The Second World War was in full swing. Adolf Hitler was a menace, and Italy was holding on tight to their title of Fascist by siding with Germany and Japan. Poland was being invaded, and Italy was doing terrible. There were no tanks, food was running low, fuel was scarce, and they were all but cut off from supply runs between Russia and North Africa. Dejanna was busy packing for her trip to America.
Her father had gone off to fight in the war, and her mother had a bleeding heart and was down at the hospital offering any help she could. Meanwhile, they'd booked her passage on a small boat heading towards North America where she would seek asylum and be free from all the fighting on this side of the water. She wasn't proud to be running, but she wasn't about to stay here, either. Her small house was dusty from neglect, and though there were few things left, she shoved a couple of jarred peaches into her cloth and leather bag. Along with a loaf of freshly baked bread, that was all the food she would be able to bring with her.
She tossed in her favorite dark blue dress with the fashionable square neckline and a pair of matching pointed shoes, hopeful that they might help her score a job in the Americas. She also hid her mother's pearl necklace in between mounds of clothing, and her life's savings: 79,600 liras. That would be just under $50 in American money. She could start over where nobody knew her, and she could stamp out her Italian accent, and completely forget where she'd come from. Her father would be ashamed of her.
But as she snapped the metal clasp of her bag closed and lugged it down the stairs of their rather nice home, she couldn't let that bother her. All she could think about was fleeing. Get out of here and start over. That's what she needed, what she wanted. She opened the front door to the grey skies overhead. The scent of something burning assaulted her nose. A perfume of something sweet permeated the outdoors, breaking through the woodsy scent of burning wood. She took one step out the doorway and was stopped by a tall man.
She tilted her face up to look at the man, a demand on her lips already to let her pass, but the darkness of his eyes had the words dying in her throat. He was very tall, with his blonde hair slicked back into a low pony tail. He wore a dark grey uniform with a gold belt and matching adornments over his jacket. A sky blue sash was tied from his left shoulder to his right hip, and he wore a hat, slightly tilted down to one side, with more gold embellishments. His dark leather boots climbed up to his knee, and he wore white gloves to keep it all together. His generously plump lips turned up, flashing his too-white teeth at her.
"Hello," he cooed. His eyes dragged down her frame in a somewhat satisfied motion. He'd been enjoying his game so far, but Italy was going to come out on the wrong side of this war, and he'd picked up her scent the day before. It'd been all he could think about. The pain he knew would follow their meeting meant nothing to him in this moment. He held out hope for them still. Though, he was somewhat disappointed to see the love of his life trying to turn tail and run, rather than hold her own in this war. He did not like cowards.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, enjoying the way she flinches back away from him. "A vacation, perhaps? In this lovely weather?" He was being sarcastic of course; bating her to see what she'd do.
Dejanna's shoulders caved slightly, her lip trembling, eyes darting around looking for an escape. The military officer before her radiated coldness outward, chilling her on a level so deep she thought her bones were shuddering beneath the flesh. His eyes were cruel, and secretive and they did not waver from her form. It made her feel small, like an insect under a magnifying glass. Her mouth was dry as she stammered out a reply. "I-I-I'm he-heading for shelter," she lied.
Caius' eyes roamed over her form; taking in the messily stuffed bag in her tight grip, the privileged state of her clothes, and he was nearly satisfied with what he saw. She'd been taken care of in this life, unlike some of her others. Her cowardice leading her to flee made his lips curl in distaste, but the beast inside him was overjoyed by the frightened look she had. She was acting like prey. His prey.
Twenty-one years since he had last laid eyes on her, and it felt like it'd been the blink of an eye. It was almost surreal. She'd been twenty when she died the last time, and here she was now, the same age at meeting. He could almost close his eyes and pretend that this was just a continuation of her previous life. She'd survived, and she'd remember him.
But, of course, this was not the way things were for them. This was an entirely new girl before him. As was the one before her, and the one before her, etc. etc. He'd joined in the human wars and wormed his way to a high position so that he could do as he pleased, out of boredom and necessity. He'd tried many ways before of stopping their meeting, but today he'd felt it in the air and embraced it. He was hungry, having not fed in nearly two weeks, and her pulse was threading rapidly through her neck so enticingly that he had to bite down on his tongue to distract himself.
Dejanna thought for one terrifying moment that he was going to arrest her. Her feet begged her to run. She might be fast enough, the dress she was wearing was loose enough, but something kept her feet planted until he moved aside and her own eye grew wide. He flashed his teeth at her once again, but this time she didn't stay to analyze what it meant. She threw herself to the side, ducking around his tall frame and bolting down the smog covered street. Caius turned at the waist to watch her run, a laugh of disbelief bubbling past his lips. He wondered if there would ever come a day when he didn't have to chase her upon first meeting. That seemed to always be her first instinct; run from him.
How ironic. How miserable that he always chased after her, instead of allowing her to flee. He wished he could allow her to go. Save them both from what awaited them. But it was like his feet had a mind of their own and he chased after her. He remained at a distance, this time, acutely aware of the civilians hurrying from one shop to the next to hastily make their way back home. But she did not leave his sight as she made her way to the outer rim of the city to a caravan that would take her to the sea. How easily he could stop her right there. Upend the bus and pull her from the wreckage like it was just another day for him.
She would be terrified of him, and the image of her tear stained face made the beast purr in pleasure. He was still angry over their last parting. Not enough time to heal had made him more brutal than usual the past handful of years, and his anger was manifesting, festering and being taken out on her. And so, the cat would always fall in love with the mouse...yet always unable to purge it's inner instincts. The mouse would die, but at least it would be at the paws of the cat who loved it.
He toyed with the idea, not for the first time, but more intent than ever to make it a reality. He followed the bus, not quite able to take his dark eyes off of her through the window. She held the strap of her bag in two tight fists, her eyes were downcast. A sorrow that tugged at his heart had her face drawn down into a deep frown. She didn't want to leave home; not really. But she liked her freedom, and didn't agree with their leaders agenda. Going to America seemed like a much better deal than staying here under the rule of Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler.
He couldn't let her get on that boat. When she made it to the docks some hours later, he finally stepped out of his dark hiding place within the shadows. She was just pressing the money into the man's hand who captained a small fishing boat loaded with illegal immigrants searching to leave for a better place. He purposely snapped a twig under his boot, and both hers and the mans head yanked in his direction, eyes wide like a deer at the end of a gun barrel.
The fisherman's eyes looked him from head to toe, his skin growing paler by the second as he took in Caius' high ranking uniform. As the blonde got closer, the fisherman began to stammer out an excuse, but Caius wasn't paying him a bit of mind. Dejanna's breath caught in her throat as she watched him come to a stop in front of her, practically pushing the other man aside with a careless wave of his hand. He cared little for the mans extra curriculars and the woman of his affections were all that he saw.
"I asked you where you were going, little dove," said Caius in a low baritone.
Dejanna's hands twisted over the handle of her bag, until she set it down at her feet. His voice was warm to her soul, but she couldn't explain how that made any sense. How could he sound so threatening, yet also appear like he wouldn't hurt a fly? Her body responded to his in a way that scared her. He was a stranger; one who wore a uniform that was on the wrong side of the war, or so was her ideals and beliefs. Something old and familiar brushed it's smokey fingers down her spine, and the will to leave the country slowly but surely deflated from her like a popped balloon.
"Somewhere I can build a home," she replied. Her voice didn't shake, though it should have. Just a couple hours ago she had been quaking in her boots. She was still scared beyond belief. This man encompassed her attention, taking everything she was aware of around her and narrowing it down to just him. Would he stop her from leaving?
Caius thought about taking her back to Volterra. He could fake his death and return home with her on his arm and everything would return to normal. His boredom with the mundane task of being king would be sated, for now, and he could watch the human world crumble around him with the distraction that was Dejanna for a short while. He thought about letting her board the boat and live the rest of her life, happy and fulfilled for the very first time. She would live, if he let her go.
But that selfish part of him wept at the possibility. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding her arm until he'd decided to let her go. His fingers removed themselves one by one, and her eyes watched them as he released her. Confusion creased her brows together, but she quickly took the step and turned away to board the boat.
Too fast. She'd moved too fast, too willing to leave him behind. He hadn't even realized he'd moved before he was once again in front of her. A terrifying snarl was on his face, teeth bared and eyes dark with bloodlust. She yelped and tripped, falling backward in her fright. He dove forward to stop her from tumbling backward into the bay, but her head smacked hard against the metal of the boat and set her eyes crooked. He sucked in air between his teeth as he realized what he had done, and, fisherman forgotten, he sped away with her in his arms.
Later on, he would have to go back there. The boat would go up in flames, with everyone inside of it, including the fisherman that had seen too much. He'd never tell her that he'd done that, though. She was so fragile, in both body and mind. She'd been dazed from her fall, but had managed to only get a small concussion, which he nursed back to health. All the while insulting her and thinking about how much he hated himself for every flinch and tear he caused.
Caius sat in his throne beside his brothers, lost deep in thought. How long did they have this time? How long would he suffer her soft smiles, opposite of Athenodora's righteous glares? Aro was fond of the girl, and often looked into her thoughts, cracking up at some witty quip she'd make, and infuriating the angry king by refusing to tell him what was so funny. This was no surprise, as Aro always was quick to warm up to her. He'd been especially devastated when they'd lost her the last time. He'd brought her back when she was just fifteen, and had practically molded her into the perfect princess by the time she was twenty.
She'd died shorty after and the bonds she'd had time to forge had made it all the worse.