Chapter 18:

Life's pretty hectic right now, but I am trying to get back into the writing swing!

Claire's POV:

After leaving Amelie's drawing room – a visit that filled me with a fear that has stayed with me since departing – I head to Common Grounds, determined to take an hour or two outside of the house to gain a better perspective on the events of the past few days, and the (complicated) state of affairs I have with pretty much every person I previously considered myself to be close to. After all, none of my so-called friends know I left the house; it's not as though they're exactly going to miss me now, are they?

Moving quickly through the streets, avoiding the dead ends that litter Morganville, I soon arrive at Common Grounds, not entirely sure where I've come from; Amelie's home isn't in Founder's Square, that's for sure…but where? It's as though I can't remember where I've gotten here from, and for one second, I pause and wonder whether or not this is deliberate, whether Amelie has somehow managed to get the machine to create some sort of confusing field, so that when someone leaves her home, they're unsure as to their location until they reach their next destination.

And I bet that if you're human and leave her home confused about where to go (though the odds of this happening are probably a million to one; I'm probably the first human not there as food to enter her home in Morganville's existence) you probably end up in a pit somewhere, just a snack for a passing vampire.

Stalking past a bunch of final-year college students, I march up to the counter in Common Grounds, amazed to see Oliver serving. I had thought that Amelie would be utilising him to try and find something to cure Sam…but perhaps even she can see that that would be cruel; she did date him, after all, and has abandoned him merely hours ago.

Then again, she's been crueller.

"The usual, Claire?" Oliver says, his tone perfectly polite, and he begins to prepare my usual: white mocha with extra foam, complete with chocolate sprinkles.

"No," I reply straight away, the word just shooting out of my mouth. I don't know why; I guess I just…feel like, since everything else is changing, my coffee choice should as well. It's stupid, I guess, but it's the way that I feel; absolutely everything else that has been constant in my life, at least for the past six months, has changed…so why not even my drink choice.

"Well, are you going to inform me what you want, or are you going to clog up my café for the rest of the day?" now, Oliver's snapping, and it's how I would have expected him to behave: angry at everyone, but in particular me, because it was me who found Sam.

I can't let him speak to me like this. So, very deliberately, I turn around and look at the non-existent queue, before raising an eyebrow. "I'll have…a latte with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles," I decide, watching as Oliver adapts whatever he had began to prepare for my normal drink into this new order. "So…how are you?"

This startles Oliver enough to get him to stop preparing the drink and look up at me in shock for a full five seconds. Very slowly, he recollects himself and continues making the drink, avoiding my question for a short while. "Of all the things I expected you to say—to gloat, perhaps, or even to ask me to keep quiet about what I saw in the lab—you ask me how I am?" he confirms and I nod slowly. All this does is procure an incredulous expression, one that I never thought I would see from Oliver. "I…things are complicated, Claire, too complex for you to understand. Things are in motion now, and whilst I may regret the individual actions, as a whole, it's the only way that I can—ahh, never mind, here, take your drink." He begins to tell me something, if not directly then at least in a riddle, but he realises just who he's talking to (the Founder's former 'pet' and the assistant of her one time former friend) and instantly stops.

"Alright then, that sounds interesting," I blatantly lie, but it doesn't even get a smile from the man. All he does is stare at me, his expression intense, and hand me my drink.

"On the house," he says, turning away, muttering something as he does. I don't press to ask what it is; with Oliver, it's probably best not to know.

Noting an empty seat in the corner, I make my way towards it, ignoring the whispering vampires and the way that they continually seem to be looking in my direction, not even lowering their gaze when they notice me looking. Evidently, they don't care. I ignore them, though, not commenting on the rudeness of what they're doing; I merely sit and stare at the far wall, sipping my coffee and wondering where it all went wrong.

Was it when Bishop came to town; were Shane and I already on a downward spiral from our high? Or was it after that, when Myrnin was cured from the disease and I realised just how brilliant company he is, how he's someone I could imagine being with? Or maybe it was just when I first thought that he was someone I could be with, because any normal girl—or boy—in a relationship doesn't do that…they just don't. I broke the rules, and that's when things started to get screwed up; it has to be! Things were already…different before Amelie made Myrnin and I attend the ball together; that, and its following events, was merely the catalyst for whatever emotional rollercoaster that's going on inside of me right now.

I don't know what to do, where to head on from here; Shane's made it quite obvious that he's disgusted with me…but I'm sure that if I make some concessions and give him time to get over what I did, then he'll forgive me. Michael, on the other hand, may be easier to placate – or maybe not, since Myrnin is the one who has to pass on that his grandfather's alive, and that the events of the past few days could have been avoided, if Sam hadn't been forgotten about. But at least his anger at me will abate, aside for the aforementioned kiss, and there'd be a chance of me getting an ally or two in the house, given that Eve seems to follow Michael's opinion now. That would only leave Shane…

As I ponder over this, I finish my coffee and just sit, working out the last details, until I'm aware of someone standing over me: Oliver. He looks interested, yet in a clinical manner, and I get the feeling that I should be scared of him – more scared than usual, that is, which is worrying. What could he be planning – if he is planning anything – that could be that bad?

"It's dark," he tells me, and I look to the window in shock; how long have I been in here? As though he can tell that, he smiles ever so slightly, adding, "you've been sat in here about…four hours, I'd hazard a guess at. I had no need for the table, hence why you didn't get kicked out. I know…of your situation."

That gets me. "If you want to discuss what you saw in the lab, fine!" I snap, standing up. "In fact, it'd be good for you to get it out of your system so that you can…you can stop holding it over me!"

He raises an eyebrow, cool as ever, and I get that sinister feeling again – but stronger. "I've spoken to you twice since I saw you kissing the dog, Claire; when exactly have I threatened to reveal it to everyone?"

"You…you didn't! But I know you, Oliver, I know what you'll do!" I cry out, suddenly thankful that the café is empty. It may mean that I'm alone with Oliver – how on earth did I not notice the other customers leaving? – but at least it means there are no witnesses to this.

The smile fades from Oliver's face and he folds his arms, leaning against the counter. He looks old, worn almost, and yet simultaneously, very, very dangerous. "You don't know a single thing about me, Claire Danvers," he says, his tone soft and sinister, "and yet you believe you can assume how I feel. You know nothing of how I feel – if I even have feelings, something your dog assures me I don't every chance he gets – and even if you did, it is not your place to comment on them!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" I say, holding my hands up as I realise this is the only way to get out of the situation: appeasing Oliver and letting him think he's won, just so that I can get out of Common Grounds alive. "Your feelings are none of my business and I'll never, ever have the audacity to comment on them again, are you happy?"

He doesn't say a word, merely watches me as I walk out of the café slowly, turning back every now and then to see that he isn't following me out.

And as soon as I'm outside, I run.

It's dark and I no longer have a band to show that I'm Protected; I may be a neutral in town, and wear a pin to prove this, but when there's a hungry vampire, something tells me that they're not going to be looking at my collar and spying the gold badge that marks me out as someone for them to avoid their chowing down on. I'm merely a walking bloodbag for them, and that's all they'll see, I'm certain.

As I move as quickly as possible down the best-lit streets on my way home, I realise that I could have taken the portal, or have gotten to the Day house – relatively close to Common Grounds – and taken it home from there. It would have saved this sprint home, the one that's got my heartbeat as fast as it was when I was running with Amelie and Hannah with Bishop around, and have gotten me around the whole 'how the hell did you get out of your room?' question I know I'm going to have to face. But I'm almost home now, I guess, only a few streets away in this extremely empty Morganville; I've not even seen a glimpse of a vampire on the streets now that I've left the café. And that in itself is odd; never have I been out on a night and not seen one of the walking dead, or whatever Amelie's referring to them as nowadays.

I hear a car engine revving down the street, and from the sound of it, it sounds like a vampire car. Evidently, they've not all been chased off the streets given that there's one coming down now, after me – but they won't want me. Vamps don't get out of their cars for nobody, unless maybe there's someone lying in the middle of the road bleeding – aka a free meal, no worries about the issue of Protection. That's the law, anyway.

Continuing to run, I realise something: the car's alongside me. And it's slowing down…now it's stopped.

They must be after me.

I don't slow to see who it is; they'll be after me anyway. Instead, I run as fast as I can, ignoring the burning sensation in my muscles because they're absolutely knackered and need energy to move, yet somehow I keep fighting, even though I know it's a futile battle, given that the vampire can run dozens of times faster than me.

Whoever it is has me within seconds. "Now, now, Claire, you don't want to struggle, do you?" they say, and with a shock, I realise it's Oliver. What does he want with me? Why does he want to kidnap me? "If you struggle, then I'll have to hurt you – more than I already will – and that doesn't make me feel good. You see, I don't like getting blood on the leather, as it's extremely difficult to wash out."

That doesn't make me stop struggling. Even though fighting back against Oliver is the most idiotic and pointless thing I could possibly do, I do it, because he can't kidnap me – he's just said that he's going to hurt me, so why would I not even try and evade his capture of me?

He sighs. "I told you not to struggle!" he snaps, and I sense rather than see his fangs falling down from their hiding place. He has me from behind, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other on my mouth to prevent me from screaming, and I get the scariest feeling that he's going to snap my neck or something like that, before he merely moves his hand from my mouth and presses his fingers into my neck.

And, as easy as that, I feel myself fading out of consciousness, not even having the energy to scream out for help.

~x~

An immeasurable period of time later, I wake up, my neck sore and my wrists bound. It's more than just the after effect of Oliver knocking me out – the side of my neck is wet.

Wet with my blood.

I turn slightly to see Oliver turning around from whatever he's looking at, the expression on his face a confusing mixture of emotions: anger, frustration, amusement (that one sickens me more than the rest) but, more than anything else…sadness. It's like he's sad to have done this to me.

"Let me go!" I yell at him, trying to twist my wrists out of the knots they're in behind my back: no use. He's too good at tying knots.

"No, no, not until you've served your purpose," he says to me, taking a step forwards to be within a few metres of me now. "Ahh, Claire, your blood tastes so sweet – I can see now why Myrnin is so smitten with you."

"He has only tasted it once, so I don't know what you're talking about," I shoot back, no longer caring about getting angry with him; he's already kidnapped me, fed on me whilst unconscious and has locked me up: there isn't much more he can do! "Why do you want me here, then?"

"Ah, you finally ask the golden question!" Oliver says, slightly sarcastically. "You see, you are the one I hold responsible for Amelie leaving me…and you're the one she isn't angry with; I hear from the grapevine that Myrnin has been disowned until he can come up with some sort of solution to Sam's little…issue."

"So, you're basically saying that because Amelie doesn't hate me, you're going to use me…to what, get Amelie to dump Sam and come back to you?" I query, my heart sinking as I come up with this hypothesis.

Oliver's eyes gleam, and I can tell without him even needing to verbally confirm it that this is correct. "You really are too bright; it's an abomination to be so clever, yet so obtuse," he mutters. "But yes, essentially, that is the plan: I write the note to Amelie that your life rests on whether or not she is willing to give up the ginger, and if she does, you live, only having suffered a few bruises and minor blood loss."

He smiles at me now, and it's a wicked smile, one that I wish I could forget – but I can't; it's ingrained itself deep into my mind.

"If she doesn't return to me, well, you die a slow, painful death at the hands of a hurt and unforgiving man."

Please don't favourite or alert without reviewing, thanks.

I'll be writing more frequently (I hope) so don't expect the update to be that far away!