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.
***
To my reviewers: You guys are fabulous. Sorry this chapter took forever – I'd planned to update before leaving on my 5 week Easter break but unfortunately was very busy with school stuff.
BeautifulAli: Thanks ever so much! I am slowly getting to the point where the two story lines converge – I wasn't sure up until now exactly how they would. There's a small link in this chapter – kudos to you if you can spot it.
Amber-rules: Glad you liked Thorne's past – it was very. . .thorny (sorry – I couldn't resist). But, yeah Thorne's got more issues than Time magazine and as you aptly noticed things do not bode well for our heroine. Sorry about the lack of quick update. *Turns red with shame* Hope you didn't have to re-read the whole story yet again.
Bex Drake : Thanks! I'm so happy you liked the last chapter – it was definitely one of my better ones. Sounds like you have the rest of the story figured out :-) At this point, you are way ahead of me, as I haven't planned that far ahead yet, but hopefully it'll be interesting and not entirely predictable.
xhianglian: *curtsies* Thanks so much! It's so nice to find someone who feels the same way I do about Thorne. Everyone else is worried he's out to get Sybil. Can't imagine how they got that idea *grins sheepishly*
annemarie delacour: *smiles* I am not at all offended – I'm thrilled you're interested in the story. I'm not at all plagued by writer's block – I was out touring Europe, just got back a few days ago. I should warn you that I am plagued by perpetual laziness which does occasionally (read almost always) delay updates.
***
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.
Rated PG-13
Yesterdays: Chapter 3
Lorna looked up from her computer, her practiced smile falling away, replaced by a look of shock when she saw who was there. "Sybil? You're back?" ~You're alive. And you came back. You're crazy.~
Sybil grinned at the expression on Lorna's face, feeling in control for one precious moment. "I'm here to see Thorne."
"OK. Sure. Just let me announce you."
~And ruin my advantage of surprise? Not bloody likely.~ "Not necessary," she said breezily. She headed towards the closed door and went in before Lorna could protest, ignoring the little voice in her head that was telling her to flee while she still could. It was too late for that.
The back of his chair was towards her and he didn't turn around, though with his vampire senses he was sure to have heard her come in. She glared at the chair. So, this was how it was going to be. This wasn't right. She'd prepared herself for his anger, his annoyance, his moodiness, but he gave her none of those things. He gave her nothing.
She slid into one of the chairs positioned in front of his desk and was grateful he didn't turn around, didn't see her start as she heard him speak for the first time in over a year. His voice was a dark purr, a liquid seduction that poured over her. It took her a minute to clear her head and pay attention to the words that dropped from his mouth.
"Make sure they are human - a witch could spoil everything," was the strange remark. Huh, apparently she wasn't the only one nervous about this encounter. At least she hadn't resorted to babbling nonsense. Then she saw the phone cord stretched around his chair and realized that he wasn't talking to her, but into the phone. Must not be too important if he could say it in front of her. ~Unless, he's planning on making sure I can never repeat it.~ Her brain started to panic, and she could no longer hear what he said, no longer hear anything but a giant roaring in her ears. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something that could be a refuge, finding nothing.
As she glanced back at his chair, she saw that Thorne was no longer on the phone. He had turned around and was watching her, an amused little smile playing at the corner of his lips. As he said nothing, she took the opportunity to study him. He looked the same - that should come as no surprise. Same aristocratic features, same golden hair, only his eyes were different - two purple daggers showing a cruelty that had previously been hidden beneath the surface, or that she'd been too naive to see. They said, 'I know what you are thinking. I know what you are feeling. I can see your soul. And I can tear it into shreds.'
But his mouth said nothing, and his silence played on her nerves, goading her into speaking. "No hello for your long-lost soulmate?"
"Perhaps she hasn't been lost long enough to warrant such a courtesy. Perhaps she should try again in, oh, another 50 years," he suggested helpfully.
Sybil sputtered as she tried to formulate a response. Things were not going at all like she planned. She stared at the annoying, unpredictable creature who was her soulmate. Who was hers. By all rights he should be down on his knees begging her forgiveness, begging her to stay with him. She hadn't really expected that – she'd learned a year ago that things rarely happened the way they should, especially when Thorne Redfern was concerned - but she *had* expected him to be curious. Expected him to wonder about what on earth could bring her back.
"Perhaps she has a reason for coming back so early," Sybil finally said, hoping to entice his curiosity so she could still enact the plan Phoena had concocted.
"Perhaps," he agreed amiably. Then he let out a sigh. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll just leave now without telling me what that is?"
"Nope."
He made an expansive gesture. "Then by all means, bore me with your tale. Why are you here?"
Sybil tried to keep the gleam of triumph out of her expression. This was it, the moment she'd prepared for, the moment she'd gone over and over in her head ever since she'd been given this assignment from Hell. And if she could pull it off she was quitting Daybreak and moving to Hollywood.
* * *
He was frustrated. 10 days was a long time to go without knowing anything about who you are. Oh, sure he knew what he looked like. He'd memorized his appearance, alien as it first appeared. He knew he had jet black hair, violet eyes, a tall, slightly gaunt figure. Fangs. He knew other things as well – that he liked his coffee black, his women brunette, and his dinner fresh. Every little realization he stored away in his mind and in the dead of the night he pulled them out and examined each one thoroughly, looking for clues, looking for something that would help him figure out the mystery of his own identity. It was like trying to put together a giant puzzle with only a handful of the pieces.
And it was wearying him. So much so, that he'd decided to go to the psychics. Something else he found out about himself. He believed in psychics. Bringing him to his current destination. He didn't believe in all psychics, obviously – he'd already been to plenty of charlatans. But, surely there had to be *one* who was genuine. He glanced at the sign on the door in front of him: 'Madam Zora sees all in her crystal ball,' the sign boasted. ~Great, a psychic poet~
It was almost enough to make him turn back. Almost. But, really, it wasn't like he had places to go, or people to see. With a heavy heart, and a heavy hand he knocked on the door and waited for the sound of pattering feet inside.
A/N: Please don't forget to review! I have a shrine going for all you wonderful people who let me know what you think.
***
To my reviewers: You guys are fabulous. Sorry this chapter took forever – I'd planned to update before leaving on my 5 week Easter break but unfortunately was very busy with school stuff.
BeautifulAli: Thanks ever so much! I am slowly getting to the point where the two story lines converge – I wasn't sure up until now exactly how they would. There's a small link in this chapter – kudos to you if you can spot it.
Amber-rules: Glad you liked Thorne's past – it was very. . .thorny (sorry – I couldn't resist). But, yeah Thorne's got more issues than Time magazine and as you aptly noticed things do not bode well for our heroine. Sorry about the lack of quick update. *Turns red with shame* Hope you didn't have to re-read the whole story yet again.
Bex Drake : Thanks! I'm so happy you liked the last chapter – it was definitely one of my better ones. Sounds like you have the rest of the story figured out :-) At this point, you are way ahead of me, as I haven't planned that far ahead yet, but hopefully it'll be interesting and not entirely predictable.
xhianglian: *curtsies* Thanks so much! It's so nice to find someone who feels the same way I do about Thorne. Everyone else is worried he's out to get Sybil. Can't imagine how they got that idea *grins sheepishly*
annemarie delacour: *smiles* I am not at all offended – I'm thrilled you're interested in the story. I'm not at all plagued by writer's block – I was out touring Europe, just got back a few days ago. I should warn you that I am plagued by perpetual laziness which does occasionally (read almost always) delay updates.
***
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.
Rated PG-13
Yesterdays: Chapter 3
Lorna looked up from her computer, her practiced smile falling away, replaced by a look of shock when she saw who was there. "Sybil? You're back?" ~You're alive. And you came back. You're crazy.~
Sybil grinned at the expression on Lorna's face, feeling in control for one precious moment. "I'm here to see Thorne."
"OK. Sure. Just let me announce you."
~And ruin my advantage of surprise? Not bloody likely.~ "Not necessary," she said breezily. She headed towards the closed door and went in before Lorna could protest, ignoring the little voice in her head that was telling her to flee while she still could. It was too late for that.
The back of his chair was towards her and he didn't turn around, though with his vampire senses he was sure to have heard her come in. She glared at the chair. So, this was how it was going to be. This wasn't right. She'd prepared herself for his anger, his annoyance, his moodiness, but he gave her none of those things. He gave her nothing.
She slid into one of the chairs positioned in front of his desk and was grateful he didn't turn around, didn't see her start as she heard him speak for the first time in over a year. His voice was a dark purr, a liquid seduction that poured over her. It took her a minute to clear her head and pay attention to the words that dropped from his mouth.
"Make sure they are human - a witch could spoil everything," was the strange remark. Huh, apparently she wasn't the only one nervous about this encounter. At least she hadn't resorted to babbling nonsense. Then she saw the phone cord stretched around his chair and realized that he wasn't talking to her, but into the phone. Must not be too important if he could say it in front of her. ~Unless, he's planning on making sure I can never repeat it.~ Her brain started to panic, and she could no longer hear what he said, no longer hear anything but a giant roaring in her ears. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something that could be a refuge, finding nothing.
As she glanced back at his chair, she saw that Thorne was no longer on the phone. He had turned around and was watching her, an amused little smile playing at the corner of his lips. As he said nothing, she took the opportunity to study him. He looked the same - that should come as no surprise. Same aristocratic features, same golden hair, only his eyes were different - two purple daggers showing a cruelty that had previously been hidden beneath the surface, or that she'd been too naive to see. They said, 'I know what you are thinking. I know what you are feeling. I can see your soul. And I can tear it into shreds.'
But his mouth said nothing, and his silence played on her nerves, goading her into speaking. "No hello for your long-lost soulmate?"
"Perhaps she hasn't been lost long enough to warrant such a courtesy. Perhaps she should try again in, oh, another 50 years," he suggested helpfully.
Sybil sputtered as she tried to formulate a response. Things were not going at all like she planned. She stared at the annoying, unpredictable creature who was her soulmate. Who was hers. By all rights he should be down on his knees begging her forgiveness, begging her to stay with him. She hadn't really expected that – she'd learned a year ago that things rarely happened the way they should, especially when Thorne Redfern was concerned - but she *had* expected him to be curious. Expected him to wonder about what on earth could bring her back.
"Perhaps she has a reason for coming back so early," Sybil finally said, hoping to entice his curiosity so she could still enact the plan Phoena had concocted.
"Perhaps," he agreed amiably. Then he let out a sigh. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll just leave now without telling me what that is?"
"Nope."
He made an expansive gesture. "Then by all means, bore me with your tale. Why are you here?"
Sybil tried to keep the gleam of triumph out of her expression. This was it, the moment she'd prepared for, the moment she'd gone over and over in her head ever since she'd been given this assignment from Hell. And if she could pull it off she was quitting Daybreak and moving to Hollywood.
* * *
He was frustrated. 10 days was a long time to go without knowing anything about who you are. Oh, sure he knew what he looked like. He'd memorized his appearance, alien as it first appeared. He knew he had jet black hair, violet eyes, a tall, slightly gaunt figure. Fangs. He knew other things as well – that he liked his coffee black, his women brunette, and his dinner fresh. Every little realization he stored away in his mind and in the dead of the night he pulled them out and examined each one thoroughly, looking for clues, looking for something that would help him figure out the mystery of his own identity. It was like trying to put together a giant puzzle with only a handful of the pieces.
And it was wearying him. So much so, that he'd decided to go to the psychics. Something else he found out about himself. He believed in psychics. Bringing him to his current destination. He didn't believe in all psychics, obviously – he'd already been to plenty of charlatans. But, surely there had to be *one* who was genuine. He glanced at the sign on the door in front of him: 'Madam Zora sees all in her crystal ball,' the sign boasted. ~Great, a psychic poet~
It was almost enough to make him turn back. Almost. But, really, it wasn't like he had places to go, or people to see. With a heavy heart, and a heavy hand he knocked on the door and waited for the sound of pattering feet inside.
A/N: Please don't forget to review! I have a shrine going for all you wonderful people who let me know what you think.