Breath ( open to friends)

[Rose Decumbry]

Sometimes you wondered about things. The meanings of happiness, love and life. What were they? How did you know? How could you find out? You couldn’t. There was no right out definition. No correct definition that everyone had to go by. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, weren’t they? Yes. They were. Rose herself questioned it. Did everyone deserve it? She could have guaranteed she didn’t. Not with what she’d done in the past. It was quiet, sprinkling light rain in London, what else was new? She rounded into an alleyway, the darkness dilating her eyes. She closed her hues, trailing pale hands on the gritty and slimy wall. Not quite sure why she was doing so, she sighed heavily. The door in the center of the back wall, cocked interest in her. Leaning off the wall, she rested her hand on the door, rusted away paint chipping into her hand. Eyebrows raised highly, and she pressed harder on the door, hearing something click on the other side. The door swung promptly open. Curiouser and Curiouser.

Stepping over the jump, Rose looked left than right. As far as her ears could tell, the area was clear. But her nose was telling her something different. Vampire, and blood. What her demon had stated was true, nothing stirred deep within her. Nothing even breathed. A calm breath escaped her, and she took two cautious steps forward. Nothing jumped out and stabbed her between the eyes just yet. Another step forward, and her square heel stubbed something. She leaned back, and caught site of what she’d stumbled upon. A body, mutilated. Rose kneeled down, and the door behind her slammed shut. Her head whipped around, probably just the wind. She turned back to the body, a fresh wound. Was this poor girl still alive? Rose slowly looked for a pulse, careful not to damage anything else, her throat was just plain torn open. Fingers coated in blood, she found it. Faint, but there. “Goodness gracious..” She whispered, unwrapping the scarf around her own neck, to stop any bleeding that might have continued.

She stopped though, when a foot creaked the floor. Frozen in place, and grateful for some dark coverage. But it wouldn’t do, as she slowly drug her eyes up, she was faced with red eyes of a newborn. Eyes that held the same crazy tint, as Nixie, Ali, and her own had held before. She was about to speak and move herself, but her reactions were to slow. Something sharp, and metal ran across her throat, and she fell back, hand at her throat. Gurgle like noises came from her throat. She swore mentally, as the creature swung around and planted a kick to her face. Rose spat blood up. Normally, this was where she would have said something instigating, something witty, and retaliated with her own attack. But with the state of her throat, she wouldn’t. The newborn took advantage of Rose on her back, and dug claws around her clavicle. Shrieking came from the newborn, and it irritated the hell out of her. Rose used a free hand, and thrust her own hand into the newborns face, scratching up her eyes. She also used the hand protecting her throat, to try and push it off.

It only resulted in her getting stabbed through the stomach, like being gutted. She let out a grunt, and bought her hands down on the newborn’s head, bashing. The thing unable to handle it, made for the stairwell. Rose, moving much slower, staggered up after it. Blood trailed after, leaving a horrific pattern. The building was old, creaking and moaning under Rose’s weight. She barely weighed 100 pounds. Rose knew this wouldn’t end good, already knew. She saw the fledgling making a move to jump, and Rose grabbed whatever she could, a wooden box, about crate sized. With dwindling strength, she chucked it, hitting the fledgling on the head. The thing slowly turned around, and with blinding strength, bought Rose’s entire body down on the building, her head smacking the concrete with a dangerously loud hit. She rolled over, holding her head, which had begun to spill blood as well. Her eyes followed the creatures, fuzziness beginning to dot her eyes. They went to rods, boxes, packages, sacks, towered a few feet away from her. She groaned, and went up on her elbows, and began to move as fast as she could in the state she was. The fledgling, of course was much faster. It had the various assortments casting shadows on her in mere seconds. Rose heard the smacking of bones, crackling of cement, the old building giving way. The fledgling would make it out. But if that drum of gasoline dared to spill, it’d be fucking Moscow all over again.

The building finally collapsed, sending Rose downward. She was out of it was it was, and felt like she was flying instead of falling. The impact was what hit her. She fell in a slow motion from her mind, and smacked her head once more on a slab of concrete, opening another wound. Dust, plaster and debris scattered her. Her eyes barely hung open, blood clouding her vision. A small and weak smile traced her. This was her punishment for trying to save someone then wasn’t it? Trying to be good? Trying to make up for lives she took? But that poor girl died.

[*James Silvius]

Define evil. Was it the quality of being morally wrong in principle or practice as a dictionary would define? Or was evil subjective? Did you define evil? The brooding werewolf was mulling it over. Sitting on the curb of the street in the sprinkling rain hugging his denim jeaned legs to his bare chest, James asked himself again why he was here. He needed to be on his way to New York. There was vengeance to be taken care of.

He was at the terminal, waiting for his delayed flight to come in when an article in the newspaper he’d been reading caught his attention. A story about wolf attacks in London. Last night had been a full moon, so it was next to normal to read about wolf attacks in the next mornings newspaper. However, when James turned the page to find a photo of a silvery furred wolf face, he nearly went into cardiac arrest.

That was a picture of him. In his wolf form.

He got a ticket to London. He needed to find out what happened, and why he was in the newspaper. During the flight he'd spoken to a British woman on her way home. James asked her about the article. Apparently the silver furred wolf had been linked to the beginning of a growing trend in wolf attacks in London. James filled in the blanks with the only possible explanation.

James had only just returned to human form a month ago after allowing his wolf to take control after a mental breakdown. James had been living like a wolf on a full moon every day and every night. His human conscience was gone. He literally didn't exist when the wolf took control of him. Litte, his girlfriend had managed to pull him out of it, but his memory was gone. His wolf must have been busy in London, attacking anyone in sight.

The victims who were lucky enough to survive had been infected with Lycanthropy. He didn't know how many lycans he populated the world with - lycans who had no idea what they were, scared out of their minds because of the monster they've become, no one to explain to them that vampires and werewolves shared their world. Damage control was much needed by the one responsible for this -- James Silvius.

He tried. He could pick out the werewolves he created because his own scent lingered on them, and they were everywhere in London. James was spineless. He couldn't bring himself to talk to these people. He came here for nothing. James had started something of an outbreak. The lycans he made bit other people, then those people bit other people. He started a never ending chain reaction, and there was no way to stop it.

He felt responsible, but absolutely no remorse. He figured he couldn't feel sympathy because his wolf was loving this. After James made his first wolf ever, Annabella, his wolf wanted to infect more people. The wolf yearned for a world where werewolves were the dominant species. When James lost control of his wolf, this is what his wolf set out to do.

At the end of the day after encountering dozens of the lycans he made, he reflected and felt no sense of ownership to them. Except for Annabella. She was the only one both James and his wolf created. She was his as much as his wolf's chosen mate. His reasoning behind making her was to give her a shot at survival after Sevanni Black marked her for dead. He gave her the claws and teeth to fight back. She was the only one that mattered, not all the other wolves he made. But his attempt to save her was in vain. Sevanni killed her. She failed him as much as he failed her.

So was he evil? For being morally wrong in principle or practice for creating lycans when a rise in the population was needed anyway to bring an end to vampires? Was he evil to give Annabella false hope with a chance at survival when she never had one to begin with? Or did James give evil a new definition? He didn't know. Scarily enough, he didn't care either. He only cared about Annabella. If making Annabella a werewolf was evil, then he was evil.

James was to blame entirely. He's the one who allowed his wolf to take control. He could have prevented it, but he let it happen because he didn't like the way the world worked anymore. Now Annabella was dead and lycanthropy was spreading like wildfire in London.

Something going on down the street interupted his musings. His sensitive ears had picked up on what sounded like a scuffle. Rising, James habitually shook himself out like a wet dog, then began a brisk walk to go investigate.

Turning down an alley, James found a side door. Pressing his ear against it and hearing a series of crashes within, he concluded it was safe to assume the fight was in this building. James opened the door -- unlocked from the outside at least. Before his eyes had adjusted into night vision, he could smell the blood, and vampire. A young girl who probably had a bright future ahead of her only to be torn away from it by a vampire lay dead on the floor. James examined the corpse with a heavy heart. The scarf around her neck didn't belong to her. As far as he could smell, the scarf belonged to a vampire. He removed the garment to reveal what he suspected to be under it -- puncture marks. Why a vampire would cover up the girl's neck was beyond him. He would find this vampire and slaughter her for this crime. It would be easy to track her down since he had her scent on the scarf. His nose told him the leech was close. She was in here somewhere.

Anger bubbling up in his chest, a voice in the back of his mind. James groaned. His wolf? Now? He'd been doing so well this past month, there had been no episodes with his wolf since he came back to human form. His wolf was pushing his way through. He was speaking: Find the bloodsucker. Slaughter it. Claw its eyes out. Rip it apart limb by limb. Think about Annabella, James. She was destroyed by one of these hell demons, just like this girl. Avenge... avenge... avenge... James stared at girl - mutilated by a vampire, just like Annabella. James could have saved her if he'd gotten here faster. He could have saved Annabella if he was more responsible.

He released a thunderous roar. He could feel the wolf trying to shift, trying to explode out of James who was fueling its fury by the second just looking at the girl, taking in what the wolf had said, and thinking about Annabella. The building was trembling, induced by his powerful roar or whatever was happening upstairs, he didn't know. But James was struggling to keep his wolf contained as he was being showered by chunks of cement. He needed to get out of here, the building was going to collapse.

James grabbed the scarf. Fighting off the inevitable shift, he moved toward the door with small steps, clutching at his sides, aching from preventing the transformation. He tried reasoning with his wolf -- wait until they were out of the building, then he'd happily shift. His wolf would have none of it. The wolf demanded James's body to change right this instant. James almost let it. The wolf was infectious, James wanted the vampire between his jaws more than surviving a building collapse. But he dragged himself onward anyway, knowing full well this was the better choice.

Out the door and across the street, James watched the building come down through dim eyes. He was fading, the wolf wanted out right now. Its voice roared in his ears, Avenge... avenge... avenge... Yes, James would avenge. He would dig the leech bitch out so he could kill her himself. Collapsed on his side and writhing from the effort of keeping his wolf back, James finally surrendered. A silver wolf took his place in mere seconds. Kill. Kill the vampire. Feel it squirm in our claws. Make it bleed. Make it scream. James returned a thought to his wolf. The fact that he could do this meant he and his wolf were in this together. His wolf was letting him have a part in this because James wanted to see this vampire mauled just as much as his wolf, who was the epitome of savagery, did. Yes. Let's slaughter it. For Annabella.

The werewolf launched himself and bounded for the pile of building. His claws slashed their way through. His nose hard at work tracking the bitch down. Her scent grew stronger as he worked his way to what used to be the heart of the building. Ears attentive, paws clawing and maneuvering through the labrynth of cement. He smelled and heard a lead. Not too far off, movement under the rubble, extremely faint. The stench of vampire blood. Snarling, James made his way to the general area of the source. He got to work digging furiously with powerful paws until he found blonde hair.

Digging some more, he uncovered her. She was in bad shape. James clamped his jaws on the back of her shirt and pulled. He dragged her free from the rubble grave and into the street. The silver wolf stood over her, paws on either side of her shoulders and toothy mouth open by her throat. He'd wait for her to recover a little so he could get a reaction while he ate her. Salivating from anticipation, he nudged her cheek with his cold nose roughly and growled in her ear to hurry this along.

[Rose Decumbry]

Her eyes were closed, clotted with blood over her pale lids. Some type of heavy material was pressing down on her lungs. Rose couldn’t have been more grateful for being dead. Being unwanted, and thought dead. She loved the feeling of watching and listening to the breaths of people around her. Though, some pain pressed on her. Lungs had become filled with dust, plaster, and something horrendous, the pressing surely couldn’t have been good. A small hand that felt fractured in several spots went to move the hand upwards to remove the slab. It hurt like a bitch, but only moved a few centimeters. A pained expression stained her face, and a bloody nose sniffed out a scent. Werewolf. Her drugged over eyes, blurred tried to find the source of the scent. And then the slab was lifted off of her, and she let out a string of coughs. And then she was being moved. She really didn’t feel any discomfort besides the pulling on the back of her shirt. Her lids closed fully now, unable to keep them open. But through her lids, a shadow loomed over her. She groaned, with a little growl mixed in. It was weak and defeated. No purpose could be put behind it. Where was Derek? Where was everyone?

Where was she?

Weight was applying itself to her shoulders, hot breath lapping on her neck. Her eyebrows furrowed, so the big bad werewolf was getting the munchies on her? Something wet had skimmed her cheek, and another weak growl came from her. “What do you want?” She coughed out, opening her sparkling eyes. They were somewhat curious at the werewolf, but her body was tensed underneath him, her reactions would be slow once he moved, but they’d be lethal. Just like every part of her was. She went to bring her knees up, to create a wider space between them. She would have rolled out from him, without the crushing paws. Her nose crinkled, screwing up her face, furrowing it with wrinkles. A strangled child squeal came from the back of her throat. Anyone could have guessed this wolf’s motives. Something told her from one the salivating mouth, and the deranged and rabid look in the eye of the beholder. “Down Cujo, down.” She said, an insane little giggle following her statement.

Rose turned to open her eyes, the shimmering blue, taking in the night. Her nose caught something. The smell of another vampire. This of course didn’t really strike her as odd, because there were in fact so many vampires around London. She paid no head, and focused on the crushing werewolf on top of her. She closed her knees closer to her chest, a challenging look in her face. “What are you going to do? Eat me?” She snorted a little and rolled her eyes. “As if that hasn’t happened before.” But behind the façade of being strong and snooty, she knew she would stand a chance against a werewolf this size, for quite some time. Her wounds needed to heal, and then getting torn open by a werewolf. Oh, the icing on the cake.

[*Annabella Remini]

There was nothing worse than a bleeding heart. Annabella had known this now, which had been a little bit too late. She was in this room, she had no idea where, but everything was beautifully open. The surroundings of light had showed how truly pure her heart had been. She must have been in heaven, however; that was just not the case here.

It felt as if her entire spirit had been pulled back to a much darker place. Confusion written on her face as she looked up, reaching to go back. She wanted to see her parents. Know what heaven was like. Pray to God that he would make it further in life than he should. Even if he had been with someone other than her, her selfless act of prayer had saved her, and she would make sure that he was happy. Safe. She would forever taunt that bastard who killed her, and further more, darken Sevanni's doorstep with her angered revenge.

Annabella found herself in a room. She wasn't sure where she was, but she saw James. She saw James reading the letter she had written in that hotel room, viewing his reaction and wanting to tear from the sight alone, however; no tears emerged for she wasn't full of life as she previously had been.

He seemed mad. Angered. Sad. Emotional mixes that she couldn't muster watching. Then he had packed his bags and she wondered what it was he was about to do. God did she pray he didn't go after him. Sevanni wouldn't touch him now, he promised it to her upon release in such a whispering way that she felt herself shake inside before fleeing from that God awful house.

She remembered everything, some of it foggy. Like how she was just before she had died. She remembered seeing that guys face before he finished her off, but nothing else. Nothing but sea glass orbs and those lips. The way his face contorted when he finally drove death into her.

She had to follow him. Make sure that he wasn't going to do anything stupid.

He had her with him. The terminal, standing idly by waiting. Ready. She stood beside him, looking around with no words to escape lids since she had been pulled back. As much as she wanted to whisper his name and call out to him, she couldn't get the words out. She didn't even think that he would or could hear her.

His attention was averted to a newspaper. She had turned as he had and looked over his shoulder. Just the sight of him there beside words of indulgence upon interest had caused her to shake her head. She whispered finally, looking up with wandering eyes for anyone who was apart of the law and would recognize him.

"You have to go.......you have to go now before you're picked up."

Would he hear her, could he hear her? Was it even worth shedding those words?

James had gotten a ticket, London written in bold and she sighed in relief. At least it didn't say New York USA, if it had she was sure she would find some way to make his ticket get lost or stolen. She would try.

For hours Annabella had sat idly by, watching James. When he sat to head to England she had managed to lean against him, resting her head against his shoulder. Even if she couldn't feel him or touch him flesh to flesh, didn't mean she couldn't feel his spirit. After all, he had created her, hadn't he?

There was this fear inside that hollow form when James had shifted into his animalistic intone. Perking up those eyes and wondering what it was he was up to. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

"James....?"

Like the purest whisper wrote through the sky. There was no reaching him, not yet anyway, but she would find a way. For a moment she thought she had before he purchased his ticket, but it must have been a fluke.....right?

He was prowling, bashing forward in a pit of his animal fire, Annabella had stayed with him the whole way. Watching. Waiting. Growing more curious by the seconds.

When he had pulled out the blond female she had grown rather stricken with some form of hate. She had never seen the woman before, but apparently James had no trouble sniffing her out. How she wished he had taught her more. So much, much more.

"James......James she's a vampire....."

Well duh. He would already know that, but she had to say it. She wanted to say kill her, eat her alive and spit her out into the faces of those she loved. It hadn't just been about the woman. He had been an emotion she ripped to herself about all vampires. What was he to do? Annabella was flooded with an unnatural emotion, damn, did ghosts really have emotions? It was too weird. Even for her.

_{Word Count:} 830
_Notes: Annabella is dead and is simply a spirit wandering to watch over and taunt. This doesn't mean ghosts are allowed on CK, but this is simply something for inside a plot from a previous plot and I have been granted permission to post Annabella as such. So don't be all, oh that's not fair I wanna be a ghost. Cuz it ain't gunna happen.