Hi,

I'm doing an early update, just for you guys! It was fun to write this, so I hope you like the chapter. Feel free to vote or comment, and have a great weekend :-)

Lara

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Chapter 50

"Do it. Here and now," Alexander said softly, his left hand going up to her cheek.

A jolt rippled through her, the sensation on her cheek like a burning wildfire, warring with the perfect place inside herself – that silent eye of the storm no one could touch.

"Don't touch me," she said.

His hand left her cheek, and the spot where he touched felt warm and cold at the same time. His eyes were aglow and a thousand different shades of the ocean slammed into her, forcing her to relive memories of their previous encounters and of that one night when –

Suddenly it was hard to breathe, to even look at his eyes. The magic in her fingertips stuttered and waned. She stepped away and averted her head. The magic died to a quiet ember deep down inside of her.

She needed to get back into that perfect state, find that white noise again. Or else she would lose.

She shook herself mentally. There was no other option.

"You said I had to pay for them. What exactly do you mean by that?" She said, crossing her arms in front of her.

Alexander was watching her intently. That power he carried around like a second skin was like a constant current wearing her out.

"New York is in danger of collapsing in on itself. You must know that," he said.

"I don't care," she said. "And I don't care what you think I know. I'm here for the objects. Nothing more."

"Nothing more, is it?" Alexander cocked his head.

"Nothing more." She lifted her chin. "Now tell me what you would demand for payment."

He turned around and walked back to the bar, picking up the whiskey glass. He watched her over the rim of the glass, then took a small sip.

"Information. Resources. Your aid."

Of course he wanted that. If she agreed she would become a puppet yet again. In a nutshell she would be what he'd always wanted her to be. A servant, one piece in a big clock mechanism of threats and counter-threats, blood and power. She was no puppet, no possession someone could use the way they wanted.

"No," she said, turned away from him and started walking.

She was power. She would find a way. The oily black curtain was within reach. Once she stepped through she would find-

"Wait. There is something I want you to see."

His words slammed into her back and she stopped. The oily curtain was so close, one step would take her out of his reach and into the night, where she could breathe freely again and search that perfect spot that let her live. And survive.

"Give me one of the stolen artifacts and I will stay," she tossed over her shoulder.

"You will want to see what I have to show to you," he said softly.

"A stolen artifact or I'm out of here," she said.

She stilled. His fingers were wrapped around her arm, skin pins and needles where he touched. And she hadn't seen or felt him move. She simply hadn't.

"You do like bargaining with your back against the wall, don't you?" he said softly against her ear.

She stepped away and turned, her head angled up to his. "My back is not against a wall. It's you that's twisting what's real into something else. I'm presenting you with a choice. Give me one artifact in exchange or let go of me, Alexander. It's as simple as that."

"Granted," he said softly.

* * *

He led her through a door she had failed to notice on her many visits to the Blue Room. It was hidden somewhere behind the blue fake rose bushes and blue drapes her eyes had shunned, objects she'd dismissed as poorly executed semi-kitsch in the past.

Her mind was working, restless. Her own biased misconceptions had prevented her from her learning details she could have used. What else had she missed?

They walked through a small, shadow-plagued corridor and stepped out into another room. The light was blinding, at first. It took her too long to adjust.

"Anna!"

The voice made her stop dead in her tracks. It felt as if it came from a long forgotten dream. Almost like a slogan from a TV show she once used to watch as a child. She knew the voice and the words, but could not connect with them like she used to. Meaningless. Forgotten.

She blinked against the light. Laura and her brother Ryan were in the middle of the room. Friends. Roommates. Relics of her past.

Ryan, lounged in a plush blood-red wing chair, just stared at her, the game console he'd been clutching instants before suddenly loose in his fingers. Laura was on her feet, approaching her, moving with the feline grace of a shape shifter. Her blond hair was longer than the last time she had seen her, the stair cut grown out and messy. The face was slightly slimmer, as if more angles had been added. It made her look older.

The change happened from one moment to the other. Laura's face crumbled and she began wiping at her eyes. She watched her former roommate approach silently, didn't move as Laura threw her arms around her, squeezing tightly.

"Oh god, I thought you were dead. I... I..." Laura swallowed audibly. "I'm just so happy you're alive."

She remained still, arms limp at her sides, and stared straight ahead, focusing on a spot on the wall behind Laura, vaguely aware that Alexander and Ryan were in the room. Both of them watching. One of them with the deadly patience of an ancient, political mastermind. His methods were as elusive as his agenda.

She felt moisture on her neck. Laura's tears.

She remained still, stared straight ahead. Waiting. Focusing on that spot anchored in her core until she could breathe again. She was in control. She was power. Nothing could touch her. Nothing but the sweet dark magic. Sweet dark magic she would use again. Soon.

Laura let go of her and stepped away, searching her face. Big green eyes that looked, then looked again, as if they didn't find what they were looking for.

"Are you okay?" Laura said.

Ryan lifted himself from the couch and approached them, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants casually. When she'd last seen him he'd still been covered in bruises – a souvenir from a brawl with a gang of drug dealers. His skin was golden brown now. Apparently he had healed completely.

"What the fuck's going on, Anna? You went missing and we didn't know shit," he said.

Laura kept staring at her with big green eyes, motionless. "Anna, are you okay?" She said the words slowly.

Ryan grimaced. "And what about all that crap with the Inri Brotherhood? Rumors have it you worked together with the Raven. Who says shit like that?"

"I'm fine," she said flatly. "And no, I don't know who would say shit like that." She turned to the head vampire. "A word, if you don't mind."

Alexander inclined his head, then turned to the shape shifter twins with a smile she had seen before. He usually reserved it for politicians and the media.

"Just a moment. If you need anything call 100. My human servant Jack will take care of all your needs," he said, pointing at a red phone on the couch table.

"Anna?" Laura said from behind her.

She didn't turn to look at her, would not look at her. Instead she turned her back on Alexander and walked back the way they had come from. She walked into and through the dark corridor, not looking back until she came out and stepped into the Blue Room, which was, surprisingly, vacant.

She didn't need to turn around or access second sight. She knew the head vampire was behind her, felt his chilling presence like the first touches of a severe fever.

"Was that what you wanted me to see?" She said without turning.

"What did you see, Anna?" Alexander said softly.

He was goading her, thinking that for some reason he would have her in the palm of his hand, if he showed her he had the twins. People she called friends once. He was wrong.

"I saw Laura and Ryan. I have met the terms. Give me the object," she said flatly.

"Is that all you saw?" The words were chillingly soft.

She turned around. "Don't even think about playing me. You said you wanted me to see something. I followed you into that room and saw them. Meet your end of our deal and give me the object."

"If all you saw were your two ex-co-tenants, you did not see what I wanted you to see."

She walked up to him and right into his personal space until their fronts were almost touching. Her breathing was even.

"If you think you can play games with me, Alexander, you're wrong. What do you think you will accomplish by not keeping your word? Why bring me here and offer something you were never ready to give?" She shook her head. "I should have known you wouldn't keep your word."

"Go back and see what I want you to see and I will give you the first object," he said. His blue eyes were void pools of nothingness this time. The midnight black hair framed his face like liquid obsidian. His chiseled face remained blank, like the untouched canvas of an artist.

"Why are you wasting my time?" she said. "Didn't you say yourself New York was in grave danger?"

He picked up a strand of her hair, watching it intently. "What happened to your hair?"

She stepped back, watching the curly strand of hair slip out of his grasp. She'd curled it. Anything could be used as a weapon. Even looks. She'd adjusted her plans and come here deliberately. She knew Alexander would be looking for her as soon as she entered the club. She knew they would meet. She knew that, for some reason, he liked her blood. Desire was a funny thing.

"Get to the point. I want my payment," she said impatiently.

"You have not earned it."

She stepped closer to him. She wouldn't go home without obtaining a weapon she suspected she might need in the near future.

Alexander's eyes drifted past her, instants before she felt a miniscule change in the atmosphere, motion in the form of air displacement. She turned, narrowing her eyes.

George Rider was walking into the room in that eerie float-like way only older vampires used. Noiseless. Fast. Deadly. Even without the walk she would have known what he was. Enforcer, friend and confidant to the head vampire.

It wasn't just in his looks, it was the way he held himself. It reminded her of an ancient gladiator walking into a modern-world minefield. She had no doubt George would master any field, whatever its nature. His long red hair was plaited ­ an intricate contradiction the Scot seemed to define himself by.

He stepped close to Alexander, whispering in his ear. Too low for her to hear, even from where she was standing.

Alexander turned and looked at her for a long moment, still, oh so still.

"It seems I am able to offer another opportunity for you to gain what you came for," he said softly.