Author's note: Riddick's thoughts are italicized/separated since this is Lysia's narrative.

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Heh heh, nope it's not Riddick! He's not the only Furyan ya know lol Sorry about the delay! I kept putting it off because I wanted it to be perfect but last night I MADE myself sit down and finish this chapter. Hope you like it :)

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Chapter 6

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"I will pay for the girl's bread, Asod," the Furyan says in a silky voice.

"Of course, Mr. Razhir." Asod takes the credits offered, bags up my bread, and leaves the room, obviously afraid of Razhir.

Razhir's hand is still on my shoulder, causing me discomfort, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"And who might you be, my dear?" Razhir turns to face me and his hand leaves my shoulder. Thankfully the whole information-passing thing only works one way. He knows nothing about me.

"Thank you for paying," I say, slipping my credits into his jacket pocket. "But I take charity from no one." I grip my bag and side step him to get out of the bakery. He moves quickly back in front of me and drops my credits into my bag.

"I will not take your money, my sweet. Think of it as a…gesture of friendship. Now we're friends." He smiles an oily grin and holds out his hand to me. Yeah, like I'm that dumb. I look at his hand and then move back to his face.

"I don't make friends. I make enemies. When you're a person like me, all friends are just future enemies."

He drops his hand and studies me for a second. "You don't have to live like this, you know." His face still reeks of deception and his words sound like a business deal.

"You know nothing of how I must live." I pop my jaw in frustration. "Good day, Razhir."

This time he lets me leave, which is a good thing. Two more seconds in front of him and I would've hauled out the artillery. What gives him the balls to make assumptions about my life? He has no idea why I have to live the way I do. I'd rather live the rest of my life alone and crouched for attack than give my body to someone who sees it as nothing. Even though his words make me burn with anger, I wish that I could believe them. This way of life is my lot, but every second of every day I wish it wasn't so.

I feel the presence of my follower, the presence I've grown used to, and somehow it gives me comfort. Something in my life is stable, even if it is a creepy stalker. I turn slowly in the direction I feel it coming from.

"Thank you," I whisper to the person. As if in response, the wind changes to blow against me and I smell that smell that has come to haunt me. The exquisite smell of the man I will never have.

Fuck.

I need to kill something.

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R.B.R.

I smelled that Furyan who touched my woman. He smelled of death and evil.

Wait – MY woman? Oh God, you have GOT to be kidding me. I did NOT just think that! I kick the wall next to me a few times. OUT, OUT, OUT! No connections. No faces. No memories. She will mean absolutely nothing to me! Everyone who means something gets killed because of my mistakes. I will not allow her to suffer like little Jack.

I jump down from my perch and start following her again. I cannot leave this woman – who means nothing to me – at the mercy of that disgusting Furyan. He's already powerful in his own right. Who knows what would happen if he…I growl low in my throat at the thought. That's probably his plan, the fuck. He wants the woman so he will…I growl again, this time causing someone nearby to wonder if there's a dog in the alley. Oops. Guess I should keep moving instead of standing here like an idiot.

I move like an animal, quiet and stealthy, keeping up with the woman. Wish I knew her name. I already know a lot about her, things I'm sure no one else does. Her hair curls after it gets wet, but she keeps it in a tight bun to make it straight. She likes to watch ants go by and her face lights up when she sees flowers. Fuck, I sound like a pansy poet.

Wait, she stopped walking. I watch her carefully. I know she knows I'm here, but she doesn't know who I am. And that's how I want it. That way no one can hurt her through me. I can make no mistakes that will cascade into her death. When she gets her bearings in this new town, and I know for sure that asshole Furyan will leave her alone, I'll move on. I'll be her protector for a while. I'll be her silent guardian, watching over her in the shadows. And soon I'll be gone. That's the way it has to be.

She turns to me and seems to look straight into my eyes as she whispers, "Thank you."

….

I'm staying forever.

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I'm too restless to sleep. My instincts know something is up, even if I don't. Screw it. I get up and put on my long coat to keep out the cold, then make my way down to the lobby of my hotel.

It's so quiet here. My old town was noisy with gunshots and screaming. Here the only noise is a creaking sign, a wobbly lampshade, an old clock. I walk towards the front doors to get a glimpse of the three moons on this planet. They're so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at them. Before I can get there, I hear soft mews coming from a dark corner.

It makes sense that there are animals in here, but I haven't seen any as of late. They stay away because of what I am. They know I'm a predator, more animal than human. My animal side makes them cower in fear.

I reach an old cardboard box and find a white mother cat with five tiny babies. Four are white like their mother, but the fifth is black with a shimmer of violet. It looks alien surrounded by so much paleness. Kind of like me.

I step closer, drawn to the tiny black kitten, but my smell hits their noses. The mother jumps up and with a hiss, runs away into the shadows. The four white babies follow her, meowing about how scared they are of me. The black one tries to follow, but it's clear that this kitten is hurt. It limps away from me, trapped inside the box because it can't jump.

"Cee turas, abueto malehkas," I say softly in Furyan. Have no fear, tiny baby of mine. It's the only phrase I know in Furyan. Paris told me that it was my father's final words to me before he left.

I reach out to the kitten, slowly, speaking the words over and over. Animals can't understand languages, but they do know intentions. When I get about six inches away from the baby, it explodes, kicking, biting and clawing my hand. It knows I'm a predator. The scent is stamped onto me like a tattoo.

Now I'm pissed. I'm not trying to hurt you, you stupid kitten. I grab it by the scruff of its neck and hold it away from me. It protests more while I carry it up to my room and shut it away in the bathroom. I'll handle that bundle of claws later.

God, now I'm really angry. How dare that cat judge me just by my smell! I'm not evil. I don't kick cats for fun. Sure, I've killed people, but that's none of that cat's damn business! I grab my gun holster and put it on over my pajamas. Fine, I'll go do what I do best: kill and torture. That should make you happy, you little bitch with fur. I storm back down the stairs, checking my ammo in each gun.

Wait. Something is different. I scan the dark lobby. I smell men, leather, steel, cigarettes, sex. Hit men. In my fucking hotel. They must be dreaming. I spin the barrel of my gun and lock it into place, then draw out the other one. I'm ready to rumble, boys.

"May we…check in?" The voices chuckle. Aww, the cute little hit man made a joke.

"Unfortunately, this hotel is fully booked, but I would be more than happy to check you in at the graveyard. The rates are very good, I hear." Beat that, suckers.

"We're not here to fight you." Yeah, 'cuz you know I'll kick your butts. "We're here on a friendly visit." Friendly, my ass.

I walk down a few steps. "Oh, I see. Do you always carry guns on friendly visits?"

The man speaking to me steps into the moonlight. Chocolate skin, leather jacket, 33 magnums on his waist. Ugh, so tacky.

"Just a precaution," he says with a grin. 15 other guns click and lock. God, how many men are in here? "It also ensures your….cooperation."

I reach the bottom of the steps. "Touching, but umm….I'm not interested in your little girl scout campaign. Now run along back to whoever paid you to come here before I get really pissed."

He rests his shotgun on his shoulder. "You don't know who you're messing with, sweetheart."

"And neither do you, skippy pants." Urgh. Why did that have to catch me when I'm NOT decked out with my throwing knives? At least I'm still kick ass with my guns. Go me. I'm SO going slayer on their asses. They won't know what-….Oww. My neck stings.

Fuck. Tranquilizer dart.

Those dirty….

I hit the ground. Blackness.

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