Over 3,000 miles away, trading had been closed for over two hours in New York. Still, the offices spanning the 30th floor of one of the Financial District's many skyscrapers remained fully-lit, and a woman in a power suit was frantically watching her computer screens, cursing every ten seconds or so.

"You're in over your head, Emma," the dark-haired, dark-eyed man beside her commented. He lit a cigarette set between his lips, despite the very clear 'No Smoking' signs posted every 20 feet or so. "Just tell him already."

Emma, the spotter who'd been assigned to watch over Fenrir throughout his mission tonight, knew that she was already damned either way. Tearing herself away from her computer for the first time in four hours, she began walking to the large corner office beside the elevator. She kept her headset on, though, because she never knew when Fenrir would need her.

The two large, open office spaces on either side of the hallway were filled with computers, a sparse few of which still had people operating them. Directions, instructions and warnings filled the room, spoken into headset microphones, in perfect tandem with settlement instructions negotiated with traders overseas. The whole 30th floor was the heart of Waltham and Sons, and the company's pulse was the thrum of activity that went on 24 hours a day, seven days a week. While traders and brokers made deals with just-opening Asian markets on the East side, the West was where organizational units overlooked and supported the assassins who were on the field.

It was their task to look out for Alexander Waltham's 'children', and Emma knew that Eric Macmillian, the tall and stoic man who went by 'Fenrir'when he was on the job, had run into some significant problems with his latest mission.

She walked over to Alexander's office and rapped on the door. After a gruff sound that vaguely approximated acknowledgment, she pushed her way inside.

A bear of a man, Alexander looked even larger since he'd taken off his dark suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He was on the phone, fiddling with its hopelessly tangled cord when he glanced up, and motioned for her to come in.

"…Yes I know it's a huge potential payoff, but the amount of money you're asking for is just ludicrous!"

Emma closed the door behind her. Alexander's wall was covered with testaments to the colorful life the man had led: military awards and commendations up to 2004; two diplomas and a couple of honorary degrees from respected universities; framed pictures of him at various ages posing with army buddies and grateful clients with immediately recognizable faces, in addition to taped-up, hand-drawn pictures from his children, in crayon. Sometimes, at first glance, it was unclear what the man really did for a living, especially when he was yelling at a potential counterparty over the phone. But with a closer look, one could see the seams to the compartment in the wall behind which Alexander kept his collection of firearms, as well as the door marked 'Restricted Access' that was to remain permanently locked, except to the four 'children'.

"Come on, see, I have all these margin calls – no, you're the one who's being unreasonable!"

The man needed a cover for his company's real operations, after all. And somewhere along the line, he must have decided he didn't want to put that hard-earned M.B.A. to waste.

"You know what? I don't want to have this conversation anymore." Without further ado, he slammed the handset back onto the phone and rubbed at his temples, grumbling under his breath. "Talk to me, Emma," he ordered.

She walked over to Alexander's desk. It wrapped around the corner of his office in an L-shape, and one of the arms was dedicated to a computer system hooked up to three huge monitors. Their screens displayed a comprehensive tracking program overlooking all the active agents on the field. Tonight there was only one red dot, on a map representing Scotland. "Sir, I think I might… have some new developments to report, that is, in regards to Fenrir's X-202-alpha mission."

Alexander frowned, and drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk, staring at the red dot on the screen. "Is he still not responding? It's been, what, two hours since he's last made contact?"

"Oh, he has made contact." The dark-haired man from earlier had slipped into the room without a sound, and Emma jumped. He'd wisely put out his cigarette, and was now toying with a large Bowie knife, twirling it idly with one hand. "In a manner of speaking."

Alexander glared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Eric is still alive, isn't he?"

"He is, he is, but… he said something about a castle," she stammered. "He said he was going to go in, and I said he should. After all, it was better than having him exposed to open gunfire…"

She trailed off. Alexander's eyebrows knotted, his gaze focusing on the red dot with marked intensity now. It still hadn't moved. "What the hell are you talking about? There's no fucking castle there… I specifically instructed my scouts to go over that whole area – "

"They must have overlooked it then. They were just ruins anyway, from what he said." The dark-haired man shrugged his shoulders, and sped up the twirling of his knife.

Emma edged away from him, eyeing the whirling blur of the blade warily. She chose her next words very carefully. "Fenrir also mentioned… that he'd found a young lady in the ruins. A civilian."

A tense beat passed.

"And?"

By the time Emma had told Alexander the rest of the story, he was cursing colorfully to high heavens.

"Get me a phone," he barked. "Bradley, stay here. You're on standby in case I need you."

The assassin tossed the knife one last time into the air. Catching it expertly by the hilt, he saluted once, before walking out of the office.

"Fine. But I need a smoke."

II

The door to his room at the inn opened after five measured knocks, three fast ones and two slower ones, as they'd agreed upon hours ago.

When the door opened, Eric was greeted by the sight of his 16-year-old brother standing at the threshold, already dressed in his pajamas. His dark brown hair was long enough so that the tips in front of his face flickered when he blinked. He did so several times now, impassive and bored for all of a split second, before his expression gradually shifted to shock.

"Eric? Who is… that?"

He really should have thought through what he was going to say to Liam before getting here. "We'll find out when she wakes up. In the meantime, can you clear the space on my bed, please?"

"Wait a second." Liam narrowed his eyes. "Is she sleeping here? With us?" He still stood in front of the door, looking reluctant to even let Eric in. He asked again, "Who is she, some damsel in distress?"

Eric decided that coming up with a lie would take too much effort. "I found him in some ruins of an old castle near the top of the hill," he muttered. Gingerly, he sidestepped his brother in order to make his way into the room, and then through the open door into the adjoining one, which was his own. He kicked the mess of gloves, bullet clips and papers off the bed himself, careful not to wake the young lady on his back.

"She was all alone. And…" Eric faltered as he placed his cargo onto the bed. "She knew my name, somehow."

Liam squinted, having followed him inside. "Your codename? 'Fenrir'?"

"No." Eric left it at that and pulled a thick blanket over the young lady. He reached out to place a hand on her forehead.

But then his resolve faltered, and he pulled back. For most of his life, Eric had shied away from touch especially female. He didn't know whether it was the fact that anything physical with them seemed suffocating to him, or the fact that his nerves would go haywire every time he failed to react appropriately to a female reaching out to him. Whatever it was, it was something he wished to avoid as much as possible – not just touching and being touched by women, but getting too close to anybody, in more ways than one.

"Still, don't you think this is ridiculously irresponsible, Eric?" Liam's voice cut into his thoughts. "And it's not like you. You don't have to play the Good Samaritan just because she happened to get your name right."

"It's not that." Or was it? "I just… didn't want to leave her there. If someone else had found him in that coffin, who knows? They could have hurt her– "

"Then why," Liam interrupted, "didn't you just bring her to the hospital? How did you even get her all the way here without any problems?"

"The nearest hospital is at least 20 miles away." Eric pulled the earpiece out of his ear and placed it on top of the dresser next to his phone. It was probably only a matter of time before the latter would ring. "And the innkeeper wasn't at his post when I came in."

"Which makes everything all right."

"Look, I don't see what the big deal is. My boss bought out the whole inn, we're the only ones here. He won't be a bother to anyone else, and in the morning, I'll find a way to get him to people who can help. Until then, just bear with her, please?"

Liam rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever. I still don't understand why you had to bring her here." He moved towards his own bed now, on the other side of the adjoining door. When he flopped down onto the mattress, it protested with a loud crunch. "After all those years of begging you to bring me with you to one of your work trips abroad, you finally take me along just to dump me with some stupid druggie – "

Eric's eyes widened in alarm, and he pressed a finger against his lips, whispering, "Shhh!"

But by then it was already too late: the mattress of Eric's bed creaked as the young lady stirred. She let out a soft groan, shifting as she stretched her limbs, and her eyelids tensed before fluttering open. She looked around curiously, blinking away sleep, until she met Eric's gaze.

And when she did, a smile formed on her face, lighting up those very green eyes. She reached out her hand and whispered, "Hello, Eric."

Harsh wind whipped at his face, and rain had started to fall almost as soon as he'd gotten halfway down the hill. But Eric prevailed, moving forward with all the dead weight of the young lady from the castle ruins wrapped up in his coat, and nestled quite comfortably against his back.

Soaked to the skin and with no protection from the rain, a persistent doubt assaulted his mind. Why had he taken this stranger out of that coffin, and why was he carrying her towards the inn now? Nothing could be gained from this all, other than trouble. But just as he'd processed that thought, he found himself already standing in front of the sign post for the inn up ahead.

Despite the wind blasting hair into his face, he caught a glimpse of the medium-sized wooden house resting at the foot of the hill, surrounded by grassy fields spreading throughout the valley. The hills shielded them from both forest and sea, and the inn itself was as remote and far away from civilization as any spot could be.

Maybe that was precisely why his employer had chosen it.

His earpiece crackled, startling him after almost two whole hours of radio silence. "Fenrir, finally! You still alive over there?"

Eric sighed, and hesitated. He had no idea how he was going to explain this, but he would try his best.

Opening yet another door in the castle, the tracker found himself in a world of dust and decay: spider webs hung down from remnants of the ceiling, and the further inside he went, the more nature had re-conquered what had been lost. Beetles crept along the surface of a very old table in one of the rooms, and he heard other critters skittering about elsewhere.

Thin beams of light fell in from the moon outside, revealing the dirty floors and the vestiges of what must have once been a splendid hall. Rusty suits of armor guarded these dead corridors, wielding swords and shields that seemed less ravaged by battle than by sheer time.

He must have been on the run for about an hour now, and he'd been out of contact with his spotter for about as long. For some reason, his earpiece wasn't working in here.

He could no longer hear gunshots, but he knew that assuming the danger was over now would be foolish. Sighing, the man in black stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and didn't bother to tread lightly, kicking up dust with every step.

He eventually found one chamber that still seemed to be intact, for whatever that was worth. Short, half-melted remains of candles stood fused to the floor, cold, and he counted more than 50 before stopping. Several jars lined the walls, made of porcelain that had long since either cracked or dulled. Two of them were empty, but one of them held long, withered-up sticks – incense, perhaps, in another lifetime.

The last urn was half-filled with small coins: not copper, but not gold either, they seemed to be made of an alloy that resembled both and yet neither. The man reached in and picked up one, examining it against the feeble light. He couldn't make out the writing, or the carving on the coin's face.

Maybe his brother would appreciate the souvenirs, he thought, and pocketed a few of the coins anyway. It was then that he noticed the huge stone slab standing in the middle of the room.

He didn't know for sure what exactly about this piqued his curiosity. Maybe it was the exhaustion of having spent most of his night running from gunfire, or maybe it was something else entirely, but he found himself walking towards the slab before he could help it. Just like the candles that had burnt out centuries ago, the slab showed its age clearly, with long cracks on its surface revealing glimpses of what used to be its original, pristine color.

The tracker traced his fingers over the surface, noticing how cool it was. He looked up, and saw only the candles and urns bearing witness. His curiosity grew.

Bending forward, he placed his hands at the corners of the lid and started to push.

It took a while before the slab even budged, and by then sweat was already running down his back. It took every ounce of strength he possessed before the slab fully yielded, and he finally heard a thud. Pausing to catch his breath, he waited for a few seconds, before lifting his head to see what was underneath.

The man had expected a skeleton, perhaps with an ancient sword or some other kind of memorabilia buried beside it, or held to its breast. His blood froze when his eyes came to rest instead upon the face of a sleeping young lady. There was a splash of freckles on and around her button nose, but they were hard to make out because of the light rose of her complexion. The tracker would think it odd, later, that the first real thought he formed after seeing the young lady here was to wonder how it was possible, that he could have been buried like this for God-knew how long and not be as pale as a ghost.

That was another thing: who knew how long this young lady had been here? It surely must not have been for very long, because he was still clearly very much alive. He could see the rise and fall of her bosom, and when he moved close enough, he could hear the young lady breathing.

He glanced up and around. The rest of the entire chamber was in clear disrepair, and the thick coat of dust on the floor, several years in the making at the very least, had been left undisturbed by any footprints except for his own.

This didn't make any sense.

He thought that perhaps he was finally starting to lose it, and that he would wake up from this strange dream soon enough. Perhaps those men chasing him had caught up with him after all, and he was already dead: this was some kind of limbo, then, and the young lady in the coffin would be the first of many oddities to come for an eternity.

Still, he felt that he should probably back away soon, and leave this place.

'Wait for me...'

Something in his head pulsed. Groaning, the tracker clutched at his temple, wondering if he'd been hit by shrapnel or some stray bullet an hour ago, and only noticed it now. This certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

But his hand came away dry.

He hesitated, and reached down into the coffin. He'd been intending to feel for a pulse, but for some reason his fingers came to brush against the young lady's cheek, and lingered there.

'And then, come back to me once and forevermore.'

The tracker felt a jolt run up his arm. The young lady sucked in her breath, shuddered, and let out a soft groan.

And then she opened her eyes.

The tracker stopped breathing.

'Thank you for freeing me.'

The young lady smiled when she saw him. Her eyes were a brilliant green, framed by curls of mercury red hair that had fallen over her forehead. "Eric," she whispered, and leaned into the tracker's touch. Her cheek felt warm to the touch.

The tracker shivered. But he didn't withdraw, despite himself.

He could count on both hands the number of people who knew his real name. And now, in a ruined castle that was a whole ocean away from the city he called home, here was this this young lady whom he'd never seen before in his life, speaking it softly and fondly as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"How... do you know my name?" he said in a low voice.

The young lady's smile widened, her eyes lighting up with affection. He chuckled softly. "But of course I know your name." He reached for Eric's hand. "You are my mentor, my friend, and my…"

She shifted and tried to sit up, pulling the hand towards his face and kissing the knuckles. Eric just stood there, stunned.

But he still had the presence of mind to catch the young lady as he faltered and swayed.

Eric rested the young lady's head on his shoulder, confused. Her hair smelled familiar, and he was impossibly warm. Eric himself felt dizzy now – as though he were wandering through a dream.

"Eric," the young lady whispered again, "I would never forget the name… of the man I…" But she never managed to finish his sentence, slumping forward into Eric's embrace.

While the tracker sought refuge in the ruins, an assembly of men dressed in white met in a huge hall, on the other side of the world.

They stood gathered around a huge, round table of heavy marble, with golden embellishments all around its circumference, depicting carnations in bloom. The table's surface was smooth enough to be almost perfectly reflective, and atop it lay a ceremonial sword with a gold handle. Intricate carvings ran up the length of the ivory scabbard, stopping only at the elaborate, golden lock which ensured that this sword would never drink another man's blood.

The men had their eyes closed as though in prayer, and each wore a fresh white carnation on his breast pocket. They clasped their hands together and sang:

"Glory to our King, to he who stopped all sin.
Glory to he who fell, but shall rise to power again."

Silence befell the room as the North-facing door opened, and a man in a white robe walked in bearing a length of worn parchment. He moved to the center of the room, and the rest of the men made way for him as he approached the table.

The man unrolled his parchment, and began to read.

"…And so on that day the kingdom fell to ruins, and with time all traces of the great King Magnus faded away. He was betrayed by some of his most trusted knights who had sworn to serve him, and by foolish subjects who craved only chaos and death."

The others muttered harsh words to themselves under their breaths. The man in the robe raised his hands, and silence returned.

"But we, his faithful followers, know it is our duty to preserve what is left of his legacy. We must wait and prepare. For we declare that our King will return. Soon, his most loyal knight, the only one who stood by his side until the very end, will awaken once more. After that, it will not be long…"

He spoke in a solemn voice that grew louder as he finished reading the prophecy. The other men listened attentively, and when he finished, the whole room erupted in cheers and applause.

CHAPTER SIX

"So, are you game?" Femi asked, pressing for a response.

However, before she could give her final answer, she was interrupted by Grant who chose that moment to burst into the room.

"Femi, what have I told you about pawning off your clinic hours on your fellows!" the administrator asked angrily.

"Don't get you panties in a bunch," the diagnostician replied. "The schedule clearly said Dr. Johnson, it's not my fault if it simply never specified which one."

"What are you talking about Femi?" Grant asked impatiently, but becoming genuinely confused as she absorbed the scene in front of her as she noticed that Daniella was in the room as well and they both had food cartons in their laps. "Are the two of you eating lunch together?"

"Excellent powers of deduction," Femi quipped. "Is that why they gave you the big office? And here I thought it was because of your amazing-"

"Why?" Grant asked, interrupting what was bound to be a highly inappropriate comment.

"Why what?" Femi responded.

"Why are you eating lunch together? You've never eaten lunch together before," Grant replied, completely perplexed by this anomaly.

"How do you know that?" Femi asked lightly.

"Because this is my hospital, I know everything that goes on here," she replied surely.

"Well apparently not everything," he replied with that particular self satisfied smirk he only got when he knew something you didn't.

Grant looked at Femi, then over to Daniella, and back at Femi. She knew that she was missing something, and she was quickly getting the impression that it was something important.

"What exactly is going on here?" she asked, in her best 'don't lie to me' tone.

Femi looked at Daniella signaling for her to answer. He needed to know now if she was going to play along, since he wouldn't be able to keep up the charade without her help. This was the moment of truth, it was all or nothing. Taking her cue, Daniella turned to her boss's boss and spoke.

"Femi and I got married while we were in Abuja last week," Daniella announced less awkwardly than either of them would have expected.

"You're joking," Grant replied quickly, before the younger woman's words even had a chance to sink in.

"Oh, I wish I was," Daniella replied jokingly with a smile that Grant was too shocked to notice was forced.

"What the hell happened? Did you two get blind drunk and decide it was a good idea to get married?" she asked disbelievingly, unknowingly hitting the nail right on the head.

"Of course not," Femi replied as if seriously affronted. "Daniella and I have been seeing each other for… How long has it been darling?" he asked, once more passing her the ball.

"Well I don't know dear," she said pausing, looking as if she was making a mental calculation. "It depends on if you are counting from the first time we slept together or the first time we actually went out on a date. Because the former happened about a month and a half before the later."

Femi had to hide his surprise at his usually innocent underling's unexpected answer. He was beginning to think that this whole ordeal might be even more fun than he had initially been expecting. He looked back at Grant and saw she hadn't even made an attempt to hide her surprise. He had to bite back a laugh as he saw his usually unflappable boss openly staring in wide eyed, slack jawed shock. It didn't help matters that at some point during this exchange Femi had snaked his arm around Daniella's waist and pulled her close to him and Daniella was resting a hand on his knee.

The hospital administrator turned on her spiked heel and walked from the room without another word, all prior concern about clinic hours currently forgotten. As soon as the door swung shut and they could hear Grant's Manolos clicking down the corridor, the two doctors sprung apart, quickly retreating to their respective sides of the couch.

"See now wasn't that fun?" Femi asked attempting to dissolve some of the awkward tension in the room. "I think we just got ourselves out of clinic duty for the rest of the day, possibly the rest of the week depending on how long it takes for the shock to wear off."

Daniella bit her lip in an attempt to restrain her smile. "I have to admit, I never actually thought I would see the day where I would see Grant's jaw drop like that."

"I know, I haven't been able to shock her like that in years. Enrage, disgust, amaze, occasionally mildly surprise, I can still do, but to shock speechless? I don't think I've been able to do that in at least eight years. So you deserve double points for that little statement of yours," he verbally applauded her, "that's what put her over the edge. I think I'm going to have to marry Lukman next time to top that reaction."

"No," Daniella replied, shaking her head in disagreement, "that wouldn't shock anybody."

He looked at her in surprise for a moment, before beginning to laugh. "Burn!," he agreed, deciding he liked this side of Daniella.

Feeding off his laughter, Daniella began laughing as well, which caused them to feed off each other as they laughed heartily for several minutes at the ridiculousness of the whole situation they had gotten themselves into. As they sobered, Daniella was the first one to speak.

"You know, if we're going to do this thing, we should do it right."

"I like the way you think," Femi replied lecherously.

"What I mean," Daniella continued, pointedly ignoring his interjection, "is that we should get our stories straight. Figure out a believable history, how long we've been together, how we got together, stuff like that."

"Yes, like this month and a half we were just having sex…when, where, what positions? We should really figure out all of those details, you never know what might come up," he said wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

"Femi, this was your idea, if you don't want to help me figure this out, then I can go find Grant right now and explain the whole thing to her," Daniella threatened, the expression on her face making it clear that she had no qualms following through with it.

"Eight months," he said in reply. "Remember when we were both here late by ourselves on Christmas Eve watching the Albino girl-"

"Shola," Cameron supplied.

House gave her a look that told her exactly what he thought of her remembering the name of a patient from eight months ago, but refrained from making a verbal comment.

"As I was saying, we were here late all alone on Christmas, no family or friends to watch '30 days in Atlanta' with or to share old stories of Christmas' past over tall glasses of wine with, so naturally we took comfort in each other," he said dramatically. "And then one thing led to another and we ended up making sweet sweet love on the office table."

Daniella raised a single arched eyebrow. "Fine, then you took me out for the first time on Valentine's Day."

Femi made a face. "But that's so cheesy," he complained.

"And lonely Christmas sex isn't?" Daniella challenged.

"Hey, maybe it was lonely Christmas sex for you," Femi retorted. "I was just taking advantage of my young and beautiful employee in her moment of weakness. And the sex was so good I didn't want to give it up. And I'm assuming it was good if the scratches on my back are any indication."

Femi watched in amusement as he watch the color appear from under her collar and crept up her neck before spreading across her cheeks. Apparently she could only talk about fictional sex, and the real thing embarrassed her.

"Did I really-?" she started to ask tentatively.

"Yup, do you want to see?" he asked starting to raise his shirt.

"No!" she quickly replied. "I believe you. And umm… I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be," he returned suggestively, making the color in her cheeks rise to her hairline.

"Anyways," Daniella said, shaking off the previous portion of the conversation, "I told Grant a month and a half. If we started sleeping together on Christmas then that would mean Valentines Day. And it works, because if you remember the boys found out I had a date, but I never told them who, because they kept bugging me about it and it was making me vexed. They'll just think it was you and that's why I refused to give them any details."

"Fine," he relented. "And we decided to keep it out of the Hospital because you didn't want the whole Hospital to know you were sleeping with your boss, and I didn't want the other duckays getting jealous," House added.

"And so," she continued, picking up the narrative, "when Grant approached me to go to Abuja with you to keep an eye on you, I agreed with only minimal convincing."

"She had to convince you?" Femi interjected to ask, this being news to him.
Daniella just smirked in reply and continued. "And then you proposed on the top of that incredibly high building, the Stratosphere-"

"Oh good god no," Femi interrupted. "We have to make it believable right? No one who knows me would believe that…"

"Alright then," Daniella laughed, conceding that he was right on that point, "how did you propose?"

Femi considered this a moment. He had never had the desire to propose to someone so he had never really considered it. True he had been with Sonia for five years, and had lived with her for as long, but he had been perfectly content with the status quo and saw no reason to change anything about their situation and it was a good thing he hadn't, considering how that sordid tale turned out.

"I didn't even ask you," he said finally, pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind as irrelevant. "You just woke up one morning with a ring on your finger and you were so excited that you insisted we go out and get married that afternoon before I had a chance to change my mind."

Daniella laughed again at his admittedly more realistic version of events.

"Okay, and so I still wasn't ready to tell everyone yet," she said, bringing the story up to date, "but you didn't see a reason for keeping it quiet anymore so you decided to announce it this morning. You figured that since we were actually married, that it would prove that what we have is for real and I couldn't say that people would think I was just sleeping with you to get ahead."

"And Grant can't complain that a relationship would affect our work since she didn't even figure it out for the first eight months," Femi concluded. "Not that it wont now, now that everyone knows," he said with a devious smile. "This is going to be fun."

Daniella returned a slightly more wary smile as she wondered exactly what she was getting herself into.

CHAPTER FIVE

Daniella Dinobi was currently hiding.

Patients, nurses, hospital administrators, her boss, herself, the whole world, specifics didn't matter, she was hiding from them all. She had started off trying to do her clinic hours - well Femi's hours - but it wasn't long before she realized that if she had to listen to one more mother who thought their child's cough was pneumonia or if she had to put up with one more old man her grandfather's age with athletes foot, try to hit on her, she was going to loose it.

That was what led her to her current course of action. Which just happened to be laying down on one of the clinic room's examination tables with one arm draped across her face to cover her eyes from the harsh florescent lighting as she tried to will the rest of the world away. At first she felt guilty for skimping out on her duties to the clinic, but then she reasoned that she was actually doing Femi's hours, not her own, and that if he were down here, he would be doing the exact same thing she was doing now, so in actuality it was just par for the golf course. She groaned lightly, she hated sports metaphors, even the ones she made herself.

It was then that the beeper that resided on her right hip called her attention away from her self-pitying musings. She sighed audibly when she read the message. Your hubby's office STAT. While all she really wanted to do was ignore it, since in all likelihood it meant that Femi was bored and would like to annoy her some more, she also knew it could very possibly be a patient and she refused to let the mess that had become her personal life interfere with her work. Well anymore than it already had.

She clocked out of the clinic and managed to make her way to the elevator and up to the correct floor, successfully avoiding any kind of conversation. But what she saw once she arrived at the Diagnostics department gave her pause. The conference room was empty so she wanted to assume that the boys were simply in the office with Femi. However, he had never reopened the blinds she had closed earlier, so there was no real way to tell.

Taking a deep but not so cleansing breath, she opened the door hoping against hope that she would be walking into the middle of a differential session. But it seemed that this was not her day, let alone week, and her wish was not granted when she saw that Femi was indeed by himself and apparently waiting for her as he was sitting behind his desk looking back at her quite expectantly.

"What took you so long?" Femi asked accusatorily the moment she opened the door. "I'm starving."

"What?" Daniella asked, genuinely confused.

"I would make a comment about you letting the food get cold, but I happen to like my Jollof cold and the rabbit food you eat is supposed to be that way," he continued as he stood, picked up two food cartons, handed one to her and sat down on the couch with the other.

"What is this?" she asked, cautiously opening the Styrofoam carton as if it was something completely foreign to her.

"In some cultures they call it a grilled chicken salad," he replied picking up his sandwich and taking a large bite, not bothering to chew and swallow before continuing. "You eat it, most people find using a fork is helpful, but I suppose that's your prerogative."

"I know what it is," she retorted irritably, continuing to stare at it. "I guess the better question is why are you giving me a chicken salad?"

"Because it's lunch time, and I've heard that even your kind gets hungry occasionally. Now stop starring at your lunch like you're expecting it do a trick and just eat it."

"In all the years I've been working for you, you have never bought me lunch," she pointed out, not even about to touch that your kind comment. "Cut in front of me in the lunch line and then stick me with your bill, sure, but buy my lunch and have it waiting in your office for me? Never."

"We've also never been married before," he pointed out in return. "What," he asked when she continued to look at him doubtfully, "is it so wrong for me to want to have lunch with the little missus?"

"Seriously, what did you do to it?" she asked warily, choosing to ignore the little missus comment as well, as she peered under the Styrofoam cover yet again.

"Why are you so suspicious?" he questioned in return, not even sure if he was amused or irritated by her refusal to just take the damn salad at this point.

"It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you," she countered.

"Well I didn't do anything to it, but I can't vouch for the lunch ladies and they can be a wily bunch. I don't think you have done anything to piss them off recently so I think you're safe," he assured her. "On the other hand, I have and since I'm the one who bought it, there is in fact a large possibility that someone did do something. On the other hand, I've never actually bought a salad before so they wouldn't have had time to prepare something to do to it. On the other hand…wait how many hands am I on?"

Daniella simply sighed in defeat and sat down on the couch next to him, well more accurately she sat down as far away from him as she could and still technically be on the same couch. They ate in silence for a few minutes and Femi turned the TV on and flipped it over to CW where they were airing The Flash.

"Femi-" Daniella started to speak.

"Shhh, they're about to reveal if Harrison Wells is really Reverse Flash after all. Which I can't see as possible because he was right there with them during an attack by the Reverse Flash," he relayed, glancing over at her. "But if they can come up with some made up physics explanation for someone being in two places at once then I bet they will do it after all."

The doubtful look on the immunologist's face told him that she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He sighed audibly before attempting to explain further.

"Harrison Wells was mentor to the Flash, But he seems to be more than that," he could tell she was still confused. "Good lord woman! Do you know nothing? What do you do all day? Well I'm not going to sit here the whole time and explain it to you so I end up missing something important. You are just going to have to follow along as best you can and figure it out yourself."

Daniella simply rolled her eyes and returned to her salad until the commercial break, it wasn't as if she actually cared what happened to the residents of Central City.

"Now you may speak," Femi announced as a commercial for Gillette began playing on the screen.

"What do you want from me Femi?" she asked simply.

"Who said I want something from you?" he answered with another question.

"You must want something from me to call me in here and it must be something huge for you to buy me food. I break the law on a regular basis simply because you ask me too, so the fact that you're actually trying to soften me up with lunch concerns me greatly," she said, laying the cards, as she saw, them on the table.

"I am deeply, deeply hurt and aggrieved that you would call my intentions into question like that. Don't you realize what today is?" he asked dramatically clutching a hand to his heart.

Daniella looked back at him, the look on her face clearly showing that she feared whatever he was about to say next. "What?" she finally asked when it became clear he was not going to go on without some sort of prompt from her.

"It's our 72 hour anniversary! I cant believe you forgot, it's a very important milestone. And I got you that," he said in all seriousness, pointing at the carton on her lap, "because everybody knows that the cafeteria only prepares chicken salad in three days and it's today."

"Ah yes," Daniella replied smiling in spite of herself, "how could I have forgotten. I'm terribly sorry."

Femi looked her up and down for a long moment, as if evaluating the sincerity of her remorse and deciding if she was worth his forgiveness.

"Well, I suppose as long as you don't forget our 24 day anniversary," he said finally. "That's tomorrow and it's the day we get moi moi on the menu."

"I'll keep that in mind," Daniella responded, chuckling softly.

She realized she had almost forgotten how the conversation started and was going to ask what it was he wanted again, but The Flash came back on and she knew there was no point in saying anything until the next commercial. And when a trailer for the new comic book movie that was coming out started playing Daniella was going to ask, but didn't get the chance since it was Femi spoke first.

"I have a proposal for you," the older doctor announced, not looking away from the screen.

"I'm not sure it would be wise for me to hear it, considering the last proposal you made was the one that got us in to this mess," Daniella retorted wryly.

"How do you know that you're not the one who popped the question?" Femi asked turning towards her, actually curious to hear her reasoning.

"It had to have been your idea," she replied simply with all confidence. "I never could have convinced to you to get married regardless of how drunk you were. Where as I know that when I'm drunk, I can pretty much be talked into anything."

Femi filed this useful little tidbit of information away for later.

"But based on all prior evidence in this twisted relationship we seem to be having, you have always been the instigator," he pointed out.

"Actually, you were the one who started this whole thing with the cooking lessons date," Daniella rebutted.

"It wasn't a date. You wanted to learn my recipes."

"Keep telling yourself that," she replied with a half smile. "Besides I had to blackmail you into even going on that date with me. Which I admit was not my proudest moment, and not something I had ever had to reduce myself to before to get a date, but it was blackmail nonetheless. And that was just a date, a couple of hours out of one evening of your life, not until death do us part. And I'm still pretty morally sure that you only even agreed to the date because you didn't want to have to interview for a new fellow and because you knew that it would give you the perfect opportunity to toy with me and then crush any ideas I might have had that something might have actually happened between us," she said in a rush before pausing and looking out the office windows as her face flushed in embarrassment for having revealed her thoughts about their disastrous cooking 'date'.

Femi frowned slightly when he heard what she assumed his intentions were that night. He was a bit uncomfortable with the fact that she thought he would be so intentionally cruel, but then he realized that she had every right and reason to believe that.

"I didn't plan on saying those things to you that night," he said softly with his attention returning to the TV where the show had begun again. "I meant to let you have a good time. You asked me a personal question. I don't like personal questions."

"I know," she replied matching his tone.

The both remained silent as they watched the screen and picked at what was left of their lunches. The show ended and Femi wordlessly turned off the TV.

"Femi, tell me what you want or I'm going back down to the clinic," she said after a long moment.

"I want to act like we got married on purpose," he announced, turning to look at her.

Daniella looked back at him and blinked, once, twice, three times before looking away. Of all the requests she had imagined coming from him, that was not one of them.

"Now I understand the chicken salad," she quipped quietly, looking down at the mostly eaten salad in her lap. "You should have gotten a Diet Coke too."

She didn't say anything else for several long minutes and Femi almost told her to forget about it, but then she spoke again.

"May I ask why?" she asked with that honest sincerity in her eyes that he had often mocked in the past.

"Because it will mess with everyone's heads," he replied as if that explained everything. "It will be hilarious."

Daniella looked back down at her lap and closed her eyes so that he couldn't read them. For a second there she had let herself believe that Femi was saying that he actually wanted to be married to her. And for some incomprehensible reason this had made her happy. She pushed this from her mind and concentrated on his unusual request. Although nothing about marrying your boss and having sex with him while plastered in Abuja could be considered usual.

"But then what happens when the annulment comes through?" she asked rubbing her temples, feeling a headache coming on. "What do we tell everyone then?"

"We can burn that bridge when we get to it," Femi replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, happy that she was even considering it. That was actually more than he expected. "But think about how much fun we can have until then," he said going in for the hard sell. "Kingsley is already convinced that we are happily married, but Lukman is sure that this all one great big plot against him somehow and Obika is even more confused than he normally is. I cant wait to see what Grant's reaction is going to be."

Daniella acknowledged internally that it would be pretty funny to pull one over on her co-workers. But it would mean having to spend a lot of up close and personal time with her boss, something that she wasn't sure if it would go into the pro or con column. Her rational side told her that this was a very bad idea and that there was no possible way that this could end well. But then the less responsible, less mature, eat a whole gallon of chocolate ice cream out of the carton in one sitting, part of her wanted to go for it and screw the consequences.

"Come on Daniella, we could make it interesting and see how soon we can actually make Obika pass out from shock. So, are you game?" Femi asked, pressing for a response.

However, before she could give her final answer, she was interrupted by Grant, who chose that moment to burst into the room.

----------------------

I'm back and I promise daily updates.

*Carnations - a type of flower like the rose � often used to depict love.

Nancydearie(f), oluwajt(m), Xionez(m), Maydfourth, Kaymercury(m), nastyd(m), Deztro(m), kingzic(m), Oyinpr ince, Kayemjay, Donkross1, Audreytimms, Jay542 Jagugu88li Twizzy30 Veekid SPDAZZY bot101 princewilla missuniverse Roseygold ahlajidanko yorhmienerd twinkle004 missmossy divepen1 yorubawoman iomoge02 edimahgurl Michelle55 Elize1 yusufibrahim Riog Sayocruz Chefremy Phemocheee Shigo20 justicextian Sotozo Chimacks crusherdaniels TONYE001 bibijay123 Oyimzy Costal Monsieurp peachyp sexyfire911 Olatex25 room089 noblet2 warfibabe rachealfst Mofy1 stanley010 mamindy Maggilove fidex Mhiz bobbydreofficial Ridwan1821. Leriebloom olashinle2016 Horlorlardaey Whizzdom ReuEl12 SheWrites ADECULATE girlhaley redon12(m), Stexy(m), ifyjohnson(f), cyndylove64, Aitee1(f), sameesyd(m), Keemellah(f), Chimkizy(m), kinggenesis(m), gtin(m), shaksu, rachealfst(f), sommyqueency, oyionina(f), validstar1, swiz123(m), seanmozilla(m), Omakid01(m), bossy512(f), Fabulousmendex, femostic6, evelynakpore, Gamesound(m), Palmerbarry(m), Godsent231, MissRelly, Ogodlovely1(f), phattie(f), moh2015, iwakacome(m), Cylovee(m), ROYH(m), PrettyMizQdot(f), colik(f), laddybay(f), Trayoralas, ujunwa23, Onyenso100(m), animides, Shollyjay90(m), twinkiet(f), cathytee, Paulynah(f), pauljokotagba, supizino(m), joyberry(f), paulaspearz(f), oshorstan(m)Oyinprince(m)

I'm not a very popular writer but I would appreciate some feedback from you guys reading because I want to improve.


I

The breeze was cool, the night sky was clear, and a tall man in black was running away from gunfire.

He didn't need the comprehensive instructions being fed to him from his spotter's voice, over his earpiece. He'd simply picked a direction where the gunshots hadn't been coming from, and began running for his life. He wished he weren't running uphill. He wished he didn't have all of this gear under his jacket weighing him down.

He wished for a lot of things.

"That's not the escape route we planned, Fenrir! What the hell are you doing?"

That was a very good question. A gunshot smashed a rock that was just inches from his right foot, so he kept going, even as his calves ached in protest.

43 minutes ago, he'd killed a retired underboss who had been laying low in his secluded cottage in rural Scotland, waiting out a bit of heat. All it had taken was a single bullet to the back of his head. It should have been an uneventful, easy job.

But it wasn't. A last-minute change in plans due to his mark's increasing paranoia had meant there were more bodyguards than they'd anticipated. And the problem with this place was that there was nowhere to hide.

He didn't like running away. Among his colleagues, he'd always been known as the 'tracker' of the group. As such, he would always be infinitely more comfortable on the other side of the chase, but there wasn't much he could do about that now.

Going up the hill had its advantages, though: the gunshots were getting less frequent now. He wondered how much longer this would take.

"Where are you going, Fenrir?"

"I don't know," he ground out. He finally reached in through his open jacket, pulled out his gun and returned fire. "Can you send a chopper?"

"Not for another half-hour. By then, it won't matter."

"Right. Right." The tracker took a deep breath, ducked as he heard another series of shots, and fired back two of his own. The sudden, frantic spray of bullets echoing from behind informed him that at least one of those had been put to good use. That was slightly comforting.

The sky really was dark now, and if he looked up he could see the stars overhead, a blanket of blinking dots spreading out above him. The air grew colder the higher he climbed, and the mist gradually thickened.

But the gunshots from his pursuers were now few and far in between, and quite a significant distance away. He was beginning to see the end of his climb now, too: the incline was gentler now, and he thought he could see something in the distance.

"There's a forest on the other side of that hill you're on – "

"Wait," he interrupted. "I was told that this whole hill was just empty grassland."

His spotter sounded confused. "But it is."

The tracker frowned. "…I see."

He didn't comment, then, on what he saw here: ruins of what once must have been a grand structure, a palace or castle of some kind. Its walls blackened and charred, it stretched out before him like a huge skeleton with its bones put out to proud display. Tattered cloth from remnants of curtains or flags dangled behind dusty, rounded windows on the few walls that had somehow remained standing.

There was no gate standing in his way. Nor did any signs hint at these grounds being guarded under some historical preservation effort.

From afar, he heard another gunshot. Maybe his mark's bodyguards hadn't quite given up on the chase after all.

"Fenrir, report! What's going on over there?"

The tracker took a deep breath, taking in the ruins again. "There's…" He paused, wondering if his spotter would believe him if he described the ruins to her. Maybe now wouldn't be the best time for that, he decided. "I think I've found a hiding place," he said instead. "I'll try to wait this out."

"Good idea. I'll see what I can do to get you out of there. Keep us posted."

He pulled his jacket closed, and jogged forward.

PROLOGUE

The moon was already high in the sky, but its light was stifled by a brighter, reddish glow – a city in flames could be a thing of beauty, if only for those not caught in its fire.

Only corpses had stayed to see the sight. Not even twelve hours ago, a revolt had finally toppled the despot who had ruled over these lands, and the price to pay was the blood that now drenched the courtyard and town square. Most of those who had been fortunate enough to survive the city's destruction had fled by now. All that remained now were ghosts and ruins – and one man, carrying a smaller, lifeless body in his arms.

He paid no attention to the destruction around him, not even as he stepped on splinters of wood that used to be door frames, or shards of broken glass. He crossed the empty street with purpose and turned a corner, clutching the body closer to his chest. He then rapped on the door of a small house with the tip of his boot.

"Doctor Baldwin," he called out in a hoarse voice. "I am here."

He had to wait an eternity before the door was finally pulled open. Leopold Baldwin, who had once served with honor as physician to the Royal Family, ushered him impatiently, rubbing at the back of his head. Perhaps on some level, he was still thinking about how close he had come to losing it today.

"Quickly, Sir Fontaine. Inside."

Fontaine followed him into an old, dusty living room littered with crates and chests. Some of them had been left open, and were filled mostly with medical instruments. But he could also see several books whose titles he recognized – they had been banned for the last four years.

"I did expect you earlier," the doctor mumbled as he led them through a small dining room. "Make no mistake, I am grateful that you saved my life today, and it is only right that I grant you this favor in return. But we do not have much time."

"My apologies. I was not aware you were going to leave so soon," Fontaine said.

The doctor threw him a meaningful glance. "That is not what I meant."

Fontaine gritted his teeth, and pulled the young lady in his arms closer to his chest.

Leopold finally stopped walking as soon as they were in the middle of the kitchen. He pulled back a filthy rug to reveal a trap door, and grabbed an oil lamp from the wooden counter. "Careful," he warned, before heading down the stairs.

Fontaine pulled the young lady's head to rest onto his shoulder, and stepped down gingerly. He did not want to hurt her any more than he already had.

"Did you give her that potion as I prescribed?"

"Yes." Fontaine hesitated. "I did it as soon as I could find a place to hide. The bleeding seems to have stopped."

"But it will not keep her alive for long."

The doctor held the lamp in front of him as he guided the knight through the underground passage. The stones in the walls looked as though they must have been thousands of years old. Grime covered the jagged surfaces enough to make them glisten in the dark. The air in the passage was stale and smelled of earth, and he found the passage to be impossibly cold – not unlike the young lady in his arms.

Fontaine pushed that morbid thought away. He would save her. He would.

"We are almost there." Leopold paused for only a moment, and turned around to throw a brief glance his way. "Step lively, Sir Fontaine, or we shall not make it in time."

When they finally emerged from the passage, Fontaine had to squint to adjust to the sudden brightness. Dozens of white candles had been lit, arranged in a large circle on the floor. From the sizes of the puddles of wax around them, it looked as though they had been burning for at least an hour.

They were in a vault with a high, arched ceiling. A hooded figure was waiting for them in the center of the room, behind a raised platform covered by red cloth.

Fontaine recognized those carvings on the wall immediately: they resembled the royal coat of arms, and he had hung up his shield enough nights to have those images seared into his memory. "This is – "

"The castle, yes," Leopold finished for him. He set the lantern down onto the ground. "Do not worry, we are still underground. There is no-one else here, and there never will be."

"What do you mean," Fontaine started, still holding the young man close, "no-one is here?"

Leopold's expression shifted, and sadness flickered over his features. "The people have all left, Sir Fontaine, and if they are wise they will not return. The destruction has taken its toll." He sighed. "I would advise you to leave as well, as soon as this task is done."

"Task?" Fontaine kept holding onto the young lady, noticing how cold she still felt, and how light she was in his arms. "I am not leaving without her," he said firmly.

Leopold met his eyes, and then shook his head. "You are stubborn. But that is not for you to decide."

"I came here because you said you could save her. Can you? Or was that just a lie?"

"I cannot," Leopold shook his head. "To undo what has been done is beyond my reach." The doctor looked down and gestured towards the young lady in the knight's arms, "And beyond that of any mortal."

He stepped back. Fontaine saw the hooded figure raise its head, but it was not enough for him to make out a face. As his eyes eventually adjusted to the candlelight though, he thought he might have caught a glimpse of a soft jawline, and pale lips.

"Who are you?" he called out.

"I have been given many names, Sir Eric de Fontaine," came the reply. The voice was unmistakably that of a female, but possessed an ethereal quality that made her whisper sound as though it were echoing from the very walls. "And yes, I do know who you are. I have watched you fight valiantly to defend these lands I love. Because of your bravery, and that of your comrades, these lands were not razed to ashes today. For that, I thank you."

"Then will you help me? Please?"

The woman paused, before the hood finally moved, ever so slightly, from an otherwise imperceptible nod. For a second, before she lowered her head once more, he thought he could have glimpsed tendrils of spun gold, and eyes that might have been pale, pale blue.

She was not human, Fontaine realized. Was she a spirit? A witch?

It did not matter either way. He shifted the young lady in his grasp so that she would not touch the floor as he sank down onto one knee. "Please… help me," he repeated. "I will offer you any compensation that you require."

"Compensation is not needed," the woman said. "Your heart is pure. And as I have told you, you have my gratitude." She walked over to him with her long robes trailing behind her, and when she touched his cheek, somehow this put him at ease. "I only wish for you to know is that this will require immense sacrifice, as well as time."

"Time?"

"I can grant her her life back, but not all at once. My powers do not extend that far. Instead, what I offer you is this: she shall sleep until a thousand winters, summers and springs have passed. Until this very castle is nothing but rubble, and the knights and kings who walked these grounds are spoken of only in legends."

"Then…" Fontaine felt his heart sink. "I shall never see her again?"

The woman's lips turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. "You think like a true mortal. Take heart, Sir Fontaine – your wish shall be granted, so long as the price is paid."

The more he mulled over those words, the more it began to dawn on him that perhaps this had been a mistake. He pressed the young lady's head against his shoulder, and moved a tiny step back.

"Eric." The doctor called him by the name his mother had given him, and spoke in a solemn tone. "There is no other way."

Leopold's words reminded him of the ugly alternative, and after slowly rising to his feet, Eric walked a short distance over to the platform. Once he was there, he lowered the young lady gingerly onto its surface.

The woman stepped forward, took the young lady's hands into her own, and placed them so that they were folded atop her bosom. As she pulled away, Fontaine could see the young lady's tattoos – identical, twin imprints of carnations in bloom, one each on the back of the hand. His throat tightened.

"Your heart's desire involves walking in the realm of the gods," she whispered. "The sacrifice required will be great – a price that no lesser man can ever pay."

"I will do whatever it takes."

"No."

Fontaine drew back, the harsh coldness of the woman's tone having felt like a slap. "What? But you said…" He trailed off, eyebrows knotting. "I do not understand."

"And that is how it must be." The woman nodded towards Leopold, and told him in a quiet voice, "Take the good knight outside."

Fontaine's heart sank further, and fear grappled inside his chest. He shook his head. He was not ready; there still had to be some time left. "Wait... at least let me say goodbye!"

But Leopold was already pushing him out, insistently. By the time they were both out of the chamber, and just before the door shut, Fontaine could see the flames lighting the candles beginning to die out, one by one.

"Katrina...!"

Chapter One

Death.

It surrounds us, engulfs us, chases us, and eventually, catches up with us. We watch as it grasps people and pulls them deep into its depths. We know it's inevitable, yet we never expect it to get a hold of us.

As I stared death straight in the face, I couldn't help but think of all the stupid things I'd done. I realized with stunning acuity that I regretted more things then I was proud of. In my twenty-five years, it was the unpleasant memories that flashed before my eyes. Not the happy ones. Not even the corny ones, like winning the spelling bee in third grade. But the bad ones.

That was pathetic.

I gasped in pain as the knife plunged into my right side. The buildings fell and the lights swirled as the world tilted. My cheek pressed into the cold cement, oddly comforting as the heat from my side seeped through my fingers, wet and warm.

Several people screamed. Yells broke through my mind, flooding it with bright sound. I shuddered and my breath came in deep, gasping sounds. I closed my eyes and turned to lie on my back. A cool breeze that smelled of the sea brushed softly against my face. My eyes flickered open for the briefest second, and what I saw was the dark night sky stretched out above me. Stars sparkled above me, beautiful, despite their small size.

Suddenly, everything was collapsing. The sky sped towards me and swallowed me. The burning pain in my side faded away into a dull throbbing. I was sinking into blissful numbness, and at that moment, I knew it was over. I could feel it all around me. My life had come to an end. Somewhere deep inside me, a panic was clawing its way to the surface. I let out a small sigh, wishing it would give up.

I cried out as something pressed into my bleeding side. My mind swam its way back to consciousness with the new burst of pain. I was abruptly aware of the pain coursing through my body. My eyes flew open as a struggled for a breath. The panic that I had suppressed was bubbling up, and it was breaking through the surface. It was making everything worse, and tears began to leak out the corners of my eyes.

"Don't give up," breathed a deep voice next to my ear.

In the darkness of the night, I couldn't see the man's face. I could only see his eyes. They flashed a bright, emerald green in the lights of the street. They were beautiful.

They were the last thing I remembered.

******************

"Don't give up," a voice whispered softly.

I jerked awake.

I had absolutely no idea where I was. Bright lights intruded the peace of my mind. I squinted my eyes to adjust to the intensity of the lights, but I only saw white. I blinked several times and turned my head to the side.

Beeping monitors surrounded my head and tubes ran from my arm to an IV bag. I was in a hospital. I was lying in a bed with stiff white sheets and metal railings.

And I was alive.

The beeping sped up as my heart rate picked up. Relief spread through me, tingling my fingers and toes. My breath caught in my throat as the pain swelled in my side. I whimpered slightly as my fingers reached down to touch the wound. My entire midsection was tightly wrapped in gauze, but I could see a dark red stain that had seeped through.

The clicking of high heels echoed down the hospital hallway, slowing as they got closer to my room. A million questions flooded my brain. Where exactly was I? How long had I been here? What the hell had happened?

A woman entered my room. She was tall and willowy, with her salt-and-pepper hair sensibly styled. Her white lab coat pinned her as a doctor.

A look of relief spread over her face when she saw me.

"Finally woke up, did you?" she said as she bustled over to my bed, fiddling with the machines next to me.

I breathed in deeply as I could feel the questions fight their way to the top. I choked, and started to cough violently. Pain seared from every part of my body, and my eyes filled with water. The doctor turned to me with a concerned look and shuffled closer to the bed.

When the coughing subsided, I managed to rasp, "Where am I?"

The woman picked up a clipboard that was lying on the small bedside table next to me. She muttered something incomprehensive, and then looked up at me.

"St. Mary's," she replied.

I cleared my throat and attempted to nod. At least I knew where I was. St. Mary's hospital was about ten minutes from my small apartment.

Giving me an evaluating look, the doctor bent down to scribble something on the clipboard.

"What's your name, dear?" she asked, sounding interested.

I looked up, startled.

"Um, Alex," I breathed out, "Alex Greene."

She continued to write, leaving me there to stare at her with a bewildered expression pasted on my face.

I blinked and asked, "What happened to me?"

The doctor threw me a curious glance, and said, "You don't remember anything?"

"No."

She sighed and perched herself uncomfortably in the plastic chair beside the bed. She clasped her hands together and her eyes rose to meet mine. Hers were a proud, hazy gray with dark flecks in the iris.

"Well, Ms. Greene," she began, "I don't know the particulars. You were brought in through the E.R. The nurse at the desk told me a man had brought you in, carrying you."

I coughed, "Carrying me?"

She pursed her lips and went on. "We don't know who he was, and he left before we could get his name. He only said that you had been stabbed on the boardwalk by 5th Avenue."

Stabbed. The memory of the night sky falling on me as I clutched my side raced back. Swallowing, my hand touched my side.

"You almost died, dear," the doctor said, her look softening as she watched me start to remember.

"What day is it?" I questioned, wanting desperately to get away from the subject.

"November 8th. You've been unconscious for three days."

Three days. My boss was going to kill me.

Gathering some strength, I struggled to prop myself up on the flat pillows.

"When can I get out of here?" I asked, giving the woman a slightly pleading look.

"When we finish our examinations. We just want to make sure there is no permanent damage to the internal organs," she replied, standing up and straightening her white coat.

I closed my eyes when I felt the pain increase and a wave of nausea rose up inside me. The smart clicking of high heels told me the doctor had left.

For the next few hours, I went in and out of consciousness. When I was asleep, the visions of of what I had thought were my last moments haunted me. When I was awake, I stared at the sterile white walls, alone and helpless. I sighed and resented the fact that no one had come to see me. I had thought that I had had a couple of friends who cared enough to stop by after I had gotten brutally stabbed.

Shifting to the left, my arm pressed against the bed's railing. I welcomed the cool sensation it brought to my skin.

The heels were echoing down the hallway again, and the same doctor poked her head in.

"All set to go. Is there anyone we can call to come pick you up?" she said, coming into the room.

I watched as she disconnected the tubes from my body. She opened her mouth, and then shut it after some internal debate.

Her back turned to me, she said, "I've never had a patient as strong as you. You pulled through much quicker than I could have ever expected. Well," she spun around to face me with a pile of clothes in her arms, "here are some clothes for you to wear, Ms. Greene."

I nodded weakly and she walked out of the room. The door shut softly behind her. Her voice was hushed as she talked to someone outside the room. Pulling on the drawstring sweatpants two sizes too large and slipping the faded red t-shirt that read "Howlers" over my head almost made me feel human again. My side throbbed dully, and I suddenly wondered if they had given me painkillers.

My jaw clenched and I gritted my teeth in an effort to suppress the dizziness as I made my way to the door, slowly but surely. I grasped the doorknob when I reached it, feeling proud I had made it this far. I opened it, squinting as the bright lights from the hallway dazzled me. When my eyes adjusted, I saw many pairs of eyes turn to look at me. I quickly looked down, avoiding their gazes, and moved toward the front desk. Guess they heard about the girl who got stabbed on the boardwalk.

"Alex Greene checking out," I said to the frail nurse when I reached the desk."

Her eyebrows rose high, and I thought they might retreat all the way into her soft gray hair. "Already, Ms. Greene?"

Disbelief and wonder laced her tone, the intensity surprising me.

"Um, yes?" I replied, with a hint of doubt in my voice.

The nurse turned her head away and clacked her fingers on the keyboard positioned in front of her. "But you were admitted three days ago in critical condition."

I gave her a blank look, hoping she'd drop it. After six full seconds of staring at me, she nodded curtly, and turned back to the computer screen.

"Dr. Hart has a prescription for some painkillers waiting for you in the pharmacy, Ms. Greene. Just sign the release form, here," the nurse slid a packet of paper across the counter and held out a pen. I took it and signed my name neatly. I noticed my hand was trembling.

The nurse stood and walked to the filing cabinet near her desk. She tucked the paper into a folder, and came back to me.

"You're free to go," she said, her eyes narrowing as she surreptitiously gave me a look-over.

Taking a breath, I walked awkwardly down the white hallway. Nurses rushed passed, a couple was leaning against the wall, the woman crying softly into the man's chest. The last time I was in a hospital was when I was seventeen and had broken an arm in a car accident. The hallways had been still and calm where I was getting my arm patched up. I guess I was in the more critical care part of the hospital.

Before reaching the pharmacy, I ducked into the women's bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face until it started to get numb. Raising my face high enough, I peered at the reflection in the mirror. My hair glinted a deep brown in the florescent lights, tumbling down around my shoulders. My gray eyes had dark circles under them, and my cheeks held absolutely no colour. I frowned at myself, and left.

The man at the pharmacy desk handed me my painkillers, and asked, "Can I help you?" to the next person in the line. I was incredibly thankful that he didn't ask me any questions. I had more trouble with the people in the lobby of the hospital. A group of elderly women cast me interested looks, and began muttering amongst themselves. A young girl looked up at me as I passed by her, her eyes following me out the door.

When the cool breeze hit my face, I breathed in as deeply as I could. The faint scent of salt made its way to my nose. A small smile spread across my face. I always wanted to live by the sea. It was the single most relaxing, most amazing thing on the Earth. As a kid, I would beg my parents to bring me to the sea each vacation. I would just sit there on the cliffs, listening to the sea roar for hours at a time.

A car honked. The sound brought me back to my senses. I glanced at the city spread out in front of me. San Francisco in the daytime was a mess, with cars beeping at each other every ten seconds and people rushing around in their daily lives.

Normally, I would take the subway to the nearest destination and walk from there, but I decided against because of my weakened state. My hand automatically reached down into a pocket to check for money. A sharp jolt went through me as I realized I had none. I had nothing but I ragged t-shirt and sweatpants. Great. I couldn't even take the underground because my monthly pass was still in my handbag, which was lying on my bed.

I turned left and pushed my way into the crowd. Shopping bags full of expensive merchandise smacked into my thighs as I fought my way through the commotion. I looked up to see a cloudy sky hovering above looming business buildings, a hint of sunshine peeking through. The small sliver of light was reassuring, and suddenly walking home didn't seem all that bad.

I made it to my apartment building in less than forty-five minutes. I looked up at the withering brick walls, with cement steps leading up to the door. I punched in the code on the tiny digital keypad the owner had installed for "safety purposes". I didn't think the code 1234 was going to keep out the bad guys.

Climbing the stairs slowly to the third floor, I grunted in pain as I stumbled on a step. I reached my door and stopped in front of it. I didn't have my key. Resigned, I took a step to my neighbor's door across the small, dimly lit hall. Oh, this was going to be fun.

I knocked twice, and the door was yanked open by a tall, handsome man. A smile stretched across his face, making his blue eyes twinkle.

"Alex! What are you doing knocking on my door?" he asked in a pleasant, rumbling voice.

"I need my key back," I said quickly, looking down at the doormat.

His eyebrows rose, mocking me. "Lose yours?"

"Just give it to me, Vince," I said, letting out a breath.

He chuckled, but reached for his keys on the wooden table next to the door. He turned his eyes to me, glancing over my outfit. His expression quickly became serious.

"You don't look so good," he said, holding my key in his hand.

I glared at him, and then eyed the key that he held. "Yeah. Rough week."

"What happened?" Vince asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Stabbed. Unconscious for three days. Had to walk home in uncomfortable shoes. Forced to talk to you.

"Nothing," I replied, holding out my hand. He hesitated before he dropped the key into it. I curled my fingers around the small piece of metal, and turned to my door.

A warm hand touched my shoulder gently. "Tell me," he inquired softly.

Hearing the click of the latch releasing I turned to Vince with my hand on the door handle. His eyes were creased with worry, giving me a moment of unwanted warmth in my chest. Frustrated with myself, I walked into my apartment.

"No," I said, and shut the door right in his face.

THE BLACK ROSE

All rights reserved.

© Novelistguy 2018

SYNOPSIS

She's strong and independent, She's a Private Investigator just trying to get through everyday, she never knew she was dangerous to vampires.

She gets sucked into their world when all vampires make a choice to kill her or turn her. One wants to save her.

Will she survive?

The tea in my cup was cold, but I didn't realize it until I had brought it to my lips. I grimaced, and sat the cup down on the coffee table with a soft thump. Turning my head, I looked out the large window at the fading colour of the sunset. It was a dull pink, with gray clouds spread out arbitrarily throughout the sky.

I had been sitting on my overstuffed, red velvet couch for the past hour, gazing vacantly at a magazine propped in my lap. Thanks to a long, steaming shower, I felt cleaner than I had in weeks. I washed my hair three times, and scrubbed myself until my skin flushed red. I wanted to get every last bit of blood off me, and to wash away the unpleasant memories.

A loud pounding on my door jolted me out of my wandering thoughts. Grumbling, I padded out of my dimly lit living room in bare feet. I fumbled with the lock for a second, and then pulled it open.

Vince stood outside, his long blond bangs falling in his eyes, which flickered with anger and frustration. "Stabbed, Alex? Stabbed?"

I pressed my lips together and fought the urge to back up. He waved a newspaper in front of my face to ensure I was paying attention to him, but I just gave him an empty look.

"'Nothing,'' Vince's voice said in a higher pitch, mimicking my words, "You call getting a knife stuck in your side nothing?"

With no response from me, he huffed and stared past me into my apartment. He raised his hand and brushed his bangs to the side. I leaned against the doorjamb, and his blue eyes flickered back to me.

"Are you really okay?" he asked more gently.

"I'm fine," I answered automatically.

Vince cocked an eyebrow, looking me straight in the eye, evaluating. I felt slightly uneasy, standing in front of him with a terrycloth bathrobe and nothing on my feet.

"What happened? You made the news," he brandished the newspaper, "There're no details, just a picture of you lying on the ground."

I snatched the paper out of his hands, analyzing the picture that had been published at the top left corner of the page. It was hard to pick out the shapes in it, with the dark sky cloaking the scene in shadows. The street lights illuminated part of the photograph. I grasped the newspaper closer and looked carefully. I saw my crumpled body on the cement of the boardwalk, with a group of people standing around me. My eyes were shut, and my posture showing that I was clearly unconscious. Peering intently, I saw the face of the person closest to me. It was pale and angular, with a narrow nose and sculpted lips. It wasn't the beauty of his face that struck me, however, but the quiet intensity of his eyes. In the muted light, they seemed to be a dull green. And incredibly familiar.

"Alex?" Vince questioned, ducking his head to look at my face.

Mentally, I shook myself. I blinked and gave him a close-lipped smile as I handed the paper back. He took it, hardly glancing at it.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, his tone aggressive.

My small smile fading, I replied, "I don't know."

I wasn't lying. All I remembered was hurrying to meet my client at "La Jolie Fleur", but I never made it. The traffic had been horrible that evening, the town overrun with people trying to get in to the Sting concert, and the cab had inched along the roads, taking twenty minutes longer than usual. I could tell the cab driver didn't mind. I had tossed him a wad of fives as I threw open the door, and ran out along the boardwalk, taking a shortcut to the restaurant. The next thing I knew, I was pressed up against the metal barrier between the pavement and the ocean, a knife glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Vince tilted his head, looking skeptical at my response.

"Really," I added, turning on my heel to enter the living room. I picked up my cup, and headed toward the kitchen, which was in the adjacent room. Vince's boots thudded quietly after me. As I went into the kitchen, I narrowed my eyes belligerently, wishing he'd get the hint.

He obviously didn't.

Stepping into the kitchen, Vince's eyes scanned the cluttered area. The walls shined a pale yellow, wooden framed pictures nailed to them. A large island counter spread out in front of us. Parallel to it was another counter, smaller in size, containing the sink, dishwasher, and stove. It would have looked like an ordinary kitchen if it weren't for the fact that every surface was chrome. The counters, the appliances, and even the faucets were fabricated out of the stuff. The tenant before me had redone the kitchen to fit more to his tastes. Needless to say, his tastes were a little odd.

Subconsciously, I knew someone was watching me. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I turned to look at Vince, his gaze meeting mine. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his expression showed no emotion.

He dropped his gaze, looked around again, and said lightly, "It's shiny."

Despite my annoyance at him, I laughed weakly. It was true; almost every surface twinkled up at me in the bright lights. Smiling, I went over to the stove where an old-fashioned kettle sat. After filling it with more water, I set it back on the stove, and leaned against the counter. Vince opened his mouth to speak. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn't feel like talking. I felt like curling up in my bed and waiting for the sun to rise again.

"So tell me," he said. He moved over to the wooden dinner table I had put in the corner of the kitchen and pulled out a chair. He sat down, extending his long legs under the table, crossing them at the ankles.

"Tell you what?" I replied.

"What happened."

"I already told you."

Vince rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "No, you didn't."

Exasperated, I said, "I don't remember much, okay? Just drop it."

He shifted in his seat, and peered intently at my face. "Most people who are victims of attempted murders are mentally, as well as physically, damaged. Some go to therapy for the rest of their lives. Sixty-nine percent are sup-"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. I held up a hand to stop him, and said, "Don't go pulling your statistics on me, Vince. I'm fine. I don't need therapy."

He pursed his lips, and leaned back in the chair. The piercing whistle of the kettle went off, and I spun around to pour the water into my cup. I took a tea bag out of a colourfully decorated clay pot on the windowsill, and dropped it into the mug. It floated at the top for a moment before I pushed it to the bottom with a spoon. A brown swirl escaped the tea bag, staining the water. I watched, mesmerized for a moment. When Vince cleared his throat, I flinched. Geez, those painkillers must be strong. I kept finding myself somewhere else.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I picked my cup up carefully and brought it over to the table where Vince was sitting. I settled myself in the chair across from him, propping my face up in my hand.

His gaze dropped to my steaming cup of tea, and said, "Aren't you gonna offer me some?"

"Nope."

Shaking his head, he smiled. He laid his elbows down on the table, and began to trace an unfamiliar pattern with his forefinger.

Expression fading into a wistful look, Will said, "What'd I do to you, Alex, to make you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you, Vince," I responded softly, "I just-"

"Don't like me," he finished for me.

I looked away, but shook my head. He didn't know it, but he had hurt me, more than once. He'd fallen through on a number of promises. I guess it was also my fault. Trust doesn't come easily for me, which has definitely taken a toll on the number of relationships I'd had. I even sat through hours of old Dr. Phil episodes I'd borrowed from Brooke, one of my work partners. Plopping down on my couch with a bowl of microwave popcorn, munching and laughing at the various comments really hadn't helped much. Here I was, back at square one.

"Talk to your boss yet?" Vince asked, switching to a different subject.

I snorted. "No."

"He was here pounding on your door yesterday, you know," he said, a smile beginning to spread across his face once again.

My eyes widened. "Oh, no! Vince! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Vince leaned back casually, balancing on two legs of the chair. He grinned, and replied, "Because you shut the door in my face before I could even mention it."

I flushed. Sipping the tea, I felt it burn my tongue. I swallowed quickly, and felt the heat slide down my throat. A bitter taste remained in my mouth, but was overcome by the burning sensation of the scalding tea. I forced myself to drink another mouthful, trying to divert my attention away from thoughts of my boss. He didn't like it when his employees took time off, whether they told him about it or not. He designated one free day per week for each person in the firm. There were only four of us, so it was hard to give time off in bulk. That and he was an obdurate, grumpy man.

"Maybe you should go talk to him," Vince offered, with a hint of his grin still attached on his face.

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled, reluctantly adding, "I'll go tomorrow."

"Not looking forward to the wrath of Joe Salazar, huh?"

I smiled tensely, and wrapped my fingers around my tea mug. It was cooler now, and I brought it up to face height. The steam rose, curling in a misty swirl, shifting its course when even the smallest gust of air touched it. The familiar smell of Lipton came from it, soothing my senses.

"I'll talk to him, even though I'd rather bite his head off," I said rather grimly.

The sound of Vince's rumbling laugh filled the kitchen. A warm feeling spread through me as it bounced gently off the walls. It was such a pleasant and infectious sound, and it caught me off guard. I looked up at him. His eyes, focused on my face, twinkled when the light hit them. They were the intense colour of the ocean, like the water behind the palm trees in those tropical beach advertisements.

Feeling kind of light-headed, I stood up. I left my tea on the table, and made my way back into the living room. The change from hard, cold tile to carpet's squashy, plush texture was noticeable on my bare feet. My ears picked up the sound of Vince scraping the chair against the floor. He followed me, brushing his hair away from his eyes. His lanky build leaned on the doorframe that separated this room from the next. I continued toward the front door, moving at a steady pace. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Vince was following. He wasn't. He just gave me a sly grin and shook his head. I stopped walking, and swung around to give him an exasperated look from halfway across the room.

Vince innocently asked, "What?"

"I've got bills to pay. I have to finish up some paperwork," I replied, sighing, "And I'm tired."

"Oh, come on, Alex. Let me stay awhile and help you," he said, coming towards me.

"No. I've got it."

Slowly, as if time had vanished, Vince raised his hand to my face. He hesitated before touching my cheek lightly. My heart beat faster as his fingers trailed down my jaw, stopping to hold my chin between them. When I cast my eyes downward, he lifted my chin to force me to look at him.

"You don't have to carry the world on your shoulders, 'Alexandra'," he murmured, his voice soft, but meaningful.

For a second, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Vince's expression hadn't changed a bit.

"I hardly call paying this month's rent the world," I whispered, trying to seem nonchalant, but only succeeded in sounding shaky.

Ire sparked in Vince's eyes. He dropped his hand and turned away, looking everywhere but at me.

"I didn't mean that, and you know it," he grumbled, deciding to walk himself to the door.

I couldn't keep up with his long stride, so by the time I reach the door, Vince was halfway through it. He paused, one hand on the edge of the door. He pursed his lips together, and shifted to look at me.

Breathing in a deep breath, he said, "You pull up this shield whenever someone gets too close. All these defenses are drawn up around you, and you don't let anyone in. You need to let someone in, Alex. Anyone. A person can't live life like that. I just," Vince let his breath out," I just care about you too much to let you sink in your miseries."

At that moment, I couldn't imagine the look on my face. A wave of warmth washed through me because of his caring, as well as a rush of annoyance at him not minding his own business. I liked my shield, damn it. Who was he to tell me otherwise?

Not knowing what to say, I bit my bottom lip. My arms felt awkward by my sides, so I crossed them over my chest. Vince took in my torn pose, nodded goodbye, and shut the door behind him. I stood there, staring at the door in thought, for awhile. I lost track of time. When I went back into the kitchen, my tea was cold again. I exhaled noisily while dumping the remains into the sink. The tea looked like a brown river flowing quickly into the ocean. Mentally shaking myself, I turned to lean against the counter again. An unexpected smile spread across my lips as I swept my gaze around the kitchen and living room. I was home. Finally, for once in the past eighteen years, I felt as if I belonged. I haven't ever really found a place that I called home. I suppose I never stuck around quite long enough to make it.

I went to sleep that night with my emotion twisted into a jumble of different ones, each one fighting the other. When I was drifting off, though, it was the smile that won over the rest.