• Amaury could hear the girl’s heartbeat. Hear the blood pumping through her veins. A peculiar feeling came over him when he looked upon this frightened, living being. And it drove him insane. Made him want to scare her, to torture her, for what she was making him feel. He didn't know what this sensation, this emotion, was, but there was one thing of which there could be no denying: he didn't like it.
    Who was this girl, this little runaway, who could stir something within his body, when neither drink nor drug could affect him? Who was this little creature, looking at him with fear and determination, who had earned a place on the beating chart of pure blooded elves with a will to kill? Who was this mouse, backed into a corner, ready to go down fighting? And the question that irked him beyond any other: why did he care?
    She was examining him, trying to find out if he meant well or ill. By the sound of her heart, beating faster than the drums of war, she was most likely leaning towards the latter. And why shouldn't she? After all, he was what he was. Anyone who had been in Bordertown long enough knew who he was and what he was by site; and they knew to stay away. But he didn't want to hurt her. Scare her, yes. Make her believe he was dangerous, yes. Because he was. But hurt her?
    Mentally, he came to a conclusion for this troubling emotion. He pitied the girl. She had been abused and beaten, and now was afraid that her rescuer might have the same intentions. By the look of her, she had only been in Bordertown for a short time, maybe even a day. And what was her welcoming gift? A beating from the elves she had probably thought of as wise, dulcet creatures. Most people from the World only thought of what they heard in fairy tales. Not the tattooed, bad a**, hair dyed creatures that inhabited this crossing of worlds. Talk about seeing is believing.
    "What makes you think I'm a runaway?" Amaury raised an elegant eyebrow in surprise. So she had a voice after all. It was sweet and trembling, full of innocence so like his own. The innocence he had shed long ago. He could feel a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. But it would take more than this mouse's boldness to bring a smile to his cold, dead lips.
    "What reason do I have to believe that you're not?" She was gaping at him, unsure of how to answer his question. Laughter suddenly welled inside him. The girl had her fists raised, ready to fight. Pushing his laughter away, he once again examined her.
    Her clothes, dark and wooly, were designed for cold weather, giving him the idea that she had come from the World, where it was winter this time of year. Her jeans would hold off the bitter, scathing wind. Her hair was long and flowing, unlike the Bordertown style of short, choppy, and emerging from all angels. And there was something else about her made her stand out in his vision. A light, untainted by Bordertown, seemed to be emanating from within her. Refusing to think of it, he looked up, locking her gaze in his for only a second.
    What was it about this silly, ignorant human that stirred him so? He could feel it within himself. A stirring of emotion that had never been there before. That had no place, no right, to be there. And yet it was, just at the sight of this little mouse standing her ground, knowing she didn't have a chance to win. It awed him. Amused him. Fired him.
    "What is your name, little mouse?" He had to know. There was just something about this creature that called to him.
    She hesitated, most likely weighing the consequences. Finally, she answered.
    "Sarah." Her sweet, trembling voice held a plea. Looking into her eyes once more, Amaury was taken aback at what he saw. There were tears in her eyes. Shining, silvery tears that glistened as she tried to hold them back. Not knowing what came over him, he brought himself to her side.

    Sarah caught her breath at his nearness. Her heart began to race faster than she had ever thought possible. He was intimidating with those bloody eyes. Those eyes that now held a spark, hard and glittering, as his arms enveloped her. She should be scared. She should pull away. But for some reason unknown to her, she wasn't. She didn't want to pull away from his embrace. Her heart was not beating faster out of fear, but out of excitement.
    Surprisingly, his embrace was not warm, but cold and firm. The touch of his fingers on her cheek was cool and gentle. His chest, hard and muscled, was pressed against her as he leaned forward, his lips inches from her own. Sarah felt her eyes fluttering shut, and her head was light and confused.
    Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared in front of her, he shoved her away, a look of pain and insatiable hunger burning in his eyes. Puzzled by what had just happened, yet slightly relieved, she let loose the breath she had been holding. What had gotten into her? Here she was with a strange, but astonishing man, and instead of fearing him, as she should, she had been about to kiss him!
    "Your lip is bleeding, runaway." His voice was cold and hard. Sarah touched her lip tentatively as he put a hand in his pocket. Looking at her shaking fingers, she saw sticky blood glittering on their tips. Is that why he pulled away? He doesn’t like blood? She raised her eyes to meet his, but instead of holding the gaze, he tossed a handkerchief elegantly at her and turned away. Gazing at it, she began to remember.

    People had been following her. The night had been cold and uncaring. Sarah had just arrived in Bordertown, and already she was in trouble. She should have known better than to try and lose them. She only succeeded in getting herself lost, backed into a dead-end alleyway. I never thought 'dead-end' would become so literal, she remembered thinking, sweat dripping down her neck in cold streams. The next thing she remembered was the pain. The grinning faces of her pursuers, and the sick pleasure in their eyes as they beat her without mercy. She remembered a scream, ringing out in the night. And finally, as she began to fade away into some black abyss, a mans voice reaching out to save her. Then, nothing as she welcomed the shadows.

    She woke from her daze as she felt a rough tug, the handkerchief being torn from her hand so quickly that it startled her. How he moved so quickly and silently, she didn't know. But he was there before her. When she looked up into his eyes, she was lost. She barely felt the softness of the kerchief brush tenderly against her lips, or his hand taking hers and smoothly wiping the scarlet liquid away. Just as suddenly as he was there, he was gone again, standing languidly in the open doorway.
    "You're to stay here until you’re fully healed. Don’t bother trying to leave your room. Your weak body won't be able to open the door." He turned to leave, but hesitated. After a moment he turned to look at her again, examining every visible inch of her.
    "It looks as if you can't sustain any more starvation. I'll have food brought to you." And with those final words, he closed the door and the candles went out.
    Alone once again, Sarah made her way back to the velvety bed. Not knowing what to do and feeling utterly alone, she cried herself to sleep and fell into blackness.