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 huge shout-out to my reviewers: You guys rock. And look, I got a chapter out relatively on time. How shocked are you?

annemarie delacour: Everyone else is being sensible and studying, as I should be doing. But I've found writing to be a great stress relief which is why I am posting this in spite of the fact my next exam is on Tuesday.

As for Thorne, I could write an essay on your question, but that's because I know all kinds of things about him that haven't been written yet. I guess you'll just have to decide for yourself how big of a bastard he really is. Just remember that a lot of what you're reading about him is coming from Sybil's point of view and she's rather biased. Not without reason, as you'll see more of in this chapter, but still.

KazeNoKen: I do try to hook readers. Nice to know I was successful :-) I'm glad you like my writing style. I like to think it's improving – there are parts of this story that make me positively cringe when I go back and re-read them. And this part is longer - I hear and I obey!

Bex Drake : curtsies I'm glad you liked it. That's an interesting point about Owen's personality. I hadn't done it intentionally but it fits with his and Thorne's background. Hmm, I don't think he would be overly shocked by the comparison but Sybil would definitely deny any similarities between her boyfriend and her soulmate.

Ameena: No worries there. I plan to keep writing for a while – I've found it's strangely therapeutic and keeps me sane, which is good because I can't afford to shell out for a shrink. So you look kind of like Sybil then. I think she has brown hair and brown eyes. Huh. That's probably something I should know.



A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.

Rated PG-13

Yesterdays: Chapter 6

He was sloshed. The sheer amount of alcohol it had taken him to reach such a state would have poisoned at least 5 humans. But, he had persevered, and it was well worth it. Worth however much he had run up on his tab. Worth the headache he'd have in the morning. Because, for now, he could escape his thoughts. He mind was in a drunken haze; fog obscuring the disappointments of the past week. It was. . .pleasant. Yes, definitely pleasant. More so than anything else he could remember. Of course that wasn't saying much as there was rather a lot he couldn't remember.

He frowned at that last, intrusive thought and reached for his vodka, determined to block out everything else. He didn't want to think. He refused to do so. Tonight he was going to sing and dance and be happy. Be happy, damn it.

He glared at the brooding boy in the stool beside him. What right did that boy have to brood? Had he woken up in the forest one night with no memories only to discover that he was a blood sucking monster? Well? Had he? The vampire was actually drunk enough to ask, but he didn't get the chance.

The boy had turned to stare at him, his face a strange mixture of awe and disgust. "How much did you drink?" There was admiration in his voice as he added, "I didn't even know vampires could get drunk."

He stared back at the boy, scared to blink for fear that he would disappear. Scared this was just a drunken hallucination. "You know about vampires," he said softly.

The boy rolled his golden eyes. "I'm a Cristal."

The vampire frowned. "What does your surname have to do with vampires?"

Amusement curled around the boy's mouth like smoke. "You must be insanely drunk." He thrust forward his hand. The vampire glanced at it uncertainly. It was an ordinary enough hand, adorned with a ring of some kind of black flower.

When the vampire said nothing, the boy shook his head and muttered something that sounded like, "And they say shifters are the stupid ones." More loudly, he added, "I'm a witch."

"A witch." The vampire shook his head, regretting all the alcohol he'd consumed. His first break and he probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning.

"Not just any witch," the boy was continuing. "A Cristal. Second only to the Harmans. You need to brush up on your Nightworld facts."

"Nightworld," the vampire tested the word out slowly.

The witch boy heaved a sigh. "You sure you don't have some shifter blood? I'm thinking parrot."

The vampire let the insult pass. The boy could say whatever he wanted as long as he helped.

To that end the vampire put on the most menacing expression he could and ordered the Cristal, "You will tell me about the Nightworld."

The boy stared at him for a second and the vampire worried that perhaps he'd overdone it. He didn't want to scare the witch off. He tried to rearrange his expression into something less intimidating but stopped as the boy burst out laughing.

When the whooping subsided, the vampire re-phrased the strange insult from before, "You sure you don't have some shifter blood? I'm thinking hyena."

The witch shook his head and gave another little snort of amusement.

The vampire glared at him.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just I've never heard. . .Are you sure your sire didn't say anything to you about the Nightworld? I mean it's a pretty big thing to forget."

Sire? "I don't have a sire."

The boy gave him a skeptical look. "You saying you're lamia?"

Lamia? The vampire sighed, clearly this boy would not help him until he knew the full story. But, the little voice in his head had made a re-appearance and was urging him to be cautious. You've been going to see so-called psychics for days and then you go to a bar and a witch just happens to sit down next to you? How coincidental is that? The vampire hesitated a minute, eying the boy who was rapidly losing interest in the exchange and turning back to his drink. No, this was his chance. He'd take it and deal with the consequences. But, oh, how annoying it was to put his salvation in the hands of this exasperating overly pretty witch boy.

Surprisingly the boy remained silent during his tale, his visage finally turned serious.

After it was done, the vampire waited for the witch's pronouncement. He tried not to hope but it was a futile endeavor.

And thankfully, unnecessary. "I know some people who may be able to help," the boy said slowly. "But first, you should know about the Nightworld."

There was no time to think. She had to respond fast or she was toast, and not the nice, crispy toast you have with breakfast but the burnt and charred variety. It shouldn't have been difficult. One didn't get to be a Daybreak agent without being able to think on her feet, without being able to improvise in any situation. But then, this wasn't a situation. This was Thorne. This was Hell. And the look on his face suggested that if she wanted to get out limbs intact, she'd better start talking. Now.

Seeing how she'd gotten rather fond of her limbs - she'd had them for 18 years after all- she talked. "Alright so I'm not quite over the whole being locked in a cellar with a bunch of hungry rats thing, but I am trying." She couldn't allow herself to dwell on those words. To remember everything that had been done to her. Because of him. Always because of him. Hunter had tried but in the end it had been Thorne who shattered her soul.

She had been so sure he would feel her agony through their link. Goddess, at first she had tried to shield him from it. They could do what they wanted to her, but she'd be damned before she let anyone hurt him. How the fates must have laughed at her, at the foolish girl she had been. Her power dwindled, her body turned nothing but a mass of blood and pain, and still she had remained hopeful. Why not? He would save her - that's what soulmates did after all. Because he loved her, as she loved him. It was what had kept her sane through weeks of torture. His name was her prayer.

And then one day, two weeks in she had learned the truth. Though he knew it not, it was the most powerful blow Hunter Redfern ever delivered. Before depositing her back in her icy cell he had looked at her, complained Thorne had tricked him and gotten the better trade. He had stayed a minute, watching her face, anticipation on his own - waiting to see her reaction to her soulmate's betrayal. He had left disappointed. For, she had thought, surely not. And she had reached out, grasped that silver cord and tugged with all her might. There had been no answer, only a vast emptiness that steeped into her soul.

If Owen hadn't rescued her she would have died there. Worse still, was the knowledge she wouldn't have cared. Why live on when her soul was already buried? And yet, when she saw Owen she had allowed herself to dream for one fraction of a second. Owen was Thorne's cousin, his best friend; if he was there then surely it was only because Thorne hadn't been able to come himself. And she had worried that he was hurt, in pain, sick, anything. Surely something. The pity in Owen's eyes before he pretended not to hear buried her anew.

And still. . . Still, she had gone to him. Fool that she was, she had needed to hear it from his own lips before she could truly believe. He wasn't sick. He wasn't dying. He simply hadn't cared. What had ever made her think otherwise? With each careless word he had torn out another piece of her heart until it lay in splintered shards before his feet.

Try to forgive him for that? Never.

A/N: Please don't forget to review and you'll have my eternal adoration.