Author's Note: I rearranged and edited the previous chapter a bit, so if you'd consider re-reading it, I'd be insanely happy :D Also, ultimately, I think I'm going to end up editing the entire story and reposting it at some point. I'll let you know :)

The heat was intense, but pleasant. Dry. The wind whipped around Spencer, buffeting him with a spray of sand. He stood for a moment to let the heat seep through his bones. It wasn't often that he felt warm, and he welcomed the unforgiving sun beating down from overhead.

Something in the distance caught his eye. It shimmered on the horizon, mirage-like and inviting. He squinted, straining to see through the scorching brightness. Uncertainly, he began to walk towards it, his spurs clanging dully in the dust swirling around his boots. As he advanced, the flickering image began to take shape. It seemed to be a collection of palm trees, which might indicate—

An oasis.

The warmth was thick and wonderful, but Spencer was thirsty as hell. He hurriedly approached the verdant sanctuary, an island in the desert. He eagerly broke through the lush foliage, all manners of exotic creatures crying out and fleeing from his path.

Finally he reached the edge of a pool, crystal clear and flat as glass. He watched his reflection for a moment, impressed with the stillness of the water, but feeling the usual disgust that was invoked whenever he looked at himself. He had been a man once; he could feel that part of him still existed. The essence of his former self was not gone entirely—it was simply shrouded, enveloped by something much, much darker.

He knelt to drink. Before he could lower his cupped hands into the cool spring, he was met with a series of ripples. Alarmed, he reached for a weapon and looked up to find the source of the disturbance.

It was Constantina.

The warlock was on the far side of the pool, with her bare back to him. His breath caught in his throat, fearing he'd been seen, but she hadn't seemed to notice his presence. He realized then, that she was completely naked, bathing waist-deep in the spring.

Spencer stealthed immediately, looking away and feeling immensely awkward that he'd stumbled upon her in such an…exposed…state. Yet, he couldn't seem to compel himself to walk away and allow her privacy.

Raising his eyes once more, he released his sword and watched her movements, her shape, the way her hair trailed down her back, how the curve of her hips disappeared into the water. She raised a cloth to leisurely rinse down her shoulders and chest, perfectly oblivious to Spencer's observations.

Slowly, he rose from his frozen crouch and discretely crept down the shoreline to her side of the pool. His eyes followed her movements as he went— the way her eyes closed when she leaned backwards into the water to wet her head…how she pulled the boney tips of her fingers through her damp hair…

At last he reached the area where she'd left her clothing. For a split second, he entertained the idea of infuriating her by hiding her belongings.

But, against his better judgment, he dropped his stealth.

Constantina saw him immediately, and her eyes widened—not in fear or alarm, but with seemingly pleased astonishment.

"I thought I heard someone sneaking around," she said simply, giving him a knowing smile.

"What? How?" Spencer asked, offended. He had always prided himself in being an excellent rogue.

"You must have been too distracted to realize all the noise you were making."

Spencer looked back along his path to see there was indeed a fair amount of dried, fallen palm fronds littering the beach. Like an elephant, he must have crashed through them. He returned his attention to the very naked, seemingly un-modest warlock before him in the spring.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, attempting to maintain his composure and not let his eyes wander out of control.

"I'm here for the same reason you are," she replied calmly, trailing her fingertips through the water. A small, alluring smile lingered on her lips.

"You and I…we shouldn't be here," Spencer said irresolutely.

"You're here by your own decision."

They stared silently at each other for several moments, Spencer's eyes sweeping over her bare, pale body. He realized then that he never got his drink of water, and as he looked at her, he was now thirstier than ever.

"I'm parched," he croaked.

Constantina didn't answer; she turned her back to him once more, and slid out into deeper water. Spencer considered for a moment, swallowing hard. He wrestled with himself, his conscience, for several moments. There were so many reasons for him to just turn around and walk away.

But ultimately, he just couldn't stand it anymore.

Unclipping his belt, he dumped his gear in the sand, stripped off his shirt, and flung his boots off. He stepped hesitantly into the calm water and made his way through the rippling glass towards Constantina. She was waiting quietly, chest-deep, looking serenely out over the oasis. Spencer reached her finally, somewhat unsure of what to do…how to proceed. Tentatively, he reached out, trailing his fingers up her back before brushing her hair forward over her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch and gasped, turning her head slightly to watch him out of the corner of her eye.

Spencer's gaze swept across her bare, glistening shoulder. Before he could talk himself out of it, he gently grasped her shoulders, closed his eyes, and bent to kiss the nape of her neck.

"SPENCE!" Malek roared, kicking the heavy wooden door repeatedly.

"Gods damn it," Spencer panted, wrenching his eyes open in shock and confusion as he was jolted awake.

"Let's go," Malek ordered from outside in the hallway, his voice muffled. "You can sleep when you're dead."

Spencer grunted, not oblivious to the irony. He didn't move, except to severely clench his jaw. He stared at the vaulted, ornately carved ceiling of his room, splayed flat on his back, clinging to the rapidly dissolving bits and pieces of the dream.

It had been so realistic.

He cursed again as he swung his legs over the side of the hay-stuffed bed and sat up. He blinked rapidly and stared at the palms of his trembling hands; it had been a long time—a very long time—since he'd had that sort of dream.

Even by the time he readied himself and finally made his way downstairs, he was still in a sluggish funk. He hadn't yet shaken himself out of the haze, and found he was completely unable to even look at Constantina. He hoped she would assume that he was still angry with her from the evening prior. That would be the easiest way to deal with it. With her. The further away he kept her, the easier everything would be.

"I found two more to join us," Malek reported happily to his undead comrades over morning coffee and whiskey (Spencer ordered a double). "They'll be arriving today to meet us."

Constantina curled her lip and drove her fork into a week-old burned ambercorn pancake. "Any more women joining this fiasco? I've about had it with the men."

Spencer ignored her; Malek grunted, "Yes, the mage joining us is of the female persuasion. Though I doubt the two of you will have time to go shoe-shopping or whatever it is you women do together."

Constantina stabbed him in the hand with her fork.

The two new members of their group were not expected to arrive until later in the afternoon. Constantina disappeared into the city by herself; Malek and Spencer meandered over to one of their favorite pubs for lunch and masculine repartee after spending some time in the auction house.

Spencer eventually resumed his foul mood from the evening before. As irate as he was by the warlock's presence, he realized now that he – they, he corrected himself – needed her. They needed a full group to navigate safely through Scholomance. It was difficult enough to find two other people, let alone trying to replace her. Still, he couldn't figure out why she had not yet left them of her own volition. He had been especially cruel and condescending to her at times (necessarily so, he justified to himself), so much that he was surprised she hadn't become fed up and abandoned them altogether.

Nevertheless, he found himself to be grateful. He would never admit it to her or Malek of course, but she brought him a certain contentment, a certain peace of mind…when she wasn't maddening him.

Scholomance. The school of necromancy, once the extravagant estate of the wealthy Barov family of Alterac, was foolishly donated in exchange for everlasting life. Instead, they were transformed into horrific undead creatures, forever damned to walk the halls of the school. The entire area was infested with Scourge apprentice necromancers. Granted, they were novices, but there were a lot of them. Not to mention the instructors were intensely powerful.

"We need to come up with a strategy," Malek said grimly. They had met the two new members of their party, a troll priest and a troll mage, outside the inn. "This could get nasty."

"Don't be so unenthusiastic," Constantina chided. "These are my kind, remember? I think I know a thing or two about Necrolytes and Dark Summoners. We students of fel-based magic all study the same craft; they're just a willing to take it a little further." She shifted uncomfortably. "…Though I do admit the purpose of the shadow magic is to prolong the suffering of victims."

Malek looked at her in surprise. "You have a sinister streak after all, little girl. Someone must have seriously wronged you in life." He looked at Spencer. "She sort of reminds me of you." He grinned.

Spencer pushed Malek out of his way and approached the trolls. "I gather you two are well-experienced?"

The big one, Hephaestion, didn't answer; he merely polished several of his rare, particularly hard-to-obtain trinkets.

Summertree, the mage, sneered at the rogue. "You're the ones that asked us to come…we're not begging to join you, so if our skills are in question—"

"Spencer, there's no need to worry about them. I guarantee you, their skillfulness is no less than impressive," Malek grinned.

"It's okay," Constantina reassured them. "I'm used to being persistently questioned, too." She refused to look at Spencer.

"…Alright then," Malek said quickly, before the rogue could offer any sort of snide response.

They spent much of the afternoon devising a strategy, though much bickering and disagreement occurred rather than actual tactical planning. All of their roles had been clearly defined, and that seemed to be enough for Spencer.

"Look, we all know what our jobs are. We don't need to make things any more difficult or complicated," he pointed out.

"Yes, because we all know how you despise complications," Constantina muttered. It seemed she was taking shots at him today every chance she got.

The two trolls glanced at each other, and Malek flared his nostrils. Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache. Constantina chewed her tongue.

"We can get to the neutral base camp tonight if we leave now and ride hard," Malek said, looking at the map of the Plaguelands region. "This is a new settlement…should be interesting." He turned to the mage.

"A portal to Undercity, if you would please, Summertree."