One cool, rainy evening I went for my nightly stroll through the cemetery, communing with the resident spirits. Some would call me a sensitive, someone who can see and feel spirits and beings of that kind, a natural talent that had been with me since birth. It wasn't something that I concentrated on, but I didn't ignore it, either. Just a part of me, a facet of who I was, something that molded me as an individual.

I was enjoying the damp evening, the rain soft, cool, and misty upon my skin, when from a distance, I saw a dark figure sprawled among the gravestones and monuments. At first, I thought I happened a upon a corpse, perhaps someone murdered, so I rushed towards it, my eyes struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. Unexpectedly, icy fingers grasped my bare ankle. I screamed, about to run for my life, when I heard the figure moan in pain. I quickly realized I was wrong. This person wasn't dead, just hurt seriously and probably needed help.

"Are you all right?" I asked dumbly. Of course they weren't all right. They couldn't be, but that's all I could think to say. I reached out, touching the figure's shoulder gently. The figure shifted, not quite facing me, and I could make out the person's broad shoulders, tall lean frame, and long legs. Automatically, I knew it was male, a young man, his face and head covered by a dark hood. "Can you walk?" I helped the young man to his feet, supporting much of his considerable weight with my shoulder and arm. He was soaked straight through and freezing. "I'll get you to a hospital." I offered. "No!" He protested sharply, his voice gruff and sore sounding.

I pressed him a bit more, but he vehemently refused any and all offers of medical attention. I couldn't just leave him where he lay, so I had no other choice but to take

him to my apartment. A potentially dangerous decision, but I'm naive and young, what can I say. I had a gun under my bed, so I thought that pretty much guaranteed

my safety. I was prepared to use it, if I needed to protect myself.

It took time and effort, but we made it to my tiny apartment. I helped him to the overstuffed couch in my sitting room and immediately helped him strip off his soaking wet clothes. I stopped once I reached his boxer shorts, suddenly feeling very shy and a bit uneasy. He was barely conscious, but I wasn't completely at ease with stripping a complete stranger naked, even if his life was at stake.

I found several heavy winter blankets in my storage closet and grabbed hot water, tea bags, and some bandages for my wounded house guest. As I went back into the sitting room, I managed to flick the lights on for the first time since I arrived home.

When the light illuminated his face, my heart leapt to my throat, and I couldn't move in my astonishment. I knew his features well. I had admired them from afar time after time. The shock of bleach blond almost white hair, dramatic, dark brows, beautiful, chisled cheek bones, and the arrogant, sensual mouth were all unmistakable. The mug of hot water slipped from my hand and shattered across the floor. I clapped my hand over my mouth, muffling a loud gasp.

I couldn't believe it, I was sure my vision was deceiving me somehow. He was supposed to be gone, dead. It was a well known fact that he heroically sacrificed

himself to save the world from The First. That was six months ago...it would have been impossible for him to survive, but here he was, before my eyes, lying half dead on my couch, all the proof I could ever need.

After fifteen minutes of being absolutely stunned, I returned to earth and busied myself by cleaning up the mess I made.

Then, I allowed myself to look at him more closely. He looked just as I remembered, and it set my heart thudding in my chest. The left side of his face bore a horrible

blackened mark, like his skin was burned, and there were bloody scapes, marks, and burns traversing all over the smooth white skin of his body. I swiftly covered his body with the blankets, thankful that his muscular form was hidden from my sight.

I set to cleaning the red, blackened burns on his face, pressing gently with antiseptic, and covering them with ointment and bandages. He stirred just as I was finishing, mumbling, semi-awake. His eyes fluttered open and looked up at me, weakly making out my features. I was almost devastated by that look, and I glanced away. "Don't move." I said.

"You're in my apartment. I just bandaged your face. You should be all right if you just rest. I'll go pop your clothes in the dryer and try to find something for you to eat." I

knew his gaze was heavy on me as I gathered up the bandage wrappers, antiseptic, and his clothes, but I didn't dare look back.

I was lucky enough to have a massive steak in the fridge. I squeezed the blood out of it as well as I could into a glass and made a mental note to run by the butcher's in the morning. I threw his clothes into the dryer and as I walked back to the sitting room, his eyes followed my every move. My legs shook and my breath fought to come

fast in my throat.

He gazed up at me from his nest on the couch, his eyes intense and glowing like he was fevered. "Here." I said, handing the glass of blood to him. "I'm afraid it's all

I have at the moment. I...I hope it's enough."

He raised the glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving my face. I stared back unwaveringly. I was proud of myself, since I felt like fainting. He took a sip gingerly. I could definitely tell he was weak.

"Your name?" He asked, his voice a bit better, much more normal, the voice I remembered.

"Paige." I answered. I waited for him to finish the blood hoping that he wouldn't speak to me anymore. I was light headed and didn't want to sound like a complete fool. Luckily, he didn't say a word. He returned the glass to me.

"I'm going to bed." I announced. "The first room on the right if you need me. And, just for your information, I keep a pistol under my pillow. Goodnight."

The gun wasn't actually under my pillow. It's under my bed. I just wanted to seem tough just in case he tried anything. I doubted he would considering the shape he was in, but I didn't know how the past six months had affected him.

I walked straight to my room without looking back. That night I barely slept and fantasized about the wounded man sleeping in my sitting room. I opened my

eyes and glanced at the digital clock at my bedside, and saw it was just past three in the morning when I felt the side of the bed shifting. I glanced around in the dark

nervously, and found myself being forced down upon the bed, warm hands pressed to my shoulders. I gasped as his body made contact with my bare skin, his mouth hovering over mine. His hands roamed shamelessly over me, and I couldn't help but tremble, my pulse pounding so hard, my body aching with anticipation. Almost painfully slowly, he lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me, hard and sensually. I moaned into his mouth, the feeling such a shock that it rocked me down to the tips of my toes. I awoke in my bed, moaning, twisted in covers, sweating and alone.