injured or sick," he mused, leaning back in his chair. "And when have you known me to be either?"

She shrugged, the trapped feeling increasing by his cold, laughing eyes. Taking a timid step closer, she said, "I guess there's always a first for everything. I know you do not get sick easily, but-"

Amaro slammed a fist on the desk. Gitana jumped back, and thought she heard the crack of marble. She refused to look up, however, knowing only contempt would churn in his ocean blue eyes.

"You," he began in a voice of placid rage, "know nothing about me. And the more you try, the more I detest your pitiful attempts of understanding."

"Please excuse me for worrying over my husband," she retorted acidly. Gitana did not regret her audacious words, because she was tired of her husband's behavior.

She was tired of his covert excursions, and tired of his condescending manner. And now, the mysterious and brooding manner she once found alluring was down right sulky. Brooding in a dark corner only made a man musty and pale.

This man needed a wife to correct his ways, and it was about time she acted like one. Well…at least that's what her French maid advised. Hortense was proving to be that solid investment she needed in her life.

"You're very spirited this evening." She was privately disturbed that he did not shoot out of his chair and scream at her in all the numerous languages he knew. Rather, he sounded very calm and deliberate, as if he was a mere spectator commenting on the outburst.

"I'll forgive your bad behavior for this evening, because—" he broke off, clenching his teeth. " I understand this Jorge man, and what a rich mistress would mean to him… And you, being so…persuadable, would be a perfect target."

"He doesn't think about targets, not like you," she hissed. "And if you are so threatened by our friendship, why do you tolerate it?"

"My dear," he chided, "do you truly expect me to terminate a man for being an opportunist? Hell, if he's smart enough to look for a second income, I shouldn't turn him away for it.

"Besides," he added after some silence, "I've no need to be threatened. You've been behaving exemplary so far, despite your forbidden visits, and a very good wife."

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed and bravely marched to his desk. "Just who do you think you are? I had no aspirations that you'd 'forgive' me. I don't think I did anything wrong in the first place!"

"You know," he began quietly as he began sorting through a pile of papers before him. "I believe you have just proved the reason as to why you must stop seeing Jorge and my horses. If this is the way he influences you…"

"You're the only who has influenced at all! And my mistake was to let you," she stated firmly, leaning forward.

"Your mistake," he replied smoothly as he scribbled replies to friends and "business" partners, "was to ever set a foot in those stables. Ever since you've been silly and, now, insolent."

"Then blame yourself for that," she muttered. Gitana turned away, and leaned on the desk edge. She did not care if her posture was momentarily imperfect, and that her position hiked her dress hem high enough to show her ankles. "It was you who drove me there in the first place."

She heard him chuckle softly. "Please continue," he goaded.

"It was because you willfully and deliberately mistreat me," she growled, whirling to face him.

He shrugged. "You can hardly expect me to ignore you by accident." Her rose bud mouth dropped in surprise. Hortense said that, once properly thrown off their high horse, husbands realized the error of their ways and humbly apologized. He took advantage of her silence and continued with:

"I know these orders maybe a bit alarming to you, but try to understand. Because you have such a weak mind, through no fault of your own, you cannot properly judge one's character."

"I'm not half as slow as you think I am. And there's no need to tell me I am a bad judge of character; I married you, didn't I?" He smiled, as if his little pet had performed a surprising little trick.

"I'll be gone for a few days, Tana." He stamped the Amaro seal into the melted wax on the letter and began folding another.

Her mouth stayed open, this time because of his announcement. He arrived just a few months before on urgent business and now he had to leave again? And what business abroad was there for him if he had his horses right here on his property?

"Where?" she asked softly, again turning away from him. "England again?" What was on that damn island that Spain didn't have? Were the horses prettier? The gambling better? God, she hoped it was on of the two, and not the third, disloyal thought she had in mind.

"Yes."

"And how many days this time?" She heard him shuffle the papers and rise from the desk. A butler came and stood by the entrance, awaiting orders.

"Treinta," he answered curtly and handed the servant the letters.

"Thirty days! Good God, I see the butler more than I ever see you. He might as well be my husband!"

The butler respectfully maintained an impassive face until he was sent away. When Amaro turned towards her, Gitana did not feel the gaze of an embarrassed husband. Instead, his eyes were that of a displeased employer.

He did not comment on her behavior again. The words that fell from his sensually feral mouth were empty. Customary. As were her questions. When are you going to leave? Tonight. Will you take any servants? No. Did you pack enough clothes? The trunks were already there. Will you promise to come as soon as possible? Of course.

The ominous grandfather clock down the hall way emitted twelve resonant chimes. Amaro, who had been busy summoning servants to give advice, and to ensure his wife would be properly watched and chaperoned, finally moved from the fire place and towards the door. Gitana still leaned against his desk, unable to find a reason to move. Her eyes followed him woodenly. Goodness, not even the warm glow of the fire animated him. Nothing would. She corrected herself. Nothing here would.

"Adrian," she called out softly. Gitana wanted to ask him one last question. Just one more, that would settle everything. "Is she very beautiful? More than me, I mean."

He halted in the entrance, his tall form filling the door frame. The one question struck an odd note with him. Gitana waited with trepidation for his answer, her eyes never leaving his broad back. A yes or a no wouldn't have mattered. The fact was that she existed.

Adrian didn't give a yes or a no. Instead, he slowly turned to her, not smiling and not frowning. He just stared. Perhaps it was surprise of her astuteness. Or it could have been incredulity that she would have even think of such a thing. It was the first time in her life she actually wanted her husband to call her foolish and her sinful thoughts absolutely stupid.

Adrian never expected for her to run after him. To feel the small arms wrap around him like desperate, delicate flower vines. To hear her begging him to stay, for God's sake, just this once. Please, Adrian, please? He told her no. He always told her no. Because if he said yes once, he'd have to say yes again, maybe to something he couldn't fulfill. Adrian didn't expect her to cry like that, right in front of him. She never did that. He never expected her to ask so many questions. What can I do, Adrian, please tell me. What can I do? What does she do, that I don't do? If I do it, will you love me?

She hadn't said "again." All right, so she knew that he never did. That, even when he told her loved her in a hundred languages, he never meant it. Maybe that's why he never said it so that she'd understand. At least she realized that much. And he couldn't say yes or no, because he didn't know.

He didn't expect her to cry harder, and tell him to please just try. Just try to love her. She'd been trying for so long, she sobbed. And she was tired. God, just try, Adrian, why can't you just try?

Again, he didn't answer. Adrian just kept on walking, towards the main doors. Poor Gitana. She had actually tried to physically keep him there. Her small feet whispered on the floor until he realized he was dragging her and pried her hands from his fingers. And she wouldn't stop crying, which disturbed him worst of all. Getting louder and louder, her cries more heart wrenching.

If I do everything you say, will you come back sooner? What if I stop misbehaving altogether, will you stay in Spain? What can I do? What can I do?

His answer were the nearly silent footsteps, barely echoing in the massive hall towards the main door, leaving something that hardly qualified as a marriage.

She didn't stand there for long, staring at the open entrance as if concentration would bring him back. Instead, she marched to her chambers and ordered Hortense to fetch her worn white dress. The dress of her trade and livelihood. The dress that Adrian disapproved of, but was kept because of the fond memories only Tana cherished. When the fearful French maid brought the dress, Gitana snatched it viciously from her trembling hands and threw it in the fire. Her hard eyes watched the cloth blacken and singe, hating the sight but forcing herself to watch it. The good luck, faceless doll almost met the same fate, but she decided she needed all the luck she could get. The dress, as cherished as it was, had to be burned. It was needed; Adrian disapproved. And nobody was going to steal the husband of Gitana Benevita.

Hortense, assuming her mistress had gone mad, fled the manor.

~*~*~*~

A gentle hand shook her shoulder. Rita's eyes opened to meet startlingly eyes, the color of the blazing leaves during autumn. Enviously long lashes framed them, their blackness emphasized by the pallid skin. Completely tacky coloring, she decided. But nonetheless beautiful.

"Rita?"

She gathered her senses, visibly shaking herself. For a moment she thought she was in a different place, and a different time. But then she mentally scolded herself for being so silly. She was Rita Glisscielle, and Bryan Smith had driven her some place to get away from the mean man. Gitana Benevita was long dead and gone. They sat quietly in his car, which was in his massive drive way, which led to an enormous garage, which sat a little away from a gigantic mansion. She was not in a manor, and the sky was clear and violet. No storm clouds. No talk of travels to England. The world made sense again.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she said quickly, and unbuckled her seat belt. Rita sensed his speculative gaze on her, but thought nothing of it. He looked at everybody as if they were under a magnifying glass. "Was it a long drive?"

He shrugged and left the car. Before she could blink, he was at her side and opening the door. "About twenty minutes."

"Where are your parents…parent," she corrected as they walked up the drive way. In an irritatingly possessive manner, his arm rested upon her shoulders, drawing her closer.

"Father's in Jamaica. On business."

"Business?" She repeated as he searched for a hidden key somewhere on his porch. The moon did not assist him, for trees guarded the perimeter of his estate. The shrubs, the trees, and the tall iron fence all combined to form a huge dark green wall. The Great wall of Anomina, she thought childishly and eased into a rock chair, which was, like everything around her, gaudy in size. Rita began to think his parents came from Texas. Bryan swore as he carelessly over turned rugs, potted plants, and patio furniture. Finally, he sighed and broke a window. Rita frowned when he insisted she climbed through after him, claiming the frame of broken glass was harmless. The least he could have done was open the door.

"Won't your sister be worried? About the noise, I mean." Because he was accustomed to darkness, the room remained without light until Rita discovered the light switch.

"Uh…" Bryan scratched his head as he strode to the kitchen, motioning her to follow. "Nah, the spawn of Satan went to Boston tonight."

"All by herself?" she asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Bryan seated her at the kitchen table, and preferred to literally lie on the table itself.

"Yeah," he drawled lazily, " Poor Boston."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Even the lonely owl outside was far chattier than the couple inside. Unable to endure the rude stillness any longer, Rita said, "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what happened?"

Again that infuriating shrug. Rita had the urge to nail his shoulders to the table. No cigar, though, because no hammer. "I figure that, since you're living, nothing really bad happened. And I didn't want to push you." Although his words sounded indifferent, Rita sensed it was the truth. Bryan Smith was never the type to be overly concerned with anything unless it directly affected him.

"I met my soul mate," she offered hopefully. The vampire's apathetic attitude made her want to say something, anything, to draw a reaction. He shot up as if somebody sat his hair on fire.

"Your soul mate?" Joy. Now his eyes blazed with some unknown emotion, and his eye brows furrowed with apprehension. Finally, some sort of response.

"Yes. But don't worry…I don't believe we're compatible."

He sighed with relief, rose from the table, and asked where she planned to stay. Rita had not an inkling as to what to do. A return to her house was not an option. The same with calling the Daybreakers. Her mother, being in Boston, would not care where she slept at the moment. No money for the town inn. Rita laid her head on the vacant table and turned it to Bryan's. Then the facts of her situation slowly dawned on her.

She left a psychopath in her home. That psychopath was her soul mate. She had nearly committed suicide for a boy she barely knew. Another boy she barely knew had more or less rescued her. They were all alone in his house. Not to mention she forgot to unplug all appliances and lock the front door. Rita shook her head, cursing herself for not meeting her own standards.

"Can't I stay here?" she heard somebody ask lazily. Only when surprise dusted Bryan's handsome features did Rita realize it was her suggestion. She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. How could she be so presumptuous? Seeing her regret, Bryan gave a disarming smile, and nodded.

Rita didn't know whether she was relieved or not. But…they did speak of pre-AS dates. She just hadn't expected their first to be an all-nighter.

"I feel I oughta warn you," she said as they ascended the stair case.

"Bout what?" he asked absently as they entered a dusty room. Bereft of decorations or personal touches, with the bare necessities such as a television and a bed. A cell phone rested on the bare mattress. Rita hugged herself, and almost saw her breath in the chilly air. She guessed lamia vampires were not affected by temperature, or lack thereof, just like werewolves.

"I think I might be clinically insane. It's a recent development." Bryan laughed, something that was strangely becoming on him. She found herself smiling as well, her eyes sliding up and down his body as he reached for some blankets in a closet. On their own accord, of course. Rita considered herself well above sleazy habits that included staring at a man's body as if he were a piece of meat.

"I don't mind if you're crazy," he laughed again, handing her some blankets and a pillow. " I also doubt it, because you're one of the sanest people I know. All right, you're all set."

Rita sat on the bed, and tested the softness of the mattress. Bryan, curious by her action, sat next to her and caused a little earth quake of his own.

He smiled. "I guess buying this mattress was a good investment after all."

"You furnished the guest room?" Their movements brought the cell phone closer.

"Guest room? This is my room. And that's," he snatched the phone from her hand, "mine."

She decided to ignore his constant possessiveness, for, after all, it was his room he sacrificed for her. As if reading her thoughts, he added, "I don't really spend much time in it….Kinda empty, huh?"

"I'll say." Rita looked around the plain room, taking in the white walls, and the desolate snowy view beyond the windows. Even with Bryan, she felt so alone, so…isolated. A tiny frown deepened. Why am I so upset? I am alone, in a very cute boy's house. The fact that the cute boy is here with me is another plus. Besides, she really had no reason to be afraid. They had been in more compromising positions as children. And it had been a long time since she laughed like that, playing with Bryan. Life had always been so serious since then.

Rita's face lighted up when she remembered their wrestling matches. With an impish smile, she snatched the cell phone from his hand and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Instead of capering after her, he grabbed an ankle and dragged her closer. He was fast, but not fast enough to stop her prying.

"Gasp! You have Kelly McFarland's number and address. I always figured she had a nine hundred number and stayed in a brothel." She kicked at hands, successfully thwarting his offensive tactics until he pulled off her shoes. All the while, she scanned his Nokia for the sake of irritating the stoic.

"Why did this greet me with 'hello Jason'?" She wriggled free of his grasp and stood at the foot of the bed. Rita couldn't help but giggle as he, still on the bed, crawled closer, looking very much like an animal on the prowl. If it weren't for the sloppy grin on his face, she would have backed away in terror.

"Because," he muttered and reached for the phone. Rita playfully snapped her teeth at his fingers and held the cell high above her head. "I thought we agreed no biting," he protested.

"We agreed no biting for you. Now Bryan Smith," she mockingly rebuked, "what are you doing with Jason Riley's cell phone?" Bryan had given up on regaining the phone. Just as Rita began to believe his guilty and defeated look, swift hands grabbed her waist and jerked her forward. They landed on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, the phone discarded to the floor in the crash. In their mirth, neither had really noticed their suggestive positions until Rita blushed and rolled off of him to lay by his side. She made sure there was at least a safe six inches between them.

"Well, he left it just sitting there and it had all the numbers I needed."

"And where exactly was 'there'?" she persisted and propped herself on an elbow.

"In his P.E. locker," he answered quickly, "besides, who deserves that Nokia more: me or high prince of shi...crap land.?"

"Both of you are extremely rich," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he admitted uneasily, "but what's the point of spending money on something you could have for free? And, once you get to the bare bones of it, it's not really theft if the idiot leaves it, with his Fossil watch, in a locker with the oldest combination lock on the flimsiest metal locker in the history of high school. It would have been a crime not to steal it."

Rita threw him a doubtful smile. "Um…I don't quite understand that last part, but okay, you get to keep it."

"You think I'd give it back if you disapproved?" he scoffed as he stretched over the edge of the bed to pick up the product of larceny.

"Yes," she answered pertly and spread the blanket to cocoon herself. And to prevent any further body contact.

"Don't you need something to sleep in?" Bryan eased off the bed…not so much eased off, but toppled off once Rita pushed him away with all her strength. Mercifully, his only retaliation was an equally roguish grin. She didn't have any energy for another round of wrestling. He left the room; seconds later he returned with a bundle of black material.

"Here, you can change into this if you want. Now don't look at me like that, I wouldn't have any kinky underwear lying around. I'm gonna be back in a couple of hours, so if you need anything…" He tossed the coveted phone back onto his bed. Rita sat up in concern.

"You're not going to stay? What if Mr. Break and Enter followed us here?"

He laughed again. She abruptly felt the need to film one of those rare moments, just to prove to her class mates Bryan Smith's lips did more than frown or twist in disgust. Rita frowned, causing him to wipe away his smile.

"If he did, I'm sure he'd run away once you give a firm lecture on trespassing. Listen, vampires are a bit nocturnal. I'll be back by morning, I promise."

Just be careful…Smith has a habit of switching sides every so often… Rita sighed, hating the werewolf and his hours old warning. But it could not go ignored. She would just have to investigate.

She smiled and consented, ordering him to turn up the thermostat on his way out. Rita laid on her bed, slowly absorbing her first sleep over, until she heard the vehicle speed down the road. A determined smile grew on her lips. Now was the time for exploring.

All of the rooms proved to be as empty as Bryan's. She gave up the search and started for bed when she passed by a window. There was one place that she hadn't checked. The Smith back yard, she remembered, rivaled the town cemetery, in both size and atmosphere. Dead silence cloaked the frosted land as she walked farther into the territory, heading for a small oasis of trees and shrubs stranded in cruel white desert. The iron fence enclosed the trees and the creek that sliced through the middle of it. Rita tried to remember any fond memories from Bryan's vast property, but all that came to mind was the day Bryan pushed her and her friends into the water after regaling them with tales of the infamous Creek monster. Even as a young boy, he was ever the charmer.

Slowly, she walked into thicket, ignoring the ominous warnings of the owl. She was on a mission for goodness' sake. No owl, no matter how creepy, would deter her from finding the truth. After all, she had told Jared she would be careful with the vampire. 'Being careful' included finding any sign of foul play.

Such sleuth like thoughts were running in her mind when she tripped over a root and fell onto frozen mud. She cursed her clumsiness, declaring it not at all something Dick Tracy would do, and stood up, brushing the leaves from her sweater. Rita frowned at the sight of mud stains on the sparkly whiteness. Well, so much for mother's Christmas present. There were little deposits of moon light here and there, enough to allow Rita navigate her way. It was smaller than she last remembered, and the creek was not as wide as she thought. Leaves had fallen on the water, making the small stream appear as a leafy nature path. Rita guessed it half frozen. She turned around to punish the root that had rudely tripped her. She stifled a gasp.

It was not a root, but a hand. From above, the owl hooted as if to say 'I told you not to come here.' And it had been right. Bile rose in her throat as she nervously brushed away the foliage. Leaf by leaf, she saw an arm, and then a shoulder. The rest was unidentifiable. Silently she thanked the Lord for the freezing temperatures, the only thing keeping the smell of decay at minimum. The face was not totally decayed, but contorted in fear and pain she could not recognize it. Besides, it was hard to identify with no eyes and a caving in nose. Not to mention that hole in one cheek. Among the rotting leaves and body parts sat a tarnished gold chain and fossil watch. Faded blue bits of cloth. Bones. Boots. Teeth, two of them platinum.

Before Rita could vomit, she heard not only the owl but a crow as well. Taking the black bird's call as a warning, she quickly kicked leaves over the corpse and ran back into the house. Just in time to see head lights flashing through the living room windows.

"Oh please," she muttered as she quickly stumbled up the stairs. "Please don't be Mr. Smith or the little sister." She had the feeling they wouldn't see her as a guest. Then again, she didn't want Bryan either. Not if Mr. Decomposition was his work. Rita sighed as she made it to his bed room, only to squeak at the sight of herself in his mirror. Mud and leaves artistically covered her pants and sweater.

The front door opened. She heard light foot steps up the stairs. Rita had no idea what to do as Bryan, and just Bryan, called out her name. Oh joy, Gomez and Wednesday weren't home. She couldn't exactly blame the mud stains on a trip to the bathroom. Desperate, she locked the door and hoped by the best.

"Rita? It's me," Bryan called through the door.

"Back so soon?" he heard faintly. He frowned when the door did not open.

"I've been gone four hours." Now he heard a soft exclamation. The door was wooden and the lock could have been easily picked or broken. But he refused to frighten her. "Rita…this conversation would be easier if you opened the door."

"It's your door, open it yourself," was the childish reply. Bryan rolled his eyes and deftly picked the lock. Upon his entrance, he first saw a pile of leather on the corner of his bed. Eyes traveling farther up, he spied a fuzzy white pile in the middle. Then, there sat Rita, wearing nothing but his black collar shirt. She gave a friendly smile, as if it were the most natural circumstance in the world. At first he thought of nothing but her long legs. Then he noticed that she was strangely light hearted and troubled at the same time.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. Despite her cheery veneer, Rita's mind was racing. She couldn't go home, there was a psychopath there. Unfortunately, there was a murderer here. And if she had a choice to have a tea party with either, Rita would have run to Starbucks. She did not have Rik's number. Then she felt a qualm about her assumption. Perhaps it wasn't what it seemed. Common sense gave her a swift kick in the arse.

Of course. There was a body in his back yard because he thought it would make a lovely lawn ornament. Rita frowned, troubled by the fact that Bryan Smith would literally find a corpse lawn ornament fairly amusing.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked curiously as he saw her smile form a frown. Rita, who had been lying down, sat up as he seated himself at the edge of the bed. Bryan found himself faced with piercing green eyes.

"Death."

"Come again?" Bryan thought he heard her say death. The proper, coquettish, and ingratiating thing to say would have been, "You," with an artistic pout of those full lips. But Rita was Rita.

"Death," she repeated and patted the space beside her, apparently usurping him as owner of the bed.

"Yours or mine?" he questioned suspiciously, but found himself unable to refuse to tempting spot next to her. Especially when she stretched and crossed those beautiful stems. Privately, he knew she did not act to show any sensuality, but was very glad she did so unconsciously. Still…she had said death, twice. Perhaps that Daybreaker, Fayth, had been putting nonsense in Rita's mind.

"In general," she answered easily and laid back down, partially propped up by the pillow. Rita planned rapidly. She began a neutral conversation, and gauged his reaction to her morbid comments. Bryan gladly began the little chat, for, being a vampire and all, he seemed well acquainted with the subject. Rita found herself not quite understanding half the ideas he made, and rejecting all his philosophies. She did not hesitate to say so.

"Stupid," she said coldly, in a condescending manner he had often seen her use. Damn Glisscielle pride. "Would you say puberty is the end of life? No. Death is just another phase."

"Have you ever seen a dead vampire? I guess not. We turn into dry withered little things, skin sucking onto our bones. We turn into mummies. Forever," he added dramatically.

"Oh so what? We rot," she replied, thinking of the thing in the back yard, "and we still go to heaven or hell. I don't care if you're a vampire or a human, you've gotta have a soul. Every body has a soul."

"So you're not afraid of death?"

She looked at him squarely in the eye, her own twin, emerald flames settling the matter. "Bryan, death happens to everybody. To the good people, and the bad people. Probably the only thing with complete equality."

He smiled, and realized she was completely right. Rita forgot her intention of determining his innocence as he slid closer, and was dimly aware of his arm pulling her closer. Reason told her to remain still and treat his advances as coolly as possible.

"What if Satan says you don't have enough sins to get in?" Rita asked in a whisper, eyes large and wide. Bryan watched them as he would a new animal, waiting any notable characteristics. But instead the emeralds were focused on his mouth. Then, ever the prude, she pulled back and smiled shakily.

"So I'm condemned to hell, am I? I guess I'll just have to hang out at the door way, you know looking cool. What made you think of death?" he asked abruptly, leaving all joking behind. Rita felt his eyes drilling into her own, and knew she couldn't lie. But lying was not the same as withholding truth.

"My soul mate almost killed Jared Luna today after school." Not exactly what prompted her fascination with demise, but mentioning the corpse in the back yard wasn't an option.

"A great idea. What stopped him?"

She smiled. "Me," she answered simply.

Bryan tsked, tsked in disappointment, but did not question. Then he frowned as Rita gently shoved him off the bed. "Good night," Rita yawned again, the events of the day weighing heavily on her eye lids. Like her President, if she did not sleep eight hours a night, grouchiness dominated the next day.

"This is my room," he protested. Seeing her lips purse with worry, he sighed. "Fine, I won't sleep here tonight." Rita drowsily watched him stalk out of the room, faintly worried she had irritated the potential murderer. She wondered what would happen in the morning.

~*~*~*~

ring the doorbell and run. He hates that."

Unknown

The number four has always been my enemy. It's the number of years that separates me from my li'l sis, and she's the biggest pain in the derriere. It's the number of years in high school, and I'll leave it at that. But, hopefully this chapter isn't the end of me. What do you think?