Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything
you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to
stick into the Nightworld.
And a shout out to my lovely reviewers. Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter.
Arrylle Gamere: Thanks so much for your input. I will definitely try to focus more on the individual characters though I'm not so sure I did such a great job of it in this chapter. It should be better when Thorne and Sybil meet and the miscellaneous characters are more out of the way.
amber-rules: *Beams* Thanks! I got a little carried away with the descriptions at the end but I'm glad you liked it. As for Owen, his name means warrior, so who knows maybe he'll have a chance.
Bex Drake: Thank you! I have no idea where it came from. I wanted to do an office scene to give some insight into Thorne's job but he wasn't supposed to be such a bastard. *Sigh*
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.
Rated PG-13
Yesterdays: Chapter 2
He walked. On and on he walked. Stopping in the day to sleep, using the cover of darkness to move forward. He assumed it was forward. It could just as well be backwards, seeing how he had no destination yet. He was trusting his gut to lead him on and it was working so far. He was quite fond of his gut, actually; it was his stomach that was causing the problems.
His stomach that wouldn't be satisfied with the food he'd given it. That was a lesson he'd learned quick enough. It took about a week. One week of trying to sustain himself on human food and discovering it did nothing to soothe the ache that gnawed inside him. Of having that ache grow until he was consumed by it. Until he was no longer a man but an irrational monster willing to do anything possible to slay a thirst he never wanted, never should have had, but somehow did.
He didn't mean to kill that boy. Of course not. It was just that he'd been so thirsty from his restraint. He didn't restrain himself now, but neither did he kill. He told himself it was better this way, less blood. More people, sure, but no killing. That was what he told himself. And if some distant part inside him cried out that his less was still more than what he needed for survival, he didn't listen.
He was a mass of conflicting emotions. Full of guilt for the people who he drank from. Full of loathing towards whoever had made him this way. Full of frustration because he knew not who that was or even who he himself was. Full of sadness and confusion because he had nowhere to go, no clues as to his missing past. With all of that it was only right that he should feel weak, emotionally drained. But, he didn't: he felt strong, and he hated that most of all.
***
Sybil wasn't a nervous flyer. Point of fact, she wasn't a nervous anything. It was part of what made her such a good agent. Well, it *was*. But, ever since Phoena had said those two horrible words, Thorne Redfern, those words she never wanted to hear again, she'd been nothing but nerves. If just hearing his name could make her palms sweaty and her brain panicked then what would happen when she actually saw him?
It wasn't worth thinking about. He wasn't worth thinking about. She told herself there was nothing to worry about. She was fine. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of making her uneasy. She made it a litany. Repeated it to herself over and over for half the plane ride. And actually believed it for oh, about half a second.
Phoena reached over and squeezed her hand. "Relax will you. You're making me tense."
"So sorry. I'll try to hold off on my nervous breakdown until I'm alone. Wouldn't want to make you tense." Sybil all but spat out the last word.
Phoena nodded earnestly. "I'd appreciate it if you would."
Sybil rolled her eyes and started practicing breathing techniques.
Phoena couldn't help but stare. In all the years she'd known the witch she'd never seen Sybil so rattled. If that's what having a soulmate did to someone Phoena was thankful not to have found hers.
She looked out the window and wished she was out there. What was the use of being able to shift into a bird when your boss insisted you use a plane? Not that she wouldn't have taken the plane anyway as Sybil obviously needed moral support, but it was the principle of the matter. That horrid Damaris. Just when Phoena was starting to think that she might not be so bad, they were given *this* mission. Phoena had seen the flash of guilt in Damaris' eyes. Gone so fast, she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had been there. Damaris had been Sybil's boss for three years. She'd sent Sybil on that first mission to Thorne's. She knew just what had happened, just what could happen. But, she'd given them this mission all the same. And all without informing Phoena of just what had happened.
Oh, sure she'd read Thorne's file. Memorized it. He'd been born a witch, that had been interesting. There was no information about his childhood. Then at the age of 17 he had been turned into a vampire, though no one knew by whom, and that's when the nastiness had begun. He had spent the past two years carving a name for himself on the bodies of those he killed, tortured and otherwise stepped on - although that first year hadn't even been in the same league as the second. That the man was an insane psychopath was quite clear, but he hadn't started out that way. He hadn't even turned that way when he first became a vampire. His file indicated that he was cold, power hungry but methodical, rational, careful even, at least until last year. The same time Sybil had returned from her mission, as a matter of fact. Returned a scared, broken shell of her former self, with Owen in tow. Time, and of course, Owen had healed her wounds, or so Phoena had thought, but looking at Sybil now she wasn't so sure. What had happened between her and Thorne them that changed them so? And worse, what would the bastard do to them now?
A/N: I love to hear your thoughts. Please review. Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top.
And a shout out to my lovely reviewers. Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter.
Arrylle Gamere: Thanks so much for your input. I will definitely try to focus more on the individual characters though I'm not so sure I did such a great job of it in this chapter. It should be better when Thorne and Sybil meet and the miscellaneous characters are more out of the way.
amber-rules: *Beams* Thanks! I got a little carried away with the descriptions at the end but I'm glad you liked it. As for Owen, his name means warrior, so who knows maybe he'll have a chance.
Bex Drake: Thank you! I have no idea where it came from. I wanted to do an office scene to give some insight into Thorne's job but he wasn't supposed to be such a bastard. *Sigh*
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.
Rated PG-13
Yesterdays: Chapter 2
He walked. On and on he walked. Stopping in the day to sleep, using the cover of darkness to move forward. He assumed it was forward. It could just as well be backwards, seeing how he had no destination yet. He was trusting his gut to lead him on and it was working so far. He was quite fond of his gut, actually; it was his stomach that was causing the problems.
His stomach that wouldn't be satisfied with the food he'd given it. That was a lesson he'd learned quick enough. It took about a week. One week of trying to sustain himself on human food and discovering it did nothing to soothe the ache that gnawed inside him. Of having that ache grow until he was consumed by it. Until he was no longer a man but an irrational monster willing to do anything possible to slay a thirst he never wanted, never should have had, but somehow did.
He didn't mean to kill that boy. Of course not. It was just that he'd been so thirsty from his restraint. He didn't restrain himself now, but neither did he kill. He told himself it was better this way, less blood. More people, sure, but no killing. That was what he told himself. And if some distant part inside him cried out that his less was still more than what he needed for survival, he didn't listen.
He was a mass of conflicting emotions. Full of guilt for the people who he drank from. Full of loathing towards whoever had made him this way. Full of frustration because he knew not who that was or even who he himself was. Full of sadness and confusion because he had nowhere to go, no clues as to his missing past. With all of that it was only right that he should feel weak, emotionally drained. But, he didn't: he felt strong, and he hated that most of all.
***
Sybil wasn't a nervous flyer. Point of fact, she wasn't a nervous anything. It was part of what made her such a good agent. Well, it *was*. But, ever since Phoena had said those two horrible words, Thorne Redfern, those words she never wanted to hear again, she'd been nothing but nerves. If just hearing his name could make her palms sweaty and her brain panicked then what would happen when she actually saw him?
It wasn't worth thinking about. He wasn't worth thinking about. She told herself there was nothing to worry about. She was fine. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of making her uneasy. She made it a litany. Repeated it to herself over and over for half the plane ride. And actually believed it for oh, about half a second.
Phoena reached over and squeezed her hand. "Relax will you. You're making me tense."
"So sorry. I'll try to hold off on my nervous breakdown until I'm alone. Wouldn't want to make you tense." Sybil all but spat out the last word.
Phoena nodded earnestly. "I'd appreciate it if you would."
Sybil rolled her eyes and started practicing breathing techniques.
Phoena couldn't help but stare. In all the years she'd known the witch she'd never seen Sybil so rattled. If that's what having a soulmate did to someone Phoena was thankful not to have found hers.
She looked out the window and wished she was out there. What was the use of being able to shift into a bird when your boss insisted you use a plane? Not that she wouldn't have taken the plane anyway as Sybil obviously needed moral support, but it was the principle of the matter. That horrid Damaris. Just when Phoena was starting to think that she might not be so bad, they were given *this* mission. Phoena had seen the flash of guilt in Damaris' eyes. Gone so fast, she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had been there. Damaris had been Sybil's boss for three years. She'd sent Sybil on that first mission to Thorne's. She knew just what had happened, just what could happen. But, she'd given them this mission all the same. And all without informing Phoena of just what had happened.
Oh, sure she'd read Thorne's file. Memorized it. He'd been born a witch, that had been interesting. There was no information about his childhood. Then at the age of 17 he had been turned into a vampire, though no one knew by whom, and that's when the nastiness had begun. He had spent the past two years carving a name for himself on the bodies of those he killed, tortured and otherwise stepped on - although that first year hadn't even been in the same league as the second. That the man was an insane psychopath was quite clear, but he hadn't started out that way. He hadn't even turned that way when he first became a vampire. His file indicated that he was cold, power hungry but methodical, rational, careful even, at least until last year. The same time Sybil had returned from her mission, as a matter of fact. Returned a scared, broken shell of her former self, with Owen in tow. Time, and of course, Owen had healed her wounds, or so Phoena had thought, but looking at Sybil now she wasn't so sure. What had happened between her and Thorne them that changed them so? And worse, what would the bastard do to them now?
A/N: I love to hear your thoughts. Please review. Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top.