Omigat it took long enough right?! Ugh, I know. I still write, I do, but sometimes you know... shit happens. And I think good shit happened when it came to this chapter, because I absolutely love it and I am so looking forward to all of these dream sequences.

That's right, y'all got another one. And more longer one. And of course, a continuation of last chapter.

By the way, starting chapter 8, things will turn M-rated. Language, violence, themes, sexual content.

Happy reads, guy! And see ya at the bottom!


Chapter 8: Closer

Dawnette abruptly cleared her throat yet observed Jasper as he began to unbutton his shirt but then he stopped, his arms falling to his sides like strings that had been cut.

They stared at one another―Dawnette wondering what was going through his mind as well as Jasper probably doing the same.

"J-Jasper...?" She finally spoke, her usual sassy voice toned down to a soft, wary murmur.

"Ma'am?" He managed to get out, still hovering above her petite form.

Dawn released a heavy sigh, snapping in a shaky tone, "Wh-What the hell―are you doing?"

"I-I'm..." He trailed off, eyes widening. Because truth be told, Jasper had no idea what he was doing. He was caught in the moment. She smelled so good, looked so beautiful and truly was his Nailah―she had to be.

And with just thinking that she was his... Jasper found that total combination intoxicating and the urge to kiss her became overwhelming.

The urge to bite into the slow, beating pulse near her exposed neck was half of what he thought about. And most of all, the desire to kiss and taste her on his lips was what set him off the deep end. Jasper was unable to hold himself in check any longer; he gingerly yet roughly pulled her petite form into his arms and kissed her passionately.

Her lips were just as he imagined―soft and warm against his. They were the same lips he kissed all those years ago, the same sleek tongue that would gingerly flick over his lips and it was the same tangy taste that flooded his mouth. Each peck and kiss, Jasper became more wild. Each second he continued to kiss her, the more he began to touch her, and she touch him.

Her dainty, warm hands slipped up his chest, one hand feeling over his shoulder and the other resting against his dead heart―hell, it might as well be beating.

Dawn gave in fully. She pressed up harder against his sculpted lips; her wet pink tongue flicking against them. She had no idea how she wound herself up in this situation but now that they were practically making out, she didn't care. Let her be considered a homewrecker*―she thought Jasper and Alice looked too much alike to be dating anyways.

It felt so good and so right, too. They both couldn't help but let out that involuntary moan and push each other's hips up further against one another.

Jasper was rock hard. He slowly ground his erection against her softness, moaning once he started to smell the current arousal. Her scent, her skin, her mouth, her hands and then her tongue; all being too much for his senses.

Dawnette pulled away once she felt lightheaded from all of the kissing―unabashedly the two stared at one another―lustful, molten onyx-black gazing deeply into her dark brown eyes; she began to fidget under his heated scrutiny and shiver from his cold touch.

She was panting and running a fingertip across her swollen lips, not sure if she was dreaming or not. From the way he was looking at her, she could tell that he was thinking the same thing. That they just kissed and were mere moments away from getting with each other. And Jasper wanted to do it so bad. Make love to her once. And then twice. Again and again and again. But something was holding him back.

Alice was holding him back. The memories were holding him back. They came in flooding. The words they exchanged that fateful day.

"Are you… uh, traveling somewhere, ma'am?"

"Up north."

"North?"

"Maybe Vermont or New York—some state wherever home feels most and where I's settle for good."

"So..."

"I'm leaving, Jasper." - "In the three weeks you been gone… I's had some time to think to myself and I's decided that… I've—"

"Please—don't—don't leave me…"

"Jasper, you've been gone all the time and—"

"Nailah, I can't be without you—please."

She blinked her eyes twice and slowly rose up from the plush bed.

"Honey-blonde... what are you doing?" Dawn looked around while scratching her head. She was lost; had no idea what was going on―confused. Jasper was standing at the foot of the bed, a forlorn expression on his marbled face. Bare chested and everything. Her eyes trailed down to his sculpted abs and then back to the detached look in his eyes. Dawn pursed her lips and asked, "Where am I...? What am I doing here?"

One of his pasty smiles that didn't reach the eyes shown and he chirped, "Don't you remember, Dawnette?" She gave him a puzzled look and he elaborated with a forced chuckle, "I just finished fixing your cousin's truck. It broke down and then we bumped into each other on the road."

"Oh..."

"So you can go home now." He quickly said.

She nodded, reaching for her discarded flannel on his bed. That confused her too. She only had on a thin tank top, no bra at all, her nipples were perked and she felt hot yet cold. Why on earth would she―Dawnette Nailah Long, take off her flannel in front of him―Jasper Hale, a guy that she barely knew―and reveal herself like that?

It wasn't quite making sense but suddenly... she felt content. Dawnette settled for the explanation, gathered up her flannel, put it back on and buttoned it up to the top, feeling more secure, especially while under the scrutiny of him.

She nodded her head once, standing up and stretching her limbs. And the words tumbled out as she worked out the kinks in her back and lower thighs, "Oh... okay―I-I think I'm going to go home and... paint."

"Y-You paint?" He had to ask―Nailah painted.

Dawn shrugged and frowned. "Not a lick." It was true. She couldn't paint for shit. But she would. Because somehow... there was this urge. Like a hidden talent. And she was going to fulfill it.

"So, uh―thanks for fixing the truck...?" She trailed off, once Jasper tossed her the keys to her cousin's Chevy. He was a little far. Like on the other side of the room far.

She didn't question it though. And watched as he sighed once. "No problem, ma'am." Jasper tipped his head to her. "Have a good night."

She approached the only door in sight. But turned around. "Which way―"

He cut her off, "Down the hall, to the left and you should see the staircase and glass double doors."

"Thanks..." Dawnette's muttered.

He nodded once, his lips forming a thin line. "Yeah."

Jasper waited until the pitter-patter of her soft steps died down, the engine of the truck roared to life and he could hear her driving away, out of his hearing range. The honey-blonde vampire let out a groan loud enough to shake the trees surrounding the house.

It was the hardest thing he's had to do, other than leaving her and giving up human blood: pretending like nothing never happened. Lying to her face. And act cold to her.

Jasper flung himself on his bed, snapping the frame in the process. But he didn't want care. He buried his head under the mountain of feathered pillows.

"Jazzy-Jazz!" Emmett bellowed from the living room. He raced up the stairs with vampiric speed, barging in Jasper's room without so much as knocking. "You can hunt now―me and Rose finished and Alice's waiting for ya'."

The broad grin that showed off his dimples slowly faded. "You look like shit." Emmett said, taking in Jasper's appearance.

"I feel like shit." The honey-blonde mumbled into the pillow.

1859, Georgia

This land was foreign. The soil under her bare feet felt dry yet moist at the same time and the sun was covered by clouds. She could tell she was not home because the sun always shone bright and would always dim under the big feathery clouds. There was no thick forest and the soil didn't pack the usual moisture it did back at home.

She could only listen to the elders around her, chained in shackles as well and stare in curiosity yet caution at the sparkling, white figure with features she had never seen in her fifteen years of living. Features that were only heard in the stories told by her father. Stories about a man with no color, with sparkling skin during the day and luminous skin in the night. His dark red eyes seeking out women and children and his sharp teeth pointed towards his next victim. Features that were said to be made by a figmentation of the devil, himself.

She had no idea where she was. Or what she was doing. All Nailah knew was that she was a long way from home. And that her arms and feet ached from the extensive pressure of the shackles. And she was scared.

"You will refer to me as James." A gruff tone said. Nailah, along with a few others peeked from the line to get a look at just who exactly was speaking with such authority and a foreign tongue. His tone sounded musical though. Like the wind instruments played for music during various celebrations."Master James."

"And you are here for one reason and one reason only." James held up one finger and looked each and every one of his newly imported slaves in the eyes. Nailah listening attentively and closely to his musical voice―he was a complete stranger and definitely dangerous, but curiosity was a given trait. She watched as he stuffed his sparkling hands in the pockets of his pants and walked down the line, looking them each in the eye. His red eyes stopped on her and she gulped- feeling the urge to cover herself up―but the shackles on her arms...

James smirked a toothy grin and finished his briefing, on the newly 'imports'."You're here to pick cotton, which makes me money."

Nailah could feel the fear washing throughout her body. She could feel the tiny beads of sweat rolling down the nape of her neck. And instead of looking away and averting eye contact, all she could do was stare at this man.

James shrugged while snorting, "Got you all for a bargain anyways. Dumb ass village leaders were too scared to negotiate. Something about me being a..." He paused and chirped the last part, "I believe your village leader called me a―idimoni*?" James smiled evilly at the way most of the new imports gasped and had outcry.

"That's right." He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "I am the devil himself and you shall work for me."

James snapped his fingers, the outcry coming from those that were just as scared as her, silencing in mere seconds.

"You there." James pointed a finger to the hulking black man, next in line. "State your name."

There was a silence.

James leaned forward. "Did I hear anything, fellas?" He turned to his overseers and young honey-blonde.

They all answered responses in the forms of "no".

"It seems we have a brave nigger on our hands," James bellowed. "This nigger here thinks he doesn't have to speak when spoken to." James chuckled, roaming his fingers through the ponytail resting on his shoulders.

His chuckling died down once his eyes darkened and he seethed through gritted teeth, "Well, you thought wrong."

James had the broad man―pure muscle compared to his average stature―on his knees.

"Anything to say for yourself?" James taunted, kicking up his chin with the tip of his boot.

The African man, a valiant one Nailah recognized from her village, set his jaw and looked straight ahead, his pride never leaving his body. She and the others watched in horror as the self-proclaimed devil kicked the man again, this time with more force that blood and spit flew from his mouth.

"I asked you a question, nigger, and I shall have an answer." James crouched low, asking again, "You maybe were something in your village but here, you're nothing. And I am your master."

The man's response was his spit flying onto Jame's sparkling face.

The blonde wiped his face skew with disgust. He looked down at the man kneeling before him, the pride never fading from his brown eyes. And that's when James chuckled darkly before beckoning him on.

"Go 'head and run. Run nigger, run." Everyone watched with wary eyes. It was too good to be true. He was releasing him? Even the overseers glanced at the blonde man in surprise.

"Master James?" One of the overseers questioned, waisting his eyebrows. His hand ghosted over the revolver holstered to his waist. But James only held up a hand to the white man and then motioned to the black man.

"Go on and get, nigger." He smirked and bowed his head slightly. "I concede you. You're brave. Braver than any nigger I know―far too brave to work for me in my plantation."

James took the single key held to one of the loops on his pants and unlatched the shackles adorning his arms and legs.

"You's just fixin' to shoot me down, anyways." The black man said, looking James dead in the eye―one of Nailah's father's good comrades.

"With what gun?" James held up his hands and spun around for the man to see. "All I have here is my whip."

"But perhaps!" He suddenly exclaimed. "There is a catch to me letting you go." He slowly stalked around the man.

"I hear from your village leader―a man I bargained with to get you all to me in tip-top shape―that you're one of his best. Skills in hunting, tracking, anything you baboons are capable of."

"Just kill me already and spare my brothas and sistas from your folly, demon."

"I'll won't kill you if you get away." James tested.

"So go on, run, nigger." He chuckled again, turning his back to him. "Lest you make the hunt more easier for me."

He waved on the next one in line, listening to the reluctance in the pitter-patter of heavy, bare feet.

"Stay strong, my brothas and sistas." The man whispered in to the line of those from his village. They cheered him on and he slowly took off running towards the direction of the woods.

"You're letting him go, sire?" A southern, meek voice questioned.

His pink lips curved into a smug smile once he calculated in his mind the duration it'd take him to find the runaway slave. And how fun the hunt would be once he successfully tracked him. He turned to the honey-blonde, 16-year old. "I am."

It was a hobbie after all.

"And I shall catch him." He winked an eye and waved on the next, once the cheering of coonery died down at those five words.

An hour passed and the line of his newly imports dimmed and dimmed. James successfully branded most as his property, got rid of those he considered inferior to pick cotton on his plantation and caught the one he let run away.

Dragging him back by his snapped legs, for all of those that the man knew to see.

"He must be out of his damn mind..." Nailah heard someone ahead of her whisper. The line was full of many strangers yet people that she knew; if this "James" told the village elders that he was an idimoni*, it was no surprise that he got away with all of them. The line was long and shackles even longer; many adults, mostly men and women, a few children here and there, watched as this man―this demon―took the leather whip from his waist and swiftly―too fast for her human eyes to even witness―and began to beat the life out of the man kneeling before him.

Nailah had to snap her eyes shut. She couldn't cover her ears and block out the pained screams coming from the man at her new master's feet.

"Boy, the sound of that whip sure is sweet!" James cracked the leather whip again with one swift motion. He laughed hysterically, chiming, "It's just like Jesus gently snapping his fingers!"

"And now, as apart of your bargain―since I did find you―death." And it took less than a second for James to gather the beat man in his hands, snap his neck and sink his teeth into his flesh. James smoothed over his messy blonde hair and smiled broadly at the line of Africans. He waved a glittery hand and the next slave―a boy named Yuru that was apart of the hunters for her village―reluctantly stepped forward.

He had a permanent scowl etched in his face and he stared James down, as dark as ebony glaring into as red as blood colored-eyes. Bloody-red eyes that slowly morphed into a dark, molten color. As black as the night.

That was his father.

James lips curled back slowly. "Is you defying me boy?"

"You better listen to that fool before he hits you with that whip!" Someone from the line shouted.

"I'm nobody's property and neither are you!" Yuru yelled to the crowd in their language. Tears began to stream down his face. It must have ticked the sparkling white man off because in a mere second he had Yuru on his hands and knees, whipping the life out of him.

"You niggers listen up here―one of ways you won't reach the end of my whip―is by speaking this language that I speak to you right now." James pointed a finger to himself. It was scary on how fast his arm flicked back and forth. It was scary how by the time he was finished, Yuru barely had any skin un-knicked on his back and was a sobbing mess. And very scary how James suddenly looked like an idimoni* for real, this time.

With his dark eyes, curled back lips, sharp fangs and hands formed into claws.

Even the white men around him―his workers, Nailah assumed, look scared out of their mind.

She had to work for this man? She was now a slave?

Her father told her about these types of things. And being the oblivious little girl she was, Nailah didn't take heed to his warnings or stories spread around the village. And now, it was too late. Because every last one of them were true.

"So speak it!" James bellowed at the top of his lungs. He growled,"Speak this language!"

He dashed to the nearest slave woman in sight and wrapped cold, steel hands around her neck, seething, "Or I'll give you as many lashes as I feel until I tire. And may I remind you."

He held out his whip and made sure to give those watching the scene in shock―his cruelty to a whimpering woman―a malicious look.

"You see this body? These eyes? This perfection?" James gestured to each aspect of himself, his tone darkening."I never tire."

"You'd be whipped until you die. And then I shall enjoy myself further to ways you cannot imagine."

"Do not defy me." He warned, his tone hard. Cynical. "If you do not know this language before the sun rises again tomorrow, you will be punished."

"Now. Next one." James rolled his whip up and holstered it to his waist. He snapped his fingers once, twice. "Step forward."

Nailah gulped, looking back at the many others already being brought away and the few remaining.

"Don't speak, child." - "Your father is a strong man. He will get us free." An elder―a woman from her village whispered low enough for only Nailah to hear. She nodded meekly as a response and was about to step forward before the sparkling man appeared beside her.

"You better speak." - "I believe your father told me to leave you be―and of course he made that mistake of telling me what to do." James sneered, cackling at the look of shock that spread across the girl and the woman's faces. He pointed a finger as a sign of warning at the woman and turned to Nailah who stood before him. "What's your name?"

The brown skinned girl was in shock. This man... this demon, implied the death of her father. Her very own father. She could cry at how she was stuck in such a predicament of now never being able to live a normal life as a girl and for the fact that she was now going to be a slave the moment she gave her name to her new master.

"Jasper, did this nigras say anything?" James turned to the white boy who looked about her age. He didn't look strong though. He wasn't strong like Yuru or any of the others she knew of her age. And he was with him. Working for this cruel and sparkling demon.

"No, sire." That's when she fully noticed him. The tall, lean white boy standing off at the side with some form of writing material in his hands. As this land was foreign, so was the things in his hand―looked like smooth bark* and a thin, colored material*.

James nodded. "Okay, I'll ask it again."

"What―is―your―name?" He said it slowly this time. Treating her as if she had no comprehension. And it angered Nailah. She wasn't dumb by a long shot. She had skills for her lifestyle and the gall to learn to speak her native language of zulu and others close to their migrated home in Nigeria―including the words that this white idimoni* spoke. Her mother was a gatherer. Father a hunter and leader. She inherited both of their skills. Worked liked them, too.

She knew how to survive.

"Nothing? No response?" James rolled his eyes and turned to the two older overseers of his plantation. "Okay, see to it that this nigras is loaded up with the rest of those baboons and ship 'em off somewhere other than my plantation―"

But being in a foreign land, filled with many lacking melanin and the possibility of facing others just as cruel as this man... was not the way. She had no idea where she was or how to get back home. Her best bet was to let this demon know that she was not dumb or defiant and then assess on how to get herself as far away from him as possible, along with her brothers, sisters and elders. They'd work their way up and escape. Gather resources and make it out of this hell alive.

It was a plan.

Her thin yet plump lips parted out a sigh. Nailah spoke the English language, "My name is Nailah."

And that was when James froze in place. His head cocking slightly to the side, his eyes darkening in fascination. "Excuse me?"

"My name is Nailah." She spoke once more, the language foreign on her tongue. She'd need to speak it in front of these people when James and his overseers were around. She had to get used to it.

There was a stagnant silence that was overthrown once James―the cruel, sparkling slavemaster―grew an ear-to-ear smile on his face that sort of showed the human left in him. It was another shocker for the day to his overseers, the newly imported slaves and the young honey-blonde.

'Is this man not as sadistic as I thought?' Nailah thought to herself, frowning at the way he clapped his hands and pranced around.

"Joyous day! Joyous day! She talks!" He beamed.

"The nigras talks!" He cheered on, cackling up a storm of laughter that trilled from the back of his throat. "She ain't stupid like the rest of her kind!"

"Oh, joyous day..." He finally seemed to have a sense of calm. And regained himself back to his usual arrogant, boasting and cocky form."It's a good thing too. I paid a high price for your travels."

He wasn't exactly talking to Nailah―it didn't seem so to her. He was slowly stalking around her. Slowly taking every inch of her naked, petite form in. Talking more to himself than anyone else, "I wouldn't have wanted it to go to waste and your looks―you look like you were born to the field. It'd be a shame to cast you off like the rest."

James stopped beside her and placed a steel, icy hand on her shoulder sending chills and terror creeping down her spine. "Jasper, take down her name."

The honey-blonde named Jasper held up the materials in his hand, scribbled with different names of the new imports and readied his quill. "Right, sire. How do I spell―"

James abruptly paused his eyes roaming up and down Nailah's features. His head snapped in Jasper's direction.

"Jasper."

"Yes, sire?" The boy answered, looking up from the scroll on the board in his hands.

"Is you dumb? Or is you stupid?" James snapped, marching over to him.

"Neither, sire."

He smacked Jasper on the back of the head, sighing exasperatedly, "Come on, boy! I didn't take you under my tutelage to be as dumb as these niggers right here." - "If you have a hard time saying or writing the name of a slave―simply change it."

"Right, sire... I didn't know..." He trailed off, gulping slightly at the close proximity that his Master was within.

Jasper Hale came from Texas. His family ran into this mysterious man named James and welcomed him into their home. Jasper strayed away from the man but his father practically took in his features of perfection and tendacy to sparkle as a blessing―begging the man named James to take Jasper in and mentor him on becoming a fine plantation owner; even if it wasn't in the interests of what Jasper wanted to do, anyways.

But it was a honorable thing for James to accept. Thus, landing him far from home, in the state of Georgia, working for this man who was as cruel as ever. He hadn't anticipated that, either.

'Strange, cruel and claiming to be demonic. Thanks pa'.' Jasper thought to himself, huffing ever so slightly.

"What should she be called?" He gestured his head in the direction of the nigras that his Master seemed to had taken a strange liking to.

'If you could call it that.' He thought again.

Jasper watched with wary eyes as his Master slowly wound his hands around the nigras' neck. Roaming his sparkling fingers over her collarbone and throat. "Hm," he thought out loud, looking her over. "Call her... Nia."

"N-I-A?" Jasper spelled out, scribbling on his scroll. He turned his eyes away from the darkening of Jame's. It was unusual indeed.

She didn't look any different from the others on the plantation. Other than her deep curly hair, high cheekbones and spotted freckles across her nose. She wasn't a mulatto*. She was a nigras. And Jasper knew that.

"Correct." James nodded briefly. His voice was soft as he mulled over, "Nia, my cotton picking nigras who ain't so stupid after all."

"My name is Nailah―" Nailah spoke up but her new Master's cold hands clamped over her mouth. She shivered slightly and fidgetted around in her shackles at how close he was behind her. And how he seemed content with touching all over her neck and face when just minutes ago, he was a murderer.

James pressed gently in her ears, "Your name is Nia."

He lingered a second longer before gently shoving her in the direction of the other branded slaves.

"Now take her away to the slave's quarters. Let Mistress get them some food and then to work." James ordered to one of his overseers.

Once he was back at Jasper's side, that hardened and sadistic demeanor came back in place.

They're to start pickin' today?" The young boy asked.

"Yeah." James nodded. "These niggers were made for the field."

It was a bit too demanding. Jasper sighed, "But sire, they just―"

"Jasper Whitlock, your father claims you should be held in high regards―was he mistaken me? Shall I not permit you to oversee on this here plantation?" James threatened.

"No, sire..." The honey-blonde gulped. "He wasn't mistaken you. And I shall allow myself to oversee on this plantation, if you will have me."

"Then stop questioning orders. This is how things are done." James snapped, glaring slightly at the 16-year old.

"Yes, sire."

James huffed and turned to the remaining imports."Now, next one. Step forward and state your name."

...

8 months later, 1860

"Nedra―192 pounds." Jasper read from his tally sheet.

James clearly uninterested, picked at the dirt underneath his nails, sighing, "What's the average number a nigger or nigras can pick?"

"200 pounds." Jasper shrugged once.

"Line 'er up, Jasper." James snapped his fingers."50 lashes."

Nedra pleaded to her master, trading her stomach, "No, massa'. I-I's with child―I's do better tomorrow, I promise!"

"I know you will, Nedra." Her master smiled evilly. "Those lashes will provide you the incentive to do so." He brushed her off and motioned to the astonished boy.

"But, Master James... she's pregnant―"

"Next." He interrupted and beckoned Jasper to continue on. "And mind you, I have excellent hearing, Jasper. Keep those thoughts to yourself. You'll never get anywhere with pure kindness to these savages."

"Yes sire..." He sighed in defeat and continued to read down the list. "Bass―234 pounds of cotton."

"Better than yesterday." James nodded, a little impressed with the lanky slave he renamed Bass. Bass was a supposedly a pre-mature child, born early. Most on the market thought he'd die before he reached the age of 13, but they were wrong. He was a flourishing cotton-picker on Jame's plantation and he was worth keeping because he only paid half the price of an average slave for Bass.

Jasper continued down his list until he got to the name that peaked interest in his Master. "Nia―445 pounds of cotton."

"That's my girl, Nia―a queen of the field, she is." The blonde vampire mused.

Jasper cleared his throat, reading the next one, "Jurain―212 pounds of―"

But James cut him off. "Jasper."

"Yes, sire?"

"Am I permitted to celebrate the proceeds that Nia has given this here plantation?" He walked down the line of slaves, eying them evenly before his eyes landed on her.

"Sire―" The 16-year old tried to say, but James snapped in a harsh tone,

"Silence, boy. Eight months in and you still have a lot to learn if you're father believes you can own and run a functioning plantation one day."

He wiped imminent sweat from home s brows and roamed fingers through his damp, honey colored hair. "My apologies, sire." Bowing his head slightly.

"Cease the apologizing, as well, Jasper." James snapped, walking towards Nia. "Or I shall consider you as sorry as you say you are."

He rounded behind her and wrapped cold fingers gingerly around her neck. "Now, onto my darkie queen―my prized possession―my cotton-picking nigras named Nia." Tracing a nimble finger over her protruding collarbone.

"A beauty she is." He whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. Touching her cheekbones, lips and cheeks. "You all witness this―she picks the most cotton than any nigger out there. Over 400 pounds a day."

He inhaled her scent of cotton, hibbicus and pure sweat. "A queen she is. Born to the field. Just like I said she'd be."

James was about to marvel on, until the doors to the barn slid open and a skinny slave came rushing in, bowing on his knees. "Massa'―permission tuh' intrude!"

"What?!" James rolled his eyes and let Nia go. "What is it?!"

The slave stammered, "Laurent―Master Laurent is here to see you!"

"Ugh―that nigger. So damn lucky he's equal and just as me―thinks he can just come and interrupt me marveling in my own Nia―Jasper!" James seethed, turning back.

"Yes, sire."

He instructed, "See to it that the tally is finished up. And pick 'em out. Let the overseers handle the rest once you finish."

James warned to the young Jasper. "And do not fail me, boy."

"Yes, sire..."

...

Dawnette's POV

I feel like I'm the only one. I feel like it's only me that has dreams like these. First it was the love-making with Jasper Hale under a sycamore tree, now it was me on a plantation with an obsessive slave master.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, and slowly rose out of bed.

Boy I tell ya'... all of these dreams are giving me the blues.

I decide to make a cup of green tea before going back to bed, being that I only had another 3 hours until my alarm went off. And then another day of shit at school; honey-blonde, my cousin and her little Eddie, Buff-Daddy and the irrelevant white man's foolishness.

And as I stared into the mug of brewing premium, green tea... I couldn't help but think back to the things that happened in my dream. So much acheingit was like I could still feel the shackles bounding my hands and feetlike I could feel the sparkling man named James just staring me down with pure obsession and wantfeel the pain all of those African people felt.

It was terrible. Not a good feeling.


Theme song of chapter:

Closer by FKA twigs


*―references

Homewrecker A person who takes a 'taken' individual with the intensions of breaking up the relationship and creating a relationship of their own.

Idimoni zulu-language, which translates to "demon".

Soft bark, stiff material when this is mentioned, Nailah describes what is her first time seeing a clipboard, piece of paper and pen (otherwise known as a quill and scroll back in the the old days)

Mulatto― (dated offensive, noun) a person of mixed white and black ancestry, especially a person with one white and one black parent.


A/N:

Finally got this done. Ugh, I can't wait to get started on the next chapter.

A certain antagonist is introduced in a dramatic way-you all have to be there to read it. Hopefully after midterms which is this entire week, I can get a start on it.

But onto this chapter. What were you all thinking! They kissed. For real for real but Jasper had to go and make her forget. What do you guys think of that? I believe his empathy abilities are that strong that he could do that. He can make you feel what he wants for Christ's sake! And her dream... James... I find it interesting that he decided to go into the slaving business. And that Jasper is under his tutelage for the same thing.

I loved that concept and will very much elaborate on that whole ordeal next chapter.

Thanks for Reading!

And please stay tooned.

Review, as well!

Kumi-Chan/Tobi-Is-Fluffy-Chan