Author's Note: My computer is officially back! :D This chapter used to only have three scenes in it (as opposed to my usual four), but I found out that I messed up big time by doing that and went back and changed it. So… yes. Read and enjoy! :D

Steve frowned across the table he was sitting at with Mr. Tiny. How could he helped but frown, after what had just happened? "I don't see why you had to kill them."

"Because, Steve," Mr. Tiny explained with much forced patience, "It is not yet the time."

Steve's frown quickly turned into a scowl that masked his whole face into an expression of hatred. He gestured to all of the dead vampaneze lying around the cavern they were in with his arm— there was probably a good fifty of them. "If you were going to kill every single witness… then why'd you bother letting me step into the fire coffin? Better yet, why'd you let me try it with so many freaking people in the room?"

Mr. Tiny sighed at the child's inability to comprehend anything beyond his own desires and what was left of his crumbling morals. "You fail to see the bigger picture. It is important that you know of your destiny, Steve. However, it would not work to our advantage for everyone to know. Not yet."

"Then why did you let me step into the coffin while everyone was around? Why not when it was only a few people?"

Mr. Tiny's eyebrows rose of their own accord. "You have killed in cold blood, and yet you have the nerve to argue my motives?"

Steve's jaw clamped shut as he fought to control the rage that Mr. Tiny's comment brewed inside of him. He paused to let himself cool down before saying, "I just don't understand why my people can't know yet."

"Because, Steve. The Lord must arise while the vampaneze are at their absolute weakest. They need to see what it is like to be doomed. The Lord's— that's means you, Steve— coming will instill a new sense of hope and even further hatred inside of every member of the species."

"Hatred?" he asked with a confused expression on his face.

"Yes, Steve. Hatred towards the vampires."

"Towards Darren," Steve translated, suddenly warming up to the plan.

"Towards all vampires, including Darren."

"So… Darren," he clarified. He honestly didn't care about the other vampires or the 'war' that they were all going to have. He only cared about Darren. All he wanted was to find him, extract his revenge, and then kill his best friend. He didn't care how long it took; he just knew that it was going to happen. It would happen if it was the last thing Steven Markus Leonard ever did.

Mr. Tiny merely sighed at the Vampaneze Lord's antics. It was no use trying to reason with this child, or to bother explaining the vitality of his role. Everything just went right over his head— he was far too wrapped up in his own head to look at that bigger picture or destiny or even what the results of his actions may be. He only wanted blood. Shan's blood.

However, that suited Mr. Tiny just fine.

Michaela stared down at the floor, just like she'd been doing for the past… what, half an hour? She's spent all this time waiting for Darren to come back, each second that passed making her feel worse and worse. She forced sighed, realizing that he wouldn't come back. He was going to leave her forever, just like Steve did. Darren was gone— and for real this time. She turned around, fully prepared to lie in bed and cry herself to sleep when she saw something out her window. Darren was standing outside, leaning on her balcony.

She walked out the sliding glass doors and stood by his side. She stared up at the stars with him before turning her gaze onto his face. When she saw that he was crying, she placed her hand on top of where his lay. "Dare…"

His other hand shakily lifted up to wipe away the tears that rolled down his face. Even in this broken moment, Michaela was struck by how beautiful Darren looked with the moon's glow illuminating his body. He shook his head sadly before saying, "I just… I… I don't want to be a monster, Mikey."

She laced her fingers through his and folded her hand so that her palm was against his knuckles and their fingers were intertwined. "You're not a monster, Darren. No monster in the entire universe is as perfect as you are."

"I… I almost attacked you!"

"So you have a blood fetish," she scoffed, waving her free hand to dismiss the idea. "Who cares?"

"You don't get it! I'm a freaking vampire, Michaela!"

She ignored the fact that he'd called her by her full name as well as the fact that she knew she should find his claims preposterous. However, it was Darren, and she whole-heartedly believed him. She answered soothingly, "I can handle that, too." When his expression didn't change, she changed her approached and demanded angrily, "So what? That doesn't change a single thing about you, Darren. Not a single fucking thing. You might be a vampire, but you're still the most beautiful person in the world— inside and out. You're supposed to be dead, but I still love you more than anything.

He finally turned his face to her. His dark eyes scanned her face for any trace of fear as he whispered, "How can you possibly love someone who has to constantly fight the urge to kill you?"

"I've never made good choices," she admitted. The corner of his mouth twitched, but other than that he didn't respond. His eyes bore holes into her, wanting a real answer, and she felt a chill run down her spine. "Because," she finally decided when she could no longer take the silence. "The fact that you're trying… It's way more important than any repercussions your friendship might cause me."

The pools of brown that had been staring her down with belligerent remorse turned angry. "My small shred of humanity is worth your life?"

She nodded immediately— she didn't have to think it over this time. "Yes," she responded immediately.

He wrapped his arms around her as he let out a long, shuddering breath. She could tell that he was trying to fight his way back from being on the verge of tears as he said, "Mikey… I… I love you."

She was about to say it back to him when an idea struck her. She pulled out of his embrace and stared into his watery eyes. "Do you?"

"Of course," he stuttered, taken aback by the fact that she would even have to ask.

She bit her lip, kind of scared by what she was going to do next. She rolled her sleeve up to expose a thin, scarred arm, never breaking their connected gazes. "Then drink," she ordered.

"I can't—"

"Look at you! You're half-dead. If you really love me, you won't make me see you like this."

"Mikey…"

"It isn't inhumane if I'm giving you permission," she pressed eagerly, hoping to god that he would break soon. "You won't be forcing pain upon me. I'm asking you for this, Darren. Please?"

He shook his head sadly and averted his gaze as he whispered, "What if I can't stop?"

"You will," she informed him, and pressed her arm into his hand.

Darren took in a short, shaky breath before carefully pressing his thumb nail into her skin, just like he'd seen Mr. Crepsley do a million times before. He frowned when it didn't even puncture her skin, much less draw blood.

Michaela groaned and walked inside her room. She returned momentarily with a small blade and pressed it into his palm. His eyes flashed from the blade to her face with a worried expression, and she laughed. "It hasn't seen action in years. Chill."

"Mikey, I don't think I can—"

She groaned exasperatedly and took the blade back from him. She held her breath as she swiftly moved it across her wrist with one quick motion, adding to her collection of scars for the first time in years. As soon as she saw the blood begin to flow, she glanced up at Darren's face. His eyes were widened; his pupils dilated.

"Do it."

His mouth was upon her instantly. He sucked hungrily, and she winced at the tug of blood being pulled from her veins. She waited until she felt her head grow light before speaking up, "Darren?" He didn't even look up, so she said pointedly, "Yo. Dare." When there was no response, she smacked him upside the head.

He menaced over her just like he'd done in the bedroom, ready to go for the kill— how dare she interrupt his feast! He'd only advanced about half a step before he snapped out if his trance. Had he really been about to hurt Michaela? His best friend? One of the only two people he had left in the world?

He propelled himself backwards so that he was away from her and sat in the corner of the balcony, his back against where the railing and the wall of Michaela's house connected. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared down at his feet, fighting against the repulsion building inside him. He'd actually drunken her blood! He was about to look up and apologize when he saw Michaela's feet moving away from him. With the sound of each footfall, he could feel his outlook growing darker and darker. He knew this would happen. Despite his pessimism, Michaela re-appeared a minute or so later. She approached him and stood in front of him, studying his fetal-positioned body.

No doubt deciding what would be the best way to kill me, monster that I am, Darren thought glumly.

However, she surprised him by crouching down so that she was almost at eye-level with him. She placed her hand under his chin and tilted his head up so that their gazes met. She smiled at him comfortingly and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Feeling better?" she guessed.

Darren sighed softly in response, and Michaela sat next to him. He had no response in mind— How do you describe the most amazing surge of strength you will ever feel being accompanied by an overwhelming sense of self-hatred and guilt? He couldn't find the words, so instead he simply turned his head to face her and stated, "Your hair…"

She bit her lip and fingered her brown, unevenly chopped hair. It was about an inch past being shoulder length— it had grown a hell of a lot since she'd slaughtered her locks. "Yeah," she admitted.

"It's… nice?" he guessed. When he saw her snicker against her own volition, he grinned and admitted, "Alright, it's a wreck."

She laughed shortly before her expression sobered. "Yeah. It was, uh, definitely healthier before you guys left me."

Darren's brow furrowed as he repeated, "'You guys'?"

"You didn't hear?" She paused and said, "Well, I suppose that makes sense, being as you were 'dead' and all. Steve… he, um… he left too. Skipped town a week or two after your funeral. He came back for a day— saved my ass from some drunken bitches. But since then… I haven't seen him. He left again. He's moved on, and…" Her voice trailed off; she had no idea how to bring that sentence to a close. There were so many things she could put there— 'and I'm heartbroken', 'and I have to, too', 'and I don't think I ever will'… All were possible responses.

Darren placed his palm on top of where hers rested on her thigh and interlocked their knuckles. She smiled at him gratefully before placing her head on his shoulder. He rotated their clasped hands to inspect her forearm and frowned a bit, inspecting her scars. "Why'd you keep the blade?"

She glanced up at him through her lashes and sighed deeply. She hadn't talked to anyone about this, ever, and she didn't really want to start now. "I don't know, Dare. I guess I just liked the idea of having at least one thing there for me."

Darren's frown deepened as he whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

Michaela lifted her head from his shoulder and glanced at his face in shock. "For what?"

"I don't know if you remember this… but I do." When she didn't interrupt, he continued, "I promised you, Mikey. I swore that I'd be here for you forever; that I'd never leave you. I promised to love you. And don't get me wrong; I do. More than anything. But I said you could trust me… Best friends forever, I said. Do you remember that? But I had to go and fake my own fucking death, and I left you with nothing but a blade to turn to." He shook his head, and his bangs fell over his face. "Some best friend…"

The fact that Darren dropped an f-bomb kind of scared Michaela; he never swore. But she ignored the way her gut clenched and brushed the hair out of his eyes lovingly. She held his face in her free hand again and stared into his eyes again as she said softly, "You listen to me right now, Darren Shan. None of what happens to me is your fault. Nothing I say or do can ever be blamed on you— got it? I love you. You're the absolute best friend that anyone could ever ask for. After all, you came back, didn't you? I mean… I understand that you probably don't want to get stuck here in this stupid town with me and will be leaving soon— but you still visited, which is a hell of a lot better than nothing." She paused momentarily before adding, "And I'll have you know that tonight was the first time I've used that blade since meeting you and St—" She stopped there. It hurt too much to say his name.

"Mikey…" He paused, not knowing what to say.

"Shh… I know." She let go of his face but maintained eye contact as she asked, "How long do we have?"

"I'm not sure. I'm busy during the days, but my nights are free until I leave town. I'm not sure when that'll be— could be tomorrow, could be next month."

"Can you maybe stay the night?"

Darren looked into her eyes, shining with hope, and found it nearly impossible to say no. He answered her question with one of his own: "Do I take the floor, or will you?"

"I was thinking we could both use the bed…"

He nodded, hoping that the dark of the night obscured his shocked reaction. He knew that she didn't mean that in a provocative way, but he was still surprised. She had never asked to share a bed before, and he was pretty sure that Steve was the only guy she'd ever slept with. "Sure."

"Thanks." She tore her gaze away from his and forced herself to her feet. She walked into her room with Darren on her heels, stopping to shut the door behind him. When she turned back around he was laying in the bed with his arm stretched across her pillow. Michaela rolled her eyes and climbed in, his arm under her shoulderblades. He used his hand to grab her upper arm and pull her into his body. She laughed, kissed his cheek, and let her head fall on his chest before sinking into unconscious.

Steve shivered as he ran his hand over the center of his head and craned his neck to see behind him. The knife Arlingsby had thrown at him was stuck in the wall, and there was now a freshly-shaved streak in the center of his head of hair.

I was that close to death…

Arlingsby let out a menacing roar, angry beyond belief that the boy had lived. He never missed! He charged at the new vampaneze boy with nothing but fury and hatred in his eyes. This mere child was a disgrace to their people, and Arlingsby wanted nothing more but to see his lifeless body sprawled out on the floor.

Steve almost cringed at the incoming threat, but let Arlingsby rush at him lethally. You're no quitter, he scolded himself as he held his ground. A moment before impact, he jumped out of the way.

A small laugh escaped Steve's throat as he watched his opponent's head smash into the wall, having been unable to cease his momentum. His laugh quickly transformed into a gasp as Arlingsby's crash jarred the knife from its position in the wall. The blade fell, and Arlingsby looked up to see what the boy was gasping at. The knife landed right between his eyes a second later, making itself the last thing Arlingsby ever saw. Steve winced as he watched the knife impale the man's face and go straight through his skull.

That's gotta hurt… Steve thought warily while blood sputtered its way out of the wound. He felt a pang of disgust and pushed it away.

You love blood, he reminded himself unconvincingly. And fights. And killing. You're a natural-born, cold-blooded murderer. Get used to the brutality, Steve—you'll be dishing out a hell of a lot of it. After all, how can you possibly lead the Vampaneze to victory if you can't even handle a little gore?

He banished all squeamishness from his mind as he left the room their fight was in to go join his people in strength training. He left the training facilities early, though, because no matter how hard he worked, the sound of the knife infiltrating Arlingsby's brain stayed with him.

About a week had passed since their first night together, and Michaela was finally getting used to the idea that Darren was hers again. She had her best friend back— for the nights, at least—, and she was finally done doubting him. She knew he was going to leave eventually, but she was done being upset about it. She was just happy for the time that they did have together, and that fact had brought her most of the way out of her depression. She'd gotten her hair leveled out and bleached back to the blonde she'd always had, minus all of the funky highlights. She didn't think it was worth it, being as her hair was still so short. She looked almost like the Mikey that Darren had known and loved.

The biggest difference in Michaela, though, was her closeness to Darren. Whenever they were together, she was constantly by his side. If she wasn't standing next to him, she was in his arms. If she wasn't in his arms, she was holding his hand. They spent every night curled into each other.

Not that Darren was complaining, of course. He loved his best friend and would do absolutely anything to make her happy. He was only afraid of when he was going to have to leave her again. He didn't want her to get too used to having him around. He didn't want her to be as devastated about losing him as she'd been the last time they'd said goodbye.

"Dare?" Michaela asked softly, bringing him out of his mid-breakfast thoughts.

"Mmph?" he inquired, his mouth full.

"Are you… leaving?" She caught his quizzical expression and explained, "You've hardly talked at all today. Your appetite isn't as big as usual. And… you have 'goodbye' written all over your face."

He swallowed his mouthful of cereal and shook his head. "I guess I'm leaving, technically, but I'll be back around sunset. Same as always."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He dropped a light kiss on her forehead and flitted as well as a half-vampire could out of her house.

She watched him leave, happy that he wasn't a full vampire because had he gone any faster, she wouldn't have been able to see him go. She sighed when the door slammed behind him and stood wearily, stretching before carrying his bowl over to the sink. She'd just begun to rinse it out when she heard her front door open again.

"You miss me already?" she called over her shoulder jokingly, knowing that her voice would be heard over the running sink.

"No fucking chance," a familiar voice growled from in the living room.

Michaela dropped the bowl and froze at her older brother's voice. Chills ran down her back as a seemingly never-ending stream of memories of him flashed through her mind. "Oh. Um… hey, Joshua. Sorry. I, uh… I thought you were someone else."

"You whoring around?" he demanded, then let out a barking laugh. "I swear to god, you're just like your fucking mother."

Michaela gritted her teeth as she forced herself to ignore that comment. She was barely able to resist making the snide remarks that were itching to come out of her mouth. She knew what would happen if any of them escaped, though.

"And now you're speechless, just like your daddy. Good ol' Dad… where's he at again? Prison? Rehab?"

Joshua made it so hard not to put him in his place. She remembered back when they were best friends; before they found out that they were only half-related and that Michaela was the product of their mother's cheating. Before 'their' dad stormed out in a fit of rage. Before the cops and the courts and all of the fun stuff that had marred their childhood. Sometimes, she swore that getting beat senseless was worth getting her two cents' worth in.

Just clean the dishes, Michaela. Don't say anything. Don't react. Do not, under any circumstances, let him get under your skin…

A/N: I went back and added another scene to this, as well as editing and proofreading and such, so it's a better chapter now— complete with all four scenes! :D Because of all the changes I made, the previous author's notes didn't fit in anymore, soo I changed them a bit. Soo yeah(;

Read and review, puh-leasee? :D