Hey, everybody. Sorry this so long to post. Honestly, I had a terrible's case of writer's block, and the scanty feedback didn't exactly help. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitching, no one's obligated to give me reviews, but it does help the inspiration flow faster. I did appreciate the two reviews I got on the last chapter. Intimate Stranger, the reason this got out as soon as it did was because you've reviewed every single chapter, and I did promise you updates. Okay, enough of my babbling, onto the story!

1950's LA

"Don't be insulting," Coraline snarled at her old friend. As fond as she was of him, it was highly tempting to hurl him through her window.

"You are," he taunted, repeating his earlier slur. "You're scared."

"I'm bored with him, that's all," Coraline countered disdainfully, her dark eyes venomous. In some ways, she and Charles behaved more like siblings than past lovers, yet another reason why they could never revert back to the early days which had been brief.

"I wish I could believe that," Charles announced dramatically, lowering himself into a chair. "He's just another dippy musician, just another walking meal. But if you were simply bored with him, you'd toss him aside as you've done thousands of times with other unfortunate suckers. Why go through such lengths? Why the charade? Why the games? No, my dear, you aren't bored. You're spooked."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll shut it for you," she warned. As furious as she was with him and his big mouth, she was angrier with herself, because he was right. She was terrified, her, a woman who could reduce kings to whimpering masses, hardened killers to milk toast, was frightened. And of who? Mick St. John, a nobody in a nothing band, leading a nothing life. If it wasn't such a humiliating turn of events, she might have died of laughter.

That night of the party, while they'd downed champagne by the pool, she'd thought she'd had the upper hand. Hell, she'd had the upper hand, she just hadn't kept it. Her plan had been simple: seduction, dismissal. He'd take the bait because men were ruled by their penises, and once he'd proven himself the rule, not the expectation, she'd be free of him.

To both her irritation and delight, he hadn't cooperated. She'd seen his cock, hard and ready in the moonlight, throbbing to take her. They'd exchanged kisses, scorching and powerful, making her hotter than she'd been in years. But he'd stopped at kisses, stroking her hair, sweetly declining. He'd asked her out on a date…a date! The idea was beyond corny, past juvenile, but she'd been touched, thrown off guard. He'd pressed the advantage, and words of agreement had been out of her mouth before she knew they'd come.

"So, what part am I to play?" Charles asked, wearing a damnable smirk.

"Just sit there and keep your mouth shut. If you think you're capable," she hissed sarcastically, moodily handing him the martini she'd prepared.

"Just keep the liquor flowing, doll, just keep it flowing." He cocked his head consideringly, sighing dramatically. "Too bad you dismissed your staff for the night; I kind of had a hankering for that little morsel, Darcelle, your new maid."

"My employees are not freshies," she informed him curtly. "And even if they were, I wouldn't share. You ruined the last toy I gave you."

"It's not my fault the twit fell in love with me. I was just looking for a piece of tail, and if she'd had half a brain, she would have capitalized on what little advantage she had." It was true; Charles could be the epitome of generous, even to mere conveniences. "And then she has to fall into the clutches of feminine hysteria and kill herself. Completely unnecessary, and a waste of a perfectly lovely cocktail."

Coraline thought of her late seamstress, Monique, and felt a twinge of regret. It really was a pity. She'd worked wonders with a sewing machine, bringing Coraline's designs to vivid life. And, though not quite as important, she'd been tolerable company as well; one of the few females Coraline had ever met that wasn't somewhat devious or catty. Oh, well. It was a lesson well learned anyway. Keep valued employees away from dear ol' Charles.

"Just let me change into something more comfortable," she told him. And more becoming for this little farce.

A few minutes later she returned with his snack, draped in her pink robe, a sample of Monique's handiwork, wearing matching lingerie that molded to her skin beneath, the lace pecking out beneath the robe's silken protection. Suddenly, her senses were altered. Mick. Mick was here.

"Judging from the comical expression on your face, it's safe to assume lover boy has arrived."

"Just do as I told you or that glass will be shoved so far up your ass you won't be able to sit for weeks," Coraline threatened, baring her fangs before letting them retreat.

The knock at the door signaled her to move, and with the effortless glide she'd acquired so long ago, she made her way over, ever the enigma, even to herself. The sight of him filled her with a bittersweet feeling that was futile. She noticed he'd worn a suit, nothing like the custom ones Charles strutted around in. Mick St. John, she suspected from his manner, only wore suits for church and supremely special occasions. The fact that he'd worn it tonight cut at her heart. Again, futile.

He smiled. He was such the innocent in spite of his stint overseas, so out of his depth. She covered her regret with a small smile. He returned the smile, so blind! "Why'd you leave the other night? We were just starting to have fun."

Ah, yes, their date. He hadn't escorted her in the style she was accustomed to, but he'd treated her the way no man had ever treated her before, even in the height of her thrall over them. Like a lady. That's when she knew she had to backtrack, to terminate the game before she lost.

Mick moved forward, leaning in to kiss her. Her muscles coiled with the effort it took not to yank his warm body into hers, to mesh their mouths, letting the pleasure of the kiss wash over them until he was moaning for more. Instead, she pulled back, feigning confusion. "What night?" It wasn't simply playing dumb; she had no intention of letting Charles know she actually went out on a…date! It'd take her a hundred years to live it down. She could all but feel Charles' glee all the way across the room.

Maybe Mick did too, because his eyes finally took in his surroundings. She knew how it looked, how she'd designed it to look. Candles were lit, she was dressed seductively, and Charles looked snug as a bug in a rug, although without vampire senses, in the dim lighting, she knew Mick couldn't see his face. Hurt and humiliation warred for a second in her human's eyes, and for the first time in so long, Coraline took no satisfaction in having put those sentiments in a man's eyes. In fact, she felt her stomach twist into knots.

"I got it," Mick told her, voice tight, controlled. "That's fine." Then he was walking away, and a surge of affection washed through her. She stared after him, proud of the way he'd handled himself. Maybe…maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe this one could be for keeps. First, she had to see what he was made of. She closed the door, the knots easing, the small smile returning.

Modern LA, April 11th

On the surface, Josef Kostan was a vamp without a care in the world, a billionaire playboy who loved to get laid or close a lucrative deal. There was some truth to that, but the reality was more complicated, more painful, which is why he encouraged his outrageous reputation.

Today, you'd never know he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, internally shaken by the silver's affect on Mick. He was reasonably sure his younger friend would recover, but there wasn't exactly a database of answers available. Most vampires who suffered from silver gunshot wounds usually didn't live to tell the tale. If the bullet hadn't exited through his temple, the silver would have poisoned his brain, killing him in less than an hour.

Josef arrived at Beth's, 8 o'clock sharp, just as he'd promised. She answered the door with hair that could masquerade as a bird's nest, her pajamas frumpy, and her eyes were bloodshot.

"My, don't you look as pretty as a fresh cut flower," he drawled as he eased around her, strolling into her apartment.

"Blow yourself," she snarled.

"And my, charming to boot. It must be my lucky day."

"Look, Josef, I was up until 3:00, having it out with Maureen. My job's hanging by a thread, I'm just lucky she didn't fire me on the spot." She glared at him, pausing like she expected an apology or something.

"I don't remember holding a gun to your head, forcing you to accept my offer. Last chance to change your mind, sweetheart." She kept glaring at him, but was noticeably silent. "Wonderful. Now, get dressed. I'm not going to be seen in public with someone who looks like crap."

"Don't hold back," she bitched, stomping to her bedroom. He sighed, rubbing his temples. The façade was wearing on him, and he was half tempted to drop the whole thing, just come clean with her about Mick. But he had his reasons for keeping silent; it was the smartest route, and the one that suited his agenda the most.

First of all, Sara was tops with him, even trumping his brotherly love for Mick, and at the moment, Beth was his best shot of finding a possible cure for Sara, for returning the woman he yearned for, even when he was sleeping. Sure, he could have gone it alone, he had a promising lead, but Beth already proved a valuable asset. If she knew the score, she'd bail on him so fast, his head would spin.

Second of all, Mick, for all intents and purposes, was healthy. Brain damaged, sure, but that, if vampiric patterns held, would reverse itself, given enough time. Coraline would take care of him, she'd saved his life for crying out loud, when it would have been more predicable to let him burn the way he'd let her burn once. Sure, she might use Mick's temporary condition to her advantage, to reel him back in, but that'd be the worst she'd do to him. As messed up of a love as it might have been, Coraline did love Mick, and he was safe with her.

Third of all, Beth's influence on Mick was just as destructive on Mick as Coraline's was, in a totally opposite way. 22 years ago, Beth had triggered a change in Mick, a revival of his self-hatred, his rejection of his own nature. It wasn't Beth's fault, she was just a kid, but she'd changed him, and as an adult, that influence was working overtime. Frankly, Mick needed to man up, and grow a pair of fangs, and with Beth's influence in the picture, that'd never happen, he was too obsessed with being a good man for her to be proud of.

Not that Mick needed to lose his morals, exactly, he just needed to loosen up a little, and embrace the night. If anybody could help Mick get in touch with his inner vamp, it was Coraline. With the slate wiped clean, maybe she'd have her shot.

And last, but not least, if Beth and Coraline came into contact, it'd get ugly, ending in serious bodily damage. This time, Beth would end up on the losing end, as Coraline had cashed in her human card, and was back to immortal and loving it. For the reporter's own sake, he needed to keep her as far away from the situation as possible.

Dressed in a pair of hip hugging jeans, and worn tank-top, Beth exited her bedroom 45 minutes later, hair glossy, make-up light but faultless. It didn't quite mask her fatigue, but it was a huge improvement. Her beauty was working over-time.

"Better," he appraised briskly. "Publicly presentable, anyway." He suspected men fell all over themselves to compliment her, hell he'd already thrown his own into the ring when he'd first met her. The woman's self-confidence was healthy enough, he suspected, it didn't need his tender care. "I'll just have the driver carry your things to the car."

"Big of you," she snipped. He just smiled smoothly, and gestured to the door. Her little attitude held no sway over him, and like a child's sulking, the less of a reaction it was given, the better.

"Why bother with the limo?" She asked once they were outside, waving a hand at the enormous vehicle. "It's just to the airport."

"Because I own it, therefore should get some use out of it." He made a single curt gesture to the driver, who leaped out of the limo. "Keys," he ordered Beth, who reluctantly handed them over. Josef tossed them to the chauffeur.

"It's number…" she started to say, but trailed off when he bounded into the building. "What's he gonna do, sniff my place out?" she demanded irritably.

"He's not a vampire, so I doubt it. I simply communicated the location of your apartment to him, and provided he hasn't come down with Alzheimer's, he won't have any problems."

"Why isn't he a vampire?" Curiosity, the driving force of her life, glittered in her pretty eyes. "I mean, I know why he isn't a vampire, no one's turned him, I mean why wouldn't you hire just vampires?"

Josef opened the door for her, smirked. "My dear girl, I enjoy many vices, but prejudice is not one of them. Who am I to hold an individual's species against him? It'd be just as bad as holding a woman's gender against her. Take journalism for example. Not so long ago, it was a boy's only club."

"Point and match," Beth conceded, smiling for the first time this morning, gracefully sliding into her seat. "You may be a hedonistic smart ass, but you're an opened-minded hedonistic smart ass."

"So many compliments in one observation, however do I cope?" He shut the door behind her, inhaling the crisp morning air. It was overcast today, just the way he liked it. Hope filled him, restoring him, lifting some of the weight off his shoulders. Somehow, he knew that after so many years, he'd finally find his Sara again, that he'd return to LA with her by his side.