
# The Order of Human Purity

# Kiss of the Lamia

Written By: Steven Sterup Jr.

Copyright 2018 Steven Sterup Jr.

Legal Disclaimer - This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

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# Introduction

Long ago, in an age where monsters lived alongside humans. In a time before The Order of Human Purity, known simply as The Order, was created. Young monster children were told tales of a monster so powerful that none could stand before it. The troll was a creature no one could defeat, not even the lamia, guardians of the monster world, could harm this beast. The young monster children were warned, if they ever met a troll to stay out of its way. Getting between a troll and what he wants was a fool's errand that none survived.

Over time the humans grew afraid of monsters. They formed The Order then hunted and killed them all without mercy. Even the mighty lamia fell to the overwhelming horde and were hunted to near extinction by the fearful humans. The humans couldn't kill the trolls, but for some reason, the trolls just vanished. Even The Order, with its vast libraries on all the monsters once plentiful in the world, knew almost nothing about the mysterious trolls. These unstoppable beasts, who once brought terror to humans and monsters alike, disappeared without a trace and to this day no one knows why.

# Chapter 1

Oliver Holduff brushed his hand over his shaved head as he sat up in bed. He wasn't bald. He made sure everyone knew this, he just despised having hair. He kept it shaved to a quarter of an inch not because he was hiding a receding hairline, he just liked it that way. His hazel eyes squinted at the persistent ball of fire that seemed to hate him this morning. With a swift motion, he swung his legs over the side, and his feet slapped on the cold, wooden floor. His tall, muscular frame slumped over to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight in the bare, loft apartment. It had a small kitchen area and a bed in the center of the empty space but little else to indicate that anyone lived there. Even the box he used as a bedside table had almost nothing on it. The only thing his loft had plenty of was windows, and this morning, Oliver cursed himself for never putting up curtains.

Although his brain was foggy from the alcohol he had imbibed the previous day, he remembered the nightmare clearly. It was the same nightmare which had plagued him since childhood. His father barking orders and his mother screaming at his father as a young Oliver sat in the back of their family car. He barely remembered what kind of car it was and couldn't make out what was being said, but at eight years old none of that had mattered. Then a crack, like the sound of thunder, filled the car and his father slumped forward against the steering wheel. The horn of the car blared, and he couldn't hear his mother's words as he cried in the back seat, covered with his father's blood. Then with very little effort, his mother rushed to the back door and pulled it off its hinges, lifted him and ran mile after mile to the nearest town. His mother left him at the steps of the first police station she could find, and that was where the officers from the Serentia police department found him, alone, terrified and covered in his father's blood.

The worst part about this nightmare was that it had actually happened. His childhood mind had probably embellished his overly heroic mother, but in his mind, she was a superhero. Even the bullet that pierced his father's skull was probably not as gruesome as he remembered it. There was also a symbol that flashed in his mind as the scene played itself out, over and over, night after night. It was a silver circle and inside the circle was a reptilian eye inside a mouth lined with sharp, jagged teeth. There were letters around the outside of the circle, but he couldn't make them out. Sometimes it reminded him of a badge, and other times he thought it might have been on the side of a truck. The image flashed by so quickly each night that he couldn't quite be sure he'd even seen it at all. Maybe it had nothing to do with his father's death. He might have seen it on a passing vehicle and just jumbled it all together. It was hard to say.

Oliver had searched for his mother, but Rebecca Holduff didn't exist. What was stranger, Oliver Holduff didn't exist either, not until that horrible night. There were also no records of his father, Gerald. There was nothing. It was as if their whole family just appeared out of nowhere that night. The police searched for the car and the bloody corpse of his father, but there was no sign that any of Oliver's story was true. Whoever had killed his father had made sure there was no evidence whatsoever. At twenty-five, he now had the ability to search on his own, but the trail was so cold and his memory so foggy, there was nowhere to start.

Oliver stood and let the sheet fall from his naked body. He stretched his arms wide, temporarily forgetting about his condition. Seconds later, his body reminded him.

The pain sunk Oliver to his knees instantly. All his muscles hurt, and his head pounded. He quickly reached up for whatever bottle he could grab and guzzled down the alcohol, only to realize, it was tequila. Although it dulled the pain, it nearly made him vomit. While he coughed and sputtered on the floor, an attractive, dark-haired woman stirred on the bed.

"Is it bad today, Oliver?" she asked with a thick accent. At times Oliver wanted to call it Russian or maybe Ukrainian. He never told Katarina this, because despite their weekly 'sleep overs' they really weren't friends. Hell, she might even get offended if he chose the wrong nationality.

"Yes, it's really bad," he grunted and tried to lift himself from the floor. "Can you get me the grain alcohol from the cabinet? It has no label. It looks like water."

Katarina stood, completely naked, with the same lack of modesty as Oliver. For a moment, her beautiful, feminine figure caught Oliver's eye, but the pain quickly pushed the notion of being with her again to the back of his mind.

"Oh, shit!" Katarina yelled as she looked at the clock on the wall. "Anton will be home soon! I have to go!" She rushed to the cabinet, grabbed the bottle, and tossed it to him while she scrambled to find her clothes.

Oliver guzzled the grain alcohol and shut his eyes. A smile crept onto his face as the pain slowly dulled. When Oliver opened his eyes once more, he glanced at the clock.

"Shit! I have to open the bar in an hour!" With the pain subsiding, normal thoughts of responsibility came creeping back into his mind. "Are you going to make it home before Anton? I'm really sorry. I swear I set the alarm."

Oliver looked over at the cracked alarm clock that was flashing on the floor beside the bed then toward Katarina, who was smiling devilishly.

"You know when you were doing that thing, and I was sort of screaming...well, I was kind of flailing around, and I think I may have punched your clock. You were pretty out of it but damn if it didn't make you inventive." Katarina raised her eyebrows and put on her expensive-looking coat. The clothes beneath also looked expensive. Oliver wasn't much for clothes but the white slacks and black, beaded shirt looked pretty expensive to him. Hell, the stylish brown coat with gold buttons probably cost more than he made in a month.

"Let me walk you down," Oliver said, scrambling to pull up his jeans. He grabbed an old t-shirt, possibly the one he'd worn yesterday, and pulled it over his head as he made his way across the small, empty loft.

Standing next to Katarina, he had to look down to meet her eyes. At six foot one, he towered over the small woman. She was tiny, big breasted and thin. Not Oliver's idea of the perfect woman but at least her face was pretty. Truth be told, the breasts were fake. A gift from her husband, Anton. Oliver wouldn't have chosen a woman like Katarina, but life rarely gave you a choice. At least that's how Oliver rationalized sleeping with his boss's wife.

Anton Burgress owned the bar Oliver managed and every Thursday he would head out with his mobster looking friends for a night of drinking, strippers, and poker. During this time Katarina would come over and 'visit' Oliver. She told Anton she wanted to do her part and help with the bar and Anton bought it. To be fair to Anton, he was not stupid. It was just that his wife was far more attractive than he thought he deserved, and to him, everything Katarina said was gospel.

Oliver couldn't be sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion Anton was the local boss for the Russian Mob, or was it the Ukrainian Mob? He wasn't sure how they would take him making the mistake either. Anton might just shoot him for the misstep, and if he ever found out about Katarina, he definitely would.

"One sec," Oliver said and ran back into the loft. He pulled a bottle of cologne out of one of the kitchen drawers and poured it into his hand then splashed it on his face. He then did the same for each armpit and for good measure even put some on his shaved head. When he was finished drenching himself in cologne, he caught up to Katarina who was making her way down the spiral staircase.

"You don't need that much cologne," Katarina giggled.

"You're not here all the time. The customers complain," he sighed.

"I don't see why. You smell wonderful without it," she replied with a smile.

"Only to you. Everyone else thinks I smell like a garbage dump," Oliver laughed self-consciously.

Ever since puberty struck, he had been plagued with horrible body odor. Although he didn't smell it, all the boys at school made fun of him until he eventually started bathing in cologne and deodorant. Despite his attempts to cover his smell, the teasing continued for about a year. Then something confusing happened. All the female students started to notice him. He grew bigger and more muscular than the other boys in that year. What was more confusing was that the female students actually seemed to like how he smelled. All the attention from the female students, many of them with boyfriends, probably would have led to some schoolyard beatings if he hadn't already been the size of a football player. The boys didn't like it, nor did they care for him, but there wasn't a lot they could do about it.

At the bottom of the stairs, Oliver looked out across the bar. He had a lot of work to do before the bar could open. It was a horrible mess, like it was most Friday mornings. He didn't even remember closing up last night. Leaving the bar was a blur of making out with Katarina while trying to get her upstairs. He remembered undressing her before they even hit the steps, then a thought smacked him in the face. He quickly turned and reached under the bottom step. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled out a pink lacey bra and held it up for Katarina.

"That's where that went," Katarina smirked.

"Are you trying to get Anton to kill me?!" Oliver yelled. It echoed across the bar, and someone started to stir at one of the tables.

"Whyzz Oliver gonna killz Anton?" a drunk man said from one of the tables then his face smacked back down.

"It's the other way around, silly," Katarina laughed. To her, this was all a game. How long could she hide their 'sleepovers' from her husband? How close could she get to the fire before they both got burned?

Oliver rushed over to the table and grabbed the disheveled man and started ushering him to the door.

"Charlie, I'm sorry I locked you in last night. I'm not sure where my head was," Oliver apologized as he forced the drunk toward the door.

"In Kat's tits," the drunk man laughed.

"You can't say anything, Charlie," Oliver demanded.

"That's whyz you letz me stay, member?" Charlie said, stumbling backward as he waved. "You sayz I could haz all the free beer I wanted."

"No, Charlie, I don't remember. I think I was more smashed than you were," Oliver replied regretfully. He didn't like it when he got blackout drunk. He did stupid, careless, and often times, dangerous things. Letting someone see him with Katarina might shoot its way to the top of the list if Charlie couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Don youz worry." Charlie pretended to zip his lips shut then started mumbling with his mouth closed.

"He said he's not a snitch," Katarina explained. Her hands were on her hips, and she looked frustrated. The danger and excitement of her husband possibly finding out had waned, and she was bored.

"I know what he said," Oliver replied then opened the door and tried to push Charlie out, but a blonde woman was standing in the doorway. She was taller than Katarina, almost up to Oliver's nose, and she wore a light brown trench coat that was buttoned up tightly. She looked heavier than Katarina. As his eyes made their way up the trench coat, he could see the feminine outline of a woman with an actual figure, not someone trying to turn herself into a doll. The woman had full hips and decent sized breasts but not ones that were scientifically enlarged. She was exactly what he was looking for. Her long dirty, blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and her glasses made her deep blue eyes look even more beautiful. She looked like.... "Oh, Shit! Chelsea?!" Oliver nearly fell backward in amazement. How had he been thinking about Chelsea like that?!

"Hi, Olly," she replied meekly.

Katarina's frustrated look turned sour.

"You said no one could call you Olly," she spat out while crossing her arms across her large, fake breasts, not an easy feat for such a small woman.

Oliver turned and looked at Katarina.

"No one but her," Oliver replied.

Oliver pulled Chelsea inside then forced Charlie out, while Katarina stood there fuming. He threw his arms around Chelsea, picked her up, and spun her around then sat her on one of the bar stools.

"Damn, you've gotten big," Oliver said as he took a seat beside her, completely ignoring Katarina. His awkwardness about sizing up his best friend faded when he looked at her smiling face.

"Me? You're the size of a house," Chelsea laughed. She looked uncomfortable and tried to scoot away from Oliver, but the stool was bolted to the floor, so she only managed to scoot herself back.

"Well, I better get going before Anton thinks somethings up," Katarina said loudly. When Oliver didn't reply or even look at her, she stomped over to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Bye, sweetie," she said spitefully while staring at Chelsea.

"Knock it off Katarina. You have no right to be jealous. You're married," Oliver said while he rolled his eyes. "Besides, Chelsea is like my sister."

Katarina saw the disappointment in Chelsea's face, but Oliver missed it completely. Oliver may have seen her as a sister, but Chelsea didn't see him as a brother.

"See you next Thursday?" Katarina asked, almost begging.

"Yep, every Thursday." Oliver waved without taking his eyes off of Chelsea. His smile lit up his face, and he couldn't remember ever being so happy to see anyone.

Katarina huffed then slammed the door on her way out.

"Girlfriend?" Chelsea asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"Never had a girlfriend and never will. It's me we're talking about," Oliver laughed.

"Then what do you call every Thursday?" Chelsea asked with a forced laugh.

"An arrangement. Want a drink?" Oliver asked then leaned across Chelsea to grab two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Chelsea breathed in deeply and wished she hadn't. He still smelled exactly as she remembered. The smell of cookies and flowers were the easy part. Even under the gallon of cologne, she could still smell Oliver, and he smelled like home. Fresh baked cookies in the oven and flowers in the vase on the table. Something her mother did every Sunday. Strange how Oliver could smell so much like this fond memory. It made her feel so warm and comfortable. Like nothing could hurt her. Then there was the third smell. This smell was indescribable, but the feelings it produced were not. It made her feel lustful and excited. Every time she got one whiff of Oliver, she had the nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss him.

Chelsea leaned back to escape the smell of Oliver, and he looked at her guiltily.

"Sorry, Chels, I forgot how much you like your personal space. Won't happen again," Oliver apologized.

Oliver stared at Chelsea with a stupid smile on his face and put the glasses in front of her.

"Where the hell have you been?! People said you got sick or something, but no one would give me a straight answer. Seven years...seven fucking years!" Oliver shook his head in disbelief.

"Sorry, Olly. I was sick. Hereditary eating disorder," Chelsea said nervously.

"I guess you don't want to talk about it then?" Oliver asked, noticing her reaction. "Then tell me what you're up to now." His tone picked up once more. "I've missed you," he said, staring at her with a stupid looking smile on his face.

"I hear you were in an accident?" Chelsea asked sheepishly, trying to avoid the uncomfortable subject of where she'd been and why she was back. These subjects could wait until a more appropriate time.

Oliver looked at the floor then quickly hid his discomfort.

"It was nothing. Completely over it now," he lied, trying to cover his anguish with a fake smile.

"So Douchiver is still in there," Chelsea said with a laugh.

"I haven't heard that nickname in...well...seven years," Oliver said, smiling back at her. "Truthfully, I'm still in a lot of pain but...that's why I work at a bar. Alcohol is the best pain medication." His smile faded as he spoke; it was a subject he'd rather not talk about.

"Tell you what. Let's get some dinner later, and we can both share our secrets like old times," Chelsea suggested.

"A woman asking me out to dinner instead of bed? That's a new one. Only you, Chels. Sure, I'll call in a favor and have Anton watch the bar. It's the least he can do for satisfying his wife every Thursday," Oliver leaned in and started to whisper to Chelsea. "Sorry, that's supposed to be a secret," he said with a silly grin.

"Full-blown Douchiver. Why am I surprised?" Chelsea asked with a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Eight is fine. Should I meet you here?"

"Actually, that's perfect. Come in and ask for me at the bar. Completely throw Anton a curveball." Oliver leaned in again. "I think he's getting suspicious."

Chelsea shook her head in disbelief and started toward the door. As she reached it, Oliver shouted to her.

"It's great to have you back. You have no idea how much I've missed you," Oliver said loudly.

"I've missed you too," Chelsea said with a sadness that Oliver noticed this time. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to make a joke.

"I don't know how I survived without my wingman...err...woman. It's hard to find a wingman when all men hate me. You're one of a kind, Chels," Oliver said.

Chelsea turned to the door and mumbled to herself.

"You have no idea how right you are," she said sadly as she left.

# Chapter 2

At ten after eight, Oliver and Chelsea walked down the street from the bar heading toward a restaurant nearby. Chelsea had on her light brown trench coat, buttoned up tightly, and Oliver was still wearing his t-shirt and jeans.

"Did you see the look on Anton's face when you asked for me?" Oliver laughed. "You're something else, Chels. I owe you big time."

While Oliver looked carefree and joyful, Chelsea was nervous and couldn't figure out what to do with her hands as they walked down the street. She tried crossing her arms, but it didn't feel right. Next, she tried her pockets, but she felt she needed to do something with them, so she just clasped them in front of her as they walked, trying to stop the fidgeting. Finally, she gave up and rested them at her sides, not wanting to draw attention to her apprehension.

"How many do you owe me now?" Chelsea smiled nervously at Oliver, trying to cover her anxiety.

"It's gotta be way over a hundred," Oliver laughed. "Oh, man, I've missed you so much."

Oliver couldn't contain himself and hugged Chelsea, who kept her arms stiff at her sides.

"Shit, sorry. Forgot again," Oliver said and took a step back.

"It's ok, Olly...I've missed you too," Chelsea replied sadly.

Oliver turned to a doorway that looked dark and uninviting, then smiled devilishly at her.

"We're here!" he exclaimed. He threw his arms wide.

Chelsea looked at the run-down restaurant, and a smile crept onto her face. She temporarily forgot about her anxiety and looked at Oliver.

"You dork!" she laughed.

"We don't have to sneak in this time," he replied.

"How old were we?" Chelsea asked. Though she knew the answer. She would never forget the details of what happened that day, even if she had wanted to.

"Fourteen," Oliver replied confidently. "First time getting drunk. We nabbed a bottle of vodka and hid in the storage room." He looked into her eyes, then a huge smile filled his face. "Think you can manage to avoid splitting my lip open this time?"

"Don't be a baby," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment. Oliver was under the impression she had stumbled and fell into his face, which was partially true. The reality was, she was a nervous fourteen-year-old girl who was a little drunk. She tried to kiss him and in the excitement had misjudged the distance. It was the first time she ever tried something with him, and it went worse than she could have possibly imagined. She was clumsy and uncoordinated when he was around. She didn't even really understand why. The countless other times had ended just as embarrassingly, and Oliver still had no clue how she felt. She had come to realize Oliver didn't see her that way and, as hard as it was, she now knew, it was better that he didn't.

Oliver held the door for her, then followed her inside. Once they were at a table, Oliver waited to help her with her coat. She nervously took off her coat and handed it to him. Oliver's eyes grew huge, and she felt a little self-conscious. Under her trench coat, she had on a tight-fitting, white dress with a pretty flower pattern on it. It had a plunging neckline and a tie around her waist to accentuate her feminine figure.

"You've grown a lot!" Oliver exclaimed. Oliver took a step toward her and put his hand on top of her head. "What are you, five-eight now?"

Chelsea's stomach sank. He still didn't see her as a woman. She kept telling herself it was for the best, but it didn't ease the horrible feeling of being overlooked.

"I had a growth spurt after I got my eating disorder under control," Chelsea covered her disappointment and sat down.

Oliver put her coat on another chair. The whole time he couldn't stop staring at her.

"And what a growth spurt it was! Damn!" Oliver ran his hand over his shaved head nervously. "I'm going to have to readjust my image of you now. To me, you're still that flat-chested, scrawny little girl."

Why had she worn this dress? She was supposed to be keeping Oliver from noticing her. Despite this, Chelsea felt her spirits lift. He did see her as a woman, but maybe that wasn't such a good thing. The boost to her ego felt great, but that was as far as it could go. Still, it was nice that he noticed for once.

"You remember when we first met?" Chelsea asked, trying to change the subject.

"Do I remember? Are you serious?" Oliver seemed hurt by the assumption that he would ever forget. "You saved me."

"I hardly saved you. I conscripted you." Chelsea laughed and felt a little more at ease. Their past was complicated and full of emotion, but the day they met brought her joy.

"My first day at school, you walked up to me, standing alone in the schoolyard. You grabbed my hand and pulled me to the swings. You made it very clear that we were going to be friends and I had little choice. You saved me from being alone with my thoughts. My dad had just died. My mom abandoned me. You saved me from myself." Oliver was serious now. All of his joking and sarcasm fell away when he thought of the day they met. How had that small blonde stranger known exactly what he needed? Oliver wasn't sure what would have happened to him if Chelsea hadn't forced their friendship. He was now a mess, an alcoholic, and used women to forget about his problems. How bad would he be if he hadn't met her? He owed her more than he could ever express.

Oliver had blanked out everything that happened that night and his life before it. The child psychologist said it was the minds way of protecting itself from painful memories, but all Oliver wanted to do was remember...he just couldn't. It was as if his life started the day that small blonde girl grabbed his hand and forced him to wake up. Other than the constant, confusing nightmare, he had no memories of his parents. He remembered their names and a vague notion of what they looked like but little else.

Chelsea sat across from him, also thinking of the day they met. She remembered the pull she felt the moment she saw him. The pull she felt every day since. He was like a magnet. The seven years they spent apart hadn't even dulled the feeling. The training to overcome her 'eating disorder' kept her busy, but she never stopped thinking of him. She had hoped the feelings would be weaker, easier to control, but after spending less than an hour with Oliver, she knew her feelings were as strong as ever. All she could do was try to keep herself under control,...for his sake.

"I'm a little overbearing at times," Chelsea replied with embarrassment.

"Yes you are...don't ever change," Oliver said. He looked into her eyes with more seriousness than she'd ever seen from him. "You did save me."

Chelsea started to get uncomfortable and decided to change the subject again. That look was not helping her self-control.

"So, you were going to tell me about your accident," she said.

"And you were going to tell me about your eating disorder," he replied.

"Fine, I'll go first." She sat up straight, trying to find a good way to explain it. "My family needs a special diet. The symptoms start when you're a teenager."

"But you were eighteen?" Oliver asked.

"You may have hit puberty early, but I was late," Chelsea said with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, I did just kind of shoot up without warning," Oliver said. "What kind of eating disorder makes you have to disappear?"

Chelsea shifted in her seat. She couldn't tell him the whole truth, but a version of it might seem plausible to him. It was Oliver, he might even believe the whole truth, but she couldn't tell him that, not yet. It was too dangerous.

"I'm like a reverse vegetarian." She looked at him and waited.

"What is a reverse vegetarian?" He stared back at her full of confusion.

"I can only eat meat. When I don't eat enough meat, I get...umm...seizures." Seizures was a good way to describe it without going into too much detail. "It also has to be fresh meat. Not cooked."

"Okaaaaay...that's really odd. I've never heard of anything like that." Oliver looked at her and raised one eyebrow, trying to figure out if she was teasing him.

"It's very rare." She stared at him seriously, waiting for a joke or some sort of jab but what she got surprised her.

"Ok," he replied.

"Ok?" she asked.

"If you say you have a rare eating disorder, you have a rare eating disorder. What else is there to say?" Oliver leaned back and crossed his arms. After staring at Chelsea for a moment, he raised his hand to the waitress who had been eyeing them since they walked in. When she arrived at the table, he smirked at Chelsea then addressed the waitress.

"Two steaks. One rare and the other very rare. I want to hear it moo," Oliver said with a laugh. The waitress smiled and started back to the counter. "And a bottle of whiskey." He looked at Chelsea. "You want anything to drink?" The waitress turned and looked at her.

"Water is good," she replied.

After the waitress headed off to the kitchen again, Oliver started his story.

"My turn," he said with frustration. "The night you disappeared I got in a horrible accident." He looked at his lap. "I wasn't paying attention. I crossed the intersection, and the semi came out of nowhere. I should have been more careful. Kristin would still be alive if I had just noticed the semi." Oliver paused and seemed tortured by his guilt.

"The little I heard sounded like it was the semi driver's fault." When Oliver didn't respond, she added. "He ran a red light. You couldn't have known."

Although Oliver felt tremendous guilt, it had been the other driver's fault. The semi driver had been overworked and half asleep when he barreled through the red light at over seventy miles an hour. He didn't even hit the brakes. Kristin was killed on impact, and to this day, none of the doctors understood how Oliver had survived. When the ambulance arrived, Oliver stepped out of the wreckage, dazed but without a scratch.

Although Oliver's body didn't appear damaged, that was when the pain began. The doctors tried every pain medication imaginable, but most of them made the pain worse. The only thing Oliver found that could dull the pain was alcohol. So, seeing his options limited, he gave up on his desire to become a police officer and took a job at Anton's bar. Most of his salary was spent on booze, so it was a good thing Anton allowed him to stay, rent-free, in the loft above the bar.

Seeing Oliver's discomfort, Chelsea decided to get to the reason she had found Oliver again. Not that she didn't want to see him, their relationship was just complicated and sometimes painful for her. He saw her as a sister and nothing more while she wanted things she couldn't have, at least not with him.

"I'm glad you don't mind my pushy side because I have a favor to ask you." She cringed and looked at Oliver.

"Whatever you need," he replied without a thought. It didn't matter what she wanted. He'd do anything she asked. He owed her everything.

"Remember when you wanted to be a cop?" Chelsea asked. She still looked pitiful and desperate.

"Yeah, probably would have done it too but the accident..." he trailed off, not wanting to think about it any longer.

"Well...would you be willing to...well...be sort of a private investigator?" She waited, and when he didn't answer, she added. "I can pay. I have money."

"It's not about the money, Chels," he looked at her full of frustration and regret. "I just think you would have better luck hiring a professional."

"You were always so smart. You could figure anyone out. Maybe you weren't math smart," she said with a laugh. "I did have to drag you through Algebra...but you were always people smart. I can't trust anyone else with this."

He looked at her, and a smile started.

"Oh, that was fun," he reminisced. "Staying up late in my room, you badgering me about variables, and me trying to make you laugh, so you'd quit."

"By the way, how is Ms. Kulze?" Chelsea asked.

"She passed two years ago," Oliver said with sorrow.

"I'm sorry to hear that, she was a nice lady," Chelsea replied, sharing Oliver's sadness.

Ms. Kulze had been the foster mother who took Oliver in after the police decided no one was coming to get him. She was a kind woman in her seventies, but she treated Oliver as if he was hers. She never got married and never had children. All she had was her cat, her parakeet, and Oliver, so she spoiled Oliver. He never thought of her as a mother figure. She was always like a grandmother which suited the both of them just fine.

After a few moments of sadness, Oliver looked into Chelsea's eyes and realized, he would have to tell her yes. She wanted it. He couldn't tell her no. He never could tell her no. It was the whole premise of their friendship since the day she walked up to him in the playground and told him, 'You are going to be my best friend.' From that day forward, anything she asked for she got and Oliver would have it no other way.

"What is it you want me to investigate?" he asked with a sigh.

She fumbled with the napkin from the table, trying to do something with her hands and looked at him nervously.

"A week after I left, my father was murdered," she looked at him hopefully.

"Oh, shit! Why didn't you say that to begin with?" Oliver stared back at her full of worry.

"I want to know who did it. I want you to find out, and no matter who it is, you'll tell me. Even if it was me," Chelsea squeezed her hands together, and the napkin tore.

Oliver laughed, then seeing she was serious, leaned over and grabbed her hands. She pulled them away instinctively and gave him a worried look.

"Sorry," he said, realizing he had touched her yet again. "You can't possibly think it was you? You're Chelsea Bauer. You wouldn't hurt a fly." He seemed so serious, but Chelsea knew better.

"I'm not that innocent girl anymore. Back when I had...seizures. Well, I'd black out and do things I regret. My mom won't tell me anything about what happened to my dad. I think I might have killed him." She looked down at her hands. She wanted so much to touch Oliver, but it was too dangerous. If only he knew who she was, what she was, he wouldn't be so kind.

Oliver saw the concern on her face and decided that his Chelsea, that little blonde stranger who saved him, could not possibly have killed her father and he'd do anything to prove it.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

The waitress arrived at the table and placed both plates in the center. Chelsea stared at the uncooked steak, and her body physically shook. Oliver noticed as she looked up at him, fearful of his reaction.

"Should we take this to go?" Oliver asked with a kind look.

Chelsea nodded.

"I'm sorry, I thought I could do this," she replied sheepishly.

"Bah, eating in public is overrated. We'll go to my loft and eat in peace," he said.

"How about we go to my place? That way Katarina doesn't walk in and get jealous," Chelsea said with an appreciative smile. "Besides, I have all the files there."

"Sounds like a plan, boss," Oliver said as he raised his hand to get the waitresses attention once more. Within minutes they were out the door and on their way to Chelsea's apartment.

# Chapter 3

Oliver rode up the elevator beside Chelsea. She looked perfectly at ease while he nervously fidgeted with the bags of carryout in his hands. When Chelsea said they could go back to her place, he had pictured a one-bedroom, on the cheap, dump of an apartment, just like his. When they walked up to the guarded door of a fifteen-story building, and the doormen tipped their hats to her, he was impressed.

Then as they went inside, he understood what she had meant by 'her place'. She didn't live here. She owned it. The employees all smiled and waved while referring to her as Ms. Bauer. He felt so out of place standing next to the woman who owned this beautiful building that he didn't know what to say to her anymore. It was still Chelsea, but now she was also Ms. Bauer. He had known Chelsea's parents were rich real estate tycoons or something like that, but it never occurred to him that Chelsea would be as well. It made sense after he thought about it, it just hadn't registered until now.

When they reached the top floor, they got off the elevator, walked to the end of a short hallway then she unlocked the door to the only apartment on this floor.

"You're acting weird, Olly," she said with a grin.

He stepped inside and marveled at the space. The living room was sunk in, and everything looked so tidy. Not that his place wasn't tidy, there was just nothing in his loft to make it a mess. The iron staircase that led to a small loft, probably where she slept, caught his eye as well. This place wasn't just fancy. It was something he would never be able to afford, not even for a single night. Hell, he couldn't even afford the appliances! They were all stainless steel and looked brand new.

"I knew your parents were rich. I just never put it together that you'd be rich," Oliver laughed nervously and tried to set the carryout bags on the counter, but he was too busy eyeing the apartment and missed it. The bags fell to the floor with a splat. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry...let me clean it up," he apologized desperately. He reached down to clean them up, but Chelsea beat him to it.

"I got it, Olly. It's not a big deal," she said after she squatted and scooped the steaks back into the bag then licked her fingers. Her body shook again, and a look came over her that Oliver equated with hunger. Then he corrected himself. It wasn't just hunger. She was starving. She NEEDED food.

She walked over to the garbage and tossed the bags in. Her body shuttered again, and Oliver knew she was struggling.

"Why don't I go get you something else? You look like you really need food," Oliver stated.

"I should have eaten before I left to meet you. It's my fault," she replied. "And you don't have to go anywhere unless you need something." She smiled and opened the fridge. It was stocked full of beef and pork.

"You should eat before we get started," he insisted.

"You're probably right. I'll be right back." She grabbed a steak from the fridge and headed to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Oliver asked.

"You don't want to see me eat a raw steak, do you?" she asked with a nervous smile.

"I don't mind," he replied.

She turned and looked at him before deciding. He really didn't mind, did he? He was perfect. Well, almost. He wasn't like her, and he wasn't interested in her. Both of which meant they could never be together. She sighed, then addressed Oliver again.

"I don't want you to think I'm gross." She forced a laugh then headed toward the bathroom. "The files are on the coffee table. Take a look."

"Nothing you could do would scare me off, Chels. You're back, and you're stuck with me," Oliver said while walking toward the living room.

"We'll see about that," she replied, then shut the bathroom door. "You're going to find out things about me that might change your mind!" she yelled through the closed door.

Oliver stepped down into the living room and sat on the couch. For a minute, he was worried about getting it dirty, then the pictures on the table caught his attention. He had met Randal Bauer once and, looking at the pictures. It was him. What little was left of him. He had the same dirty blonde hair as Chelsea and the same nose. The rest of her beautiful face reminded him of her mother, Allison.

In the pictures, Randal was torn to pieces. There was no way Chelsea had done this. Randal wasn't a small man, not quite Oliver's size, but still larger than his daughter. It looked like someone, probably a very strong man, had used a knife and cut her father over and over again until his body was torn to shreds.

After looking at all the photographs, he started reading what looked like a journal with most of the pages torn out. He read the ones that were left.

Day 1:

Everything is a blur, no memory of last night. The pain, the hunger, I don't think I can stand it anymore. What did I do? What have I become? I miss Oliver already, but I know he can't see me like this.

Day 2:

Father is absent, and mom is upset. She won't tell me why. I hope father comes back soon. This hunger...it hurts so much.

Day 3:

I remember some of what happened. I remember blood and hunger and not much else besides Ralph. That poor boy. Ralph didn't deserve it. I'm a monster. I deserve to die for what I've done. I wish Oliver was here. Or maybe I don't. Maybe he would hate me as much as I hate myself.

Day 4:

Mom is trying to help, but she doesn't understand. Only father knows what this feels like and he is still missing.

Day 5:

Father is back! He can help me understand what to do. He's the only one who knows what this feels like. He said he would help me today. He will teach me how to feed safely.

Day 6:

I don't remember what happened after supper last night. I think I had another episode. Father is withdrawn, and mom is angry. I don't understand why I can't control it like he does. I think mom hates me for what I am. I don't blame her.

Day 7:

Father is going to take me to where it happened. I remember bits and pieces but not all of it. Maybe seeing where Ralph died will help me remember what really happened. He said afterward we would try to hunt again. I know I can be like father. He's so stern and commanding. If I had half of his willpower, this wouldn't be so difficult.

Day 8:

It happened again! I can't remember anything! It's like with Ralph. I remember the blood but little else. I think I killed father, but mom doesn't seem to care. She almost seems happy. How can she be happy? She won't even talk about it. She says father had an accident and it was his own fault, but I don't believe her. She's hiding something. I think she's trying to protect me from myself, but if I did this I deserve to die! Why doesn't she hate me?

Day 9:

Mom says we have to leave Serentia. I don't want to go, but I don't want to hurt anyone else. Will I ever see Oliver again? Maybe it's for the best.

Day 43:

I'm writing less and less, but I don't have much time for self-reflection anymore. I was wrong about mom. I was so wrong about everything. She loves me more than I could ever imagine, and she does understand the hunger. She's teaching me how to deal with it. It's different for her but similar, similar enough that she can help me where father couldn't. Maybe I didn't give him the chance. I still think she's lying to me about what happened to father, but she won't tell me the truth. She says it's in the past and I should just remember him fondly and move on.

Day 156:

I think I'm getting the hang of this. I can control the hunger with fresh meat. It's getting easier, but I still don't think I can be around people. I wonder how Oliver is. Mom won't talk about him, but I found an old newspaper from Serentia. He had an accident. I hope he's ok. I miss him. What I wrote yesterday isn't possible, ever. I am going to be alone for the rest of my life, and I deserve it for what I've done. I could never live with myself if I hurt Oliver.

Day 437:

I blacked out again last night. Just when I thought I had it under control. I forget a meal and I'm back to square one. It was a deer this time and not a person, thank the lord for that. I'm glad our house is so far away from anyone. I don't know what I'd do if I killed someone else. I was going to go see Oliver, but now I know I can't. Not yet. I need more time.

After reading the pages, Oliver put the journal down and leaned back on the couch. Was Chelsea insane? Did this eating disorder cause hallucinations and insanity? Did it matter? It was Chelsea. What difference did it make if she was insane? She was back, and that was the only thing that mattered. He'd gladly join her in insanity if it meant she didn't have to leave again.

Chelsea emerged from the bathroom, wiping her mouth with a napkin. One look at her, and Oliver knew. She wouldn't have killed her father without a reason. Something else had happened. If she really did kill him, it must have been her father's fault. It was Chelsea. She would never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it.

"Sooo....?" She asked sheepishly.

"So you missed me, huh?" Oliver asked with a laugh.

"Of course I missed you, doofus. We're best friends," she replied while nervously pulling on the napkin.

"I don't think you did it," Oliver said seriously.

"But what I wrote. You read it. I think I did." Chelsea plopped down on the couch next to him. Oliver put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. She looked uncomfortable again, so he scooted away.

"Sorry, sorry, I keep doing that. You just looked like you needed a hug." He looked at her crooked and smirked. "So, where's the rest of the pages?"

"I removed the embarrassing ones. I left the ones that had to do with my father," she replied. Not only had she removed any that revealed her feelings for Oliver, but she had also removed any that might convince him she was nuts. He wasn't ready for the truth of what she was. She had to show him a little at a time until he could finally accept the fact that she wasn't human. If anyone would believe her, it would be Oliver. Maybe then he could understand. She probably had killed her own father, as well as Ralph.

"So, start at the beginning," he said. "What happened with Ralph? This is my fault, isn't it? If I hadn't fixed you up with Ralph, it never would have happened."

"It's not your fault, Olly. It was inevitable. I was going to have an episode eventually." She said this with sadness and put her hands in her lap.

"If I hadn't set you up with Ralph and taken Kristin instead of you..." he faded off. "They'd both be alive today."

"It's not your fault. Stuff happens," she consoled.

His mood took a sharp turn. "It's not like you wanted to take your brother to the prom anyway. I couldn't let you go to prom with me. It's supposed to be a night filled with romance and happiness. You deserved someone better."

Chelsea didn't answer. That night had been hard for her on many levels. She had looked forward to going to prom with Oliver for weeks. She had picked out the perfect dress, even rehearsed everything she'd say. Afterward, she'd kiss him, this time she wouldn't be a drunk little girl, she'd do it right. What she ended up with was a handsy date.

Ralph kept insinuating that they were going to have sex in the back of his car after the dance. Somehow Ralph had gotten it into his mind that he was doing Oliver and Chelsea a favor by taking her to prom. This led to him believing he was owed some form of payment in return. That poor boy didn't know what he was getting himself into when he parked in the vacant lot and tried to force Chelsea into the back seat. It didn't excuse what she'd done, but he had asked for it.

"Anyway..." Oliver said to pull Chelsea out of whatever sadness had settled across her face. "I'm going to start by finding out about Ralph. He disappeared the same night you did. It doesn't mean you killed him. Just saying."

"I'm pretty sure I killed him," Chelsea replied sadly.

"You said in your journal that it was foggy and you don't remember everything, right?" Oliver asked in an upbeat tone.

"True," Chelsea had to agree.

"Then, who knows? Maybe he's living on a beach in Hawaii or something. We just don't know." Oliver smiled at her, and she couldn't help but return the smile. "Either way, we start with Ralph. If he really is dead, then we move on to your father." Oliver paused and remembered his previous observation. Ralph must have done something to deserve it. "Why would you kill Ralph? He must have done something horrible. You wouldn't just kill someone."

"Umm..." Chelsea didn't know how to say it and was actually a little embarrassed. "He tried to umm..."

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Oliver shot up and stormed around the room. Then he turned to Chelsea. "And you didn't want to...you told him no?!" The volume of his voice lowered as he talked to Chelsea, but he was clearly still angry.

"Yes, I told him no. He just thought I owed it to him." Chelsea sat perfectly still, trying to remain calm. Oliver was a little scary when he was upset. Not that she was afraid of him. She was afraid of what he might do to other people. Oliver was very large, even in school, no one messed with Oliver.

"OWED HIM!?" Oliver stormed back and forth, his anger growing. "He should have gotten on his hands and knees and thanked you for allowing him to go with you. So help me!" Oliver paced faster. "IF HES NOT DEAD...I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" Suddenly Oliver stopped pacing and fell to his knees. He grabbed his head then crumpled up and started moaning.

"Do you need something?" she asked then ran to the kitchen and looked around frantically. She had no pain medication or anything like that. The kind of pain she experienced wouldn't be helped by human medicine.

"Some kind of alcohol. Anything," he moaned.

She threw open the cabinets, and after tossing several bottles on the floor, she found a half-full bottle of vodka. She rushed over to him and handed him the bottle. He removed the lid, lifted the bottle up, and downed the rest in a matter of seconds. For a few moments, he sat there, on the floor, rocking back and forth then stood up slowly.

"I'm sorry, I should know better than that by now," he apologized. "Whenever I get angry, it makes the pain worse." Then Oliver realized, he hadn't had a drink since the moment Chelsea walked back into his life, not until now. All day the pain had been mild, mild enough to ignore. Thinking about it, it might have been the first day he'd spent sober since the accident. Why was everything better when Chelsea was around? Then he realized, it didn't matter why. She was back, and there was no way he was letting her go again.

"You going to be ok?" Chelsea asked, a little worried.

"I'll be fine. My own fault. Now, what were we talking about?" Oliver asked, trying to avoid the subject of his constant struggle.

"You were going to find out what happened to Ralph," she answered.

"And strangle him!" he shouted, then put his hands, palms down, out in front of himself and breathed in deeply. "Maybe just yell at him."

"I hope you find him alive," she said sadly. Then she walked back to the couch and sat down.

"I will. You wouldn't kill anyone. Not even Ralph." The way he said Ralph's name made it clear to Chelsea that Oliver wouldn't care if she had killed Ralph. In Oliver's mind, Ralph deserved it. Even Oliver wanted to kill him.

"Where are you going to start?" she asked and crossed her legs. She started bobbing her foot up and down, which made Oliver grin.

"Now, there's the Chelsea I know." He started talking in a high, girlish voice. "And how do you think you are going to do that, Olly? You're such a dork."

Chelsea giggled, and Oliver sat beside her again.

"I'd love to stay and talk more, but I promised Anton I'd be back at the bar to close. I'm the manager. It's why he lets me stay there for free." Oliver lifted his hand and thought about patting her on the leg then realized. She was wearing a dress. Touching her bare leg would put her weird phobia into overdrive. He quickly put his hand back in his lap.

"When are you going to start looking?" she asked.

"First thing in the morning. I have tomorrow off...well, except I have to be back to close. That gives me a whole day. I think I remember where Ralph's parents lived. Maybe they're still there?" He stood up and gave Chelsea a hopeful smile.

"Well, let me know what you find out. Stop by tomorrow before you go to work?" she asked.

"I'll be here," Oliver said, then headed toward the door.

Chelsea stood and walked over to the door behind Oliver.

"And, Olly, thank you. I know this is a lot to take in, but you are the only one I can trust with this," she said.

Oliver stopped and faced her.

"You can trust me with anything, Chels. I got your back." He gave her a warm smile to emphasize the point then turned and left.

After Oliver was gone, Chelsea sat back on the couch and thought for a moment. She had seen Oliver reach for her leg and was relieved when he changed his mind. Her mother had always warned her to avoid touching humans. It wasn't safe for her kind.

Humans used to be food, a very long time ago, before the human uprising. Even after all this time, the hunger was still a constant struggle for her kind. One wrong move and The Order would know there was still a lamia alive and living in Serentia. In fact, there were two lamia in Serentia. Her mother and herself. What made Chelsea's situation even more dangerous was that her father had been a werewolf. Chelsea was the child of two of the most dangerous predators on the planet and, as far as she knew, the only one of her kind. The hunger of both species coursed through her veins, and even though she had never had any urge to eat Oliver, let alone harm him, it wasn't a good idea to tempt fate.

What had she been thinking as a teenager? Kiss Oliver? How stupid had she been? How would that have ended? She was thankful Oliver hadn't been the one to take her to prom after all. What would she do if she had killed Oliver? Her body shivered at the thought of it. He was far too important to her. He was the one she always turned to when something went wrong. The only one who never questioned her...about anything. No matter what, Oliver was on her side.

She had killed someone, maybe her father as well, and it was horrible, but Oliver didn't even care. Oliver was the only person Chelsea could trust completely, and she didn't know if she could survive without him. The last seven years had been torture, but it was for Oliver's safety. She never wanted to be away from him again.

Chelsea was pulled from her thoughts as she felt the hunger returning. Strange how it returned after Oliver left. Humans usually made the hunger worse. Miserably she stood up and headed to the kitchen to try and satiate the craving for meat that never seemed to be completely satisfied.

# Chapter 4

Oliver woke the next morning without the usual hangover he'd grown accustomed to. The sun wasn't trying to fry his brain this morning, and the alarm clock was just annoying, not painful. He slid out of bed and shut off the alarm clock that was beaten and cracked, but still functional. Beside the alarm clock was a bottle of vodka, and strangely, he didn't feel the need to drink it. The pain was a dull ache this morning. He pulled one shoulder then the other to stretch out his back and marveled at the lack of shooting pain. He wiggled his toes then bent over and touched them, nothing. He was a little sore, but it was the best he'd felt in years.

There was no way he'd let Chelsea leave again...unless that was her wish. He knew he wouldn't stop her, but he also knew his life was horrible without her. Not only was the pain gone, he was in a great mood for a change. His life had a purpose again. Chelsea needed him.

He hummed a tune that was stuck in his head as he pulled on a pair of jeans and put on a clean shirt from the garbage bag full of clothes beside his bed. His system was crude, but it worked. When he was out of clean clothes, he'd just grab the other bag, the one full of dirty ones, and haul them to the laundromat down the street. Then, upon returning, he'd switch bags, and the dirty clothes bag became the clean clothes bag. It was a system he'd used for years, it wasn't pretty, but it was easy.

Oliver grabbed one of the serving size bottles of vodka from the counter and shoved it in his pocket, in case of an emergency, then headed out the door. His humming quieted as he walked through the empty bar and noticed Anton polishing the counter.

Anton was a large man, taller than Oliver and heavier. He was probably about six-four and had three hundred pounds of beer belly...or vodka belly, since that was all he drank. His balding head had a shine to it that almost made Oliver laugh. Did he polish that thing daily?

His rough face and large nose made him look menacing. How in the world had Anton landed Katarina, then he remembered, money. Katarina loved money as much as Anton adored her. Oliver was sad for a moment. This man loved his wife so much, and he was sleeping with her. Damn, Chelsea was doing a number on him, even his conscience was getting back to normal.

"Morning, Anton," Oliver said cheerfully.

"You get some from that new girl of yours?" Anton asked spitefully. He was in a particularly sour mood this morning. For a moment, Oliver got angry. How dare he call Chelsea 'that new girl'? Chelsea wasn't one of his 'girls'. She was far too important to use up and discard like that. Then he calmed himself. Even Anton's mood wasn't going to spoil today. Chelsea was back and needed his help.

"She's just a friend, Anton. She's more like my sister," Oliver continued through the bar, not stopping, hoping to avoid another one of Anton's comments.

"Could have fooled me," Anton grumbled. Something was up with him. Even for Anton, this was exceedingly grumpy for ten in the morning.

"Have a nice day, boss. See you tonight. I should be back by ten or eleven," he said and walked out the door, not bothering to hear Anton's response.

Outside a cab waited with its motor running. When he got inside, the driver flipped the meter and turned around with a smile.

"Where to this morning, Oliver?" he asked. The man was in his late twenties, a little older than Oliver but much smaller and thinner. His black hair was nearly in his eyes, and he brushed it to the side to see his passenger.

"You're making a good fair today, Nolan. I'm heading all the way to one hundred thirty-eighth and Layton," Oliver replied with a laugh.

"Oh, damn. All the way to the suburbs? What's the occasion? Got a new girl?" Nolan asked and pulled out into traffic.

"No, helping a friend," Oliver replied. He was getting a little annoyed that everyone seemed to think Chelsea was his new 'girl'. It was offensive to even put Chelsea in the same category as all the women he'd slept with. It was Chelsea, why couldn't they see how different she was?

Oliver sat quietly in the back of the cab and thought about the accident again. He still hadn't managed to get behind the wheel, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to. Kristin was dead, and although the semi-driver was the one charged with reckless driving and manslaughter, Oliver still blamed himself. If he hadn't been driving. If it had been Kristin instead, maybe she'd still be alive. He hadn't known Kristin very well, but he still believed she would have noticed the semi. She was just a last-minute date so he could go and watch Chelsea be happy with Ralph.

Even saying Ralph's name in his head caused the anger to well up again. Ralph was the perfect gentleman at the dance, and Chelsea seemed to have a wonderful time. She was laughing and joking, mostly with Oliver, but she seemed very happy. He didn't recall Ralph dancing with Chelsea, but surely they had danced.

As he thought about that night, he remembered dancing with Kristin a few times, but his mind was on Chelsea the whole night. He had put so much effort into finding someone to show her the time of her life. He had neglected his own date. That was the reason Kristin was crying on the way back to her house. It was the reason she hadn't wanted to drive her own car home.

They had decided they would take her car because Oliver's was a rust bucket which could barely make it to school and back. Let alone, travel across town to pick her up. So she picked him up, and he rode with her to the dance. It was all his fault. He had neglected her and ruined her prom then gotten her killed. If she had gone with someone else or if he hadn't ignored her most of the night, she'd still be alive. Even if the law didn't agree with him, her death was all his fault.

Remembering Chelsea in her gorgeous prom dress brought back more memories of her that he'd tried to push aside. She was gone for seven years. All he wanted to do for the last seven years was forget her, but whenever his thoughts drifted, all he could do was remember how much he missed her. She was more than a friend and meant more to him than any of the countless 'girls' he had used to try and forget her.

He wondered when Chelsea had gotten glasses. In school she'd never needed them, she'd always had perfect eyesight. Then he thought about her hair. When did she get into wearing ponytails? Her hair looked so pretty when she wore it down. He wasn't sure he liked the new look. What else had changed about her in the last seven years? She was a completely different person now, but all he could picture was the scrawny girl with the dirty blonde hair that he followed around like a lost puppy until the day she vanished.

Even when the girls in school started to notice him, and some of them were very persistent, school was a time for spending with Chelsea. The flirtatious girls often tried to get between him and Chelsea, but Oliver wanted no part of it. He watched over her like a hawk. She had saved him that day, and no one was going to be allowed to pick on her or insult her. In classes, he always tried to be her partner, not because she was smarter than he was, which she was, but because he needed to be near her, to keep her happy and safe.

He fondly remembered getting a call in the middle of one of his dates with one of the persistent school girls. Chelsea was worried because her mom and dad were an hour late getting home. So, Oliver left his date at the restaurant and sped to Chelsea's house to wait with her until they finally made it home. They had been out of town, and a flat tire had stranded them for over two hours until a nice trucker had given them a lift to town. Chelsea apologized profusely when they returned, while Oliver tried to convince her it wasn't a big deal. Thinking back on it now he couldn't even remember his dates name but being with Chelsea was something he'd never forget. She had needed him, and he was able to keep her calm until her parents came home. So much better than the possibility of having sex with a girl he couldn't even remember.

Finally, Nolan pulled up in front of a modest-looking two-story house. It looked vaguely familiar to Oliver. He'd been here twice. Once to convince Ralph to ask Chelsea to the prom then, after Oliver got out of the hospital, to see if Ralph had any idea where Chelsea was. The second time he'd only spoken with Ralph's parents who told him Ralph was missing as well.

Oliver paid Nolan and asked him to wait, and Nolan was more than willing to do as Oliver asked. He was usually the one to drive Oliver around, and Oliver always asked for him by name. Not driving sucked, but being at the whim of a cranky, uncaring person who was more interested in moving on to the next passenger, was worse.

Nolan talked to Oliver like a person, and Oliver tipped well, when he could. It was mutually beneficial to both of them. They had even struck up a mild friendship. Oliver knew about Nolan's wife and newborn child, the reason Nolan was driving a cab while taking night classes. And Nolan knew all about Oliver's crabby boss, his many 'girls' and even the accident that left him in so much pain. A few times, when Oliver had a few too many drinks, he had even regaled Nolan with tales of his savior, the amazing Chelsea Bauer.

Oliver approached the house, full of anxiety. If Ralph was still missing this would be a dead end. If the body had been found, surely it would have been on the news. Then on the other side, if they did know where Ralph was, he would need to find out where he lived and make the trip.

The trip here had taken nearly two hours with all the traffic, getting back would be worse. It might be possible to go see Ralph today if he didn't live in another town. He had to be back by, at the latest, eleven. It was now a little after noon. With the three or four hour trip back and an hour, at least, with Chelsea. There was no way he was going to miss out on speaking to her again. This would put him back at the bar at four maybe five, depending on how soon Chelsea kicked him out. So, if Ralph was within a reasonable distance, he could make it.

Oliver knocked on the door and heard movement from inside. After a few moments, a man opened the door. He was shorter than Oliver. He had red hair and freckles. The man's eyes opened widely when he saw Oliver then he slammed the door. It was Ralph.

"Go away!" he yelled.

"I just want to talk, Ralph," Oliver insisted.

"I have nothing to say to you or anyone else. Go away!" Ralph yelled from inside, and Oliver heard the door lock.

Oliver looked in the driveway and noticed the expensive new car. He looked around and saw the pristinely cared for lawn then noticed the house had been repainted. Maybe a year or two ago, but that wouldn't be cheap either. Ralphs parents were the type that struggled to get by. Even the brief glimpse inside had shown Oliver expensive furniture and a huge flat-screen TV. Where had all this money come from?

Oliver knocked on the door again.

"You need to tell me what's going on! Chelsea is back, and she wants answers! I'll keep coming until you give in!" Oliver shouted.

Oliver heard the door unlock. Then Ralph opened it slowly. His worried expression seemed more fearful now.

"Get inside," Ralph ordered as he opened the door wide. He eyed the cab driver suspiciously then shut the door and locked it again. "Who sent you? Was it Allison...I mean, Mrs. Bauer." He waited for an answer, but Oliver had no idea what he was talking about. Chelsea had sent him, not Allison. Why would Allison send him? "I haven't told a soul. I would never tell anyone! Who would believe me anyway? Right?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Oliver demanded.

"Wait...why are you here?" Ralph asked.

"I want to know what happened on prom night." Oliver took a step toward Ralph. "What do you mean you haven't told anyone? Haven't told anyone what?"

Ralph cowered and took a step backward. He now looked confused. Then the realization hit him. Oliver hadn't been sent by Allison. He had told Oliver more than he should have.

"You need to leave," Ralph said forcefully.

Oliver started to get angry. He picked Ralph up by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against the wall.

"You tried to...if you don't start talking..." The anger grew stronger. He tossed Ralph over to the couch then wondered how he had just thrown a man who looked like he weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds with such ease. He was strong, but he wasn't that strong.

"I'm very sorry. Who sent you?!" Ralph begged from the couch.

"Chelsea sent me!" Oliver yelled. "What the fuck happened?!"

"Please...I was a kid. A stupid, horny kid. I wasn't going to force her. I was just over-anxious. You gotta believe me. I wouldn't have raped her. I thought she was playing hard to get. Seriously! Please tell Chelsea I'm sorry and I'll never tell anyone about her," Ralph begged.

Oliver couldn't handle the words coming from Ralph's mouth. Ralph, most definitely, had intended to rape Chelsea. Oliver grabbed the wall of the pass-through and squeezed to stop himself from strangling Ralph. The wood underneath groaned while the plaster cracked and fell to the floor. Ralph's fear turned to terror.

"You're one of them! You're here to kill me! Please! I haven't said anything!" Ralph fell to the floor and got on his knees. He ripped open his shirt and Oliver saw the four long scars across his chest. "This is enough punishment, don't you think!?"

The scars went from his left shoulder down to his waist and, by the looks of them, they had been very deep. Life threateningly deep.

"Who did that?" Oliver asked, his anger subsiding.

"What?! You don't know?! FUCK! They'll kill me for sure now! I showed someone what she did! I'm so dead...I'm so dead!" Ralph got to his feet, walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass then poured what looked like whiskey into it. He gulped it down, then filled the glass again and guzzled it as well. Then Ralph turned to Oliver and pleaded. "You can't tell anyone what I said. I'm nuts. I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm insane. Nothing happened that night. I fell and cut myself on...on...on a pitchfork. Yes, that's what happened. Chelsea passed out in the backseat. Nothing happened."

Ralph raised his shaky hands to his head and pulled his hair back.

What the hell was going on? Oliver didn't feel angry any longer. This poor man had been tortured by someone and driven insane. Nothing Oliver could do to him would top this. He no longer felt the need to punish Ralph.

"I'll leave you alone, Ralph," Oliver said dejectedly as he turned to the door.

Ralph rushed to Oliver and grabbed his arm.

"Please, tell Chelsea I'm sorry. I just want to forget that night and don't tell Allison what I said. Please. Please!" Ralph begged.

"I'm going to tell Chelsea, but that's it. If Chelsea tells her mom, I can't do anything about it." Oliver forcefully removed his arm from Ralph's hands, and the poor man fell on his hands and pushed his head against the floor. He started blubbering, and Oliver caught some of it as he left.

"I wish I'd never met Chelsea. Please, I never want to see that...thing, ever again," Ralph bawled. There was more, but the rest Oliver couldn't make out. Something about a snake and a wolf but it was just more ramblings as far as Oliver could tell.

Oliver walked out the door, more confused than ever. Who had tortured Ralph and what needed to be kept a secret? The torture? None of it made any sense, but he had learned what he came here for. Ralph was very much alive, insane, but alive. Chelsea hadn't killed him and probably hadn't killed her father either.

Oliver's mood lifted as he got into the cab. He told Nolan the address for Chelsea's house. In a few hours, he'd be on her doorstep with the wonderful news. Ralph was alive!

# Chapter 5

When Oliver arrived at Chelsea's building, the doormen let him in without even asking who he was. The staff at the front desk smiled at him when he went by, and even the man at the elevator greeted him by name. Once at Chelsea's door, he went to knock but the door opened before he could. Chelsea looked worried. She clasped her hands in front of her, and her eyes begged for Oliver to save her.

"He's alive," Oliver said with a huge grin.

Chelsea lept at him and threw her arms around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes, and Oliver had to bend over to keep from lifting her up. He wanted to hug her back but knew it was wrong. In a second, she would realize what she was doing. Any second now...

"Oh, shit!" Chelsea released him and walked to the living room. She looked more worried than when Oliver had opened the door.

"That wasn't me," Oliver laughed. "You did that one."

"I know. I know." Chelsea replied and pulled her hair from her ponytail. She took off her glasses and set them on the table. She ran her fingers through her hair, and Oliver couldn't remember seeing anyone so beautiful. The expensive-looking dress she wore today had crisscross straps going down each side, leaving plenty of skin visible. It fit tightly on her body, and the black fabric with gold trim made it look like something you wore to meet a foreign dignitary. She was positively gorgeous!

"You sure are dressed up fancy. Going somewhere?" Oliver asked with a laugh. He had to say something. He couldn't think of Chelsea that way. She was like his sister. He'd never use her like that.

"I had a meeting with a big client this morning. Let me change," she grabbed her glasses and pulled her hair back up into a ponytail as she headed up the stairs to the loft. She'd been so overjoyed by Oliver's news, then so confused after hugging Oliver that she had completely forgotten she was trying to make herself look less attractive around him. Oliver showing up so early was a surprise as well. She hadn't expected him for another few hours.

Chelsea quickly threw on a baggy pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt then put her glasses back on. She pulled her ponytail tight and looked in the mirror. "Yep, boring," she said to herself then started back down, barefoot.

As she neared the main floor, she wondered. Why hadn't she felt hunger when she hugged Oliver? It felt...good...too good. It actually felt better than good...she felt safe.

Oliver watched her descend the stairs and realized, his little Chelsea had not only grown up, she'd become a very beautiful woman. Chelsea deserved a man much better than Ralph. How had he ever thought Ralph deserved this goddess? She deserved a man who respected her and would treat her like a queen. Someone who would do anything for her. Someone worthy of such a kind, intelligent, compassionate, and very beautiful woman. Was there any man worthy of her?

"So, what did you find out?" Chelsea asked. As she walked toward Oliver, she pushed on the bridge of her glasses to slide them up.

"Not much, actually," Oliver said disappointedly. "Ralph is living in his parents' house. I think he's nuts. He talked about wolves and snakes. He has this scar. Well, four scars, across his chest. Claims he fell on a pitchfork. Can you believe that? Where the hell did he find a pitchfork to fall on? Do people even have pitchforks anymore?"

Chelsea stopped walking. Her face went white.

"You ok, Chels? You look like you've seen a ghost," Oliver said as he stood.

"Yeah. No. I mean, I'm ok," she fumbled.

"You should have heard him rant. About people coming to kill him if he talked. He's freaking paranoid. He thought I was sent by your mother. He begged me not to tell anyone. The funny part is, he didn't say anything I'd want to tell anyone except you." Oliver shrugged it off, but Chelsea knew. Oliver had heard enough to catch The Order's attention. Ralph must have been paid off by her mom, but he blabbed anyway. What if Ralph had told someone else?

"You can't tell anyone what Ralph said. No one else, just me," Chelsea begged.

"Why? I don't understand. What the hell is going on, Chels?" Oliver asked.

"I need to talk to mom. Something about this is wrong. There's a lot she's not telling me." Chelsea started walking again then sat on the couch and Oliver joined her.

"I can talk to her. I don't mind," Oliver suggested. He didn't think Chelsea looked too happy about talking to her mother. She almost seemed scared, and he didn't blame her. Allison was scary.

"No, you can't do that. It's too dangerous for you to talk to her about any of this. You can't tell anyone," Chelsea pleaded. "Please tell me you'll never talk about this with anyone but me."

"It's a deal," he replied quickly. There was no debate. Chelsea wanted him to keep quiet. He'd keep quiet. He didn't relish the idea of talking to Allison anyway. The woman was downright scary. She was shorter than Chelsea by about two inches. Her figure was also not as full as Chelsea's, and she had much lighter blonde hair.

It wasn't her appearance that was scary. It was the way she talked, the way she always made Oliver feel like he was beneath her in every way imaginable. There was also that look in her eyes which reminded him of an animal ready to pounce on its prey. He had met her three times, and they had only exchanged a few words, but she terrified him as a kid.

"I'll go see her tomorrow. I want you to stay clear of my mother. You don't want to cross her," Chelsea warned Oliver

"Can I keep looking into things?" Oliver asked.

"Sure, I appreciate everything you've done already. If you still want to help, I won't say no." She smiled at him, and his spirits lifted. Then he had a thought. Chelsea had been at work all day. She must be hungry.

"You know I'm a horrible cook," Oliver said with a stupid grin. "This works out perfectly. I can make you dinner, and I can't possibly screw it up. All I have to do is open the fridge and put it on a plate." He stood up and headed toward the kitchen.

"You don't have to do that. I'm perfectly capable of getting my own food," she argued.

"I know, but it's the least I can do," he replied.

"Least you can do for what?" she asked.

"This is all my fault. Ralph, Kristin, you disappearing. It's all my fault." He opened the fridge and pulled out a large steak then opened several cupboards looking for a plate.

"I don't need a plate, Olly. Just bring it here," she sighed. "And I told you. It was bound to happen. You didn't do anything wrong."

"The hell I didn't," he countered. "I set you up with a rapist! Why didn't I see it?"

"Olly, stop! It's in the past. Just let it go," she demanded.

"Ok, ok, I won't bring it up again, but I am going to help you figure this out," Oliver stated.

Oliver sat beside her and handed her the bloody steak. She timidly grabbed it and took a nibble. She looked like she wanted to tear into it but was afraid to let him watch. Oliver could see her discomfort, so he made an excuse to give her a little privacy.

"I forgot the napkins. Sheesh. That's why I don't have nice furniture. I'm a slob," he said as he headed into the kitchen. "Ok, I have no furniture except for a bed, but my observation stands," he laughed while walking slowly.

"Don't you want anything? I have pans. You can cook yourself one," she said in between bites. Half the steak was gone before Oliver made it to the kitchen. She looked away to hide her face. What would Oliver think if he turned around and saw a monster?

Oliver listened carefully. He could hear her chewing, so he slowed even more. She needed privacy. Eating in the same room was a step in the right direction. He didn't want to push it.

"I ate on the way over here. Nolan, that's the cabby I use. We stopped by a drive-through and grabbed some burgers and fries. Not the most nutritious meal but I hadn't eaten all day." Oliver fiddled with the napkins until he heard the chewing stop. Then he turned around with the napkins and headed back. When he reached the couch, he set the napkins in her hand and sat beside her. "Feel better? Want another?"

"I'm good for now," she replied. She looked into his eyes and wished things could be different. He was so kind and treated her like no one ever had. Why did he have to be human? Not that it would matter. Oliver wasn't interested, anyway.

"Well, what should we do? I got a couple hours before I have to head home." He put his feet up on the coffee table, then leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "You don't have a TV. What do you do all night?"

"I work," she replied.

"All night?" he asked.

"Sometimes I read," she said with a playful laugh.

"Ok, at least that's something," he said. "We should go out sometime."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. Her stomach fluttered, and she felt very warm.

"Really?" she asked, hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe you'll find someone to keep you from getting lonely," he smirked at her. "I'm sure there's someone out there for you. I'm just not going to set you up anymore. My taste in men is horrible."

Her spirits came crashing down. It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under her then laughed when she fell.

"I'm busy, not lonely. Besides. I have you," she said, trying to hide her disappointment while throwing out a hint. A hint Oliver was oblivious to, just as he always was.

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing. I'm me. I'm boring, and I stink," he laughed. Not that he would mind keeping Chelsea company. He just felt she might want another kind of company rather than a tag-along brother. She was a beautiful woman. Surely she wanted a man.

"You smell fine, Olly. Speaking of which. Do you mind if I take a shower quick? I left some new files I got from a friend on the kitchen counter. Can you look them over and see what I'm missing?" Chelsea asked as she stood. She wasn't really asking Oliver's permission. She was just being polite. She was taking a shower anyway. She'd had a long day trying to acquire the files then spent hours looking them over with no results. A warm relaxing shower was exactly what she needed to unwind and get her mind off of Oliver. Then she had a strange thought. Maybe it should be a cold shower. She almost laughed then Oliver spoke.

"You have friends?" Oliver teased.

"Yes, I have friends. I also have business acquaintances. The guy who gave me these was a little of both," she said, feeling vindicated as she made her way to the bathroom. She pulled her hair out of the ponytail, and Oliver looked on in admiration. She was positively gorgeous. Why didn't she have a man? Maybe she wasn't looking? That had to be it. What man could turn her down? What man wouldn't buy her the world just to see her smile?

"Was he cute?" Oliver teased.

"He's in his sixties," she replied with a laugh.

"But was he cute?" Oliver asked again as he got up and headed toward the kitchen to grab the files.

"If I was looking to date my grandpa," she said while rolling her eyes. "Stop, Olly. I'm not looking for a man. I've got way more important things on my mind." She stood at the doorway to the bathroom, not wanting to quit this playful banter. It was fun to joke around with Oliver. It made her feel like everything was normal, even when her life was falling apart.

"Go take your shower. I'll quit talking about guys. Ok?" he relented and picked up the new files.

"Thank you," she said with a smile then shut the door.

Oliver heard the shower turn on as he made his way back to the couch. The files looked like official police records. How had she gotten her hands on these? And a coroner's report? How the hell had she pulled this off?

The police didn't just hand things like this over, especially when the case was never solved. Then he realized how Chelsea had gotten them. The dress she was wearing...it made sense now. Chelsea was beautiful and very impressive. In that dress, no man could have refused her. She'd charmed her way into getting these files. A grin spread on his face. She needed some happiness in her life. He'd convince her to give men another chance when this was all over. She deserved someone who could make her happy.

Oliver started reading through the files and for the most part, found exactly what he expected. Then he got to the coroner's report and found things he was not expecting. One paragraph stood out as particularly odd.

The victim was eviscerated by some sort of blade made from animal bone or claws. DNA tests found no species match so it may have been a man-made material. The samples bear similarities to canine and reptile DNA, but there are marked differences that suggest it was some kind of created material.

Ralph had been mumbling about a wolf and a snake. Was Ralph not nuts? Oliver heard the shower shut off and waited to tell Chelsea what he'd found. The rest was standard police jargon used to describe a man who bled to death because of several dozen, very deep cuts. Then he remembered Ralph's chest. What if the same thing had been used to cut Ralph? Just as Chelsea emerged from the bathroom, the similarities came together in his head.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed. He startled Chelsea, and she nearly dropped the towel she was using to dry her hair.

"Don't scare me like that, Olly! Damn it! You nearly gave me a heart attack. What did you find?" she asked. Now that the initial shock was over, she was interested in why he had yelled.

"Have a seat. This is a big one," Oliver said. He seemed very excited. When Chelsea sat down, he started. "Ralph had the same marks on his chest that your father had all over his body. What if the same weapon was used to kill your father? That would mean the same person did it."

Chelsea's hope fell. Oliver didn't realize what he was saying. Although she hadn't seen Ralph's chest, she was pretty sure they did match. And if that was the case, she had killed her father. Her sadness became apparent to Oliver, and the jubilation over his discovery faded to worry.

"What's wrong? What did I say? Did I get it wrong?" Oliver begged for an answer.

"No, you got it right. The problem is, I think I did that to Ralph's chest. Which means I probably did kill my father."

She was so distracted by Oliver's revelation that she hadn't realized what she was telling Oliver. The fact that someone else saw the same pattern meant she wasn't wrong. Her father had been killed by someone very strong with sharp claws. She fit that description.

"What? How could you do that to Ralph?" Oliver paused, then corrected himself. "I mean I know why you would do that to Ralph, but how could you physically do it? What would you have used?"

She looked at Oliver with appreciation. He didn't care that she had cut Ralph. He didn't even blink an eye. It was perfectly acceptable to him that she had hurt Ralph.

"It's complicated," she replied. She waited for more questions.

"Alright," was Oliver's response. "That still doesn't mean you killed your father."

Why had he just accepted her non-explanation? And why was he so determined to prove she had done nothing wrong? It seemed like Oliver couldn't fathom the idea that she could be a killer. How wrong he was. She appreciated the sentiment, but he had no idea what she was capable of. Chelsea felt the overwhelming desire to tell Oliver the truth. She sat up straight and pulled her wet hair to the side. He would understand. He had to. She took a deep breath...then Oliver's phone rang.

"Damn it. It's work." Oliver picked up the call. "Yes. Fine! I'll be there in like ten minutes. No. I just have to walk five blocks. Damnit, Anton, it's just five blocks! I'm not paying for a damn cab. Fine! I'll hurry."

"What was that about?" Chelsea asked.

"Just Anton being his usual, uptight self. He lost one hundred dollars and change somehow. He's certain it was my fault, but I'm pretty sure it was his. He needs me to come down and make sure I wasn't short last night. He can be such a dick when a penny is missing. One hundred plus dollars and he's impossible. I'm not that great at math, but it's just a cash drawer. I mean, come on. He owns the place." Oliver looked at Chelsea, and his frustration turned to curiosity. "You looked like you were going to say something when he called. What was it?" Oliver waited.

"It's nothing. We can talk about it later. I should get to bed anyway. I want to get up early to talk to mom." Chelsea stood up to make sure Oliver didn't press it, then walked toward the door.

"Night, Chels. Sleep well," he said and walked out the door.

Chelsea absentmindedly walked to the kitchen and grabbed out some pork. Her razor-sharp, wolf teeth came out, and she took a big bite. While she chewed, she realized how bad it would have been to tell Oliver. Why did she always do this when he was around? She felt compelled to do things she shouldn't, say things she shouldn't. She couldn't tell a human what she was. She most certainly couldn't kiss one. Why did Oliver always make her act so stupid?

These rules had kept her kind hidden for centuries. She'd already put everyone in danger by attacking Ralph. True, he deserved it, and Oliver approved, but still. Then she remembered how Oliver didn't even flinch at the fact she had hurt Ralph, and it made her smile. Chelsea turned and saw her reflection in the stainless steel fridge door. Her sharp fangs, inside a smiling mouth. Her face covered in blood. Those yellow reptilian eyes that appeared when she fed even terrified her. Oliver might be fine with hurting Ralph, but he'd run screaming if he ever saw her like this. She couldn't tell Oliver. Even Oliver wouldn't understand this.

# Chapter 6

Oliver stormed into the bar and quickly headed around the counter. He was angry. He had planned on spending time with Chelsea tonight. By the time he was done fixing Anton's mess, it would be too late. Besides, Chelsea said she was heading to bed. This was all Anton's fault!

"Let me have a look," Oliver said condescendingly. He grabbed the sheet of paper from last night and the one from today. It took him two seconds to find the mistake. "You transposed two numbers. That should be a four and the other one a two. You have the two in the hundreds when it should be in the tens place. The four should be the hundreds. The rest is probably in there too. Just double-check the numbers to make sure you copied them correctly." He started upstairs.

"Where you going?" Anton asked angrily.

"I had a rough day, and just when it was starting to turn around, you called. I don't have to work for a few hours. I'm going to go take a shower and relax," Oliver said then turned and headed up the stairs. Before he could even open the door, his phone rang. His heart lept. Maybe Chelsea changed her mind about going to bed? Then he read the name. Katarina. His mood sunk, but he answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"Meet me in the alley behind the bar," was all she said then she hung up.

"This day just keeps getting better and better," he said sarcastically. Oliver stomped back down the stairs then remembered Anton was in the bar. He needed to slip out back into the alley without making him suspicious. Calmly he walked around the stairs and through the door to the alley, while Anton was helping a customer. Once in the alley, he saw Katarina in a trench coat standing against a wall.

"I figured if you like trench coats I could use that for a little fun." She undid the waist tie and opened the coat. Underneath she had nothing on.

"Katarina, we need to talk," Oliver said while looking away from her.

"Talk? I was hoping for something more entertaining," she said seductively while she put her hands on the back of his neck and tried to pull him in for a kiss. He stiffened and resisted her advances. "What's wrong?" she asked disheartened.

"This needs to stop. It's gone on too long," he lied. It had nothing to do with her at all. Chelsea was back. He wanted to spend all his free time with her. Even a night with Katarina was uninteresting. He'd rather spend his time working on Chelsea's problem than pleasing an oversexed wife with a husband who couldn't keep her satisfied.

"That's it?! That blonde just walks into the bar, and we're over?!" she yelled while tying up her coat.

"It's just getting too complicated. I think Anton is suspicious." Oliver lied again, but he didn't want to hurt Katarina's feelings. Chelsea was just more important.

"That buffoon couldn't find his ass with both hands! It's that girl!" she screamed.

"It's over Katarina. Just let it end. We had fun, but it's over," Oliver said calmly. She needed to understand that they would never be together again.

"You don't get to tell me it's over! I'll make you pay for this!" She huffed and walked back down the alley.

"Katarina. Don't be like that!" he half-heartedly yelled after her. What was she going to do? Tell Anton? That would cost her the cushy life she was used to. She'd have nothing without Anton. In fact, telling Anton would probably cost her everything. He might kill her, as well.

Oliver walked back inside, and Anton stared at him angrily as Oliver walked back up the stairs. He fumbled for his keys and unlocked the door to his loft.

"Five minutes of my life I'll never get back," he complained and went inside.

Once inside, he threw his keys on the kitchen counter and noticed a bottle of vodka. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the unopened serving-sized bottle and put it back on the counter. He hadn't needed a drink all day. The pain had been manageable, a minor discomfort. Like sore muscles after lifting weights, not the burning and stabbing sensations he was used to now.

He started to take his shirt off before jumping in the shower. Then a thought occurred to him. He quickly pulled his shirt back on and headed back to the kitchen. After searching through a few drawers, he pulled out a laptop, plugged it in, and set it on the kitchen counter. He needed to find another lead. Chelsea was depending on him. Allison would say nothing.

If she had intended on telling Chelsea anything she would have done so by now. He needed something to make Allison talk. He would abide by Chelsea's rules and not confront Allison himself, but Chelsea could use any information he found.

While he searched through the pages on Allison Bauer, he noticed an address for her home. She still lived in the same place Chelsea grew up. He had never been inside, even the night he comforted Chelsea it had been on the front step, but he knew where it was. It was just outside of town, a trip that would take most of the day. A few hours to get there, time to snoop around then a few hours to get back, but he needed to go there. Surely a woman like Allison would keep anything damning there. She had tortured and threatened Ralph, at least it seemed like she had. There must be something there Chelsea could use to make her mother tell her the truth.

Oliver left the laptop and rushed downstairs to the bar. Two men and a woman, dressed in what appeared to be some sort of military outfits were watching him as he went down the stairs. Something about the way they stared made him feel uneasy. Their outfits were blue and pressed neatly. They also wore matching black jackets, but there were no markings on any of their clothing, no bars, no medals, it was just the style that made him think of the military. The fact that all three of them were staring at him at once was also very unnerving. He put them out of his mind as he reached the bar. Anton was polishing a glass and looked rather distraught.

"I need the day off tomorrow," Oliver stated.

"What?" Anton asked, startled.

"You get every Thursday off. I just need one day. Maybe you can ask Katarina to close? She's been learning quite a bit," Oliver added. He knew Anton would say no and be forced to close himself. Anton always said no to Katarina closing.

"I'm sure she's been learning a lot," Anton replied angrily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Oliver asked, hoping that Anton wasn't implying what he thought he was implying.

"Fine. I'll watch over her while she closes. See just how much she's learned," Anton replied snidely.

Great! Anton was suspicious, and Katarina had been more interested in Oliver than learning how to close. He had really put his foot in his mouth this time. Anton had refused every time she had brought it up. Hopefully, she could muddle her way through it. She wasn't the most intelligent woman, maybe Anton would realize she just had no knack for numbers.

"Thanks," Oliver said, then turned and headed back upstairs. The three military people were gone. Somehow, in the few minutes he had spoken with Anton, they had disappeared. They were sitting right by the door leading to the alley. Not the best place to put a door leading out, but in Anton's bar it had other uses. This was the door the unsavory types used to get to the alley for their super-secret meetings with Anton. Oliver wasn't interested in Anton's business. He just knew why Anton had put the door there. The three had probably left through the alley door.

When he reentered his loft, he noticed all the kitchen drawers were open, and so was a window that led to the fire escape. His laptop was gone from the counter but other than that he didn't notice anything else missing. His phone was still where he had left it, although it was facing the other direction. The three people had ransacked his apartment. Why? Why would they want his laptop? Their clothes were too clean and stiff for them to be thieves. Why would three military types want to steal his laptop?

Thankfully he had nothing about Chelsea's investigation in his apartment. The only thing vaguely related to what they were looking into were the pages on Allison he had left open. Despite feeling like these people had found nothing, he made a mental note to tell Chelsea about it. It might have nothing to do with her investigation, but it was an oddity that needed mentioning.

# Chapter 7

The next morning, as the sun rose, Chelsea walked into her mother's office building. She wore a modest grey dress suit with a frilly white blouse underneath. She wore this outfit intentionally. Not that she didn't like it. It was just one of her mother's favorites. Allison liked respectful, clean-cut, business attire. Chelsea's hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she wore her glasses.

Her mother's building was large, with a lot of security. Anyone else would have thought national secrets were being kept in this building due to the armed security present all over the main floor, but Chelsea knew better. A rich lamia had plenty of resources to protect herself from The Order. An assault on this building or Allison's home would meet with heavy resistance. The Order was bloodthirsty and determined, but even they wouldn't risk losing half their force in a feeble attempt to capture one lamia. By the time they made their way through the armed guards, Allison would be long gone.

Despite the heavy security, Chelsea made her way through the office freely. Not a single guard even gave her a sideways look. It was common knowledge that Chelsea was Allison's only remaining family. Though most of them were human, only the most trusted were werewolves, their loyalty was with the Bauer family. A family that paid them a very generous salary.

As Chelsea rode the elevator up to her mother's office, she fiddled with her glasses. She hated wearing them, but her mother insisted. The Order was looking for non-humans. Most non-humans had no need for glasses. The ponytail, however, had been her idea. She needed to look less attractive around humans, especially Oliver. Despite her feelings for him and her inability to stop herself, or perhaps it was because of these reasons, she had to dress down whenever he was there.

When Chelsea finally arrived at Allison's office, she walked in without knocking. Her mother looked up and smiled.

Allison wore a dark blue dress suit similar in style to Chelsea's. This, coupled with similar facial features, made the connection as mother and daughter obvious to anyone. Her blouse underneath was much plainer than Chelsea's, but Allison never could keep Chelsea from putting a little frill in her wardrobe.

"Honey, you didn't tell me you were coming by today. I would have set aside time for lunch or a spa day...something," she said as she stood up and rushed to hug her daughter.

Chelsea returned the hug but not as warmly as she normally would have. Allison immediately sensed the tension.

"What's wrong? Did that Oliver do something again? So, help me I'll rip his head off..." she trailed off while she clenched her fists at her sides.

"If you ever touch Oliver!" Chelsea felt the change coming on. Anger still made her lose control. She was not nearly as controlled as her mother, nor as willful as her father had been. Her eyes shifted, yellow and reptilian, and her skin shimmered a light grey color. She managed to keep her claws and fangs in, but Allison noticed.

"Sorry, dear. I forgot how fond you are of that human," Allison said, but it seemed more like an appeasement than an apology.

"How could you forget Oliver? I spoke about him every day while we were away. In school, I'd come home and tell you all about my crush on him." Chelsea played this down because Allison was not ready to hear that her daughter had fallen in love with a human. Chelsea had known she was in love with Oliver since grade school. She wasn't sure when it happened, nor did she have any control over it. She was in love with Oliver then, and nothing had changed.

"I thought it was a phase," Allison evaded. Truthfully, she knew it wasn't a phase. The look on Chelsea's face told her how much her daughter cared for the human. She just hoped Oliver would make a mistake or grow uninterested, but after all this time, it still hadn't happened. It seemed nothing that human did could dissuade Chelsea, even his lack of interest seemed to strengthen her daughter's resolve to fawn over him.

"Oliver would never hurt me," Chelsea said.

"I just get so worked up after what happened with that red-haired boy. I'm a little overprotective." She turned, walked to her desk, and leaned on the edge.

"That's what I'm here to talk about," Chelsea stated, trying to get to the reason for her visit.

"Me being overprotective?" Allison asked with a devious look on her face. She knew exactly what her daughter was trying to get at.

"No. Sheesh mom. I'm here to talk about Ralph. That red-haired boy," she said spitefully.

"Why? He's gone." Allison fidgeted a little. It was how Chelsea could tell when she was lying or hiding something. She always looked to the side and played with her dress or her shirt, whatever her hands could find. Come to think of it. This was probably where she'd gotten her own nervous habit from.

"No, he's not. I know what you did, mother," she said angrily.

"He saw what you were. We had to. We could have just killed him. Your father wanted to, but I wouldn't let him. After some arguing, your father caved. We paid him off and threatened him. That's it. I swear." Allison was looking right into Chelsea's eyes the whole time. She wasn't lying about this.

"I understand that, but why lie to me about it? I've gone seven years believing I killed him. Why would you let me go through that?" Chelsea begged for an explanation which might help her understand her mother's motives.

Allison shifted again and looked at a picture on the wall.

"I did tell you. You just didn't believe me," she replied.

She wasn't lying about telling Chelsea, although she didn't argue very adamantly and would often change the subject. No, that part was true. There was something else she wasn't saying. Something else she wouldn't say.

"Tell me everything," Chelsea demanded.

"There's nothing more to tell. We made sure he'd never talk and left. That's it." Allison still wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"It has something to do with dad. You're hiding something," Chelsea badgered.

"Let it go, love. It's not important. Remember the good times with your father. He was angry and hateful those last few years. Leave it be, please," Allison begged.

"Tell me, mother!" she yelled. Her skin shimmered grey again.

"I'm sorry. This is for your own good. Your father's death was his own fault. That is all I am willing to say." She looked Chelsea right in the eyes while she said it. This part, the part she was willing to talk about, was the truth.

"I'll find out eventually. You can't keep it a secret forever." Chelsea strode toward the door angrily and pulled it open.

"Please let it go, dear. This will only cause you pain. I'm begging you." Allison stood up and took a step toward her daughter, then changed her mind.

Chelsea was an amazing woman, stronger than her, faster than her, better than her in every way. She could not have hoped for a more perfect daughter. If she could only learn to control it better.

"I killed dad, didn't I?" Chelsea asked, still holding on to the doorknob but she had turned to face her mother.

Allison stood tall and looked Chelsea right in the eyes.

"You did not kill your father. I've told you a million times. It wasn't you. It was his own fault. Now please, let it go." Allison smiled and looked at her daughter kindly. "When you're done being upset with me maybe we can spend some time together. Please don't be a stranger. I love you, and always will. Don't let your time be monopolized by that human. He's not good enough for you."

"You don't know Oliver mom. He'd do anything for me. He'd tell me if he knew the truth. Oliver cares about me." Chelsea's eyes watered up. Why wouldn't her mother just tell her the truth? She was so angry with her mother, but she couldn't hate her. It was so frustrating. She felt like crying. Her mother had helped her when no one else could. Even her father had failed to teach her how to control the change. She couldn't hate her mother no matter how hard she wanted to.

"I hope your right about him, dear, but I'm still not telling you." Allison had said enough. Chelsea would push and push, but this information Allison wasn't willing to give her. It would only harm Chelsea, and the poor girl had been through enough. She walked back to her desk and resumed her work.

"I love you too, mom," Chelsea said and walked out. She wiped the tears from her face as she headed downstairs. She had a big day today. She couldn't go to her meetings crying.

She smiled kindly to the two guards at the front door as she left, then headed down the sidewalk toward her own office. It was at least a dozen blocks, but the walk would allow her to clear her head. Before she got to the end of the block, a black sedan with darkened windows pulled up, and the passenger side door in the back opened. Inside was Katarina in a tacky, expensive-looking outfit with gold sparkles and skin-tight pants.

"Chelsea, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Chelsea replied.

"Hop in. I need to talk to you about Oliver," she said with a worried look on her face. "There's a problem."

"What about Oliver? Is he ok?" Chelsea begged. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her stomach felt sick.

"He'll be ok. Hop in," she said as she scooted over and patted the seat.

Chelsea got into the car and noticed her mom's bodyguards speaking to a small Middle Eastern woman then speaking into their suit sleeves. As soon as her door was shut it locked and the car took off.

"What's going on?" Chelsea asked.

"You've pissed off a very dangerous woman," Katarina said angrily. She knocked on the glass, separating the passenger compartment from the driver. "To the yard," she ordered.

Chelsea wasn't sure what to do. She couldn't very well fight these people in a car in the middle of a busy street. Someone would have a cellphone to take pictures of the grotesque monster that tore two people apart. She needed to wait until they were somewhere quieter. Chelsea calmed herself just like her mother had shown her. She breathed in deliberately and kept count of her breaths to distract herself.

After about ten minutes, they pulled into what looked like a junkyard. It looked abandoned, but there were still several crushed, and broken cars piled up around the otherwise empty yard. Katarina got out and walked around to Chelsea's side. A large, dirty, greasy-looking man pulled the door open. A second man stood behind him. This man didn't look much cleaner, and behind them both was Katarina.

"Get her out. I want to let her know why she's going to die," Katarina said spitefully.

The men grabbed Chelsea and forced her out. She continued counting her breaths while they forced her to one side of the yard. She needed to make sure no one could see her. There could be no witnesses. Katarina and these two men would certainly die if they tried to kill her, but she didn't want to kill someone for taking a picture. She couldn't do that. It went against everything she believed in. She would defend herself, but that was all.

"You should have stayed gone. I don't know who you are and I don't care. You should have stayed away from Oliver. He's mine!" Katarina put her hands on the two disgusting men and spoke to them. "Make it slow. She needs to understand what she's done."

Chelsea felt it coming. It didn't matter if people were watching now, she couldn't stop it. The fact that this woman thought she owned Oliver caused fury to rise inside Chelsea. Her eyes turned yellow, and she felt her teeth coming out, then a gunshot rang out through the junkyard.

"Step away from Ms. Bauer, or you will be shot!" a commanding man with a pistol shouted. Two men stood behind him holding assault rifles. The man in charge was smaller than the other two but clearly their superior. He pulled off his dark sunglasses to reveal a scar that went across his left eye. He was an older man with short hair and a neatly trimmed beard that was turning from black to grey. Although older, he looked to be in very good shape. His tightly fitting suit jacket barely disguised the muscular man underneath.

"Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my yard?!" Katarina yelled. Then she turned to her lackeys. "Kill her first."

The older man didn't give a second warning. He shot the two men beside Katarina in the head. They fell to the ground, and Katarina screamed.

"You have no idea who you're messing with. My husband..." she started, but she was cut off by the older man.

"Katarina Burgress, I suggest you stay clear of Ms. Bauer from now on. It would be a shame if you and your husband, Anton, had an accident, don't you think?" The man walked over to Chelsea, and she smiled when he held out his hand for her.

"I had that, Uncle Bernard," Chelsea said with a smile.

"I'm sure you did, ma'am, but your mother doesn't want you to...over exert yourself," he said with a wink.

Chelsea smiled as she clung to the man's arms. Bernard had worked for her mother for as long as Chelsea could remember. Even though he was her uncle, he was also in charge of security for their family. When her father died, Bernard became the alpha for the pack which guarded the Bauer family, and he took the position very seriously.

Although they were brothers, Bernard was not at all like Chelsea's father. Randal had been quick to anger, easy to annoy, and generally unkind to most people.

Bernard was respectful in public, but in private, at her mother's home, he was kind and even spoiled Chelsea when he could. Bernard always watched out for her, just like today. Chelsea couldn't remember a time when Bernard hadn't been watching out for her. He had even tried to help her learn to hunt several times, but it always ended poorly. Chelsea didn't have the control necessary to hunt like a werewolf. She would lose control and blackout every time. Despite this, Bernard was always right there, offering her support and kindness when she woke up. He kept encouraging her. 'Next time I'm sure you'll do better' he kept telling her even though she kept failing.

"Did mother send you?" Chelsea prodded.

"She would have if I had told her. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?" he asked, remaining stiff. He did let a smile slip out, but only Chelsea could see it.

"This isn't my mess. Well...I guess it sort of is," she said dejectedly.

"Do you mind speaking with your mother before you go?" he asked. "You need to explain what happened. If I have to do it, she'll just be more upset."

"Of course," Chelsea replied.

It didn't take long for them to return to Allison's office and ride the elevator to the top floor. The whole time Chelsea was nervous. Her mother would go ballistic. She'd talk about sending her away again. To their house in the remote woods of Canada. The one she'd spent seven years at. She wouldn't go back. She could control herself...well mostly. She was not about to lose Oliver again. She wouldn't go!

"I hear there was an incident?" Allison asked from behind her desk as Chelsea entered the room. Apparently someone had told Allison what happened. She looked at Chelsea like she was a child. Bernard bowed then shut the doors as he left. The other two bodyguards stayed inside the room.

"It wasn't a big deal, mom. A woman Oliver knows..." She realized her mistake the second she said it.

"So this is Oliver's fault?" The volume of Allison's voice was rising.

"It's not a big deal, mom," Chelsea assured her.

"Not a big deal?!" She was yelling now. Allison looked at the bodyguards. "Bring me Oliver!"

Chelsea started to get angry. Her eyes turned reptilian.

"So, help me, mother. If you so much as threaten Oliver..." She leaned on the desk, and her claws came out. They dug their way into the desk, and Allison looked frightened.

The two bodyguards shot forward and grabbed Chelsea's arms.

"Stop!" Allison yelled, but it was too late.

Chelsea tossed one of them against the wall like a rag doll. The sound of his arm breaking when he hit the solid wall echoed through the office. The second turned into his werewolf form. His face changed, and the bones seemed more prominent around his cheeks, nose, and forehead. His teeth were replaced by fangs similar to Chelsea's, and his eyes started to glow golden. Then he grabbed Chelsea's throat with his claws. She threw him just as easily against the same wall, and he fell right on top of his friend. Bernard shot into the room, took one look at Chelsea's bleeding neck, and started yelling at the two guards.

"Do you have a death wish?! If she doesn't kill you, I WILL!" he chastised in a deep gravelly voice that sounded like a growl. He looked furious. His eyes turned golden, and Chelsea recognized the struggle to stop his change. It made Chelsea feel a little better. Her mother and father controlled their changes well, but Bernard...she had never seen anything ruffle his feathers, until now. His face started to contort to look like that of a wolf, and she could have sworn she saw his fangs pop out for a second, then it was gone. "I'm so sorry, Chelsea," he said when he had calmed his inner torment.

Allison looked annoyed. She walked around the desk and stood beside Bernard.

"I want them out of here. Don't kill them, but they are never to come within a hundred feet of me or my daughter again! So help me...if they do..." Allison's eyes shifted to yellow and reptilian, her skin shimmered and turned grey then scales covered Allison's skin except for near her face. Small jagged teeth filled her mouth. They looked different than Chelsea's. They were small, razor-sharp teeth, like that of a piranha, whereas Chelsea's looked like large wolf teeth.

"If they come back, I'll kill them before you even know they're here," Bernard announced then picked up both men and drug them to the door. Before he could leave, Allison stopped him.

"One more thing. Oliver Holduff is to be treated like Chelsea. Tell all your men. If anything happens to Oliver, I'll tell Chelsea exactly who is to blame." Allison walked back to her desk, and when her back was turned, Bernard flashed Chelsea a knowing smile. She smiled back at him, then quickly hid it.

"I apologize, dear. Human or not, he is your business. I don't like it, but you are a grown woman. I need to learn to see you that way. I'm very sorry." Allison didn't look at Chelsea, although, this time it wasn't because she was lying. She was ashamed.

"Thank you, mom. You have no idea how much that means to me." Chelsea was overjoyed, and it was plain to see when Allison finally looked up.

"I know you have a lot of work to do, and so do I. Please stop by and take me out for coffee sometime. I'll even talk about Oliver if you want," Allison said sadly. There was no way she could stop her daughter, nor her daughter's feelings. All she could do was be supportive and hope for the best. Her daughter was an amazing woman and an amazing lamia. She was no longer a child.

"I'd like that," Chelsea said then turned and walked out of the office happier than she'd been in a long time.

When Chelsea was gone the small Middle Eastern woman, the one Chelsea had seen earlier, stepped out of a closet. She was smaller than Allison in height and build. Her skin was light brown, and her features were sharp. She wore a tan dress suit very similar to Chelsea and Allison's, with a light blue shirt underneath. The woman had a huge smile on her face.

"Family drama. It's better than TV!" she exclaimed with excitement.

"What do you want, Miraven?" Allison asked, clearly annoyed with her presence.

A young guard came rushing into the room without knocking.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am! I had her in the waiting room, and she just vanished!" he apologized while walking quickly toward Miraven. "I'll escort her out."

Miraven crossed her arms and looked at Allison condescendingly.

"Don't worry, Kurt," Allison said. Her frustration became evident when she turned to her unwanted guest. "You couldn't have stopped her if you tried."

"That's right, _Kurt_ ," she said his name angrily then lifted one eyebrow. "You going to remove me forcefully?" She looked at him like she wanted to eat him up.

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks and looked to Allison for help.

"It's fine, Kurt. Just go back to your station. Forget you ever saw her," Allison said.

"Aww. That's no fun," Miraven said feigning disappointment. When Kurt had gone, and the door was shut, she spoke again much quieter. "He's cute. Can I borrow him for a few days?"

"No, Miraven! What do you want?!" Allison shouted at her.

"I was just in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see how you were doing," she said as she walked over to Allison's desk and hopped up on it to sit down.

"We have chairs," Allison said. "And I really don't believe you were 'just in the neighborhood'. You want something."

"You paid me in full. I don't want anything from you," she said with an almost evil smile.

"So help me! If you even speak to Chelsea!" Allison said and stood up to face the woman.

"Now, now," Miraven said while holding her hands up. "This was all civilized, and you had to start shouting. I would never cross a lamia."

"Then, why are you here?" Allison's voice was lower, but the anger was still there.

"I'm doing a favor for someone else and, like I said, I was in the neighborhood. I wanted to see how your family life was getting along," she said with a devious smile. "And...I wanted to see Chelsea."

"You said..." Allison started to get angry again, but Miraven cut her off.

"See her, not speak to her. I just wanted to see the hybrid in person. And I gotta tell ya. She is spectacular!" Miraven looked enamored.

Allison's anger subsided, and she sat down again.

"So...how's Bernard?" Miraven asked with a stupid grin on her face.

"Leave it alone," Allison demanded.

"You know I can't do that," she looked almost kindly at Allison, but there was still a devious quality to her demeanor. "You rekindle your old flame yet?"

"No, that was a long time ago, and it was over the moment I chose Randal," Allison lied.

"Really? We're lying to each other now?" Miraven asked.

"Leave it alone, Miraven," Allison snapped. "It's your fault."

"What did I do? You asked for a werewolf husband. I got you two." Her huge grin annoyed Allison even more.

"Two brothers who nearly killed each other fighting over me." Allison looked regretful, and Miraven caught it. "Bernard would have killed Randal if I would have let him."

"It's not my fault you chose the wrong brother. So," she said and paused for dramatic effect. "If you had known you were pregnant with Bernard's child, would you have still chosen Randal? Oh! Wait! Better question! If you knew what Randal was really like, would you have chosen him?"

"Leave it ALONE!" Allison shouted.

Kurt knocked on the door.

"Is everything alright in there, Mrs. Bauer?" he asked meekly.

"I'm fine, Kurt," she replied.

"I still can't understand why you chose Randal? I mean, seriously, have you seen Bernard? What am I saying? Of course, you have. You were sleeping with him before I brought you Randal." Miraven looked at Allison with a self-gratified smile and crossed her arms.

"I said, leave it alone," Allison said quietly and full of frustration and regret.

"Have you told Chelsea yet?" Miraven looked like she might burst with excitement. "Let me! Let me!"

"You are never to speak to Chelsea as long as I live. Do you understand the words I'm saying to you? It's not a hard concept to grasp!" Allison said through gritted teeth as she stood up once again to emphasize her point.

"As long as you live. Got it," Miraven said with a cunning look. "You should really tell Chelsea what her father..." she slapped her hands over her mouth then removed them and smiled. "I mean Randal...did."

"Damn it, Miraven. Just leave it alone," Allison begged. "Sometimes I swear you've lost your mind. You come here to see if I will get mad enough to try and kill you."

"You know what they say? With great wisdom comes great insanity," Miraven scrunched up her face and looked at Allison. "That's what they say, right?"

"Just go," Allison pleaded.

"Ok, I have to get back to my favor anyway. It was nice seeing you and always remember. The lazy man blames others for his failures. The ambitious one blames himself and strives to do better." She smirked and hopped off the desk.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Allison asked, frustrated, and worn out from this conversation. It was like arguing with a child. No matter how hard you try, the child always thinks they've won.

"You're being the lazy man." She started to the door and stopped before opening it. "You're daughter deserves to know the truth. Aren't you tired of hiding things from her?"

"That's not what I'm doing," Allison argued. "I'm protecting her."

"From what?" Miraven asked. "If you're going to lie, make sure it's not to yourself."

Miraven made a show of opening the door then vanished.

As the door closed, Allison thought about Miraven's words. Her words didn't always mean what Miraven thought they did, and the woman was probably insane. But some of what Miraven had said was true. She wasn't protecting Chelsea. She was hiding the truth to keep Chelsea from getting mad at her. She was protecting herself. 

# Chapter 8

At a little after ten, Oliver set out for his mission. He liked to call it a mission. In reality, it was more like a crime. Breaking into someone's home and stealing information was definitely a crime. Calling it a mission just helped ease his guilt. This was Allison, Chelsea's mother, but it needed to be done. Chelsea deserved the truth.

Nolan dropped Oliver at the gates of the large estate outside of town, and Oliver told him not to wait today. When Nolan's car was finally out of sight, Oliver started around the side. He'd been here a few times, and Chelsea had always been a little strange about him spending time in their home, so he had no idea what was in store for him.

As he made his way around, he noticed the small gap in the fence. He'd seen Chelsea use this secret entrance to get through the security fence once. When they were twenty minutes late for her curfew. It was a lot smaller than he remembered it being. He bent down and forced the opening a little wider. Even then, he barely squeezed through. His shirt tore but, for the most part, he got through unscathed.

Once he was through the fence, he searched the yard, but no one was there. He'd gotten lucky. Even so, he snuck to the back door. The yard was beautifully kept. There were flowers and hedges that all looked pristine and perfect, but there was not a single gardener or security person in site. This felt a little strange to Oliver. Why was Allison's home not guarded? Surely there would be someone around? Not that he wanted to get caught. It just seemed too easy. He turned the knob on the back door and, to his surprise, it wasn't locked. Now his brain was screaming TRAP!

Inside, the house was just as empty as the outside. The place was clean, and everything was expensive, just like Chelsea's place, but there was still no one in sight. Now if he could just find Allison's office or bedroom, someplace she might keep sensitive information.

He headed up the stairs and carefully looked through the first three rooms. They looked like guest bedrooms. There wasn't anything personal in any of them. Then he got to what he assumed was Allison's room. There were perfume bottles on the dresser, and the closet door was half-open, revealing many dress suits. He slipped inside the bedroom and shut the door quietly then started rummaging through the drawers. All he found was clothing.

Disheartened, he slipped back out and decided to try the last door. He opened it slowly and nearly jumped out of his skin when a man with a deep voice addressed him.

"Took you long enough, Oliver," Bernard said from a chair behind Allison's desk. He had his feet up on the desk and his hands behind his head. He didn't look angry, mostly amused.

"You know who I am?" he asked nervously. He thought about running, but the man knew his name. What good would that do?

"Chelsea has described you to a T. I gotta tell you though. You don't smell like she described. In fact, you smell like...I don't know what you smell like, but it's bad," Bernard laughed. The smell of Oliver was horrible. Even from this distance. Suddenly Bernard felt nervous, like he needed to run. He pushed the notion aside and concentrated on Oliver and breathing through his mouth, instead of his nose, to cut down on the stench.

"Sorry. It's a genetic thing...I think," Oliver replied. He stood there for a moment, then realized something. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"My men have been following you since you found Ralph," he replied.

"Were they the three military looking types that broke into my loft? Do you have my laptop?" Oliver asked.

"What? No. My men were given strict instructions to observe from a far. They would never have gone into the bar, let alone your loft." The man looked nervous for a moment then hid his apprehension. He stood up and held his hand out. "Name's Bernard. I'm Chelsea's guard dog," he said with a laugh. "Otherwise known as her uncle."

Oliver shook his hand, but he was still apprehensive. Why was Bernard not angry? He had broken in and intended to steal secrets. Bernard sat back down and smiled at Oliver.

"I know why you're here, but there are no records for what you're looking for," he said.

"You know what happened?" Oliver asked.

"Yes, I do, but it's not my place to tell you. The decision is up to Allison. Keep in mind. This won't help Chelsea. It might make things worse. If it were up to me, I would tell her." Bernard was serious now. His smile left, and he looked at Oliver sternly. "But that's not my call."

"I've heard it was Randal's fault. Is that true? Can you answer that?" Oliver asked. He couldn't get what he came for, but maybe he could get a clue.

Bernard put his hand to his forehead, trying to decide if he should tell this human a family secret. Then he remembered Chelsea's constant praise for this human. Oliver wouldn't hurt her. Oliver wouldn't tell anyone else what he'd found. Chelsea was in love with this dolt who couldn't see how much she adored him, but at least he was loyal.

"Yes. It was Randal's fault. If I had been in town, I would have..." Bernard looked like he wanted to strangle someone. "Never mind. It was his fault. Let's just leave it at that."

If he was in town what? Bernard was angry, really angry. Would he have helped kill his own brother? What could Randal have possibly done to garner so much hatred from his own brother?

"I'm sorry, but I can't drop this. So long as Chelsea wants to know the truth, I can't let it go," Oliver stated. He wasn't threatening the man, just informing him.

Bernard stood and walked over to Oliver.

"I understand. You seem exactly like she described you. A civilized start to a standoff. It's what I'd expect from you. Just keep one thing in mind." Bernard reached up and clamped his hand down on Oliver's large shoulder and squeezed hard. He didn't quite get the reaction he assumed he'd get. Most humans would have been frightened and in pain. Oliver seemed concerned but not in pain. He continued anyway. "If you hurt her, you and I will have some very uncivilized words in a dark alley."

The threat caused Oliver to swallow hard and look nervous. The physical threat seemed to go unnoticed, but the verbal one hit the mark.

"I understand, sir," Oliver said.

"Good. There's a car out front waiting to take you home." Bernard looked satisfied as he practically pushed Oliver out of Allison's office and shut the door behind him.

After some deliberation, he decided to call Allison. He picked up the house phone and hit the speed dial for Allison's office.

"Yes?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

"He went to your house, like we thought, but there's something else. I need to talk to you in person. I'll be in the office shortly. Please cancel your meetings for this afternoon. This is important." Bernard said.

"It's that urgent?" Allison asked. Her voice sounded shaky. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what Bernard wanted to talk about.

"It's that urgent," he replied.

"Ok, I'll cancel my meetings. Get here as soon as you can," she said, then hung up.

Bernard hit another button on the phone, and soon a man answered.

"Get up here," he ordered, then hung up the phone.

A man only a little older than Oliver and much thinner arrived in the room within seconds.

"Get more men to the house. I want at least four with Allison at all times and double Chelsea's guard...no triple it. I don't want Chelsea to walk across the street without ten eyes on her. Hire more wolves if you need to but don't let her out of your site." Bernard waited to make sure his orders were understood.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," the man said.

"And one more thing. Detain anyone suspicious. If you even glimpse an Order badge, kill them." He almost let the man go then he remembered Chelsea's wishes. "Also, keep Oliver under surveillance. I don't like it, but my niece adores him. I suppose we have to protect him too."

"Yes, sir," the man replied, then turned and headed out.

After the young man was gone, Bernard sat there pondering for a moment then slammed his fists into the desk before heading out to meet with Allison.

# Chapter 9

When the driver dropped Oliver off at the bar, Oliver hovered for a minute then went straight to Chelsea's building. He wasn't sure she'd be home yet, but it was nearly five. If she wasn't, he'd wait. The trip had been much shorter and a lot less informative than he had originally planned, but on the bright side, that left more time to spend with Chelsea.

When he approached the front door, the two doormen smiled and nodded at him. This time Oliver caught a glimpse of a handgun in a holster on one of the doormen. These weren't normal doormen. They were security in disguise, and there were a lot of them now. Her employees...security guards, whatever they were had doubled or maybe even tripled in number. What the hell was going on? Why did Chelsea need armed security?

He paid attention to the people inside as he made his way to the elevator. The woman behind the counter smiled, but she also had a gun carefully hidden in her suit jacket. Even the elevator operator had one. Was Chelsea in trouble? Oliver's heart raced when he finally got off at Chelsea's floor. He nearly sprinted to the door and knocked. He heard the fridge shut and someone with bare feet running across the tile floor of the kitchen. Then he heard this person walk up the stairs. He grinned. It had to be Chelsea. She was fine.

"Be there in a minute!" she yelled. Then more footsteps down the stairs and the door unlocked. She opened the door as she straightened her clothes and ponytail then her face lit up. "Olly?! You're early."

Oliver walked by her as she held the door.

"You missed a spot," he said, pointing to her left cheek while hiding the smirk on his face. She shut the door and ran to the kitchen. Chelsea looked into the reflective surface of the fridge and huffed.

"You little bastard!" she said with a smile.

"Gotcha!" he laughed.

"How did you even know I was eating?" she asked with a laugh. She had rushed to change her clothes as soon as she realized Oliver was knocking and was now in plain grey sweat pants and a baggy long-sleeved shirt. She still had no shoes on, but she really didn't like wearing shoes. Her fake glasses and her ponytail were in place as well.

"A good guess," he said and plopped down on the couch. He felt strangely comfortable here now. "What did you find out today? I had a very strange run-in with your uncle. Oh, and some weird military people ransacked my apartment and stole my laptop."

Chelsea hurried over to the couch, and the fear on her face was evident.

"What did they look like?!" she demanded.

"Military types. Stiff jackets, plain blue shirts, all clean and ironed. You know the type. Everything in its place, even their haircuts." Oliver didn't understand the reason behind Chelsea's fear, but he started to get worried. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Shit! They know we're back!" Chelsea exclaimed and started pacing. After a few moments, she stopped and looked out the large windows at the city below.

"You're scaring me, Chels. What is it? Do you have to leave again? Who are _they_?" Oliver's panic level was rising. He couldn't let her leave, not again. Things were just starting to get back to normal. Well,...actually...things were very abnormal since she returned. Despite this, he hadn't felt so comfortable and happy in years, seven years to be exact.

"No, no, I don't have to leave. Well, maybe I have to leave. I don't know. I need to talk to mom," she said, clearly terrified.

"You didn't answer me. Who are _they_? Who are you so afraid of? Is that why there are so many armed guards downstairs pretending to be staff?" Oliver waited, he tried to be patient, but the thought of Chelsea leaving again terrified him. He had just gotten her back. He didn't think he could take another seven years without her. He couldn't take another day without her.

"Yes. That's why I'm surrounded by guards. And _they_ are called The Order." She wasn't sure how much she wanted to tell Oliver. It was Oliver, he'd probably understand but what kind of danger would that put him in?

"The Order? Kind of vague." He stood up and walked to the window where Chelsea was still staring at the city below. He didn't get too close, and he stifled the overwhelming desire to hug her. With his hands behind his back, he stood beside her. He wanted her to know he was there for her.

"Their full name is The Order of Human Purity. We just call them The Order." She stared out the window intently, barely noticing Oliver standing right next to her.

"They sound pretty ominous. Why do they want you?" he asked. This was very confusing. What would some secret order want with Chelsea?

"It's my family. They want to kill us all," she said sadly.

"Kill?! They want to kill your family?! Why the hell would they want to do that?! We should call the cops," he said, trying to stay calm. He could feel the pain in his muscles. It was a dull, burning sensation, but it was starting. If he didn't calm down, he'd need some alcohol, and he really didn't want to drink.

"We can't call the cops. They are a secret organization with very powerful allies. The cops can't do a thing. Hell, they probably own the cops." Chelsea put both arms on the window and leaned forward until her forehead was touching it. "I'm so sorry, Olly. I didn't think they would find me so fast. I'm probably going to have to leave again in a few days."

"So, this order has the power to go around killing people? And the cops won't help? We'll tell the newspapers, the magazines. We'll put it out on the internet. Surely, someone can do something." He couldn't lose her again. There had to be something to keep her here.

"Even if you did, somehow, manage to get something by their operatives...and that's a big if. No one would believe you. They're not large, but they have deep pockets and very loyal people in high places. You can't beat them. All you can do is run." She sighed deeply, then pushed herself off the window. When she turned to Oliver, she smiled sadly. "I'm going to miss you."

"No. This can't be happening. I'm not going to just let you go. There must be something we can do to throw them off your trail. Lead them out of town? Fake your death. Something!" Oliver stared at her with desperation in his eyes. The gesture filled Chelsea with happiness. She smiled kindly at him.

"Why don't you come with me?" she asked. Her expression told him she was serious. When she realized he was considering it, she understood how big of an ask this was. "Never mind. You have a life here. I understand."

"No. It's not that," he said, and a stupid grin spread across his face. "I was trying to think if I have anything in the loft that I couldn't live without. And guess what?"

"What?" Chelsea asked in reply.

"I have nothing. I can leave right now. Let's do this," he replied.

"We're not leaving right now, dork. We have to prepare. We don't want them following us. Act casual for a while then poof. We're gone. I'll talk to mom and let her know you're coming, but not today. I want one more day of normal." Chelsea walked over to the couch and sat down. "So, what did you and my uncle talk about?" she asked with a silly grin.

Oliver started toward the couch.

"Oh, nothing really. He basically threatened to kill me in a dark alley if I ever hurt you. Nice guy. I like him." Oliver plopped down beside Chelsea and laughed.

"Yep, that's Uncle Bernard. Don't worry. You'd have to do something really horrible before he killed you. He just likes to scare people. Did he tell you he was my guard dog?" she asked with a sideways look.

"Those were his exact words." He put his feet on the coffee table and his hands behind his head. "You have a very protective family. Must be nice."

"It is," she said sadly. "I'm sorry about yours."

"Not your fault. In fact, you did everything in your power to make up for it. Thank you." He looked at her with admiration and gratitude.

She felt his pull again. This was not good. Could she really bring him along? Why didn't she feel hunger? Other humans produced a gnawing hunger when they were too close. It was like starving and standing next to a lavish meal you weren't allowed to eat. Why didn't it feel that way with Oliver? Maybe she could tell him the truth? Maybe it would help.

After a few moments of silence, Oliver couldn't stand the tension. Whatever Chelsea was thinking about seemed to make her upset.

"What did you find out from your mom? You didn't kill your dad, did you?" he asked.

"She is adamant that I didn't do it. She still won't tell me what happened, but I guess I didn't kill him." Chelsea pulled back from Oliver. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. Maybe after they were in Canada. After things got settled. He'd learned enough for today.

"Strange, your uncle was very _adamant_ as well," he said with a stupid look on his face. "Who was right?" he teased.

Chelsea slapped him on the chest then backed away.

"Oh, you touched me. Are you freaking out?" he asked with a laugh.

She smirked and turned away from him.

"You're such a dork sometimes." She hid her face as the pink rushed to her cheeks.

"I'm not just any dork. I'm king of the dorks!" he said and stood. He made a flourished bow. "Pleased to meet you, queen...what the hell were you the queen of?"

"I was queen of the lamia," she said. "And you weren't king of the dorks. You were king of the trolls. Don't you remember anything?" she asked with a laugh.

"We were ten, and my memory sucks," he lied. He did remember. He was just trying to cheer her up. "Who were we fighting?"

"We were fighting the humans, and they wanted to take over our kingdom," she said. If only Oliver had realized how much this childhood fantasy rivaled her real life. They used to play this all the time until the day Chelsea's mother caught them. Chelsea wasn't allowed to go over to Oliver's after school for a week. This put an end to their make-believe war with the humans. As fun as the game was, she was already in love with Oliver. She couldn't risk being forbidden to see him again.

"Why did I always have to save you? Hey, why was I always the stinky troll?! Why couldn't I have been like a lamia dude or something? Were you trying to tell me I stink?" Oliver asked with a laugh and sat down once more.

"Lamia are only women. And you weren't the 'stinky' troll. Trolls are fearless and strong. They are the most powerful of all the monsters. I explained this to you when we were playing." She looked at him curiously. Then she realized what he was doing. "You remember all of this. You're trying to distract me."

"Guilty," he laughed. "Just wanted to cheer you up. We had so much fun when we were kids. Now it's all responsibility and danger."

Chelsea's phone rang. She hopped up and grabbed it off the kitchen counter then gave Oliver a strange look.

"It's mom," she said, furrowing her brow.

"Oh shit! She heard us talking about that game," he said with a laugh. "She's calling to ground you again."

Chelsea put her finger over her lips to hush Oliver, but she couldn't stop herself from laughing. The fake look of fear on his face was just too silly to ignore.

"Hi, mom," she answered, trying to stop from laughing.

"Well, aren't you in a good mood," Allison said.

"I was just joking around with Oliver," she said.

"Oh," she said with exasperation. It was clear from Allison's tone that she wasn't happy.

Oliver pretended to zip his lips, and Chelsea burst out laughing.

"Stop it, Oliver. Shh," she urged him.

"Well, if you can pay attention for five seconds, I need to talk to you. It's important." Allison was not in the mood for Chelsea being so happy with a human.

"Yes, mother," she replied and turned away from Oliver.

Allison spoke in code. She couldn't be certain who was listening.

"The business we left behind seven years ago is back to bite us in the ass. We need to make preparations to move some important items. Meet me tonight at ten. We'll pack up the items and send them on their way." Allison listened for her response.

"Tonight? I thought...I just wanted..." Chelsea struggled. "I have another package to send." She tried to talk in code like her mother. She was horrible at this, but Allison seemed to understand.

"Does this package know about our business?" Allison asked.

"No, not yet. I planned to educate it later," she replied.

"Good. One step at a time. We'll educate it tonight. If it still wants to be sent, then you have my blessing. Just wait until I'm there," Allison ordered then hung up.

Chelsea turned back to Oliver. The look of desperation and sadness was impossible to miss.

"What I got out of that conversation is that you're leaving tonight," Oliver said.

"Yes," she replied sadly. "And mother says you can go after she talks to you."

Oliver jumped off the couch and threw his hands in the air.

"Woohoo! I'm in!" he cheered.

Chelsea smirked and walked over to the couch.

"Ok, I give up, you're the king of dorks." She flopped down on the couch and crossed her arms. The sideways look, coupled with the condescending smirk told Oliver he had succeeded in cheering her up once again.

He flopped down beside her and crossed his arms just like she was doing.

"So, Ms. Bauer? What shall we do until it's time for shipping, or whatever you guys were saying?" he asked with a stern face.

His stupidly serious look made Chelsea snicker. Then a devious look came across her face. She leaned forward and opened a secret compartment in her coffee table. A hinged flap opened, and inside was a remote.

"I thought you didn't have a TV? What's the remote for?" he asked.

"You said I didn't have a TV. I just didn't correct you," she said with a smirk. Chelsea hit a button, and the lights dimmed, then a large flat-screen TV started descending from the ceiling.

"Damn, you don't do anything ordinary do you? TV's in the ceiling, lights on a remote. I can't wait to see what the house in Canada looks like." He stared at her full of respect.

"It's a dump," she joked. "I mean, it only has five hundred acres of woods around it. There are only four bathrooms and one pool. Who lives like that?"

"Oh, do I get my own room or do I have to share with Uncle Bernard?" he asked with a laugh.

"I think we'll stick you down in the security quarters. You should get along nicely there," she teased.

"Aww, I haven't even gotten there, and I'm already being pushed aside." He stuck out his bottom lip, which made Chelsea snicker then he forced his mouth in the shape of an O. The fake look of revelation caused her to roll her eyes. "Oh, we need popcorn!" He hopped up and ran into the kitchen then realized whose apartment he was in. "Do you even have popcorn?"

"Yes, I have popcorn. I will eventually learn to eat regular food, like mom does. I'm just not quite there yet. Once in a while, I try some, but it usually makes me throw up." She looked sad at her admission, but it didn't deter Oliver in the slightest.

"Well, do you want to try some?" he asked in an upbeat tone.

"Oh yeah, that would be wonderful. Just as they are about to catch the bad guy, I'll throw up all over you, the couch, myself, and everything else. That makes for a great movie night, don't you think?" She forced a laugh, but it was hard to cover the sadness in her voice.

"I have an idea," Oliver said. "Turn around and shut your eyes. You can't have popcorn, but I can make you a snack for the movie."

She turned around and shut her eyes.

"You don't have to do that. I'll be fine. I'll just drink water," she said, but Oliver was already starting. She could hear him opening cupboards and slamming them while the popcorn popped in the microwave.

"Where do you keep your bowls for the popcorn?" he asked when he realized he'd never find them without her help.

"Second cabinet, under the sink on the right," she replied.

She heard rummaging then what sounded like the cutting board being set on the counter. Then she heard the fridge open and furious chopping.

"What the hell are you doing to my kitchen?" she asked with a laugh.

"No peeking!" he ordered.

After a few minutes, she heard running water and more dishes being moved around.

"Are you actually cleaning up after yourself?" she asked with astonishment.

"Of course I am, this is your kitchen. I can't just leave all my dirty dishes lying around for you to clean. I'm your guest." She heard him walking closer. "That would be rude," he said from right beside her. "Ok, open your eyes." He sounded so pleased with himself.

She opened her eyes and stared at the two bowls in his hands.

"This one is for me," he said and set the popcorn on the coffee table. "This one is for you." He handed her the other bowl. Inside was bitesize pieces of pork and beef mixed together. Next, he handed her some napkins.

She looked up from the bowl and into his eyes. How had she found the one human who didn't care about her peculiar habits? The one human who didn't make her hungry. Was it because they were practically raised together? Did he imprint himself onto her and her onto him? Maybe her mother was wrong. Maybe she could be with a human...as long as it was Oliver. Now if she could just get Oliver to stop thinking of her as his sister.

"That's sweet of you, Olly," she said, unable to figure out what to say. Oliver would find out about her tonight. She clung to the hope that he would be ok with it. He had to be. She needed Oliver.

"It's nothing," he evaded. "What do you want to watch?"

"I know exactly what I want to watch," she said with a smirk.

"Another monster movie?" he asked.

"Nope," she replied. She pushed a button on the remote, and all the lights in the apartment shut off. It was getting late, but the sun was still up. She hit another button, and shades turned in place and covered the windows.

"Well, damn. Do you have a button for everything on that thing? Did I make popcorn for no reason? Let me see. Is there a popcorn button on there?" he pretended to try and steal the remote.

"It's my place. I get the remote!" she chastised while pulling the remote away.

"Fine, what are we watching?" he asked as he crossed his arms and pretended to be upset.

"It's a love story...sort of," she said with a snicker. She hit another button, and a movie started playing. In a few moments, Oliver realized what the movie was.

"This isn't a love story. This is a monster movie. I've seen previews for this." He turned and smiled at her. "That's ok. We can watch a monster movie if you want."

"It's both," she argued.

"Really?" he asked, unconvinced.

"Just shut up and watch, Douchiver," she scolded.

"Ok, ok," he relented.

As the movie played, Chelsea started to get tired. It had been a long day. The snacks Oliver had prepared for her, coupled with the fact that Oliver was right beside her, gave her a sense of comfort she rarely experienced. Thirty minutes into the disappointing movie, she fell asleep.

As she slept, she dreamt of playing their war game against the humans, only this time they were adults, and it was real. In her dream, she was queen of the lamia, and Oliver was just Oliver. A simple human that had taken her side and vowed to protect her. After a heroic battle, fighting back to back, against the ensuing horde of soldiers they were finally victorious. When they walked back to their throne room, Oliver grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer...

The music for the ending credits was about ten times louder than the movie. Her eyes fluttered open, and for some reason, the TV was sideways. Something was on her arm. She blinked and tried to rub her eyes only to realize she was lying on her left arm, and Oliver's hand was on the other. Chelsea shot up to see a grinning Oliver.

"I guess your phobia doesn't bother you when you sleep," he said with a grin. "I tried to turn down the volume, but I can't find the button. I think I might have either flushed the toilet or started a war in a foreign country." He laughed while Chelsea just stared at him in disbelief.

She had just slept on Oliver's lap. No hunger and no changing. Oliver was different. He was like no other human. She didn't care what the reasons for it were anymore. It was a reality. She leaned in closer to him, just inches from his face. She waited for him to turn, but Oliver stood up instead. She let herself flop down, face first, into the couch. She stifled a scream of frustration. This was never going to happen!

"We should get going. I let you sleep pretty long. That movie was horrible, boring and I thought it would never end. You didn't miss anything," he stretched his arms while Chelsea pushed herself back up and stared at him.

Oliver had the worst sense of timing. If he wasn't saying something to interrupt her, he was doing something to avoid her. Maybe it was her sense of timing that was off. She did slam into him at fourteen, instead of kissing him. Maybe it was a combination of the two? Perhaps this was for the best. He didn't even know what she really was yet.

"So, where are we going?" he asked as he walked around the couch and stretched some more.

"Mother's house," she replied.

"Oh, shit! I let you sleep too late. It's nine," he apologized.

"What?!" She lept from the couch and looked at the wall clock. "We'll never get there by ten. It's a three-hour drive, at least. It's night so there won't be much traffic. Maybe if we speed?"

"Calm down, Chelsea. Just call her," Oliver comforted.

Instead of calming, Chelsea rushed up the stairs, and Oliver could hear drawers slamming. In a few minutes, Chelsea came down the stairs in jeans and a tee-shirt with her phone to her ear. These were not the baggy jeans from the other day, and the shirt fit her figure perfectly. She was a vision, and Oliver couldn't help but stare.

"I'm just running late, mom. Everything is fine. I fell asleep. Yes, Oliver is still here. No, I didn't...do anything. He's right here. Ask him if you don't believe me. Really. He's fine! I said he's fine! I'm leaving in like two minutes. I'll be there." Chelsea hung up the phone and headed to the door. "Let's go," she commanded.

Oliver struggled to keep up with her, but thankfully, the hall was short, and the elevator slow.

"So, what did she ask you? Did she think we...umm...that we slept together?" Oliver asked with a laugh. From what little he heard that was the only conclusion he could come up with.

"No...I mean yes, that's what she asked," Chelsea lied. Actually, Allison had asked if Oliver was still alive, but that wasn't a conversation Chelsea was ready to have with Oliver just yet.

"Oh, geez. What kind of pervert does she think I am? I'm your brother...sort of. That's silly," he laughed, but Chelsea didn't seem amused.

In fact, she was starting to get a little sick of hearing how she was 'like a sister' to him. She wasn't his sister. She was a grown woman with no relation to him at all. A woman who was madly in love with a man who was as blind as a bat. This would also be a conversation for another time. Although, she would rather have the conversation about what she was, rather than the subject of her unrequited love. Oliver was perfect in every way, except for the fact that he was completely ignorant about her feelings. How could he not see it? Everyone saw it. Bernard, her mother, even the staff in her building. How could he be so damn blind?!

Chelsea walked angrily into the elevator and pushed the button. Within a few minutes, they were in the parking garage under the building and on the way to her mother's house.

# Chapter 10

When Oliver and Chelsea pulled up to Allison's house, it was clear that something serious was going on. Men were running around, piling into vehicles, and taking off. Bernard was barking orders from the stairs, and Alison was watching this all from a higher step in the front of the house.

"Group one and two head through Oregon. Group three and four take Minnesota. We will all meet in Alberta before we head off to the house. Keep your distance, stay sharp and please be careful," Bernard said.

Within moments, eight cars took off from Allison's and headed out. This left Bernard and Allison. When Chelsea and Oliver walked up, Allison stared at Oliver menacingly.

"Before we go, I want to speak to my daughter alone," she demanded, then headed up the steps and into the house.

"I'll be right back, Olly. I'm going to get her to tell me the truth before we leave. You just wait and see," she said with a smile. She brushed her hand across his shoulder as she walked by, and Oliver found this a little strange. Maybe her phobia was easing up? She never touched him intentionally. When she was inside, Oliver walked over by Bernard to wait.

Bernard sniffed the air as Oliver approached. It smelled horrible, then a strange sensation overcame him, one he was not very familiar with. It was similar to his earlier meeting with Oliver. He suddenly felt afraid for no reason. He had served in a war with The Order, fought countless individuals to protect the Bauer family, but he was never afraid. He had only been afraid a few times in his life. When people he cared about were in trouble, but it wasn't exactly like that. This was a strange sensation like looking down at your arm and realizing there was a huge spider sitting on it. Not terror, a knee jerk reaction to a primal fear. It was unsettling, and his heart raced. What reason would he have to be afraid of Oliver?

"Hi," Oliver said and took a spot a few feet from Bernard. "Think Allison will give in?"

"I thought you were supposed to be Chelsea's best friend. Have you ever won an argument with her?" Bernard asked with a laugh.

"Come to think of it, no. I haven't. I can sometimes get her to see my side but win, no, that doesn't happen," Oliver laughed in return.

"As much as it pains me for her to find out the truth. Chelsea will get the truth from Allison. She deserves to know," Bernard stated with a little sadness in his voice.

"You don't say no to Chelsea Bauer. That's just the way it is." Oliver said in agreement and crossed his arms to wait.

Upstairs in her office, Allison waited for her daughter to come inside then shut the door.

"Why all the secrecy? We're going to tell Oliver anyway." Chelsea looked at her mother, trying to figure out what she could possibly want to talk to her about alone.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Allison asked.

"Why wouldn't I? I lo...Oliver is my best friend," Chelsea corrected herself.

"You can't fool me, dear," her mother said condescendingly. "You've been in love with him since you were about nine. I knew then, and still couldn't stop it. I just hoped you'd outgrow it. You're my baby, my little girl. I couldn't bear to take you away from him until I had no choice. You two have been friends this long. If he was going to fall in love with you, he would have done it by now. He will never see you like you want him to and what's more, he's human. You can't be with him."

"You don't understand, mom. I don't care. I'll take whatever I can get. I slept on his lap. He made me snacks for the movie. He doesn't care that I eat raw meet. I feel so good whenever he's around. I don't care if he never loves me back. I just want to be near him." Chelsea looked like she was going to start crying, and so did Allison, but for completely different reasons.

"You will never be able to have sex with him. It doesn't matter if you can sleep on his lap. That can never happen," Allison said sadly.

"Why not? I don't feel hunger when he's near. I can touch him. Maybe someday...maybe when he realizes." Tears started to fall from Chelsea's eyes.

"You don't understand. How could you," Allison started.

"I know sex is horrible and messy. You've told me. But Oliver is different," Chelsea interrupted.

"No, it's not horrible. Sex can be wonderful and amazing, but yes, it's messy. Emotionally. Especially your first time. You might be completely fine until you just aren't. How would you feel if you killed Oliver?" Allison stared at her daughter, hoping she would understand. It wasn't that she didn't want Chelsea to be happy. Killing Oliver would destroy her, and that Allison couldn't bear.

Chelsea breathed in and wiped her eyes.

"That's a subject for the future," she said, avoiding the truth she didn't want to see. She honestly didn't know what would happen, and it scared her.

"You're right dear. One problem at a time. First, let's deal with Oliver. Maybe he will freak out, then this problem will solve itself," Allison said with a laugh.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, mother?" Chelsea teased.

"Actually, no. I hope he is everything you think he is," she replied seriously.

When Allison and Chelsea came walking out, they both looked like they had been crying and Oliver was a little worried. The smiles on their faces seemed a stark contrast, and he wasn't sure what to think.

"Ok, Oliver. Here goes," Chelsea said. "Now, don't freak out."

"Don't freak out? A sure-fire way to make someone freak out is to say 'don't freak out'. You realize that don't you?" he asked with a laugh.

"Fine, freak out. I'm telling you anyway," she replied with a smirk. It was helpful to hear Oliver joking at such a serious time.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm really a lamia. Well...half werewolf too. And my mother is a lamia," Chelsea said then waited. Oliver just stood there, looking at the two of them for a moment.

"You're a real lamia?" he asked to be sure he'd heard her correctly. "Like we used to pretend when we were kids?"

"I wasn't really pretending as much as you were," she said with a smile.

Oliver looked at them then at Bernard.

"You're her dad's brother. That makes you...?" he waited.

"A werewolf," Bernard answered.

Oliver looked back at Chelsea, and a large smile filled his face.

"That's awesome!" he exclaimed.

"You don't think we're nuts?" Chelsea asked.

"You eat raw meat. You don't like to touch people...humans. It makes sense," he replied. "I remember how much you idolized the lamia when you were a child. You told me all about lamia any time I was willing to listen. It just makes sense that you'd be one."

Allison looked at Chelsea, whose self-satisfied smile could not be missed.

"I told you, mother," Chelsea gloated.

"Fine, he can come." She threw up her hands and walked over to Bernard. "Get the car running. I need to tell Chelsea about her father then we'll be ready to leave."

"You sure?" Bernard asked.

"She deserves the truth. No more secrets." Allison patted Bernard on the shoulder. "I want everything out in the open before we head to Canada." She caught Bernard's worried look, so she leaned in closely to him and whispered. "Almost everything. That's a conversation for Canada," she comforted and turned back to Chelsea.

Chelsea got nervous and walked over to Oliver. She grabbed his hand.

"You're phobia. Does that mean you're better?" he asked.

"It's not a phobia. I just have no desire to eat you," she said with a laugh. "You're the only human I've ever been able to get close to without feeling the hunger."

"Makes sense," he said. "I'm your brother."

Chelsea looked at the ground, and Allison's heart broke. Perhaps she could help her daughter once they got to Canada. If Chelsea really wanted this human, she'd help her. Her daughter was practically running her own company, but when it came to men, she still acted like a little girl. Unsure of herself, self-conscious and scared. Little did she know how easy it was to catch a man's attention, especially when the woman looked like she did.

"Before I start, let me say that I love you, Chelsea and I'm sorry," Allison started. "You know your father was angry his last few years. The Order had killed his entire family except for Bernard. I know he told you all about your aunts, your nieces, and nephews. All the horrible things The Order did to them before they killed them."

"Yes, I remember," she replied. Her entire family on her father's side had been tortured and killed, all to get information on Allison. The Order hunted monsters for sport, but a lamia was a trophy like no other. Then when they found out about Chelsea, the hybrid, their search intensified.

"He started to get paranoid that The Order was watching us. When you hurt that boy, he thought for sure The Order would come. I told him we should run and hide in our home in Canada, but he said it wasn't enough. We had to make sure there was no reason for them to come after us." Allison looked at her hands. She was twirling her suit coat.

"It's ok, mom, I think I know," Chelsea comforted.

"You couldn't possibly know. There is no way you could ever imagine this. Even in your worst nightmares," Allison said and stared right into Chelsea's eyes. Tears fell, and she breathed in deeply to find the courage. "Your father wanted to kill you."

"What?!" Chelsea put her hands over her mouth and stifled her urge to cry. Oliver could see the tears forming and put his arm around her. Chelsea buried her face in his chest and let her tears fall.

"I couldn't let him kill you. I just couldn't. I get one child, and you are so far beyond anything I could have hoped for. I just couldn't let him kill you. I argued and argued, but he took you to that parking lot with the intention of killing you. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't back down." Allison caught her breath and pulled herself up for the last piece of information. "I'm so sorry, Chelsea. I killed him. I'm the one who killed your father. I just..." she couldn't finish, the tears were making it hard to speak.

Chelsea pulled her head away from Oliver's chest and rushed over to her mother with her arms out. She hugged Allison like she might disappear if she let go. She sobbed on her mother's shoulder and squeezed her tightly.

"Thank you, mom," Chelsea sobbed.

"For what?" Allison asked.

"For telling me the truth and for loving me." Chelsea released her mother and stood upright. She wiped the tears from her face, and she was smiling. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, honey," Allison replied.

"We should get to Alberta to meet up with everyone," Chelsea said as she turned and walked toward Oliver, wiping the tears away. "You ready?" she asked.

"I'd follow you anywhere, Chelsea Bauer," he replied and started toward the car. Their paths converged, and she held out her hand, Oliver grabbed it without hesitation. Allison followed behind them. When they were about twenty feet from the car, the wind changed directions. The scent of Oliver hit Allison in the face, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Chelsea, wait," she said in shock. She had never been this close to Oliver, ever. She avoided him, not wanting to feel the hunger for Chelsea's best friend, but it wasn't hunger she felt. She knew this feeling. She knew this scent.

Chelsea turned, and so did Oliver.

"What's wrong mom?" Chelsea asked. Her mother looked distraught.

"I've made a horrible mistake! I put you through seven years of torture for no reason! What have I done?! I should have listened more closely. I should have paid attention. I'm so sorry, Chelsea," she ranted.

"What's wrong mom?" Now Chelsea was starting to worry, then Allison smiled.

"I was wrong about you, Oliver. You're perfect for Chelsea. You're..." A shot rang out through the yard. Once again, Oliver was covered with someone else's blood as a bullet pierced Allison's skull.

"NO!!!!!" Chelsea screamed and fell to her knees beside Allison's dead body.

Bernard jumped from the car, looking angry. He searched the area and saw two figures approaching with guns, so he took off toward them while he transformed into a werewolf. A second shot rang out from nowhere, and Bernard slumped forward then fell to the ground dead. The shot had pierced his heart.

Chelsea saw the two approaching and screamed at Oliver.

"The Order is here! Run, Oliver!"

Oliver didn't move. He was calm yet stern when he spoke to her. Oliver had always been calm during tense situations, especially when Chelsea needed him to be.

"They don't kill humans. You have to run, not me. I'll give you a head start." He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and blocked their view of Chelsea. He stuck his arms out. He saw where the sniper was sitting on top of Allison's house and angled himself so that anyone shooting at Chelsea would have to shoot through him first. "I'm human! I surrender!" he shouted as a distraction. He hoped they wouldn't fire until they got a clean shot. Even if they did. The thought of losing Chelsea was worse than the idea of dying.

When he looked back for Chelsea, she was gone. He hadn't even heard her move, let alone seen her. She had to be incredibly fast. He searched the tree line then the road, but there was no sign of her. He breathed a sigh of relief as the two men tackled him to the ground.

"Hand's behind your back!" they shouted and forced his hands into cuffs. The whole time he was smiling from ear to ear. Chelsea had gotten away. That was all he cared about.

# Chapter 11

Oliver woke in a dark cell. He was strapped to a chair with a light blaring down at him. He remembered them injecting something into his arm then everything faded out. His head hurt, and the pain was returning. It was constant and insistent, but not the searing pain he used to feel...before Chelsea came back. He could barely make out the area beyond the bars, but it looked like an older building. The bricks were chipped and dirty. Even the cement floor looked old and worn.

"He's awake," a male voice said.

The woman from the bar walked forward. She had on a blue, button-up uniform and a badge this time. The same badge from his nightmares. The silver circle, the reptilian eye inside a mouth full of sharp teeth. He had seen it! It had been The Order who killed his father, but why? Was he a monster like Chelsea? This thought brought him a small amount of joy until he realized he had been captured by people who kill monsters. The only good thing was they didn't know he was a monster yet. Maybe he could fool them. He needed to get back to Chelsea, see if she was ok and tell her he was a monster like her. It was strange how this thought was more important than his own safety, but it was.

"I'm Major Virginia Mutes of The Order of Human Purity," the woman said. She had neatly trimmed short black hair and impeccable makeup. Her nails were trimmed and unpainted. Her face looked jagged and stern. "Test him," she ordered and stared at Oliver intently.

First, one of the men came forward with a small silver knife. He placed the blade on Oliver's skin while the woman looked on intently.

"Not a werewolf...next," she ordered.

Over the next ten minutes, The Order tried every test imaginable, but not a single one proved positive.

"Fine! You're a human. What were you doing with that hybrid?" she asked with disdain.

"What? What hybrid. Are you people nuts? Werewolves? Banshees? Wraiths? You people are really weird," he said. He hoped they would buy his ignorance.

"Knock off the act kid," the woman said. "You said 'I'm human'. You damn well know there are monsters. Which means you also knew who we were."

"Fine. I know about monsters," he admitted.

"Why did you help that lamia hybrid? She's an abomination. Worse than anything I've seen. She will rip your head off in a heartbeat. Do you have a death wish?" Virginia asked.

"I just found that out. I'm sorry. She was my best friend. I didn't know what else to do." Oliver tried to play along. There had to be some tactic that led to him escaping this horrible place. These people had killed his father. He didn't understand why none of the monster tests revealed anything, but he could worry about that later.

"So, you didn't know until when?" Virginia asked skeptically.

"Tonight. You shot Allison in the middle of her telling me what they were. I freaked out. I'm sorry. I think they were going to eat me," Oliver lied. He tried to look upset but wasn't sure he was doing it right.

"Why would they eat you?" she asked.

"Leave no witnesses. Chelsea was having second thoughts right before you shot Allison. Maybe that's why I felt I had to protect her." Oliver was laying it on really thick now, but he had a story, and he was going to run with it. "I think you saved my life."

"If we let you go, what will you do?" she asked even more skeptically.

"Probably head back to the bar and see if I still have a job. I was supposed to close tonight. I just want to forget this night ever happened." Part of that statement was true, but he didn't care if he still had a job. He just wanted out of this cell and out of the city, with Chelsea.

"Let him go," she ordered. One of the men stepped forward to untie Oliver then looked at Virginia.

"Are you sure? We should keep him for more questions," he stated.

"We're The Order of Human Purity," she emphasized the word human. "He's human. We can't hold him. If the general hears we took a human, we'll be in deep shit."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered and untied Oliver.

Virginia leaned in and spoke softly to Oliver.

"Go back to your life and never let me catch you with a monster again. You're just lucky we don't take you in as a conspirator. You get one more chance." She stood up. "By the way. The punishment for conspiring with monsters is death."

"Yes, ma'am. I would never do that. I didn't know, honestly." Oliver rubbed his wrists and stood. He towered over them.

"One chance. Don't screw it up," she said to him then walked out.

One of the men led Oliver out while the other followed Virginia. When Virginia and the man were in another room, he grabbed her arm.

"What was that about?" he asked. "The general will be mad when he finds out we let him go. He doesn't care how many humans get hurt. They associate with monsters, they die. That's the rule."

Virginia laughed loudly.

"At least you didn't open your big mouth in there," she said. "Of course we're going to kill him. Did you hear his ridiculous story? We just need him to lead us to the lamia hybrid first. If we kill him now, she'll just disappear. She has some kind of hold on him. He probably thinks she cares about him. He might even think he's in love with her. Poor fool. We'll put him out of his misery as soon as we catch her. We want her alive. The things we can learn from her. A lamia werewolf hybrid has never been caught."

"I didn't think they were allowed to survive. Don't the parents usually kill them because they're so dangerous?" the subordinate asked.

"Exactly. That's why they're so rare," Virginia answered. "We just have to be very careful. We need the element of surprise. We have no idea what will work on her. She might be immune to normal measures of capture. We may have to get creative." Virginia gave the man a devious grin then headed down the hall.

# Chapter 12

The Order soldiers tossed Oliver out of the car as they reached the bar. They barely slowed down, and he tumbled on the sidewalk while they sped off.

"Thanks for the lift. Jerks," he said under his breath as he stood up and brushed himself off. It was getting dark again. The Order had kept him overnight? How long had he been out? Was Chelsea already on her way to Canada without him? His heart raced.

After a few moments, to catch his breath and calm his panic, he headed inside. Maybe Chelsea was here? If not, he'd quit his job and start searching for her. Either way, he was quitting his job. He wanted nothing more to do with Anton's shady business and oversexed wife.

When Oliver opened the door, the bar was empty. It wasn't that late. It should have at least had the regulars, but there was not a single customer. Only Anton.

"Where is everyone?" Oliver asked curiously as he made his way to the steps.

"I guess it's just slow," Anton said angrily.

Great! He was in a foul mood.

"Sorry I missed work last night. Things came up. I need to talk to you, though." Even though Anton was grumpy, Oliver kept his cool.

"First, go see that new girl of yours, she's upstairs," Anton barked.

"First of all, she's not my girl. She's..." he started, but Anton cut him off.

"I know. She's like a sister. Riiiiiight." Anton really was in a bad mood. He didn't even try to hide it.

Oliver decided it wasn't worth the effort and headed upstairs. Anton could be pissy if he wanted to. He was leaving anyway. If Anton was going to be like that maybe he'd just disappear and not give him any warning. In fact, that was probably a better idea. Thoughts swarmed in his head as he ascended the steps. It was probably why he didn't hear Anton following him. When Oliver turned the doorknob he felt a gun in his back.

"Get in the room, fuck face!" Anton ordered.

"What the hell, Anton?!" Oliver protested.

When Oliver didn't move fast enough, he smacked him on the back of the head with the butt of the gun. Oliver fell forward into the room and held his head.

"Ow! What the hell is going on, Anton?!" he complained.

Chelsea rushed over to Oliver, and a smile spread across her face as she helped him to his feet.

"I thought they'd killed you!" she exclaimed, ignoring the man with the gun.

Anton pointed the gun at Chelsea, then at Oliver.

"Don't either of you try anything. I'm a good shot," he commanded.

"What's this about?" Chelsea asked. Anton had been so nice when he led her to Oliver's room. What had changed? Was it all a ploy from the start?

"You stole my woman, Oliver. I'm going to steal yours." Anton pointed the gun at Chelsea, and as he pulled the trigger, Oliver pushed her out of the way. The bullet hit him square in the chest, and Oliver slumped to the floor.

"Shit. I wanted him to suffer," Anton complained. He held up the gun and put the other hand to his head. He was upset that he couldn't make Oliver suffer.

At first, Chelsea felt grief. Then it quickly turned to anger, then to blind fury. She had lost everyone! Someone had to pay, and Anton was right here! She could feel the change coming. She didn't even try to stop it. It felt good to let go. She wanted to tear Anton apart and listen to him scream. She had never completely changed into the form of a lamia, but her anger allowed her to let go of the part of herself that was holding her back. She didn't care anymore if she became the monster. She had no one left to protect from the horrible thing inside of her. She had always held back, tried to save a little piece of herself, but she was done with that!

Chelsea stood, her skin was grey and her eyes yellow, like that of a snake. Her teeth slid into place, and her claws came out. As the change continued, her skin drew tight across her face and scales covered the rest of her body. She spoke with the hissing sound of a snake.

"I'm going to enjoy tearing you to pieces!" she spat at him.

Anton panicked and started shooting, but even at ten feet, he only hit her shoulder once as he unloaded the clip. Anton reeled backward trying to get away from the horrible sight in front of him and slipped then fell backward down the stairs.

"Damn, it feels like I was hit by a truck!" Oliver exclaimed when he sat up and started rubbing his chest. "Oh. shit!" he yelled again when he saw his shirt covered in blood.

Chelsea's lamia visage faded immediately when she realized who was speaking. She turned to face Oliver looking like the Chelsea he knew.

"You're alive!" she screamed and ran at him. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

"You're...choking...me," he complained.

"Sorry, Olly," she said and backed away. She couldn't remove the huge grin on her face. "I thought you were dead."

"Oh, yeah. By the way. I think I'm a monster like you," he gave her an apologetic look. "Oh, shit! Where's Anton?" He suddenly realized Anton had a gun and he had to be somewhere.

"He umm...slipped and kind of...fell down the stairs," she winced.

"If you killed him, just say you killed him. He tried to shoot you. I think it's ok," he comforted.

"I sort of accidentally killed him." She cringed while keeping half a smile.

"Good. He deserved it. He tried to shoot you." Oliver pulled up his shirt to inspect the damage, but there was none. "Hmm," he said deep in thought.

"What?" Chelsea asked.

"I think I know how I survived that accident." He felt his back. He was certain he had felt the bullet go all the way through, but there was no hole there either. At least not in his skin. His shirt, on the other hand, was ruined.

"Why do you think you're a monster?" Chelsea asked. "And I really don't like that word. I prefer non-human."

"I prefer superhuman," he said with a grin. "I just got shot. I'm a fucking superhero!" He pulled his bloody and torn shirt over his head, then tossed it across the room. "Look at this. Not even a scratch!"

Chelsea stared at his perfect body and was speechless. She knew he was saying something but couldn't quite make it out. All she could do was picture Oliver walking over and kissing her. He was a non-human, just like she was. It was possible now. Everything was possible now.

"Chelsea? You in there?" he asked and tapped her on the head.

"What?" she asked, unsure of what he was saying.

"I said. We should get out of here before the cops come. The dude just unloaded a whole clip. I'm sure someone has called the cops by now." Oliver looked around the room. Nearly every window had a hole in it. "I'm surprised he didn't hit you." Oliver picked up a shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he saw it. Chelsea's shoulder was bleeding. "He hit you!"

"I barely noticed." She poked at her shoulder and winced. Blood oozed out of the wound, and Oliver panicked.

"You need a hospital!" he grabbed a shirt from the clean laundry bag and put it on Chelsea's shoulder to soak up the blood.

"I can't go to a hospital, Olly. They'll find me there. We just need to pull out the bullet," she said matter-of-factly.

"How can you be so calm?" he asked. "And by we, you mean me?"

"No. I mean me. Do you have any alcohol to sterilize the wound?" she asked.

"Do I have alcohol?" he laughed, trying to hide his panic. He rushed over to the kitchen, grabbed the unlabeled bottle of grain alcohol, and handed it to her.

Chelsea poured the strong liquid over the wound and held her breath as the pain assaulted her, then stuck out her right hand. Claws slowly replaced her fingernails. She even surprised herself at how well she controlled it. She had seen Bernard do it before, but she had never successfully changed only one part of her body, at least not on purpose. It would have been cause for celebration, if she hadn't been in so much pain.

She covered her claws in the alcohol then thrust her thumb and index finger into the wound. After several moments of muffling her screams, she managed to pull out the bullet then dropped it on the floor.

"I take it back. I'm not a superhero. I'm just some dork that can't get hurt. You're the superhero!" Oliver exclaimed. "No, wait! You're like a spy!"

"We're not super hero's Olly, and I'm not a spy. We're the most hated creatures on the planet. Believe me. No one wants us to save them." She grunted as she got to her feet. Oliver quickly grabbed another clean shirt and poured some of the alcohol on it then pressed it into the wound.

Chelsea held her breath and stifled another scream.

"I'm really sorry. I need to stop the bleeding," he comforted.

"I know. It's ok. Why don't you distract me by telling me how you found out you're a non-human?" she asked with gritted teeth.

"I told you about the night my mom left me and my dad died?" he started. Chelsea shook her head, so he went on. "I didn't mention it before because I thought maybe I made it up but...I remember The Order badge. The people that killed my father were from The Order."

"So, what kind of non-human are you?" she asked.

"That's the strange part. The Order freaks who abducted me did every test imaginable and thought I was human. I must be something new." Oliver held the shirt over her shoulder and searched the apartment with his eyes. "Hold this," he ordered and grabbed another shirt. He tore it into strips then tied it around the shirt he had used for a bandage. "There we go," he announced proudly.

"Not bad," she agreed.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now, we get the hell out of here," she answered, mimicking his earlier comment.

In a few minutes, they were both in the alley. On the way out Oliver had called and asked for Nolan and in a few minutes more, Nolan pulled up at the entrance to the alley.

When they were both inside, Nolan turned around and eyed Chelsea.

"So, I presume you're Chelsea?" Nolan asked.

"How did you know?" Oliver looked at Nolan.

"You described her perfectly," Nolan said then he smiled at Chelsea. "He didn't tell me you were so pretty though." He gave her a wink then looked back at Oliver "You kinda left that part out. Afraid I'd steal her?" Nolan smiled at Oliver. "I'm married, remember?" He then turned and headed down the street. "Where to?"

Chelsea rattled off an address that Oliver recognized as being on the other side of town. Nolan sped around a corner, then another and they were soon heading back the way they had come. Oliver got a little worried when he realized Nolan wasn't asking enough questions. Was he working for The Order? He was going the right way to where Chelsea wanted to go but still. A woman was bleeding in his back seat, and he was making jokes about how pretty she was. Something was off. What was more, he spoke to Chelsea in a very familiar way. Did he know about her, or did he know her? Maybe it wasn't The Order he was working for.

When they finally pulled up to the warehouse, Oliver decided to find out what was going on with Nolan.

"Ok, who are you really, Nolan?" he asked.

"It's fine. I told him everything," Chelsea laughed and got out.

Nolan turned around, and his eyes flashed golden. They were canine.

"A friend of Chelsea's," he laughed.

"You were sent to spy on me?!" Oliver exclaimed.

"It was more like watching over you," he said kindly.

"And your family? All that stuff you said?" Oliver asked.

"All true. Does it really matter that my family are werewolves?" Nolan asked.

Chelsea poked her head back in and spoke to Nolan.

"He's actually one of us, after all," Chelsea said.

Nolan sniffed the air and appeared deep in thought.

"What are you?" he asked. "I avoid smelling you when I can. You really stink."

"I have no idea, but I'm not human," he explained.

"Well, I've never met one of your kind before so, sorry, no help here," Nolan said.

"Well, I'll send you a postcard," Oliver said and got out.

"No, you won't," Chelsea chastised.

"It's just a saying," he replied. "I'm not really sending him a postcard."

"Not a saying I've ever heard of," Chelsea said condescendingly.

"Whatever," Oliver laughed and walked toward the warehouse.

"Here, Nolan. For all your help," Chelsea said with a smile and handed Nolan a check for forty thousand dollars.

"I can't take this," he argued.

"Take it for Natalie. That cutie will be needing clothes soon, and school and..," Chelsea said. "You've earned it. You watched over him while I was gone. Think of it as back pay. In fact. He's a pain in the ass. I might owe you more."

"That he is, and thank you," Nolan answered then took off.

After Nolan was out of sight, Chelsea turned and followed Oliver to the warehouse.

# Chapter 13

At the door, Chelsea carefully put in an eight-digit key code, and Oliver started to realize this was not just a warehouse. Maybe on the outside, it looked like one. It was even surrounded by other warehouses, but this one was different. As he walked inside, he felt vindicated. His suspicions were correct. Inside it was not at all like any warehouse he'd ever seen before. The walls may have looked dirty and uncared for on the outside, but from the inside, it was clear they were six inches thick and nearly brand new.

Along one wall was a row of computers with empty chairs. Whoever had been here must have left in a hurry. Then, across the clean empty space, he noticed a door. It did seem like the inside was a little smaller than the outside, now he knew why. The door was solid steel, and the walls around it looked like brick. It had another keypad and Chelsea walked right up to it and punched in another eight-digit code.

"Are you sure you're not a spy or something?" he asked with a laugh.

"I'm not a spy, Olly." She turned and smiled at him. "It's a safe house, my mom... built."

A sadness crossed her face, and the smile faded. The adrenaline was leaving her system. She would soon have to come to grips with what had transpired. She had passed out once she was at Oliver's and slept almost until he arrived. She was just starting to deal with what had happened when Oliver came in, and the ordeal with Anton started.

She forced a grin to try and hide the emotions that were flooding her brain, but Oliver didn't buy it. "Come inside. They will have to blow this place up to get in here. They can't even detect us once we're inside," Chelsea said sadly.

Oliver followed behind her anxiously. This was bad. She was going to come crashing down soon. He knew all too well what it felt like and how bad it would probably be. He had been through nearly the same thing, although, he had been eight. It was the reason behind his missing past, the reason he had blocked it all out. The only thing he did remember was the soul-crushing grief that followed his father's death and his mother's betrayal. It was actually almost identical to what Chelsea was going through down to the parent being shot in the head and the betrayal of the other.

"There are clean clothes. I hope Bernard...was close to your size." Her speech was slowing, and every time she talked about them, she paused. It was hitting her now.

"Chelsea. Take a minute. I'm here. We're safe. It's ok," Oliver comforted.

Chelsea pushed passed him and locked the door. The room they were in was decently sized. It had closets for clothes as well as a small kitchen area and a fridge. Then there was a hall that presumably led to a place to sleep.

"I'm ok, Olly," she said, but she already had tears in her eyes. They weren't falling yet, but she could barely hold them back.

Oliver took a step closer to her and looked down at her compassionately.

"It's ok, Chels. I'm here. Get angry. Cry. Hit me. I don't care. Just let it out or..." he started, but she didn't need any more directions.

She slammed her fist against Oliver's chest.

"Why?!" she sobbed. She slammed the other fist into his chest. This one hurt. She was very strong. "She never hurt anyone!"

Oliver didn't speak. He didn't need to. She just needed to vent. He stood there, waiting for another blow.

"My mother did everything she could to avoid harming humans! And Bernard was...so kind," she sobbed and slammed her fist into Oliver's chest again. He grunted but stayed as still as he could. "It's not fair!"

"No, it's not," Oliver agreed.

Chelsea put her forehead against Oliver's chest and sobbed. She lifted her fist again, ready to strike Oliver then opened her hand and put it flat against his chest. In a moment she did the same with the other one. Oliver put both his arms around her and hugged her while she cried.

After a few minutes, she pushed herself away.

"I'm sorry. This is stupid," she said and walked toward the door leading to the bedroom.

"No reason to be sorry, and it's not stupid," Oliver said as he followed her.

"I just want to kill them all!" she screamed and slapped a lamp that shot across the room and smashed against the wall.

"First, we need to get to Canada. The two of us aren't going to win this by ourselves. We need help." Oliver was calm and rational, exactly what Chelsea needed at the moment. He always took up whatever role she required, without even realizing it. When she was sad, he'd cheer her up. When she was angry, he was angry right along with her, but this was grief. Sadness and anger, self-doubt, and guilt. For this emotion, she needed him to be calm and informative. Be her punching bag and a shoulder to cry on. But mostly what she needed was for him to be there.

"That makes sense," she agreed and wiped the tears from her face.

"Which way do we go? Are we more likely to meet up with the wolves in Oregon or Minnesota?" he asked.

"Umm...Minnesota. We were supposed to go through Minnesota with..." she couldn't even say the word, mom. It hurt too much.

She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands. Oliver calmly sat beside her and waited.

"Why?!" she sobbed.

"All that matters is that you live. You were her baby. She did everything to protect you. You have to live," Oliver said.

Chelsea lifted her head and let it fall onto Oliver's arm. She wiped more tears away and encircled his arm with both of hers.

"She did love me...in her own way," Chelsea said with a sniff.

"What are you talking about? She didn't just love you. You were everything to her. She even protected you from your father, her husband. She chose you over him." Oliver looked down and saw her start to smile. It was a sad smile, but it was still a smile.

"I need to remember what she taught me. I won't let her down," Chelsea said sternly. She clung to Oliver's arm tightly, not wanting to let go.

"Why don't we try to get some sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah, we will be doing a lot of driving tomorrow. Sleep sounds nice. I'll take the floor," she said and stood up.

"What? Don't be weird, Chels. The bed is big enough for both of us," he argued.

"You sure?" she asked. She was too upset to argue or worry about 'what ifs' at the moment. Even her weird relationship with Oliver was far in the back of her mind. She needed to feel comfortable and safe, and Oliver was offering.

"You never know. You might get the urge to punch me again. How can you do that if you're on the floor?" he asked with a smirk.

"You have a very good point," she said and slugged him in the shoulder. "It really does make me feel better." She was surprised at how tired she was. She felt like all she'd done was sleep since...but sleep sounded like just what she needed.

Oliver laughed then kicked off his shoes and let himself fall backward on the bed.

"I can't remember ever being this tired," he complained.

"Scoot over, bed hog," she teased.

Oliver rolled over to one side of the bed and propped his head up with his arm. She laid flat on her back and looked at the ceiling.

"This is going to sound weird but would you..." she started, but Oliver knew what she wanted. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. She turned to face away and grabbed his forearm with both hands. She pulled his arm up around her chest and squeezed it. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he said softly.

Chelsea still seemed distraught and anxious. Oliver decided to distract her.

"So, tell me about lamia," he said softly.

"I told you when we were kids," she replied.

"No. I mean the real stuff. The things you couldn't tell a ten-year-old boy. Why do you eat humans? What did your mom mean when she said she only got one child? The Order called you a hybrid and said you were dangerous. Why is that?" He asked his questions. Then he waited patiently.

"Umm. Where do I start?" she asked rhetorically. She pulled his arm in tighter to give her courage. "A long time ago, lamia used to eat humans. They were food like cows and pigs. After some very wise women took a closer look, they realized the humans weren't just animals. They had the ability to think rationally. They created tools to help them farm and built houses. They even had a language, a crude series of grunts, but it was a language. These wise women captured some and took them away from the lamia society. They raised these humans and taught them to speak." Chelsea shifted, so she was facing Oliver. She wanted to make sure he wasn't getting creeped out. She also wanted to judge his fear. She couldn't live with Oliver being afraid of her, but fear was not what she saw. He looked at her with kindness and curiosity.

"Go on," he urged her.

"It wasn't long before there was a civil war of sorts between the factions. I think they say it was a hundred years or so later. The sides were drawn, and a good number of lamia took the human's side. They wanted to bring the humans into our society. Give them rights and protections. They..." she paused. This wasn't easy for her.

"I understand," Oliver said sadly. "Those lamia created The Order."

"Yes," Chelsea said. She looked at Oliver curiously. He was sharper than she gave him credit for. "That's why the name. The Order of Human Purity was meant to be a rallying cry for support. After the war, the humans became resentful and perverted the name to mean something else. They wanted to purify the world for only humans. All non-humans were treated as beasts whether they were good or otherwise."

Chelsea looked into his eyes. Oliver wasn't scared at all. He looked sad.

"And as for what my mother said," she continued. "Lamia can only have one child. Always a girl. Another lamia."

"The stuff about being a hybrid?" he asked. He stared into her eyes. He wanted to know everything.

"Lamia can't exactly have children with many other races, and there are no male lamia." She didn't look like she wanted to tell this part but she would, for Oliver. "Most lamia used to have children with humans but..."

"Humans are food," Oliver added.

"Yes. The hunger and sex spiral out of control until the lamia can't stop herself and kills the man," she said quietly. "That's why my mother chose a werewolf. One of the few races that can survive. They are strong enough to at least stand a chance at fighting us off. Although, to hear Bernard talk." She cringed at saying his name but continued. "He said having sex with a lamia was something he'd never forget. It was a primal experience that..." She was starting to get embarrassed now.

"Let's leave it at that," Oliver laughed.

"Anyway...my kind...the lamia werewolf hybrids are dangerous. They are usually killed at a young age when the hunger of both species makes them lose control. I'm the reason my mom and Bernard were killed." Chelsea stopped and wiped a tear from her face.

"Why?" Oliver asked.

"The Order would like nothing more than to get their hands on me and do experiments. I'm telling you all of this, so you know what you're getting yourself into. I won't blame you if you run as far away from me as you can get." She rolled over and squeezed Oliver's arm. "Just don't leave tonight. Please. I'm not sure I could take losing someone else just yet."

Oliver pulled her closer and put his chin on her shoulder. He whispered softly to her.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here in the morning and every morning after. You're stuck with me, Chelsea Bauer." He kissed her on the cheek then was silent. Within minutes they were both sound asleep.

# Chapter 14

While Oliver slept, he had the nightmare again, and The Order badge was as clear as day to him this time. He even remembered Order soldiers walking up to his father's body as his mother whisked him away. He still couldn't make out what was being said, but he remembered something else as well. His mother stayed and spoke to him on the steps of the police station. What was she saying? He got a flash of a face with grey skin, encircled in snake-like scales and yellow reptilian eyes, but he wasn't afraid. The face made him feel safe and happy. He wanted to see that face again. He longed for it.

Oliver was pulled from the nightmare by the sound of dishes smashing and drawers being flung open. He lept out of bed assuming they were under attack, but when he made it to the other room, Chelsea was the one throwing things.

"Everything ok?" he asked nervously.

"I'm mad, Olly," she replied and hurled another dish to the floor.

"I can see that. Did the dishes insult you?" he asked.

She turned and almost smiled, then resumed her assault on the cabinet.

"All this is for nothing!" She picked up a stack of plates and slammed them on the floor. "All this preparation and planning. It didn't save them!"

Oliver walked over and picked up a single saucer, lifted it to eye level and let it go. It dropped it to the floor and exploded. She noticed his production of breaking one dish. When it smashed, he looked at Chelsea and grinned.

"I can see why you're abusing the dishes. It feels good," he said.

This time she couldn't stop the smile.

"You dork," she said with a laugh. "Quit trying to cheer me up!"

"I wasn't trying to cheer you up," he teased. "I want to help you win the war of the dishes. Oh! We should call it the battle of the bidet."

"You twit. That's a French toilet," she laughed.

"Oh, crap. You're right. Oooooohhhh." He paused and made a stupid face. "Surprise attack on the bathroom!" he yelled and rushed down the hall. After a few seconds, he poked his head around the corner. "I can't do this alone. The shower has..." He held his hands out to emphasize his point. "A high-velocity attachment." He put both hands on his cheeks and made a surprised face. Chelsea plopped down on the floor and laughed.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Oliver," she said when the laughing was under control.

"Win the battle of the dishes?" He walked over to her and looked down. He waited until her eyes were on him. "Dishes are not all they're _cracked_ up to be."

"Ok, that pun was lame even for you." She held out her hand, and Oliver helped her to her feet. "Thanks." She looked into his eyes, and the longing returned. She had been too distraught last night, but now it came rushing back.

"No problem, Chels. That's what brothers do," he replied and walked to the fridge. "Don't suppose there's any food for me is there?"

Just when she saw an opening, a glimmer of hope, he shot her down once more. Even so, the sting was much less today. She had woken up in his arms. He had done everything a boyfriend was supposed to do. He helped her grieve, cheered her up...everything except... And even that couldn't ruin this moment. Oliver wasn't her boyfriend, her lover, or any other word that described an intimate relationship, but today it was ok. He did care for her, just not in the way she hoped for.

"We'll grab some fast food on the way," she said as she produced a dongle and pushed the button. In the back corner of the warehouse, the sound of a car alarm being deactivated could be heard. Then an engine roared to life.

Oliver opened the door to the warehouse, and a pair of headlights shone through the darkness.

"We have a car?" he asked.

"How did you think we were going to get to Minnesota?" she asked in return.

"I figured you'd do some spy stuff and steal us a car," he smirked.

"I'm not a spy, Olly," she said with a laugh. He really needed to quit acting so cute, or he just might end up with a kiss by the end of the day, whether he liked it or not.

"Do we need to pack anything?" he asked, becoming more serious.

"No. Trunk is full of supplies but..." She took a long look at Oliver in Bernard's clothes. The pants were about two inches too short, and the tee-shirt looked like it was about to rip a seam. "We should probably get you some appropriate clothing." She walked by him and headed toward the car.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at his clothes. "Even Bernard's clothes dislike me."

"He didn't dislike you, Olly," Chelsea said, and the sadness started to return.

"I know, Chels," he said, realizing his mistake. It was too soon for her to enjoy memories of them. "He was protective of you. It's why I liked him."

"Get in the car, doofus," she ordered, pushing the sadness aside.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied and hopped in the passenger seat. When they were both in, Chelsea took off and headed out of town. By nightfall, they had crossed into Minnesota and were looking for somewhere to stay the night. Their trip had been quick except for a stop at an all-in-one store to get them some food and Oliver some appropriately sized clothes. Finally, at a little after midnight, they found a rundown hotel along the highway and stopped for the night. The Lazy Sleep Inn. Even the name sounded cheap.

"Why do I have to be the prisoner?" Oliver complained quietly as Chelsea led him up to the check-in desk. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and she had torn his new shirt in a few places then rubbed some dirt on it as well as his face.

"You refuse to drive, and I have a badge," she replied with a grin.

"It's not a real badge," Oliver whined. "You sure you're not a spy?"

"It's a really good fake. Do you have a badge?" she asked in a silly voice, ignoring the spy comment.

"No. I don't have a badge," he replied, defeated.

"They think they're looking for a couple. They're not looking for a cop hauling in a bail jumper." Her tone and face told Oliver he wasn't winning this argument and truthfully it was better than anything he could come up with.

"Fine. You win," he whined again.

"Now hush and let me do the talking," she ordered.

"As you wish, Ms. Spy." He smiled, and she knew it was going to be another stupid comment. "What's your code name?"

She rolled her eyes and continued on. "I'm not a spy!"

Chelsea pushed him into the open door forcefully and shoved him into a chair. The older man behind the counter looked at her curiously. He wore glasses and had grey hair that was ragged. His clothes didn't look much better. He had on an old, thinning white button-up shirt that looked like it had been stained several times.

"Don't you fucking move! I've about had it with your shit! I will shoot you!" she yelled at Oliver then turned to the hotel attendant and lifted her shirt to reveal a gun in its holster, and a badge clipped to her belt. She flashed it quickly, so the man wasn't able to make out what the badge actually said, nor the fact that her gun wasn't even loaded. Chelsea hated guns, but the attendant didn't need to know that. "Officer Chelsea Jones. Do you have a room with two singles? I'm beat, and this idiot decided to try and skip bail." She looked at Oliver hatefully.

"Yes. We have a room available. That's seventy-five a night," the man said.

Chelsea pulled a hundred dollar bill out of her pocket and slapped it on the counter.

"You can keep the change if you give me a ring at eight AM," she said sternly.

"How are you going to keep him still while you sleep?" the old man asked.

"Leg irons," she said with a wink. "I attach them behind his back to the handcuffs. I said I was sleeping. Didn't say he was."

"But he'll crawl away," the man insisted. He was clearly the nosey type.

"I attach those to a chain around my waist. He's not going anywhere." She turned to Oliver and rolled her eyes.

"But what if he sneaks your gun?" The old man still wasn't satisfied.

Chelsea turned back to the old man and huffed.

"Do you want my job? I've been doing this for five years now. Are you one of those _men_ that think just because I'm a woman I'm incapable of being in law enforcement? Now, I've had a long night. Can I have the room or not?" She stared at him intently, and he quickly snatched the hundred dollars and produced a key. "Thank you," she said, then winked at Oliver before yelling at him. "Get up, jackass!"

On the way to the room, Oliver started to snicker to himself.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, although she wasn't sure she really wanted to hear another one of Oliver's silly comments. Ok, that wasn't true. She loved Oliver's silly comments. It was just fun to pretend she didn't. It seemed like the more she complained about them, the sillier they got. Right now, a little silliness was just what she needed.

Oliver kept quiet until the door was shut and locked.

"Do you really have leg irons?" he asked, trying not to laugh.

"Maybe? Why do you ask?" She was trying to stop the smile that was forming. She couldn't let him win without a little resistance, and it was clear that he was trying to make her smile.

"Sorry. I just got the stupidest image of you chaining me to the bed and tickling me until I surrendered." He started talking in a higher voice. "No, Chelsea. Please don't tickle me anymore. I'll wash your clothes."

Chelsea smirked at him deviously then turned toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said and walked off.

"Wait! You didn't unlock the cuffs," he said. "Chels? Chelsea? Oh, come on!" She slammed the door, and he flopped onto the bed. "Nice going doofus. You pissed her off."

He hadn't pissed her off at all. It was just fun to pick on him...he started it. Chelsea talked to herself in the mirror while the shower was warming up.

"I wouldn't be tickling you, but you might be begging for mercy," she snickered to herself. "Oh, that was bad. You should be ashamed of yourself, Chelsea." The rush of emotions caused by her thinking about undressing Oliver made her eyes turn reptilian. "Oh, great. I get a little excited and this." She smacked the mirror with the back of her hand. "What are you doing, Chelsea? He's never going to accept you like this. Even if he was interested. Which he's not. I can just see it now." She made her voice lower like Oliver's. "Kiss me, Chelsea. What's wrong with your eyes? Ahhh! You're a freak." Her voice returned to normal, and she stared hard at her image in the mirror. "You are a freak. He will never love you, so knock it off!"

After about five minutes, she returned with a towel on her head. She had given up with the glasses and ponytail now, but Oliver still hadn't noticed. The depression of realizing Oliver really wasn't interested in her, coupled with her grief put her in a bad place. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Life was horrible, disappointing, and barely worth trying any longer.

"Hey, Chelsea?" Oliver winced. "Umm."

"What now, Oliver?!" she snapped. She hadn't meant to. Everything was just so frustrating and depressing.

"I'm sorry. I broke your cuffs," he cringed. "They must have been defective. I just reached for the remote. I'm really sorry."

Chelsea threw the towel on her bed and looked at Oliver's wrists. The cuffs were dangling around his wrists. He had snapped the chain.

"How the hell did you break them? They weren't defective. Those were standard handcuffs like the police use. What happened?" Chelsea asked. She bent down and inspected the chain. Afterward, she unlocked both cuffs, held them in her hands, and stared.

"Ok. It was like this. I watched you walk into the bathroom and started thinking about how much you'd been through. How horrible it was. Then I started thinking about The Order and how they will never let you go. I got so angry. Then my muscles started to hurt, and I got mad again because I thought the pain was back. So, I figured. Hey, let's watch some TV and calm down. Then I reached for the remote and remembered the cuffs. I got a little frustrated and pulled and...they snapped."

"How strong are you?" Chelsea inspected him closely. What kind of non-human was he? Sure, she could break the cuffs. Maybe a really strong werewolf could, but what else out there could be that strong?

"I really have no idea," he admitted.

"We need to find someone who can tell us what you are." She walked over to her bed and tossed the towel onto the floor. "You should take a shower. We're heading out at eight."

"Yeah, I should," he agreed and headed to the bathroom. Before he made it to the door, Chelsea stopped him.

"Olly. No cologne. I'm getting sick of smelling it." She leaned back and shut her eyes. She was worn out from driving.

"Ok. No cologne," he replied.

By the time Oliver was done with his shower, Chelsea was fast asleep. He decided she might wake up and need something, so he slid into bed with her and put his arm around her waist.

Chelsea mumbled in her sleep, grabbed his hand, and pulled him in closer. After she settled, Oliver just stared at her for a while. He thought about the mess they were in and how much he wanted to stay with her. He felt guilty, but he was glad for the mess they were in. Not for the deaths of Chelsea's family but for the chance to be important to her. Before he realized it, he had drifted off to sleep as well.

# Chapter 15

Oliver knew it was a dream, but he didn't want this one to end. He was sitting on a kitchen counter, and his mother was standing in front of him. It felt familiar to him, and he knew he lived there, but he didn't recognize it. He must have been no older than six or seven. His mother, Rebecca, looked so beautiful. Her hazel eyes, that matched his, and her brunette hair he had twirled around his finger filled him with joy. In this dream, he could understand his mother.

"When you grow up you will find one of your own," she said.

"Just like you?" he asked.

"Yes. Just like me. Maybe prettier," she laughed.

"No one is prettier than you, mommy," he said seriously.

"That will change when you meet her," she said.

"Show me your other face please," little Oliver begged.

"Ok," she replied.

Rebecca's skin turned grey, scales encircled her beautiful face, her eyes changed to look like that of a snake, and small sharp teeth filled her mouth.

"No one could be prettier than you," he said with certainty.

A large man walked up behind Rebecca and grabbed her around the waist. The man looked like an older version of Oliver. His hair was trimmed short, and his eyes were blue, but the rest looked a lot like Oliver.

"He's right," Gerald said and kissed her on the cheek. Her face changed back, and she laughed.

"With you two around, I might just get a complex."

The dream began to fade. As hard as Oliver tried, he couldn't keep it in focus. He struggled to see his mother again, but in a flash, he was in their car. This time seemed different, clearer, more real.

"We have to do it!" Gerald yelled.

"I can't give up my boy!" Rebecca yelled back at him.

"We're out of options. Grab Oliver and take him to the city. Find a police station and drop him off. They've found us. We have no time. Please. I'll give you time to get there. He won't survive unless he finds her!" Gerald turned, and a bullet pierced his head.

"DADDY!" little Oliver screamed from the back seat, his face covered in blood.

The passenger side door was torn off its hinges, and Rebecca stood in the opening with her 'other face' on.

"Oliver, we need to go," she said calmly.

In a flash, he was sitting on the steps of the police station, and Rebecca was standing in front of him with her normal face on.

"Why can't you take me with you?" he was crying.

"Because I can't keep you safe anymore. Only she can." Rebecca wiped the tears from her face. "Believe me. I don't want to go." She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

"No, mommy! I want to come with you!" little Oliver screamed.

Rebecca put her finger over his lips.

"Be a good boy. Always protect her, and she will protect you." Rebecca stood up, ready to leave.

"But I don't know who she is," little Oliver protested.

His mother smiled kindly at him.

"Your father and I tracked her to this town. She's here, and she will find you." The door to the police station opened, and Rebecca dashed away faster than little Oliver's eyes could see.

Little Oliver covered his eyes and started to cry.

"Oliver, wake up," Chelsea said.

"No, mommy, don't leave me," Oliver said in his sleep.

"Wake up Oliver," Chelsea said again, louder this time. Oliver had his arms around her, and she was facing him. Her lips were inches from his.

Oliver opened his eyes and looked confused for a moment.

"Chelsea?" he asked.

"Can you let me go now?" she asked with a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said frantically as he released his grip on her.

"Not that I minded," she said as she sat up. "That was the best night's sleep I've had in years. But we do have that little problem with The Order wanting us dead and all."

"Oh, shit. What time is it?" he asked.

"It's eight-thirty. The bastard took the extra twenty-five and didn't call. Hell, the phones probably don't even work in this dump." She slid on her shoes and stood up to stretch.

Something felt wrong to Oliver. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was just wrong. He stood up and looked at Chelsea. Why did he feel such a strong sense of foreboding all of a sudden?

"What's wrong, Oliver?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said.

The phone started to ring, and Chelsea bent over to pick it up.

Before she could pick up the phone, someone opened fire on their hotel room. Bullets riddled the walls. Instinctively Oliver rushed over to Chelsea and wrapped his arms around her until the shooting paused.

"We need out of here," he said.

Chelsea charged at the wall of the bathroom and covered her face as she shot right through it.

"I'm glad this was such a cheap hotel," she commented from the outside.

Oliver squeezed through the hole after her, and they could hear people talking outside the door. They were coming in.

The door burst open, and three men with guns noticed them. They opened fire again, and Oliver pushed Chelsea to the side. Once she had her bearings, she took off toward the far end of the building.

"We have to get to the car," Chelsea said as she rounded the corner.

Oliver chased after her, but Chelsea was incredibly fast. He had the distinct impression she was holding back.

"You get the car," he ordered as he stopped.

"Wait! No!" she yelled.

"Get the car!" he ordered again, and she took off. Now she was moving! His eyes barely kept up with her. He was right. She was a lot faster when she wasn't waiting for him.

Oliver turned and walked back around the corner.

The three men looked at him but didn't shoot right away. It was just long enough for Oliver to come up with a plan. He charged at them, and before they could bring their guns up, he tackled all three of them. While they were reeling from Oliver's large frame slamming into them, he got up and ran through the hotel and out the door. Chelsea had the car running in front of their room. Oliver noticed another car with its doors open and its engine running. He ran at it full speed, and the impact of his body sent the car toppling over onto its top. Afterward, he got into their car, and Chelsea sped off.

Chelsea noticed a woman standing at the payphone as they left. It was the small Middle Eastern woman from her mother's office building, and she was staring right at them with a smile on her face. Had she been the one who called at exactly the right time? Why had she warned them?

When they were on the highway, Oliver flipped off the hotel in the rearview mirror then got out his phone.

"Who are you calling? You need to get rid of that. I think they're tracking us with our phones," Chelsea said and rolled down the window. She tossed hers out, then waited for Oliver.

"Just a second," he said.

"What could be so important?" she asked.

"Zero out of five stars. Take that Lazy Sleep Inn!" he said and tossed the phone out the window.

"You're such a dork," she said with a laugh.

"King Dork if you please," he said, trying to make his voice sound snotty and regal.

Chelsea's laughing stopped when she saw Oliver's shirt.

"You're bleeding!" she yelled. She hit the brakes, and a car behind them had to swerve to avoid crashing into them.

"Keep going!" he yelled. "I'm bulletproof. I don't know about car proof...Ok, wait. I am car proof, but you're not."

"But you're bleeding," she argued.

"I was bleeding." Oliver took off his shirt and leaned forward. "See? No holes." He held up his shirt, and there were six holes in it.

"Where are the bullets?" Chelsea asked as she took off again.

"I felt them fall out when I was tackling those guys. Must not have been very strong guns," he said. He looked at the shirt then yelled. "Great!"

"What's wrong?" she asked him frantically, trying to keep an eye on the road ahead of her while searching his face for a sense of what had caused the outburst.

"That was my only shirt. I left the others in the hotel," he looked at her with a devious smile.

"You did that on purpose. You...you..." Her frustration wrinkled up her face.

"I think the word you're looking for is dork," he said.

"Oh, no. That one deserves much worse. Dorkus Maximus." She giggled and raised one eyebrow.

"So, I'm a Roman dork? That's worse than an American dork? Seriously though. If you see a store. I am out of shirts. Might look a little suspicious if I'm walking around in a shirt covered with blood." He tossed his bloody shirt out the window.

Chelsea then realized he was sitting next to her, shirtless. She felt nervous and self-conscious. She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't quit looking. She needed to find a store that sold shirts and soon.

After about five miles, Chelsea spotted a convenience store. She saw shirts in the window, so she quickly ran inside and grabbed a few, paid for them then returned to the car. She tossed the lot of them on Oliver's lap and took off once again.

"We can't stay still too long. We need to get off this highway too. Just need..." She saw an off-ramp and took it. She had no idea where they were going, but sometimes getting lost was the best way to get rid of someone following you. Unpredictability was how Bernard had put it. If they can't guess where you're going, they can't get ahead of you. They can only look for tracks.

Oliver picked up the first shirt. It said 'I'm with stupid' and had an arrow pointing up. He rolled his eyes and picked up the next one. This one said, 'My other boyfriend is a bodybuilder'.

"What the hell kind of shirts are you picking out for me?" He picked up another shirt. This one said, in big sparkly letters, 'My girlfriend is a genius!' Then in smaller letters it said 'She told me I had to write that.' "Ok, that one's pretty funny." He looked at the last one then put it on. It said 'World's biggest dork!' written in silly-looking letters that were all different colors and sizes. "I gotta wear this one."

"Of course, you do," she laughed.

When the excitement had worn down, and they were sure they had lost The Order, they both realized they really were lost. The pavement had ended, and they were now faced with a choice of going straight down a dirt road or turning off onto two other dirt roads. They had been driving most of the day, and Chelsea would turn every so often to make sure no one was behind them. It was starting to get dark, and they would need to sleep eventually. They both realized it was time to quit running and start heading somewhere.

"Flip a coin?" Chelsea asked.

"There are three ways to go," Oliver offered.

"Actually there are four. We could always go back," she corrected.

"You know what? You just pick a way and go. We have literally no idea where we are. Follow your gut, and if there's nothing after an hour, we'll head a different direction." Oliver waited for her to decide.

"How far you think we are from the border?" she asked.

"Couple hours. Maybe a day? We took so many turns. We could be anywhere." Oliver folded the map and put it in the glove box. "Well, this thing is useless. We need to know where we are before we can know where we're going."

"At least we know which direction Canada is," Chelsea said.

"True. Want to just head north and hope for the best?" he asked.

"Actually, let's head north for an hour, like you said, then head west back toward the highway. Surely, they've passed us by now." Chelsea gave him an inquisitive look.

"Your call but I'm up for it," he stated.

Chelsea turned left and headed north down the dirt road. After an hour, they turned left to head back to the highway. Along the way back to the highway, they drove through a small town with a hotel. They decided it was getting late and a hotel in the middle of nowhere was better than sleeping in the car, so they stopped for the night. This time they gave up on the fake personas and simply checked in with fake names.

The hotel wasn't upscale, but it also wasn't The Lazy Sleep Inn. This place looked old but well kept. The people who ran this place actually cared about pleasing their patrons.

On the way up to the room, Oliver noticed Chelsea's hands shaking. After they were safely inside and no one could overhear them, he brought it up.

"You're not getting enough to eat," he stated. "We've been driving all day without stopping. You must be starving."

"I'll be fine," she lied.

"I could go grab some steaks. I'm sure there's something open," he offered.

"This is a small town after ten o'clock. The only thing that might be open would be a bar or liquor store. Neither of which is going to sell you raw meat." She sat on the bed and tried to keep her shaking hidden, but it was getting difficult.

"Wait. We're in the middle of nowhere. There are fields and forests all over the place. Let's go for a walk. Surely there's a deer or something." Oliver paced in front of her trying to find solutions, but this was the only one he could come up with.

"I've never really had much luck with hunting. They tried to show me, but I just wasn't any good. The hunger takes me over, and I go wild," she said dejectedly.

Oliver noticed how she intentionally said 'they' instead of calling them by name. He remembered going through it, but seeing it in her. He felt like his heart was breaking. He would have done anything to keep this pain from her, but it was not something he could protect her from.

"What were you dreaming about this morning?" Chelsea asked. She was trying to change the subject, and Oliver knew it, but he played along. He'd keep trying. It was not a good idea to pressure Chelsea. She was stubborn, and he wasn't going to change her mind directly. He had to be sneaky about it.

Oliver sat beside her and put his hand on her leg.

"I want to thank you," he started. "I think it was you. You made it so I could hear their voices. The dreams were always jumbled, and I couldn't understand what was being said. I'm pretty sure that's because of you."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"In my dream, I remember what my mom said to me before she left me on the steps of the police station." He looked at Chelsea gratefully. He knew she was the reason for the clarity.

"That's good, right?" she asked.

"Yes. Mom told me to find _her_ ," he said, emphasizing the word.

"Her who?" Chelsea asked.

"You," he replied. "Actually, she said you would find me. And you did."

"That doesn't make any sense. I didn't even know you. How could she possibly have known I would find you?" Chelsea looked confused and distraught. Her hand shook, and she grabbed it to stop the shaking. Oliver could feel the muscles in her leg shaking as well.

"I have no idea. It was pretty vague, but I choose to believe she was talking about you. She also said that in order to protect myself, I have to protect you so..." he got back around to the reason for the story. "If you don't eat, you could die. If you die, The Order will catch me and kill me. Please take a walk with me and at least try."

"I don't know, Olly. I can't control myself. What if I hurt you?" She looked into his eyes, begging him to save her from herself.

"You'd never hurt me. You're starving, and all you can think about is me? Those don't sound like the words of someone who wants to hurt me. What happens if a really tasty smelling human comes to clean our room or see if we need more towels? A small chance to hurt me, the man who can survive a car wreck and bullets, is not much of a risk. It's not really much of a choice. If you do hurt me, which you won't, I'll heal." He was sure of himself, and this convinced her.

"You have a point," she relented.

Oliver stood and held out his hand. She smiled gratefully at him while he led her downstairs and out of the hotel.

# Chapter 16

Oliver and Chelsea walked for maybe a mile down a dirt road, and soon the lights of the small town were barely visible. The road Oliver had chosen led through what appeared to be a forest. Back at the hotel, Oliver had learned they were less than a hundred miles from the Canada border. Although it was a little cold, being the start of November, neither of them seemed to notice. Oliver was worried about Chelsea, and she was distracted by the growing hunger that clouded her mind.

"Don't follow me, Oliver. I don't want to hurt you," she said as her head darted to follow a shadow in the trees.

"I'll wait right here by the road. Believe me. I don't want to feel those claws in me," he said with a laugh. The only part about Chelsea's lamia side he had seen were her claws.

Chelsea stopped and lowered herself closer to the ground. She could hear something large walking in the forest beside them. It had to be less than a hundred feet away. A deer, maybe an elk or a bear. She didn't care which. The hunger was too strong. She tilted her head, and Oliver just watched. She looked feral, like an animal tracking its prey. His observations about Allison were correct. Allison and Chelsea were predators.

Chelsea's clouded mind felt the change coming. She had to get away from Oliver. He couldn't see her like that. Their relationship wasn't what she had longed for, but it was at a point where she couldn't bear the thought of losing what they had. He might never love her the way she wanted, but he did love her. She wasn't willing to risk losing what little she had because she was a hideous beast.

Chelsea shot into the forest while Oliver watched from the road. In seconds, she was gone.

Chelsea ran through the forest, growing more animal-like with every step. Her vision changed, and she could see the heat from everything around her. Her mind continued to cloud, and all she could think about was the hunger. She stopped and smelled the air. The musk of the animal was strong. It was male, and it was large. She hadn't had much experience with hunting, so she didn't know what kind of animal it was, but she didn't care.

To her right, she saw the heat of a large animal behind some bushes. It sensed her. She could hear its heartbeat; it was afraid. Chelsea took a light step towards it and leaves crunched. The animal shot from its hiding place and Chelsea followed. Strangely she thought of how proud Oliver would be if she brought back this huge animal, and her mind started to clear. This animal looked like a deer but larger. Its antlers were huge. She thought it might be an elk. She also thought it was strange how she still had control of her thoughts. Previously the hunger had taken her over, now her thoughts seemed a little cloudy, but they were still hers.

The creature slowed as it approached a still pond. The half-moon reflected on the placid surface. It bent its neck down to drink and ripples expanded outward from it. Chelsea's heart was pounding in her chest. She wanted the creature to run again. The exhilaration of the hunt was drawing her in, so she thought of Oliver. A smile came across her fanged mouth. He would be so proud of her, the control she had now was because of him.

The elk lifted its head up and looked around. Did it hear her heartbeat? It was pounding in her ears now. Did this creature sense her? It took off at a full run away from the pond, and Chelsea chased it. She could outrun this majestic beast, but something inside her didn't want to. If she caught it, the chase would be over. This felt so amazing and primal. She didn't want it to end. Then the hunger started burning stronger inside her. She didn't want the thrill to end, but she needed to feed. This magnificent creature was food. It needed to die.

Chelsea lept on the elk and sunk her fangs into its throat. The creature barely struggled. It sensed its demise and gave into it as the life faded from its eyes. Chelsea stared up at the half-moon and said a silent prayer for the creature. She thanked whoever was listening for providing the magnificent elk. She wasn't religious, but Bernard had always taught her to be thankful after a hunt. He always told her to be thankful and respectful. This beautiful creature had to die so she could live.

After eating her fill, she headed back to Oliver to tell him the wonderful news. She shifted back into her normal form. She was not ready to show Oliver yet. It was enough that he knew she was a killer and predator. He didn't need to see the horror she turned into. Not yet.

When she was in sight of the road, she saw Oliver pacing nervously. The adrenaline and excitement was still coursing through her veins, and she could barely contain herself. She took off at a sprint, unable to wait another second to tell Oliver.

When she finally reached him, she was barely out of breath. He looked at her, hopefully.

"Did you eat?" he asked, almost excited.

"It was amazing!" she exclaimed. She had so much to tell him. How could she say it all? "I've never felt like that before in my life! I tracked an elk through the trees and...and..." She didn't know what to say next. Her mind was racing, and she was talking almost as fast. She couldn't decide which part she should tell him next. "I owe you everything, Oliver! I was able to control it! I love you!"

Chelsea's eyes grew huge. What had she done? No! It wasn't supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be romantic. They were in the middle of the woods, and she was covered in blood. No!

"I love you too, Chelsea," Oliver said matter-of-factly.

"You do?" she asked, surprised. All this time thinking he didn't love her and he did? She wasn't sure if she was happy or angry. Why had he hidden it so long? Didn't he see how she looked at him? How she longed for him?

"Of course I do. You're my sister," Oliver replied.

Chelsea's world fell apart. He didn't love her. Not the way she wanted and he never would. The combination of adrenalin in her blood and crushing disappointment made her furious.

"I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING SISTER! You fucking idiot! I don't just love you! I'm in love with you! I have been since I was nine years old! I don't want to be your sister! I want to be your lover!" Chelsea stomped around and held her head. Why was she yelling at him? She felt the change coming. She stopped and looked at Oliver, who looked completely blindsided.

"I...umm..." was all that would come out of his mouth.

"You know what?! Never fucking mind!" She started back into the forest. The change was coming, and these emotions were making it difficult to stop. The complete and total disappointment felt like a dark void deep inside her. She wasn't going to be able to stop the change. She needed to get out of here.

"Where are you going?" Oliver asked, concerned.

"Go back to the hotel. I'm going to go cool off then we can go back to normal. Me secretly in love with you and you completely oblivious to my feelings. Ok?! That sound good to you?!" She was so mad at Oliver. She needed to leave, but she couldn't make her feet move. She stood, facing away from him at the edge of the tree line. She couldn't leave things like this. Even if he didn't love her, she needed him. She turned and lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. I'm just upset. Go back to the hotel. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Just let me blow off some steam."

"Ok," was all Oliver could say. He didn't know how to fix this. Chelsea had revealed a secret to him. One that needed a reply and he froze. Oliver turned slowly and headed back to town. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Chelsea slip into the trees.

He loved her. He really did, but was he in love with her? The thought of intimacy with Chelsea scared him. What if he screwed it up? What if she didn't like it? What if she got to know the real him and hated him? Then there was the one that really scared him. What if he had sex with Chelsea and got bored of her like all the other women? What would that say about him? He always told himself the other women were 'not the right girl' or made up some other excuse. If he treated Chelsea, possibly the most perfect girl in the entire world, like he had treated other women. He wasn't sure he could live with himself.

A car traveled down the empty dirt road and pulled up next to Oliver. Its dark windows rolled down, and he realized he should run a moment after it was too late.

Virginia smiled at him from inside.

"Hi, Oliver," she said as the Taser knocked him unconscious.

Back in the forest, Chelsea was too distracted by her thoughts to hear the sounds of the car and Oliver's body hitting the ground. Even the voices of the men who hauled Oliver's unconscious body into the car didn't break through her argument with herself.

"Why would he love you?" she asked with disdain. "You're horrible, and you eat raw meat. You're covered with blood." She looked at her shirt and pants. There was so much blood. Chelsea started to get angry. "Why would he even like you?!"

The change took her, and she lashed out at a nearby tree. Her claws sliced through the trunk, leaving claw marks a few inches deep. "What if you get mad and do that to Oliver? Sure, he heals, but will he ever forgive you? Face facts, Chelsea. He can't love you because of what you are."

Chelsea fell to her knees. She was beside the pond. She looked at the serene surface and saw her reflection. Her face was covered with blood, and her hair was matted with it. She saw her reptilian eyes and wolf fangs, the scales surrounding her face and the grey skin that covered it. She felt hideous and ashamed of what she was. Even by non-human standards, she was ugly. She looked up at the moon and tried to yell in frustration, but what came out didn't sound human. The terrifying roar frightened the wildlife around her and birds took off trying to escape whatever had made the noise.

Chelsea looked at her reflection again, and her face returned to normal. Tears streamed down her face and washed some of the blood away as they fell.

"You really are a monster," she said to herself sadly. "You need to let him go. You are going to get him killed or worse. You will kill him yourself."

After washing her face off with water from the pond, she headed back to town. She knew what she had to do. Oliver didn't need to be involved in this. The Order wasn't looking for him. They were looking for her. She could give him money and have him run in the opposite direction. He'd be happy, and she could deal with her condition in private. Monsters like her didn't deserve happiness. Now she understood why parents would kill their hybrid children. She was a horrible blight on the world that needed to be far away from anyone she might hurt.

When she arrived back at the hotel, she slipped by the attendant as he watched TV. When she was back at their room, she stopped at the door. She took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy, but Oliver needed to be far, far away from her. She could push down her feelings and do what was best for him. She was just being selfish. She knew that now.

Chelsea turned the doorknob, but it wasn't Oliver in the room. There were two Order soldiers. Chelsea's face turned immediately and she lept at one of them.

"Wait! Stop! We have Oliver!" he yelled.

Chelsea stopped, backed up, and her face returned to normal.

"Where is he?" she asked frantically.

"If you come along peacefully he won't be harmed," the man said.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she asked.

Virginia walked in the door, and Chelsea turned to face her. She held up her cell phone with a picture of Oliver on it. His eyes were closed, and he looked dead. Chelsea's rage made her change again.

"Wait!" Virginia ordered. "He's just unconscious." She hit play on the phone and Chelsea could hear Oliver moaning. "See. He'll be fine. He won't be harmed if you come with us."

Chelsea looked at the ground, defeated. She would be tortured and experimented on for years to come, but at least Oliver would be safe. She returned to normal and put her hands behind her back. Quickly, one of the men put handcuffs on her.

"You'll see, Chelsea. This won't be so bad," Virginia said as the two men led Chelsea out of the room.

When Chelsea was out of earshot, Virginia dialed a number on her phone. When a man answered, she ignored him and started barking orders.

"Get the chair ready and make sure we have plenty of restraints. We've never held anyone like her. This is going to be glorious." She waited for confirmation.

"What should we do with the boy?" the man asked.

"Throw him in a cell. Let's see how long he lasts with all those monsters. He'll probably have a heart attack before we can use him to torture the hybrid." She laughed evilly and hung up.

# Chapter 17

Oliver woke in another cell, but this one was different. Instead of dark and foreboding, this one was made of glass. The walls were three inches thick, and he could see several rows of prisoners on both sides of a long aisle that went down the center. Other than the narrow walkway between the rows, the room was filled with cells, and in every cell was a prisoner.

He got to his feet and banged on the glass door. There were small holes to allow his voice to travel through.

"Let me out! Where the hell am I?!" he shouted. Soon a guard came strolling down the aisle and stopped in front of his cell. Oliver's cell was at the end of the row, next to a solid cement wall.

"Shut up, or I'll put you in with one of our more interesting guests," the man said cruelly.

Oliver looked across and saw a small woman. She was probably Katarina's height and build, but without the fake breasts. Her skin was light brown, and her features were sharp. She looked Middle Eastern. Even her long black hair led him to believe she was from the Middle East.

"Like her?" Oliver asked with a laugh. "You got some seriously dangerous prisoners in here."

As soon as the man realized the woman was walking toward the glass, he looked terrified and put his back against Oliver's cage. He stared at the small woman, waiting for her to make a move. She blew him a kiss, and he took off down the hall.

"Ignore him," the small woman said. Her accent was thick, but Oliver couldn't place it. It sounded Egyptian, maybe? Perhaps Pakistani? He wasn't very good with accents.

"My name is Miraven. You have nothing to fear from me." She stood on her toes, put her nose to the holes in the door and breathed in deeply. "Oh, my! You smell wonderful." The huge grin on her face and the look she gave him worried Oliver.

"I get that a lot," he said nervously. "From women, that is."

"Of course you do, darling." She breathed in deeply again.

"You're not going to eat me, are you?" he asked.

"Now why would I eat such a lovely specimen? There are many other things I'd love to do, but eat you is not one of them," she smiled seductively. "But don't worry. I won't touch you. I don't have a death wish. Chelsea would probably tear me to pieces."

"How do you know Chelsea?" Oliver asked, confused.

"I know all about you and Chelsea, Oliver." She winked at him and crossed her arms then leaned against the wall. On the other side of her wall, a larger man pushed himself farther into the corner of his cell to stay away from her. She smacked the glass, and he jumped. "Calm down, Jerome. I said I'm not here for you. Sheesh," she said with a laugh.

"Why is everyone so afraid of you?" Oliver asked sheepishly.

"What? Don't I look frightening?" she asked with a laugh.

"No?" he asked skeptically.

"How about now?" she asked and six-inch claws, truthfully they looked more like curved knives, came out of her fingertips. Her face turned pale white, and her eyes vanished, leaving dark sockets. Inside her mouth were needle-sharp teeth at least an inch long. Her hair turned white to match her skin. As quickly as she changed, she was back to being the small Middle Eastern woman.

Oliver took a step back. His face looked terrified.

"You're afraid of me? Now that's funny. You are so clueless, Oliver," she said with a laugh.

"How do you know our names?" Oliver asked. His fear was subsiding. There were more pressing things which needed to be answered.

"Who doesn't know about the lamia werewolf hybrid and her oblivious, almost-boyfriend, who doesn't even know what he is." She stared at Oliver and licked her lips. She looked him up and down like a piece of meat. "My my. That lamia doesn't even know what she's got. If it doesn't work out with you and Chelsea, I'd be happy to fill in."

"What are you?" Oliver asked, ignoring her advances. Over the years he'd gotten pretty good at ignoring advances from women.

"I'm a wraith," she said with a grin.

"Do you eat humans? Is that why you're in here?" he asked.

"No. I don't eat humans. I devour the life force of beings that want to die," she said calmly then smacked on the glass to Jerome's cell. "You hear that buffoon! Beings that WANT to die! Do you want to die, jackass?! No, you don't!"

"That doesn't seem so bad," Oliver said. "Why are you locked up then?"

"You think The Order cares about good or bad? No. They only care about human and non-human. You could be the most beneficial creature in the world, but if you aren't human they lock you up...or worse." She glanced down the long hall. Oliver tried to look, but the angle prevented him from seeing.

"What's worse?" he asked.

"What they're going to do to Chelsea," Miraven answered.

"Chelsea is here?!" Oliver was now frantic.

"They used you to capture her. She wouldn't even fight back. Good for them, cause even though she's young, she's incredibly powerful." Miraven looked respectful as she spoke of Chelsea, then her mood shifted. "It's probably a good thing. Creatures like her are too dangerous to live." She stared at Oliver, waiting for his response.

"How can you say that?! Chelsea is the kindest, most generous person I've ever met!" he shouted.

"If you feel that strongly, why aren't you together?" Miraven asked.

"Cause she's like..." he started, but she cut him off.

"So help me, if you say sister...I'll rip my cage open then yours and slap that beautiful face. She's not your sister. She's so much more, and you're too blind to see it. Either that or you're stupid." Miraven pushed herself up to the holes again and took another deep breath. "But like I said. If you really don't want her, I'd happily substitute."

Oliver tried to ignore her, but it was clear she was getting him worked up. The beginnings of her plan were underway.

"The way I hear it. You two haven't even had sex yet. Is that true? Come on? Don't tell me you don't want to hit that," Miraven said with a devious grin.

"Quit talking about her like that!" he shouted.

"Oh, a sore spot. You don't think she's beautiful?" Miraven asked. He was so predictable and easy.

"Of course, I think she's beautiful," he snapped.

"Then you're gay," she said, her smile spreading.

"No, I'm not gay." He slumped down onto the floor and leaned against the wall. "It's just different with Chelsea."

"Oh, you just don't find her attractive. Is that it?" she pushed.

"No, she's very attractive," he answered, clearly frustrated.

"Then what is it?" Miraven asked.

"I don't know!" Oliver shouted.

"Let me make this easier for you. I'll help you and even tell you what you are IF you answer my questions truthfully." She crouched down and sat against the wall like Oliver was doing.

"You know what I am?" he asked.

"Of course I do. I've met a few of you in my time. I'm pretty old." She crossed her arms over her knees and waited. Surely the curiosity would make Oliver play along.

"What am I then?" he asked.

"Now, now. First, you have to answer my questions, and you have to tell the truth. I'll know if you're lying." She laid her head across her arms and looked across the aisle at Oliver.

"Is that a wraith thing? You can tell when I'm lying?" he asked. He turned his head to look at her.

"No. I'm just very old. You learn a thing or two about lying when you've been around as long as I have." She smiled kindly at him, and he turned away.

"You can't be more than thirty," he objected.

"Try three thousand and thirty, and you'd be a lot closer," she smirked. "Ok, I'm much older than that, but a woman never reveals her true age. Draining the life force from people has its perks."

"Fine. Ask your questions," he relented.

"Remember. Answer truthfully," she waited, and when he nodded, she started. "First question. When you wake up in the morning, what is the first thing you think of? Be honest."

"Umm..." He searched his memories. What did he think about? "I guess I wonder what Chelsea is doing. Is she ok?"

"Good start. Now, what do you think about before you fall asleep?" she asked. He didn't see it, but by the time she was done he would.

"I don't know...the same thing I guess," he said and started to look uncomfortable.

"Now for the hard ones," she snickered. "What if Chelsea got married and had a child? What if her husband didn't like you and refused to let her see you? What if they moved away and forbade you from seeing Chelsea?"

"I'd be upset?" he asked.

"Oh, you can do better than that. Let's skip that one. What if Chelsea said she never wanted to see you again? How would that make you feel?" Miraven was enjoying every minute of this.

"I'd be hurt," Oliver said.

"You're holding back. Fine. Final question. You have to answer this one truthfully and completely. No holding back." She waited for his response.

"If you'll stop these stupid questions and tell me what I am, I'll do it," he replied with frustration.

"This is a two-parter, so answer each part truthfully and completely. Part one. What if I told you that you are putting Chelsea in danger?" She waited for the response.

"I'd feel horrible. I'd probably leave and never come back," he said.

"Good. Finally, some real honesty. Now here's the second part. What if I told you that you really are putting her in danger right now? But..." she paused because she could see he was going to answer prematurely. "You are putting her in danger because you won't protect her. You won't admit that you are in love with her so you can't protect her."

"That's ridiculous. What kind of games are you playing?" he asked and got to his feet.

"It's true. Admit it, Oliver." Miraven stood as well and faced him.

"I...I can't. She's too important," he argued.

"Oliver, you're a troll. You're job. You're ONLY job is to protect one lamia. And that's Chelsea. In order for you to do that you have to admit you are in love with her." Miraven waited. Oliver was being stubborn about this. He wouldn't give up easily.

"So, I'm a troll? A stinky, disgusting beast with warts and green skin. Horrible teeth and I eat garbage? Why am I listening to you?" Oliver slammed his fist on the glass and turned around.

"Do you know who wrote all those old stories? Who do you think wrote the history books?" Miraven waited patiently. He was being really stubborn.

"Enough questions. Leave me alone," he said and walked to the back of his cell.

"I'll tell you who didn't write those stories." She waited until she was sure Oliver was listening. "Not a single one of those stories was written by a woman. See my point?"

Oliver turned and looked at Miraven. That actually made sense. Men hated him. Women adored him. Not only did he stink to men. They hated him for being so popular with women, especially when it was their woman.

"Just think about it, Oliver. I'm not lying. I'm far too old to waste time lying to you about something that really doesn't affect me. I just thought I might lend a hand to a fellow monster." She crossed her arms and walked to the back of her cell. "And Chelsea is your weakness. If she dies. You die. Because even if you won't admit it. You're in love with her."

"You think me dying is the worst part of that statement?" he asked, clearly upset.

"Now you're starting to get it," she replied.

Oliver sat down in the back corner and thought long and hard about what Miraven had said.

# Chapter 18

After several hours of silence, Oliver heard the large metal door at the end of the aisle open. It sounded like a vault door from a bank. The Order really didn't want any of the creatures in this room getting out.

Oliver wearily got to his feet to see who was coming. His heart lept when he saw Chelsea then realized her hands were cuffed in front of her. She had on a shock collar and shackles on her legs. She was a prisoner here as well.

When Chelsea, Virginia, and two armed guards were in front of his cell, Virginia thrust a cattle prod into Chelsea's side. Chelsea screamed and fell to her knees. Oliver could feel the pain returning. The burning sensation in his muscles was coming back.

"Stop that!" he shouted.

"Show him what you are!" she yelled, ignoring Oliver. "This spell you have him under. How do you do it? Does he even know what you really are?"

"I told you," Chelsea grunted and stood on her feet again. "He's not under a spell. Lamia can't do that."

"Then why does he follow you around so blindly. You must be doing something. Show him!" she yelled and prodded Chelsea again. The electricity sent her to her knees once more. Chelsea looked at Oliver apologetically.

"I'm so sorry I got you into this," Chelsea said sadly.

Oliver could feel the pain building. His muscles burned.

"I know what I am Chelsea," he said, trying to forget the pain that was building.

She looked up at him, hopefully.

"I'm a troll," he said.

Chelsea's face lit up. Could it be true? Her childhood fantasy come to life? It was just too bad they were both going to die.

"And Chelsea. I do love you." He looked at her, on her knees, defeated and broken. His heart was breaking, and the pain was coming back stronger than he'd felt in a long time.

"It's not the same thing, Oliver," she replied sadly.

"I mean, I'm in love with you. I...I just didn't want to mess things up. I was scared. You're too important. I don't think I could live without you. I think I've been in love with you this whole time. I was just a coward," he explained.

A smile lit up Chelsea's face.

"Enough! Show him!" Virginia hit her with the prod again, and Chelsea fell forward. The pain in Oliver's muscles reached a new high, and he fell to his knees as well.

"Remember Oliver. I may look horrible, but I'm still me. Please don't hate me," she pleaded.

"I would never..." Oliver stopped. He saw the fangs in her mouth descend and her eyes turn yellow. Her skin started to tighten and turn grey, then scales filled out the rest of her forehead, cheeks, and neck. When she was done changing, she was terrifying and vicious. The two guards took a step away.

"Say something, Oliver," she begged.

"You're beautiful," he said with astonishment. "My mother was right. You are prettier than she was."

"Your mother was a lamia?" Chelsea asked as her face returned to normal.

"I used to call that her other face. I would beg her to show me. I can't believe how beautiful you are. Why didn't you show me earlier?" Oliver asked.

"I guess we were both afraid," Chelsea admitted.

"You can't be the son of a lamia," Virginia objected. Behind her, she heard a tapping on the glass. Miraven was trying to get her attention. When she turned, the wraith was staring back at her. The guards bolted and ran to the door. Virginia composed herself. She couldn't look weak in front of her subordinates. "What do you want?"

"Does The Order never write down any history?" Miraven asked, still looking like a wraith.

"We have thousands of books. Why?" Virginia asked, trying to cover her fear.

"Then you guys are just stupid. A lamia and a troll are the same species. Like a rooster and a hen. A troll and a lamia aren't restricted to having only girl children. It's just some weird adaptation to keep the species alive when a lamia has a child with someone who isn't a troll." Miraven shifted back to the Middle Eastern woman and smiled. She was enjoying this whole thing a little too much. Even Virginia could see she was toying with everyone.

"Enough of this! Come get this hybrid and take her to the chair!" she ordered. As soon as the guards had Chelsea, she gave Oliver one more message. "When we're done with Chelsea, it will be your turn."

"You said he could go free!" Chelsea shouted.

"I lied," Virginia said with a laugh.

Chelsea changed back to a lamia and broke the shackles on her wrists. She slashed one of the guards throats then turned to the next. Virginia calmly pushed a button on the remote she was carrying, and Chelsea convulsed then fell to the ground as the collar shocked her over and over.

"Leave her alone!" Oliver shouted, then the pain assaulted him again, and he doubled over.

Virginia ignored Oliver and started barking orders again.

"Get her to the chair!" she yelled.

When they were gone, Miraven looked at Oliver with pity.

"Get up, troll. Are you just going to let them take her? They will kill her. She's not as durable as you are, just more deadly," she said.

"What can I do?" Oliver asked. The pain was nearly flooring him, and she wanted him to save Chelsea. How was he going to manage that?

"Give in. Let it take you," Miraven said cryptically.

In a room down the hall, Chelsea was waking up. She was strapped to a chair, similar to a dentist's chair that was modified to hold her. The restraints were solid steel about an inch thick and positioned on her wrists, elbows, upper arms, knees, and ankles. Even she couldn't break these.

Virginia noticed she was awake and turned on a monitor in front of her. In the monitor was Oliver slumped over in his cell.

"We're going to do some research. I noticed something out there. When you get hurt, he gets hurt. It's all very interesting." Virginia walked over and flipped a switch then spoke into a microphone. "Oliver. Tell me if this hurts." She walked over to Chelsea and picked up a long silver knife. She twirled it in her fingers then slammed it into Chelsea's thigh.

Chelsea screamed at the top of her lungs, and Virginia rushed to the monitor.

"Stop!" Oliver yelled and tried to get to his feet. He fell against the glass and barely kept himself up.

"Very interesting," Virginia said. "Let's try that again." Virginia walked back, pulled the blade out of Chelsea's leg, and stabbed her in the stomach very slowly. She let the knife go in an inch at a time until Chelsea screamed again.

Oliver slid down the glass until his head was touching the floor.

"Quit hurting her!" he yelled.

"Give in Oliver," Miraven said quietly.

"I don't know how," he replied.

"Just let go. Think of Chelsea. Think of what they are doing to her. It will get worse unless you just give in." Miraven crouched down.

"Give in to what?" Oliver asked. The pain was horrible. His vision was blurry, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"The change. Become a troll," Miraven said.

She stood up, and as Chelsea's screams were heard again, she yelled to Virginia.

"Virginia. Something is wrong with him. He's not moving." Miraven said with a smirk. Virginia's camera couldn't see her, and she knew it.

Miraven bent down again and whispered to Oliver.

"This is why I let them capture me. I just wanted to see it up close. Don't disappoint me, Oliver." When she was done, she stood up and yelled down the hall. "Guards! He's not moving! I think there's something wrong with him!"

Virginia started yelling over the loudspeaker.

"Guards. Get in there. He can't die yet. We still have a lot to learn," she ordered.

Two guards stood in front of Oliver's cage and stared. He put a hand up on the glass and spoke.

"Don't worry guys. I think I figured it out. You might want to stand back. This is gonna be cool," he said. His voice sounded a little lower, and it sounded like he was smiling.

In the control room, Virginia removed the blade from Chelsea's abdomen and wiped it clean.

"Let's see. What should we try next? Heat? Cold? Acid? Oh...how about poison? What do you think you can live through?" she asked.

Chelsea watched the monitor carefully, worried that Oliver was dying. She noticed something strange with his hand. It was turning grey, very slowly, but it was turning. A smile spread across her face.

"You ever hear the story non-humans tell their children about the troll?" Chelsea asked.

"No," Virginia answered absentmindedly.

"Well, it's a cautionary tale, so they know to stay out of a troll's way. Well, the lamia have a slightly different version." Chelsea's grin was growing, and Oliver was getting to his feet. Now his other hand was on the glass, and it was also turning grey. His skin was also starting to look like rock in places.

"Oh, just spit it out," Virginia ordered. She was barely paying attention. She wanted to find the right poison. Something painful but not deadly.

"To the lamia, it's a love story. The moral is also slightly different. Never stand between a troll and WHO he wants," Chelsea said with a grin.

"So what?" Virginia asked angrily.

"Oliver wants me, and you're in the way," Chelsea replied.

Oliver got to his feet and looked at the guards. His eyes had changed to look like a reptiles. They were yellow with red streaks coming from his vertical pupils. Both guards suddenly realized he was changing into something. They started to back away, full of fear.

"I was wrong," he started. "This is going to be really fucking cool!"

Both guards sprinted for the door.

Oliver pulled his fist back and punched the glass. His fist went straight through, leaving a hole about the size of his hand. He pulled his fist back and looked at it curiously.

"Well, that didn't work out like I planned," he said, disappointed.

"Just kick the glass, Oliver," Miraven chastised.

Oliver kicked the glass, it shattered into a million pieces and fell around him, but his change wasn't complete yet. He had blotches of grey all over his face. Some looked like rock; others just looked like grey skin, while others still looked human.

Miraven took a step toward her glass and put both hands on it. In seconds the glass shattered.

"You could have gotten out at any time," Oliver said.

"I told you I just wanted to see it up close," she said with a smile.

The metal door at the end of the hall slammed shut, and an alarm started blaring. They heard the sound of sliding metal as the door was locked into place.

"Think you can help me with that?" Oliver asked and pointed at the door.

Miraven laughed.

"I think you can handle it. I'm getting out of here. There's not a chance in hell I'm getting in your way," she said and put her hands on the cement wall. It crumbled to dust, and she walked out the small hole. She pointed at the large metal door. "She's that way, Oliver! Get going!"

Oliver ran down the hall, picking up speed as he closed in on the door. He slammed into it, and the whole building shook. The door was bent, but it didn't give way.

"Emergency protocol!" Virginia yelled over the intercom. "Everyone report to the holding area. We have a breach!"

Oliver walked back then took another run at the door. This time when he slammed into it, the door fell with him. As soon as he was on the other side, guards opened fire on him. Some of the bullets sank in, while others reflected off the parts of him that were rock.

"You idiots! He's a troll! Use the armor-piercing rounds!" Virginia screamed over the intercom from the safety of her control room.

Chelsea smiled as she watched a major from The Order pacing around terrified.

"I'd run now if I was you," Chelsea said. "He's coming for me, and there's nothing in this world that will stop him."

"We'll see about that," Virginia said. She pulled open a closet and started searching through it.

Meanwhile, Oliver walked slowly towards the men firing at him. The bullets were painful. He fell to one knee and started to picture Chelsea in danger. He needed to get to her. Who knew what kind of torture Virginia was putting her through?

More of his skin turned grey, and some of it turned to stone. He got back to his feet and walked farther down the hall. One of the guards was in reach. He backhanded the guard who shot through the wall and landed twenty feet away on the other side of the hole. He grabbed another guard by the shoulder and snapped his spine over his knee then tossed the dead soldier at the ones firing.

The dead guard knocked two of them over before coming to a stop. Oliver started running and picked up speed until a shot tore through his shoulder. It sent him flying backward. Then another hit him in the chest. They were now using armor-piercing rounds.

"Olly! You're almost here! Don't give up!" Chelsea yelled over the intercom. Virginia had switched cameras and was now looking at the hall Oliver was in.

"Shut up," he heard Virginia yell then Chelsea screamed as Virginia caused her pain again.

Oliver got back to his feet and looked down the hall. He could see through a window at the end of the hall. Chelsea was strapped to a chair inside, and Virginia was electrocuting her. His gaze focused on the door at the end of the hall. It looked sturdy, but Chelsea was in that room.

"Get out of my WAY!" he yelled. As the last word left his mouth, a rumble started in his chest, and soon, the word way turned into a terrifying roar. The rest of Oliver's skin turned to stone. He took off running down the hall, ignoring the bullets that skittered across his rock hard skin. He sent several guards flying, and the others ran as he crossed the hall and crashed into the door. He slammed into it full force, but the door was not as sturdy as the metal door. He cleared the door and kept going, breaking through the wall on the other side. When he got to his feet and walked back through the hole he had left, Virginia was holding a large, high powered rifle pointed right at his head.

"Get over here by her," Virginia ordered. "And before you try anything. This gun can kill a troll. Armor piercing rounds with a thermite payload. It will pretty much explode inside you and burn a hole right through. I'm pretty sure I killed your father with this gun. You are the boy we lost all those years ago, aren't you?" She sounded excited. "I knew I'd find you someday."

She circled around Oliver until he was by Chelsea. Before Virginia realized what he was doing, he snapped the restraints on Chelsea's arms and legs.

"I'd rather keep you alive. There is so much to learn from you two, but it seems our prison isn't suitable for holding you. I guess I'll have to settle for studying your corpses." She steadied the rifle and pointed it at Chelsea. "Who should I kill first?" Chelsea stood up beside Oliver, and Virginia moved her aim to Oliver.

"When she pulls the trigger I want you to kill her. I'm going to make her shoot me." He said it quietly so Virginia couldn't quite make out what he was saying.

"Quit with your mumbling," she ordered. She was nervous. She had to hit him directly in the forehead, and he kept moving. If the bullet pierced his brain, he would be dead. The lamia would be easy compared to him.

"No, Olly. You'll die," Chelsea objected.

"Just stand behind me. If you die, I'll die anyway. That much the wraith told me. We don't have a choice. At least you'll still be alive," he explained.

"No. I'd rather die too," she argued, but Oliver didn't give her a choice.

Oliver turned, stared angrily at Virginia and waited. To Chelsea, time seemed to stand still. She noticed what Oliver was doing and had no time to talk him out of it. She saw Virginia pull the trigger and she did as Oliver told her. As the bullet hit Oliver in the forehead, Chelsea landed on Virginia's chest. Both of Chelsea's clawed hands pierced her chest, and Virginia was dead before she even hit the floor.

"No, Olly!" Chelsea yelled as she raced back to him and sat on his large chest. She bent over and returned to her normal form. There was a large hole in his head where the bullet had gone in and burned its way out. She cried and shut her eyes.

"I'm not scared anymore, Olly. Please," she sobbed and lowered her forehead onto his. "I can't do this without you."

While her eyes were shut, the hole healed itself.

"Did we win?" Oliver asked as he shot up and nearly threw her off.

"You're alive!" she screamed and threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

"You're...choking...me...again," he said, trying to catch a breath.

She kissed him all over his face.

"Quit making me think you're dead!" she scolded.

"At least she only hit me in the head," he said and knocked on his head with his fist. "I don't use this thing a whole lot."

"You do have a point," she said and removed herself from his lap.

Oliver got to his feet and started walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Chelsea asked.

"I need to let the other prisoners go," he answered.

She latched onto his arm and walked with him. When they reached the prison, Oliver started smashing the glass on all the cages. The prisoners looked terrified. When all the doors were smashed he walked with Chelsea to the hole Miraven had made. Then he turned around with a stupid look on his face.

"Don't kill humans and....stay in school!" he said and turned back around. Chelsea smacked him on the back of the head.

"What are you doing, you doofus?" she asked while rolling her eyes.

"The good guys always say something cool as they leave," he replied.

"That wasn't cool. That was so far from cool that cool couldn't save you if it wanted to...which it doesn't because it's too busy laughing at you," she said with a smirk.

"Aww," Oliver said and hung his head.

Chelsea kissed him on the cheek.

"That's ok. I still love you," she comforted.

They headed across a large open lot and tried the doors on several cars before they found one that was unlocked and had keys in it.

"When we were fourteen, and you slipped and cut my lip open. What were you really doing?" he asked. She walked up beside him and looked up into his eyes with guilt.

"I was trying to kiss you," she admitted.

"See, I always thought so, but I didn't want to read too much into it," he said.

"You knew and never told me?" she asked, shocked.

"Ok. Let's get one thing straight. You don't just kiss someone without warning. You have to give them some type of signal. See, you put your hand on their neck or their cheek. Like this," he said and put his hand under her ear. Chelsea's pulse quickened. Would it finally happen? "This tells the other person you are going to kiss them." He leaned in closer. "Then you look them right in the eyes and see if there is a spark."

Chelsea's heart was pounding. This was better than chasing the elk. She felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest. Finally, Oliver was going to kiss her!

"That's how you kiss someone," he said then pulled his hand off her neck and stood up straight.

"What?! You can't just leave me hanging like that?!" she complained.

"Just kidding," he laughed and put a hand at the base of her neck, pulled her in, and kissed her passionately.

When they separated, Chelsea stumbled backward and smiled at Oliver.

"That was...amazing," she said with an embarrassed smile.

"Meh. It was ok," he said with a grin and leaned against the car.

"What?!" she exclaimed.

"We should probably practice more," he winked at her.

"A lot more," she replied and put her arms around his neck. She pulled him in and kissed him again. After a few moments, they just stood there, staring into each other's eyes.

"Now that was amazing," he said softly.

"You're right. The second time was better. We need a lot of practice," she said with a smirk.

On top of The Order building stood two figures. If Chelsea and Oliver hadn't been so infatuated with each other, they probably would have noticed them. As it was, the only thing they even noticed was each other. The Order building could have exploded behind them, and they still wouldn't have taken their eyes off of each other.

Miraven spoke to a man with a hood that obscured his face.

"Isn't that cute?" she asked. She turned to the man, and Oliver and Chelsea could be heard teasing each other even up here. "So, about my payment?"

The man pulled off his hood. It was Gerald, Oliver's dad. He looked slightly older but mostly the same.

"A deal is a deal. You got my son to finally wake up." He leaned down toward the small woman. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. Her eyes lit up with the power she was pulling from Gerald, but after a few moments, a woman's hand pushed her away.

"That's enough, Miraven," Rebecca said.

Miraven looked dazed and couldn't stop smiling.

"Can you blame me? I mean, I'm really sorry," she said, realizing who she was speaking to.

"You got your payment, now go," Rebecca ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Miraven said. "I'll be around if you need anything else." She waved, took a step off the side of the building then vanished. When Rebecca looked over the edge, Miraven was nowhere to be found.

Rebecca turned and rolled her eyes at Gerald. "Wraiths!"

"Nearly unkillable and mischievous as hell but at least they work for cheap," he said and put his arm around his wife. They both watched Oliver and Chelsea teasing each other and occasionally kissing.

"Just a little of your life force," Rebecca said with a laugh. "Nothing much, right?"

"It will come back," Gerald argued.

Rebecca looked at Gerald seriously.

"When are we going to tell Oliver this was us?" she asked.

"We had no choice, dear. I know things got a little out of hand. We even had to hire Miraven. That speaks volumes. If he had just woken up sooner. I really didn't expect The Order to capture him, but it did all work out in the end. Who knew it would take Chelsea nearly dying before our dunce of a son would finally admit he loved her? Maybe when he has a child of his own he will understand why we did this," Gerald said.

"I don't want to wait that long. Look how long this took. It could be years before he finally gets the brains to ask her to marry him," she argued. "He's not a dunce dear. If he couldn't see how amazing she was, our son is an idiot."

Gerald laughed and turned around to walk away from Chelsea and Oliver. Rebecca took one last look then joined her husband. She put her arm around his waist, so Gerald put his arm around her as well.

"You're right dear. He's an idiot." He looked down at Rebecca and laughed. "We'll tell them the truth in a few months. But in the meantime, if our son is that stupid again, I'm going to let him know I'm alive just so I can beat some sense into him. So help me. If he screws this up..." He kissed his wife on the forehead, and the two of them jumped off the building then walked into the forest.

# Epilogue

Miraven walked along the empty street in a small town in the middle of Italy. She had on blue jeans and a pretty blouse that allowed her to fit in with the younger crowds. Most of the buildings were run down and abandoned, but she soon spotted the two bouncers outside the bar she was looking for. This bar was very exclusive. No humans allowed. Inside, non-humans could relax and breathe freely without worrying about The Order.

As Miraven walked up to the door, one of the men at the entrance looked at her curiously.

"Prove your species," he ordered.

The man beside him realized who she was, and his eyes grew huge. He elbowed the other bouncer in the ribs and whispered.

"Just let her in, you idiot," he cautioned.

"No, I'll prove my species," she said with a devious grin.

She turned into the wraith, and both men cowered.

Just as she was going to enter the bar, an expensive car pulled up and slammed on its breaks. The driver's side door flew open, and a blonde, pregnant woman lept from the car. Chelsea looked furious.

"Oh, Shit!" Miraven exclaimed. She turned to the doormen and warned them. "Never piss off a pregnant lamia!" Then she sprinted into the bar as Chelsea chased her.

Oliver got out of the passenger side and chased them while pleading with his pregnant wife.

"Please, Chelsea. Don't kill her," he begged.

"I'm not going to kill her. I'm just going to rip off her arms!" she shouted as she shoved the bouncers out of the way and went inside.

"What if it's true?" Oliver asked meekly. He turned to one of the bouncers and shrugged his shoulders. "Pregnant wife. What can I do?" He smiled and followed her inside.

"Why wouldn't my mother tell me?" Chelsea asked. She seemed to be calming down. She walked up to Miraven and stared at her angrily.

"I'm really sorry, Chelsea. I had no idea you were pregnant. I didn't mean to upset you," she apologized.

Chelsea backhanded Miraven and she went flying over the bar and into the shelves full of alcohol shattering most of the bottles.

"A phone call! You called me on the phone to tell me Bernard was my real father?!" Chelsea shouted as Miraven pulled herself out of the wreckage.

Tears filled Chelsea's eyes.

The bouncers from the door rushed at Chelsea, and one of them grabbed her arm. He yelled in agony and fell to his knees as Oliver's hand clamped over his forearm.

"Don't touch my wife," he said quietly but angrily, his eyes turned to the eyes of a troll and the man cowered.

Two more men came from a back room and headed toward Oliver, but Miraven stepped in the way and held out her hands.

"Totally my fault. I'll pay for the damage. Just take a breath, everyone. Let's not piss off the troll too." She looked at the bouncers, and they backed down.

Miraven turned to Chelsea, full of regret. "I said I was sorry," Miraven cringed.

Chelsea calmed down some more and eased her way onto a bar stool. Everyone in the bar relaxed a little while the bouncers backed off, but kept their eyes glued on the three of them.

"Mom really told you to tell me after she was dead?" Chelsea asked.

"Not exactly," Miraven whimpered.

"Miraven please just tell her everything so we can go home...without removing your arms," Oliver begged.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Chelsea asked.

"In your mother's house, hidden under her bed, inside a small box is your real birth certificate. It lists Bernard Bauer as your father," Miraven looked repentant then a strange look came over her. "As a kid, do you think anyone dared to call him BB?"

"What?" Chelsea asked, her frustration with the mischievous wraith was wearing on her already frazzled nerves.

"I'm just saying, Bernard Bauer. Don't tell me you never thought about it," she smiled.

"What? No! Why would I call him that?" she said, her anger rising again.

"I suppose you're right. You should have been calling him dad," she said with a devilish grin.

Chelsea reached for Miraven, but before she could grab her, the impish wraith was gone. She looked at her hands and gritted her teeth then slammed one into the bar and it cracked.

"She did that on purpose!" Chelsea shouted, anger getting the better of her once more.

"Honey?" Oliver asked as he tapped on her shoulder.

Chelsea turned to see what Oliver was staring at. Along the back wall were pictures of some of the bar's more prominent patrons. In one of the pictures, Bernard was kissing Allison on the cheek. Her mother and Bernard looked so young and so...happy. It was one of the few times Chelsea saw a smile on Allison's face.

"I think she's telling the truth," Oliver said. He was also worn out and frazzled. Chasing his pregnant wife around Italy was exhausting. "Let's go home."

"She brought me all the way to Italy to show me a picture?" Chelsea sighed. "He really was my dad." Chelsea beamed, and a smile started, but so did the tears. Her dad hadn't tried to kill her, after all. Randal had tried to kill her, not her dad. Bernard's loyalty and love never wavered, not even once. Tear's started to fall, and Oliver helped her back to the car.

In the back corner of the bar, Miraven was sitting with a man who looked terrified. She smacked him on the shoulder, and he looked like he might jump out of his skin.

"Who says a wraith can't do something nice once in a while? I even did it for free." She looked at her companion and smiled at the horrified man. "Do you know the worst part about being immortal?" she asked, then answered her own question. "Being bored...and shoes." She waited for the man to comment, but the man didn't move. "No matter how long you live there will never be a pair of shoes that goes with every outfit. It's impossible. What do you think, George?"

"My name isn't George," the man said timidly.

"You lied to me," she said with a devious grin. "Strange how lies can come back to bite you." Her grin turned cruel.

"What do you want?" he begged.

"You really shouldn't cheat on your wife. Especially if she's a harpy. You've really made a mess this time, Shawn!" She sneered at him, and his shaking intensified.

Miraven stood up and smiled at the pretty young woman who approached the table. She stared at Miraven curiously as she walked away then turned to the man.

"Shawn? What did that woman want?" the young woman asked the cowering man.

"Nothing! I need to go home," he said and rushed passed the woman then caught up to Miraven and passed her too.

The young woman was confused, so she chased after Miraven.

"Excuse me, miss. What was that about?" the young woman asked when she caught up.

"He's married, Melony. At least until his wife finds out," Miraven said then walked away from the shocked young woman.

She began talking to herself as she walked on. "I'm just helping people right and left today. It feels good to help others." She paused for a moment, then a cruel smile spread across her face. "I wonder if Shawn's wife needs any help getting rid of the body."

The End.

If you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out book 2. These books are intended to be completely separate stories. You will not find Oliver and Chelsea, but Miraven will be there. She has so many more people to 'help'. And the next pair is a little more personal for Miraven. But then again, they are all personal to her. In book 2, you even find out a little bit as to why.

The Order of Human Purity Book 2, Werewolf Bane

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MOUS Investigations Series

Cassy Mousman and Zach Nielson each grew up with their adoptive parents, knowing nothing about each other nor why, as adults, they are inexplicably linked. The murder of Cassy's father causes her to trick Zach into becoming her unwitting partner in her search to find out what they really are. She knows they are not human, but nothing in her father's books can explain her unusual abilities nor why countless orphans were deposited on human doorsteps the same day she was.

Perhaps with Zach's help, she can finally discover what they really are and why everything seems to revolve around the unassuming accountant, Zach. In the meantime, all she can do is help the supernaturals like her father had and piece together the clues to this puzzle.

Case of the Docile Dhampir Book 1

The Ghoul from Galveston Book 2

Deceptive Dragons and Duplicitous Sisters Book 3

A Wendigo in Wisconsin Book 4

Ogres in Oakland, Oh My! Book 5
The 21st Curse Collection

The 21st Curse is not a standard series, but rather a collection of stories about werewolves and witches.

The lives of witches and werewolves are entwined in an age old curse. The witches need the werewolves to protect them and the werewolves need witches to salvage their sanity.

A book handed down for generations spells out the terms of their contract in a way that none with the curse can deny.

At the twenty-first hour on the twenty-first day of the twenty-first year, a child will become a beast. Such is the legend that is handed down, mother to son and father to daughter. On that fateful day, a choice must be made. One of consequence and importance. For on that day, a child who has transformed must choose between the evil of the curse and the responsibility of protecting their chosen. For no creature is as feared as the werewolf. A creature without conscience nor fear. It will feed on whoever is unlucky enough to cross its path or protect its charge until it ceases to draw breath.

The 21st Curse Book 1

The 21st Day Book 2
Asuune Series

Angels and vampires are real. In the world of the Asuune, half angel and half human, there is a secret war that has been going on for as long as man has walked the earth. Unbeknownst to Kathrine, her father is one of the war's soldiers, but what is even more surprising is that she is the war's only hope. Follow the life of Kathrine Albet and her father, Mark, as they fight the evil of fallen angels and vampires to save humanity. It would all be much easier if each Asuune didn't have one true love they couldn't ignore. Fighting the forces of evil may be hard, but resisting your true love is all but impossible.

Curse of the Asuune Book 1

Deception of the Asuune Book 2 (Conclusion)
Demonic Temptations

Samantha Lujuria is a therapist who specializes in disorders she calls Demonic Temptations. The desires that everyone harbors that are so distasteful or embarrassing that we can't even admit them to ourselves. Follow her as she tries to use her expertise to help half-demon offspring. Because for a demon, love is the biggest taboo of them all.

Set in the world of the Asuune several years after the events of Deception of the Asuune. Join Samantha as she gets help from many of your favorite characters from the Asuune series in her quest to keep half-demon offspring from destroying their lives as well as the people around them.

Demonic Temptations - Incubus Tormented Book 1
Lascaria Series

In the world of Lascaria, the evil king Lascar rules his kingdom through fear and intimidation. His magic is without equal. The worst part is that he grows stronger every year. No one can stand up to a man that is over 1,000 years old until his grandson Dhrel is born. Explore the world of Lascaria alongside Dhrel as he works to become the man everyone thinks he is.

Lascaria - Evil Reborn Book 1

Lascaria – Sins of the Ancestors Book 2

Lascaria – The Prisoner Queen Book 3

Lascaria – The Legend of Lascar Book 4

Lascaria – The Shadow King Book 5 (Conclusion)
Morven's Legacy

Evil demons are trying to make their way into the world, and only the descendants of Morven have a chance at stopping them.

Christopher Morven is over three hundred years old and tired of fighting to keep the demons at bay. The magic that kept him alive has taken its toll, but finally, after all these years, he sees hope in his two granddaughters. They aren't ready, but they are very powerful. If anyone can bring this to an end, it will be them. They can succeed where he has failed, but they will need help.

The Fire Maiden's Desire

To Seduce a Sorceress
Raven

Fawn, although most people know her by her code name Raven, is one of the best assassins in the world. When she takes on a very lucrative job to kidnap, then kill the prince, she realizes that the bumbling fool isn't the cruel womanizer she's been led to believe. She thought assassins were deceptive, nobles and Royals are worse. Can she find her way through this web of lies before it is too late? Despite his roguish charm and possible innocence, she has a job to do, and Raven always kills her mark.

Raven's Embrace Book 1

Raven's Gamble Book 2 (Conclusion)
The Order of Human Purity

The books in this category are not intended as a series. They are grouped together because they all happen within the same universe where The Order of Human Purity (known simply as 'The Order') is trying to rid the world of monsters.

They are written with the intention of making them similar but completely separate stories. There are no cliffhangers or continuations. The only things these books have in common are the world they take place in, The Order and the mischievous, immortal wraith Miraven who is neither good nor evil. She is simply bored of her immortal life and to spice things up she likes to toy with the lives of others, or so she would have everyone believe.

Kiss of the Lamia Book 1

Werewolf Bane Book 2

The Alpha Predator

When Adam Lance witnesses the attempted murder of a man, he becomes the only known witness to a serial killer who has gone unchecked for nearly five years. Special Detective Cheryl Torren soon realizes that Adam might be the one person who can help her catch the killer. With Adam's help, Cheryl finds out that the person they are hunting isn't a serial killer after all. The killer is a vigilante who only targets predators and soon gains the nickname 'The Alpha Predator'. Despite Adam's reluctance to catch this killer, it's still their job, and with his help, Cheryl might finally put an end to the killing spree, that is, if the killer doesn't find them first.

Auctor – Vengeful Intent

Disclaimer: This book contains a considerable amount of violence and dark emotions.

When Kaya Nichols' step-sister turns up dead, the apparent victim of a mugging, Kaya leaves behind her job as a foreign journalist to find out what really happened to her step-sister. At least that is the job everyone thinks she has. In reality, she is a fixer for a variety of powerful European mobs.

The men who killed her step-sister, Trish, think they've handled the problem until Kaya arrives back in the United States for her sister's funeral. Kaya isn't willing to let a single man responsible for her step-sister's death escape justice, even if it kills her in the process. She is a woman who has lost everything, so nothing matters other than revenge.

Explore the nightmare that has become Kaya's life as she tries to work through her anger and grief. And, as if, Trish's death wasn't enough. The man who ruined her life, her step-sister's husband, is a constant reminder of what she has lost and the secret she dares not tell anyone.

Immortal Consequences

When Kal Johnson, an immortal gargoyle, is attacked by an ancient vampire and framed for the murder of a human, his quiet life is thrown into chaos. But the universe, with its perverse sense of humor, has decided that now would be the perfect time for the punch line. Kal's human wife, Brianna, has done the impossible. She is the first human in history to become pregnant with a gargoyle's child.

This vampire is stronger and more cunning than any he has fought. The wife he adores and the child he never hoped for, give Kal something he has never had before, a weakness. Can Kal stop this ancient vampire before it takes everyone he loves? Taking his wife and child might accomplish what no vampire has ever been able to do. It might be enough to defeat the immortal Kal.
