15 comments/ 8873 views/ 38 favorites My Soul to Take By: VampGirl1991 ~~Demon In My View~~ ~*~Prologue~*~ There was a time in my life when I thought I was normal. Admittedly, that was a long time ago but I do remember. It's an elusive memory, tattered around the edges and sepia toned like an old photograph, stored haphazardly in my mind somewhere. My last vestiges of normalcy vanished when I was five. My twin brother Luke and I had just been enrolled in pre-school, and the pretty young teacher had deposited us into the play area with the other children. That's when I asked her about the dark shadow, translucent and smoky, that framed her whole body. I didn't understand her confusion; wasn't she aware of it? I remember glancing at Luke, hoping he'd back me up, but he was just as clueless. That night, the pretty young teacher was murdered, strangled beside her car outside the supermarket. No one connected me to her premature death. Especially not me. At five, I didn't, couldn't, comprehend what death actually was. To me, it was just like she'd gone on an extended vacation to someplace wonderful and magical. After that, I started seeing the shadows with a regularity that began to seem disturbing. The second one occurred just a few months after the teacher's death. My mom was walking me and Luke down the sidewalk downtown, holding tightly to our hands lest we wander off, when I saw a man stumbling towards us. He was wreathed in a grayish shadow that didn't obscure his features in the least. I saw that his eyes were a hazel blue and slightly glassy, his nose was hooked and his lips were flat, compressed against his teeth in agitation. My hand rose unconsciously in a wave, but my mother jerked me out of his way, muttering something about disgusting druggies. He met my eyes for the briefest of moments before stumbling away, out into the street, directly into the path of a minivan. I screamed. And screamed some more, watching the man's body as the grill of the van impacted him, sending him up to the windshield where a spiderweb crack appeared in the glass. He landed brokenly on the ground, unmoving. Completely motionless as I continued to scream. I think that's when I began to crack, my mind slowly fragmenting. That was also the day I damaged my vocal chords so severely, I'd never manage a falsetto again. Every time I saw the shadows after that incident, I tried to warn people, but my warnings went unheeded. I wasn't sure if they would've helped anyway. As I slowly deteriorated in my own mind, helplessness over my inability to prevent these things causing me to retreat within myself, I still gained some knowledge. Like the darker the shadow, the more brutal their death would be. I saw a lot of the dark shadows, and each one added to my increasing insanity. I was institutionalized for the first time when I was twelve. At first, I attempted to tell the psychiatrist I was assigned to the truth, until I realized it was futile. He thought I was crazy; I sure sounded nuts. He quickly diagnosed me with schizophrenia and prescribed me some antipsychotic pills. Soon after that I was released back into the world. Those first few years afterward were pure bliss. There were no more shadows and I met my first real, honest-to-God friend. Ryan came to mean the world to me, especially because Luke and I had drifted apart. My twin couldn't understand me, though he honestly tried for a while. We became strangers living in the same house, and that was when Ryan appeared in my life. I think I came to rely on him, on the feelings he evoked within me. For a short time, I could pretend I was a normal teenager, with no crazy past shadowing me. Then came the day, when I was fifteen, Ryan showed up at school bathed in a muted gray shadow. I flipped, there's no other way to explain it. I would call it a case of temporary insanity if I wasn't already bat shit. I later learned the damage done to the classroom I was in during my freak out consisted of broken windows, overturned desks and chairs, and papers and other miscellaneous items scattered all around the room like a tornado had ripped through. Ryan died that weekend, drowned while camping. He got caught in a hidden current and because he wasn't a strong swimmer to begin with, he was swept under. I didn't even get to attend his funeral because I was institutionalized for the second time, whereupon I got to add mood equalizers to my growing cocktail of drugs. When I was released that time, Mom had grown tired of my craziness and Luke's constant expulsions from school for fights, and sent us both to a boarding school in the Rockies. I think it was as far away as she could manage without actually sending us out of the country. She needed distance from us and we obliged as gladly as we could muster. Now I'm eighteen, a senior, and I'm no less crazy than I always had been. Maybe a little less high-strung because it'd been so long since I'd seen a shadow. Up here in the Rockies, secluded from the rest of the world, Death didn't have many reasons to visit. Although all this silence and stillness just gives me too many opportunities to get lost inside my own head. I frequently found myself contemplating my own name. Layla. I'd looked up its meaning before and one of them is simply dark. Layla means dark. Now, there are many interpretations of that single word, but for me it can only mean the shadows. I can't help but fear my own name was a premonition of doom, set upon me at birth. If you're still with me so far, I commend you for your saint-like patience. Read on. What follows is the culmination of my degradation into full-fledged insanity. Or, hell, maybe it's actually my salvation. ~*~Chapter One~*~ It was snowing again. Of course, because the universe couldn't be kind enough to gift the students at the Cornick Academy with a balmy 35 degrees Farenheit without snow. Layla Chadwick sat in the window seat in her dorm room, knees drawn up to her chest, gazing out at all the phosphorescent brilliance laid out before her. Today marked the first day of her senior year and she had nothing to show for the summer she'd spent back home in Florida. No tan because she boycotted the beach, no hilarious stories of catching up with old friends because she had none, old or otherwise. Even her eighteenth birthday had been uneventful, just another day on the calendar. No, her summer had been spent sequestered away in her bedroom, alleviating the constant loneliness by listening to intense, hardcore rap. It was easier that way. Alone, she didn't encounter any of the shadows that had plagued her since she was five. She didn't have to be the freaking harbinger of death for some poor person who envisioned a bright, endless future for themselves. It was almost a relief when Layla and Luke had to catch a plane back to Colorado for school. In the Rockies, the tight restriction around her chest eased a bit, allowing her to breathe a little. Whether it was the freezing air that burned her nose and crystallized her lungs in frost, or the fact that she was surrounded by a small amount of healthy teens that were in no danger of dropping dead, all that mattered was that since she was fifteen, she hadn't seen one single shadow. Not since Ryan. Pushing down the grief that attempted to choke her at just thinking his name, Layla stood and gazed speculatively at her reflection in the full length mirror bracketed to her door. She saw a diminutive girl staring emotionlessly back, long, raven black hair cascading in shiny waves to her waist, smooth, alabaster skin with a faint tracery of blue veins visible just beneath the surface. Her face was flawless, no blemishes to speak of, high cheekbones, a small, straight nose and sensually plump lips a natural reddish-pink. Then there were her eyes. They were so dark as to appear black at just a short distance, but upon closer inspection they were a deep grape purple, kind of like orbs of Welch's grape juice. Layla was glad no one was willing to room with her because she would have received a reputation as a conceited bitch along with being a freak. She had a habit of looking at her reflection more than the average person but not because of some latent narcissistic trait. She couldn't understand why God would gift her with such an alluring, ethereal beauty, but then curse her with something that guaranteed to keep people at arm's length. They could sense the wrongness in her and steered clear. Thus, she spent considerable amounts of time scrutinizing her reflection, trying to find in her image the imperfection that turned her peers off. Surely they couldn't know what exactly she was able to do. Sighing, she turned away from the mirror in disgust and hurriedly threw on some clothes. All the other girls in the senior dormitory were already at breakfast by the time she went downstairs to the common area. It wasn't like she'd expected any of them to wait for her; in all the time she'd been there she hadn't put forth any effort to establish friendships and neither had anyone else. Solitude was best for Layla. Friends were overrated. Shoving out the door, a frigid blast of air momentarily stole her breath, bringing forth involuntary tears. Forging ahead, she hugged her arms around herself, burrowing deeper into her hoodie. It was a short walk from the dorm to the school but she cursed herself for leaving behind her big, warm winter coat. It had seemed rather pointless to wear it when she'd be taking it off the moment she entered the hot sanctuary of the school. She was suffering for that mistake now. Luke was waiting for her up ahead, right outside the double doors of the cafeteria. He was dressed similarly to her, in jeans and a hoodie, but unlike her he seemed impervious to the cold. His blond hair, which was perpetually tousled, flopped forward onto his forehead, green eyes bright as emeralds in all this brightness. They couldn't be more different, especially in appearance. Layla had damaged her body with only one tattoo on her back while Luke used his body as a pincushion. There was a diamond stud in his left ear, his right eyebrow was pierced, tongue, both nipples. Those were just the ones she knew about. Then there was their personalities, which could only be described as night and day. When she'd had Ryan, Layla came to the realization she was pretty effervescent, able to laugh and joke with abandon. She just needed someone to open up to. Luke, however, was an angry teen boy without the angst. He was apathetic on the outside, with barely suppressed fury inside. "Hi, Luke," she murmured. He nodded in greeting. After a moment's hesitation in which they stood in awkward silence, they both reached for the door handle in perfect synchronization. That twin connection that never really had a chance to flourish. Luke held the door open silently, allowing her to enter first, where they then went their separate ways. It never failed. For the past few years, starting on day one at this school, Luke always waited for Layla outside those same doors, then they'd walk in together and sit on opposite sides of the cafeteria. They never interacted at all, in school or out. In their whole lives, Layla could count the number of conversations she'd had with her twin on both hands, and that was being generous. Keeping her head down because she didn't want to chance encountering the shadows, Layla released a sigh and found her usual seat. This year was already shaping up to be more of the same old routine. ~*~*~ It was fucking snowing again. Perfect. Huddling down in his coat, peeking over the collar at his brother, Shane Chambers tried to ignore the cold seeping into the marrow of his bones. He resented the hell out of leaving the sunny California beaches behind. For the last couple of months, it had been a 24/7 party, playing beach volleyball, surfing and getting down and dirty with the beach bunnies. He'd gotten sand in every inconceivable place but it'd been worth it. Then there'd been his eighteenth birthday, which he'd celebrated first with his brother at midnight with a shot of whiskey, then that night with a bonfire on their private stretch of beach. It had been perfect. Now this. "I swear," he muttered through chattering teeth, "if Dad didn't monitor our bank account so closely, I would have splurged for a Caribbean cruise. Then I'd settle on some island, change my name to Rio and live off mangos. I'd never set foot on this godforsaken mountain again." "Who's the gay one here?" Evan laughed, his breath puffing out in white, ectoplasmic clouds that dissipated with the next chilly gust of wind. "You're turning into a drama queen." "Bro, if that were the case, I'd be complaining about the snot that has frozen itself to my upper lip and lamenting that this big ass coat does nothing for my figure." Shane grinned at him over his raised collar. "That's your department." "And when have I ever stressed about my figure?" Evan asked with an eye roll. "Oh, that's right. Never." Smirking, he slung an arm around Evan, holding him close as they headed for breakfast. The disparity of their height was comical to everyone. Even though Evan was older by thirteen months, two weeks and six days, Shane stood a whole foot taller than him. Evan was small and wiry, Shane was big, as in tall, and leanly muscled. Evan had inherited their mother's fine bone structure, her auburn hair and electric blue eyes. Shane, on the other hand, was the spitting image of their father. Chocolate brown hair with eyes to match, his features sharp. As they were nearing the door to the cafeteria, Shane asked his brother, "Hey, how did things go with Christopher this summer?" Evan shrugged, and to Shane the motion appeared evasive. "Okay, I guess," he said. "Come on," Shane prodded. "You spent practically the whole summer with him. How'd it go?" Evan shrugged again, noncommittally. His hands raised in surrender. "Okay, fine. I get it. You don't want to talk about it." "Look, Shane, it's nothing. Seriously. Chris wanted something I couldn't give him. End of story. We're friends and nothing more." Their conversation was cut short as they finally entered the loud, boisterous crowd of the cafeteria. Evan wasn't out at school, and that was mostly for his own protection. Shane knew he had remarkable self-defense skills but there was only so much he'd be able to do to defend himself against the homophobic assholes here twice his size. Shane wished people could live by the "Diversity Breeds Knowledge" motto but they clung to the "Bigotry Maintains Ignorance" one. No matter what century they were in, there were always going to be people who feared what they didn't understand, hated anything different from them. It was a sad reality but a true one unfortunately. "I gotta talk to the drama department," Evan said, unwinding the scarf from his neck. "I'm supposed to build a set for their opening production and I'm still not sure what the hell the play is supposed to be about. Catch you in first period." "Give those thespians hell, bro." "Not if you give 'em hell first." With a wink, Evan was off, soon talking animatedly with a few guys from the drama department. Chuckling to himself, Shane shrugged out of his coat and after purchasing a cinnamon roll for his insatiable sweet tooth, took his regular seat with the jocks. The guys were all boasting about their summers abroad. Mason went skiing in Switzerland, Johnny went snorkeling in Australia, Frankie joined his brother, the famous photographer, in Africa. It was a friendly game of one upmanship, arguing about who had the best vacation. Shane listened halfheartedly while finishing off his cinnamon roll. Chloe came up, dressed to impress as always, leading two guys he didn't recognize. "Hi, Shane," she purred, leaning forward and pressing her shiny lips to his cheek, arms around his neck. "What's up, Chlo? Who's the newbies?" "Oh!" She stood up straight and he unobtrusively wiped the lip gloss smudge from his face as her attention was diverted. "This is Damon Leviathan and Christian Savior. They're friends from New York." Damon, his pitch black hair long enough in the front to veil his fathomless midnight eyes, smirked. "Yeah, Christian's dad is a televangelist who exploits people's faith for money." Blond hair short and blue eyes calm, Christian smiled tightly. "And Damon's father is a satanic cult leader. Whatever you do, do not drink the Kool-Aid." Okaaaay, so not friends after all. Maybe frenemies? "And this," Chloe continued with the introductions, "is Shane Chambers, the captain of our esteemed varsity basketball team. He's going to lead us to another championship this year." "I'm going to try," Shane corrected modestly. "It was nice to meet you guys." "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," Damon said with another smirk. It wasn't clear whether he was joking or not, but Christian was frowning in disapproval at him, which Damon didn't notice or was more likely ignoring. Shane was glad when Chloe led Damon to the buffet of breakfast foods, leaving Christian behind. It was disconcerting the way Damon stared at him, like he was looking right through him while simultaneously finding every bad deed Shane had committed and laying them bare for all to see. Even more disturbing, that smirk he kept flashing seemed to say he knew something others didn't. On anyone else it would be vaguely annoying, but on Damon.... It had a malicious undertone. Shaking his head at his ridiculous thoughts, he turned his head to check on Evan, but instead his gaze landed on Layla Chadwick. She was sitting two tables down, her back to him, head bowed as she focused intently on some sketch. She'd attended this school for as long as he had but in all that time he never saw her socializing with anyone, except maybe her brother on rare occasions. Her solitude gave credence to all the rumors circulating about her but he still didn't believe any of them, even though most rumors were based on some small shred of truth that were later blown out of proportion. She was undoubtedly strange but there was also something oddly captivating about her. She had an understated beauty, gorgeous without flaunting it, unlike girls like Chloe. And when she smiled, which he'd only seen once or twice, man, it knocked him on his ass. Why he was fanning the flames of his attraction for her, he didn't know. It would be so much easier if he could just ignore it because there was no way, if she ever came out of her shell, she'd ever go for a guy like him. He wasn't one of the people who ridiculed her but his friends did and he'd never done anything to prevent it. To her, he was probably a stereotypical jock who bullied others to deal with his own insecurities. Shaking his head again, he began shredding his napkin in frustration just as Chloe and Damon returned. Damon slapped Christian hard on the back as he sat down, making the other guy wince and grimace. Yeah, those two definitely weren't friends. "So, tell me about the school," Damon said conversationally, spearing a piece of cantaloupe with his fork. "Which teachers are the strictest, who gives the hardest assignments, which geek do I pawn those assignments on and who should I avoid like the plague?" Chloe nibbled daintily at her blueberry muffin. "Well, Mr. Kline and Mrs. Harper are by far the strictest. You can't get away with anything in their classes. Mr. Lemmons always gives out the toughest assignments but you can get Max Elliott to do them for you. He's a pervert, though. Every times he looks at me it's like he's undressing me with his eyes. Those lascivious looks are disgusting." Shane scoffed. "Oh, come on, Chlo. Lascivious? I doubt Max even knows the meaning of the word." "It's true," she insisted, indignant. "Every time I talk to him, he watches my lips and his eyes glaze. I don't want to know his lustful thoughts." My Soul to Take "He's deaf, Chloe," Shane pointed out. "You can't blame the hearing impaired when they're trying to read your lips. I imagine the glazed look stems from the fact you talk a mile a minute." The way she glared at him, Shane fully expected his hair to singe from the heat of her fury. She was fast losing patience with him because he was one of the few guys at this school who she didn't have wrapped around her little finger. He supposed she thought after having sex last year, he'd follow behind her dutifully, panting like a dog for another taste. Didn't happen and wasn't going to. For one, the sex hadn't been all that great, and secondly, she wasn't his type. One gay bashing comment from her and Evan had popped into his mind, instantly obliterating the fledgling feeling of affection he'd had for her. Finally, she sighed and returned her attention to Damon, who had watched that small interaction with another one of those smirks. "As for who to avoid, that's easy. Luke and Layla Chadwick." "Why is that?" Christian asked quietly. "Well, Layla is psychotic. I've heard she killed someone at her old school and was in and out of institutions. She's on a whole bunch of medications to curb her killer impulses. Luke is a fucking fag. He seduced and humiliated poor Curtis." She gave a shiver of horror. "They're both freaks." Shane gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything. The shit about Layla was bad enough, but that incident with Luke "seducing and humiliating" Curtis seemed to have been warped and skewed in everyone's minds. It happened at the beginning of last year, before Evan had transferred here. It had been a normal day and everyone had just settled down for lunch when Luke appeared. As usual, he'd been expressionless, even when he suddenly jumped on top of the jock's table, directly in front of Curtis. The expression on the point guard's face had been comical, an odd mixture of trepidation and lust as he gazed at Luke. Without preamble, Luke had announced, "Listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once." No problem there, the whole room had gone preternaturally silent the minute he hopped onto the table. "Last night, Curtis Washington took my dick up his ass and begged for more. This morning, he sucked me off and swallowed every drop of my cum. And if you don't believe me...." Suddenly, Luke had been kneeling in front of Curtis, kissing him, the metal bar in his tongue reflecting the light as it flicked out. And, most shocking of all, Curtis was kissing him back for all he was worth, clutching at Luke's hips to pull him closer. As shocked murmurs spread through the cafeteria, Luke pulled back enough to whisper in Curtis's ear, just barely loud enough for Shane to overhear. "Next time you decide to trip my sister down the stairs, I won't just humiliate you. I'll fucking kill you, queer." That had been a fucking stellar coming out for Luke - not so much for Curtis - and Shane had had to restrain himself from applauding. Unfortunately, the whole thing backfired. Curtis escaped scorn from his friends by claiming Luke had threatened him, manipulated him into the situation. Nobody questioned his sexuality again, at least not out loud, and he made a point of always having a girlfriend after that. While Chloe continued her recitation of the reasons why Damon and Christian should avoid the Chadwick twins, Shane glanced again over at Layla, who had just risen from her seat. She was wearing dark skinny jeans, black Chuck Taylor's and a big, black hoodie that made him want to know what she'd look like in bright colors. Layla turned and her gaze connected with his. Meeting her eyes was the equivalent of an electric shock. It had the same effect. His heart sped up, skin tingling, an erection instantly straining against his zipper. For a moment, a smile started to tilt up the corners of her sensual mouth. Then suddenly, her eyes widened, horror suffusing her delicate features. Her already pale face got cadaverously pale. Those dark eyes pinged from him to everyone else at the table and back again. She ran from the cafeteria without a backward glance. Shane didn't understand her reaction but it filled him with an indefinable dread. Without conscious thought, he was out of his seat and rushing after her. Out in the hallway, he looked right and left, finally spotting her jogging up the stairs to the second floor. He ran after her, his long legs eating up the feet separating them. She was just reaching the top of the stairs when he caught up with her. "Layla, wait," he said, grabbing her hand. She flinched but he just pushed her gently against the wall, amazed by those purple eyes, and trapped her there between his arms, palms lying flat on the cool surface of the wall. "Layla," he murmured. "What did you see?" Tears sparkled in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks in fat drops with her next blink. That husky voice was even huskier as she spoke one word. One single word that seemed to shatter the very foundation his life was built on. "Death." ~*~Chapter Two~*~ Layla couldn't quite read the expression on Shane's face through her tears. After speaking that one dreaded word to him, his body jerked in a full body spasm, but now he was frighteningly motionless. It was kind of scary. With that thought, she became aware of her surroundings, of the fact that Shane had her trapped against the wall. She craned her head way back - what was he, a freaking giant? - and tried to gauge his mood. It was impossible. She didn't know him, didn't understand the intricate nuances of emotion that could flicker through his eyes. Those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Shaking herself out of her sudden stupor, Layla brushed the tears off her cheeks, unconsciously pressing her back more firmly against the wall, trying to put as much distance between them as she could manage in the cramped space. Her history with the popular crowd here wasn't exactly peaceful. Though she didn't bother them, a few of them went out of their way to inflict as much pain on her as was possible. Curtis Washington tripped her, causing her to stumble down the stairs, miraculously coming out unscathed except for a sprained ankle. Chloe Monroe was particularly vicious, stealing her clothes out of her locker during gym, ransacking her room and occasionally ripping her wardrobe so all her clothes were unsuitable to wear, barricading her in one of the shower stalls and turning off the light, sometimes not releasing her until morning. Chloe excelled at psychological abuse. So, considering her disastrous history with them, she had no idea what to expect from Shane Chambers. As long as she'd been at the Cornick Academy, Layla had watched Shane, captivated at first by his beauty. She watched him so much, she began feeling vaguely stalkerish, but that didn't deter her observance of him. He was a part of the popular crowd, welcomed because of his phenomenal basketball skills, but he wasn't of their ilk, as far as she'd seen. When one of the jocks tormented one of the thespian guys for being a "dirty fag," Shane turned around and congratulated him on his performance in Hamlet. For every mean comment one of his friends had, Shane had a compliment ready. Layla tried to remember that, as far as she'd seen, Shane was one of the good guys. But she had learned over the years that people could be unpredictable, and especially with her, seemingly nice people turned mean in a heartbeat. It was inevitable. Watching him warily, Layla couldn't contain a flinch as he finally spoke. "You saw death," he said slowly. "What, um, what does that mean exactly?" Layla looked at him, really looked, seeing the hazy gray shadow framing his body. Should she tell him, or let him be caught unawares? Would he even believe her? She took a deep, fortifying breath. "Uh, I see these shadows, I've been seeing them since I was five. These shadows, they always precede death." She winced, hearing how insane she sounded. "And you saw these shadows in the cafeteria?" Slowly, she nodded. "On.... On me?" Another slow nod. "Only on me?" This time, she shook her head no, a fresh sheen of tears coming to her eyes. No, she'd seen the shadows bathing all of the popular crowd, all her tormentors. God, no matter how cruel they were to her, she didn't want to see them dead. She gazed up at Shane, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears, her heart wrenching painfully in her chest. She'd watched him for so long, her obsession growing into something dangerously close to love. It had been a safe crush, fascinated from afar, with no risk of being hurt from his rejection or anything of the sort because her love would remain unrequited. He could be her fantasy man. She thought she would be safe, but this pain was something she really should have expected. The universe wouldn't allow her anything. Her sanity, it was taken at five. Her first real friend Ryan, stolen when she was fifteen. Now, at eighteen, the man she secretly loved was going to disappear, too. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Shane breathed in deeply, no longer looking down at her, but off to the side. He appeared contemplative, but she had no idea what he was thinking, whether he thought she was insane or a freak. "When will it happen?" he asked quietly. "I never know that, but soon." It was strange, watching him from this close. Their proximity was alternating between making her nervous because she still wasn't certain how he'd react, and making her heart race with desire. If she tried really hard, she could ignore the murky shadow surrounding him, but it was constantly on the fringes of her thoughts. She was a jumble of feelings, and it was difficult to differentiate, but the one constant emotion was heartache. Why was he going to die? How was it going to happen? She closed her eyes, imagining a life without the shadows, dreaming of a confidence that would allow her to come right out that she was in love with him. But sadly that wasn't her reality and, really, what would a normal life accomplish for her? Sure, she probably would have had friends and wouldn't have been constantly ridiculed and ostracized, but Ryan and all the others still would have died. Shane would still be heading towards impending death. What good was obliviousness if she still lost people? That was just delaying the sadness. "Layla," he murmured, a big, warm palm coming up to frame her face. Her eyes snapped open in shock, gazing up into his face with wide eyes. There were a million and one different emotions flitting across those sharp features but she didn't decipher a single one by the time his head started to lower towards hers. Her heart started to speed up in anticipation, an unfamiliar feeling, warm and tingly, coursing through her body. Lips parting, eyes locked on his, Layla rose unconsciously to the tips of her toes, helping bridge the gap between them. Just as his knees started to bend, the bell rang, signaling it was time to head for homeroom. It effectively snapped Layla out of the moment and she ducked beneath his arm, stumbling away from him. Shane slowly straightened, shoving splayed fingers through his short brown hair, his gaze still glued on her. "I gotta go," Layla muttered, shrinking back even farther as kids swarmed up the stairs. "Wait, Layla," he said, stepping forward, his voice raising a fraction to be heard over the sudden clamor. "Meet me in the auditorium during the assembly, okay? Please?" She nodded her head affirmatively, but she would seriously be consigning the dubious sanity she had left straight to hell if she actually did that. Face flaming, she hurried away, muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid," under her breath. The berating did nothing to relieve her embarrassment. The man had just learned he was going to die, and even if he didn't believe it, there was no way he'd been about to kiss her. She'd misinterpreted the situation or something. It was simply impossible. Hell would freeze over before Shane Chambers would ever be interested in her. ~*~*~ "So fucking stupid," Shane muttered to himself as he watched Layla run away from him. He had no idea what had possessed him a few minutes earlier, but all these years of attraction had boiled up in him and he'd had to kiss her. He wasn't sure whether the first bell ringing was a curse or a blessing, but seeing Layla's wide, frightened eyes and the way she stumbled away from him, he decided it was a blessing. The poor girl was scared shitless of him. Sighing, he shoved his fingers through his hair again, not knowing what to think. He didn't believe in psychics or any of that paranormal hokey shit, but something in Layla made her claims believable. When she said she saw death on him, he'd felt it with a bone chilling certainty that she was being one hundred percent truthful. The thought of him possibly dying had his head reeling so he chose not to think about it. He refused to let that one thought derail him from living life to the fullest for the remainder of his days. It was something he had learned from and admired about Evan. Speaking of his brother, he really needed to talk to him. Shane may have been bigger but Evan was still his older brother. He had been there to offer guidance and advice anytime Shane needed it, and right then he desperately needed it. In homeroom, Mrs. Eisner was worshiping her cup of coffee while her students continued the catching up they started during breakfast. Shane took his seat beside Evan at the back of the classroom, noticing his brother was staring fixedly out the window, his eyes unfocused like he was lost in thought. Nudging him out of his reverie, Shane said, "Hey, bub, remember that palm reader, fortune teller woman at that carnival four years ago?" Evan smiled bemusedly. "Yeah, what about her?" "You got your palm read and she told you that there was a rough road ahead of you. I remember the expression on her face, that consternation, but at the time I thought it was all part of her act, a scheme to make more money. Then a week later you started getting those bruises, you weren't eating, and finally Mom got sober enough to take you to the doctor. When you found out how sick you were, did you ever wonder if that was what the woman meant when she mentioned the hard road ahead of you?" "I know for a fact that's what she meant," Evan said, grinning. "I went back to her after we found out and my first question to her was how she knew. I think I spoke to her for two hours or more, and she even gave me more answers to the questions she just barely broached at the carnival. I was fascinated by her gift and for a while I forgot how sick I actually was." He shrugged. "I've always been amazed by people who have a sixth sense. Sure, there are fakes but a few of them are legitimate. Now, why'd you bring this up? You've never been a believer in this stuff." "I think I am now," Shane mumbled. "Layla Chadwick?" Evan asked. When Shane just nodded mutely, too used to Evan being able to read him like a book to question how he knew Layla factored into his starting this particular conversation, Evan just laughed in return. "I've thought for a while Layla was different. And Luke.... Well, he's oddly compelling, don't you think?" Shane gave him a wry smile. "Sorry, Luke lacks a few vital attributes I require in a significant other. Or, I should say, he has something I already possess and don't want another of." An endearing blush stained Evan's cheeks and he averted his eyes, quickly getting back to the topic on hand. "So, what can Layla do? Something like that fortune teller? Precognition, maybe?" "Well, kind of," Shane admitted. "She sees death." Evan's eyes snapped back to his face. "As in, she communes with the Grim Reaper, or...?" "No. Um, she said it's shadows on people. When she sees them, she knows they're going to die. Like, soon." Shane shrugged helplessly. "I didn't get a chance to question her about it too much." No, because he'd been intent on stealing a kiss. He blamed his overzealous libido. "I'm hoping to talk to her more during the assembly." "Wait, how did this even come up in conversation? As far as I'm aware, your bigoted friends don't socialize with her unless they're tormenting her, and you're not even remotely interested in anything vaguely paranormal." Evan gave him a narrow-eyed look. "So, enlighten me, dear brother. How was it that during our brief separation earlier you came to learn so much about her? Something very personal, I might add, that she's probably never told another living soul about?" Shane shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing they were alone instead of surrounded by a horde of their chattering peers. Before he knew it, he was spilling it all, beginning with Layla's frightened look in the cafeteria and ending with the disastrous near-kiss. He confessed all, casting his eyes around suspiciously to be sure no one was eavesdropping on this decidedly not normal conversation. On his gaze's dozenth sweep of the room, his eyes landed and came to rest on Christian Savior and Damon Leviathan. An indescribable feeling of peace engulfed him as Christian's gaze collided with his, and he swore the other guy started to glow bright as a supernova. Shane was compelled to keep staring, even when his mind screamed at him that this was not normal. He was experiencing a lot of that lately. Celestial blue eyes held his captive as Christian's body increased its brightness by the millisecond. It got to the point where Shane had to wince and blink his eyes closed before he did irreparable, permanent damage to his retinas. He squinted his eyes open a slit, looking past the bright glow encompassing Christian to see Damon smirking at him over his shoulder. Insolently, he clapped a hand on Christian's radiating shoulder, fingers curving possessively around his bicep. Smoke curled lazily up from his touch and the scent of burning flesh assailed his olfactory senses before he blinked again. Everything was back to normal again. Kids were still discussing their summer vacations, Mrs. Eisner was still savoring her coffee. The glow was gone as if it had never been, but he swore his nose was still burning from that ungodly stench. He barely resisted the urge to gag. Shaking his head, he decided he was finally cracking up from the stress. He was about to turn back to Evan and resume their conversation, convinced it had all been a hallucination.... But then his gaze landed on Christian and Damon, seated side by side in the front row, studiously ignoring each other. Shane looked closely at Christian but there was no indication whatsoever that he'd recently been blazing like the sun at high noon. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he started to tell himself he was crazy again, but something brought his gaze back to the two. The short sleeves of Christian's T-shirt road up in slow increments as he stretched his arms forward in a yawn. Right there, peeking out of his sleeve on his right bicep, was a long, slender reddish mark. Even at the back of the classroom in his seat, it appeared to Shane like a fingerprint that had been branded into his pale skin. At that moment, Damon glanced over his shoulder at him, that all knowing smirk present on his lips. Those black eyes, inky and fathomless, pulsated with a murderous red glare as he winked. Shane sat in his seat numbly, bewildered and feeling the first tendrils of fear. What the fuck was happening here? ~*~Chapter Three~*~ Layla entered the auditorium with no small amount of trepidation. All through homeroom, she'd sat ensconced in her usual silence, evaluating and reevaluating her brief encounter with Shane Chambers. Maybe she shouldn't have told him about the death shroud around him. Whether he believed or not was a moot point. The fact was, it would be on his mind, no matter how deeply it was buried in his subconscious. Should someone be burdened with the knowledge of their impending demise? It would cloud their every action, no matter how valiantly they tried to forget. My Soul to Take Closing her eyes, she attempted to calm the turmoil within her but it was futile. Retrospectively, she decided that no, she should not have mentioned it but hindsight did a hell of a lot of good for her now. Taking a seat at the very back of the room, gazing around her as all the students filed in for the assembly, Layla took note of everyone wearing a murky gray shadow. In addition to the whole basketball team and cheerleading squad, Coach Daniels and Mrs. Fitzgerald, the junior year biology teacher who also moonlighted as the cheerleading coach, also had the hazy visage of death silhouetting them. Layla chewed meditatively on her lip, too distracted to notice she'd drawn blood until the coppery substance coated her tongue. She sucked her lip to stem the brief flow, staring around her trying to solve the mystery here. This didn't make a bit of sense to her. Every time Layla had witnessed the shadows, that person's death occurred sometimes within minutes but usually the same day. The longest time span she was aware of was five days. At best, Shane and the rest of his friends had a few days to kill, no pun intended. To the best of her knowledge, basketball season didn't start for a while. What kind of mass exodus could transpire so soon, some type of deranged rah-rah-rah pep rally gone awry? If they had an away game to attend, then she could finagle and make such a nuisance of herself that they'd at least have to postpone it, to prevent a car crash or something of the like. But the first game was weeks away so that option didn't count as viable. What could possibly happen here that would only affect the popular crowd? She briefly entertained the thought of an avalanche but why would that only get them? An outcast turned murderer who'd been bullied by them and was now out to exact his revenge? Nah, that didn't ring true either. This was by far the most difficult part of dealing with her curse. She could maybe accept the shadows if there was a way she could somehow deduce the causes of their deaths and prevent these travesties. As it was, however, all she felt was helplessness and depression. What was the point in her dubious ability? If she couldn't prevent the deaths then was it to make her suffer? What could she have possibly done to deserve a punishment of this severity? Did she make some cosmically bad decision before the age of five? Did her mom cut off some voodoo priestess in traffic while she was pregnant with her and Luke? Sighing, Layla was so lost in her musings she didn't notice the two boys walk up to her until Shane Chambers suddenly sat beside her, startling the hell out of her. As her heart palpitated anxiously, she ignored Shane to the best of her ability so she wouldn't be accosted by the sad reality of his upcoming death, and focused on the small guy who had accompanied him. Evan, she thought his name was. Shane's brother. There was something strange about him but she didn't know what it was until she turned her head away. There, in her peripheral vision, was a hazy, almost nonexistent shadow fluttering around his lean frame. She gasped. "You have a shadow, too," she blurted unthinkingly. Evan's eyebrows rose. "Beg pardon?" Her own brows furrowed and for a moment she forgot that he probably had no clue what she was rambling on about. "It seems to me like it's been there for a while but I don't see it when looking directly at you, probably why I haven't noticed before. It's like.... Well, like death is sort of lying in wait inside you." She commenced chewing on her lip, wondering about this new development. Shane and Evan shared one of those significant glances, some type of silent communication passing between them. Finally, Evan said slowly, "A few years ago we found out I had leukemia. After the treatments it went into remission so I guess you could say it's just lying in wait somewhere in here." He tapped his chest, shrugging slightly, then smiled. "That's why I'm still in high school when, by rights, I should be starting my first year of college right now." Layla felt herself relax infinitesimally into her seat. That pretty calm acceptance Shane and Evan showed towards her curse had her falling a little bit more in love with Shane and had her developing a healthy dose of admiration for Evan. The handful of people who'd known before, including her psychiatrists, had all treated her like a nutcase, but even when she told Shane he was going to die he hadn't wigged out on her. Although she figured that should actually disturb her, his insouciance concerning his own death. Looking into his eyes, able to read him a little better just after their brief interactions, she could read the emotions there to some extent. He really did believe her but he treated his death with an indifference that she didn't understand. Maybe watching his brother going through such an intense sickness had cured him of any fear of death. Evan sure seemed to hold to that same philosophy, at least about himself. Layla, on the other hand, had a debilitating fear of death. It would seem after seeing it for all these years on other people she would at least be uncommitted on the subject, if not completely unfazed, but the truth was the thought of her own or anyone else's death left her with a fear so potent it made her heart seize in her chest. Headmaster Philips appeared up on stage at that moment, basically giving the same speech he recited at the beginning of every school year. Droning on about rules and regulations, giving reminders for clubs and sports teams tryouts, informing them that if they did not receive their new class schedules via email already then to head to the main office where a copy would be provided for them. Mostly the students ignored him, talking quietly amongst themselves. Evan quickly took a seat on the other side of Layla as Headmaster Philips began and all through the assembly he kept up a quiet, steady monologue about their home and life back in California. They lived in Los Angeles but they also had what they called a "get away" house directly on the beach. Their father was a divorce attorney who mostly dealt in celebrity divorce cases but he didn't mention much about their mother beyond saying she was a housewife. Layla felt she should reciprocate in some way, a kind of tit for tat, but what could she say? That she missed Tampa like crazy but that her mother didn't want her insane daughter and maniac son jeopardizing her new marriage with the aging software billionaire? She decided it was probably best to stay mum about that, giving monosyllabic answers anytime Evan asked a question about Florida. She was more comfortable with him than she'd been with anyone since Ryan but she couldn't force herself to open up much and was aware of a prickly sensation on the nape of her neck signaling Shane was staring at her. He'd been staring at her since he sat down and it was making her a little self-conscious. When that prickling on her neck intensified, Layla turned her head to look at Shane and was momentarily mesmerized. Or perhaps stupefied was a better word for it, because if she wasn't mistaken, the sparks of attraction were blazing in his deep chocolate eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, actually titillated by this bizarre turn of events. Shane Chambers attracted to her? Pfft, impossible. But she couldn't deny those fiery embers of passion in his eyes. Everything and everyone else receded, leaving only Shane. Even the shadowed murkiness around him thinned until it almost seemed nonexistent. Her thoughts, which were trying to remind her they were opposites in every way and thereby incompatible and shouldn't mesh, muted until all she was experiencing was unadulterated feeling. It seemed almost natural when Shane's head lowered towards hers like before, but this time it went uninterrupted. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips descended on hers, and it was like a shockwave went through her. She was alive with unfamiliar sensations, loving the silky smoothness of his lips on hers. It was a chaste kiss, no tongue, but the absolute rightness of it made her heart soar. A throat clearing behind her signaled Evan's embarrassment and discomfort over witnessing the intimate stolen moment. It brought them apart but didn't entirely make the surreal moment dissipate. Layla's cheeks heated, tinged pink, and for several seconds she lost herself in Shane's eyes again. Something momentous had just occurred, like Layla's soul had found the missing piece that would complete it. But then the shadows made a reappearance and her heart did a painful wrench in her chest. No matter what she had to do, she was determined to save him. If she had to glue herself to his side and become a permanent attachment to his body, then she'd definitely do it to guarantee no harm would be done to him. For a second, she was briefly amused. It was like that TV show 'Heroes', except instead of, "save the cheerleader, save the world," her situation was more, "save the basketball god, save the popular crowd." She just prayed she wouldn't fail. ~*~*~ Holy shit on a pogo stick. That innocent little kiss in the auditorium had been the most explosive and earth shattering of Shane's life. Minor pyrotechnics had erupted in his mind, causing his brain to short circuit. If a simple kiss could affect him so intensely, he wondered what sex would be like with her. Probably cause his heart and brain to explode simultaneously. Or fucking make him spontaneously combust. He'd die with a fucking smile on his face, that was for damn sure. Something had clicked in his mind after that kiss and he went through the rest of the school day with a smile on his face. It didn't hurt that by some miracle he and Layla had received the same class schedule so he was able to feast his hungry gaze on her for the rest of the day. They garnered a few curious glances from his friends because of their close proximity but Shane refused to acknowledge them. Layla, too, seemed content to let this fledgling thing between them remain a mystery. Shane knew it didn't make sense. Upon hitting puberty, he'd been a lady killer, going through girls like they were going out of style. Now, in his mind at least, he had already committed himself to Layla. It was crazy, spontaneous and completely incomprehensible but, hell, that was love for you. Whoa. Back the think train up. Love? Maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. Sure, he had strong feelings for Layla, feelings that needed to be examined and explored later, but he wasn't comfortable calling it love quite yet. He'd spent his time at the Cornick Academy being secretly attracted to her, and now that she was his for all intents and purposes, he just wanted to glory in the newness of it. Funny how one tiny kiss could thrust you into a relationship you didn't know you wanted - no, needed - without words having to be spoken. The only glitch in Shane's day was when he saw Damon and Christian again in fourth period. The two seemed to be joined at the hip and their animosity towards each other was palpable. Whoever mistook them for friends had to either be blind or stupid, although that probably wasn't accurate because a blind person would be able to perceive the vibes of antipathy emanating from them. Nothing out of the norm happened this time, but the sight of the two boys just brought back the unreal situation in homeroom. After some time of contemplation, Shane wondered if what he'd seen had actually happened, but he couldn't deny that burn he'd seen on Christian's arm. And that smirk of Damon's, the one that seemed permanently affixed to his face, sent disquieting shivers down his spine. That smirk didn't portend anything good, he was certain of that. Seeing that smirk again, Shane knew he didn't want to be anywhere near the boys' senior dormitory if Damon was going to be there. It was an irrational fear - he had a few inches and pounds of muscle on him - but it was there nevertheless. So, under the guise of getting to know her better, though he wanted to do that too, he asked Layla if he could come over to her dorm later. She looked incredulous for a moment but then smiled and nodded hesitantly. The relief he felt was downright euphoric. He was just leaving his dorm after a conference call with his dad and Evan when Luke cornered him in the common room. Without preamble - that seemed to be his style - Luke demanded, "What the fuck are you doing with my sister?" "What do you mean?" Luke glared at him. "Don't play fucking dumb with me, Chambers. Layla's had a thing for you for a while and if you're just toying with her, back off now." Raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture, Shane said, "Luke, I'm being honest here. No lie, I'm not toying with her, you can trust me on that. I like her." As Luke stared at him, trying to discern the truth of his words, Shane became aware of the fact that they'd drawn a crowd. Okay, so it was only three people, but having Evan, Damon and Christian being partial to this discussion was not what he'd call a party. All of a sudden, he had a clenched fist busting against his mouth with so much force, he was surprised his head didn't spin and do an Exorcist. Luke shoved him against the wall before he could react, his teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. "That was just insurance," he whispered harshly. "If you hurt her, if you cause one single tear to fall, they'll need a fucking backhoe to find your body." Evan squeezed himself between them, extricating the feral grip Luke had on Shane. "Whoa, back off. Unstable much?" Stepping calmly away, Luke sneered at Evan. "Go to hell, you fucking twink." Seeing Evan's face blanch, the hurt in his eyes, Shane had to physically restrain himself from tackling Luke. He knew the guy had started this intending to make certain Layla's emotional status remained secure in a fit of deranged brotherly love, but being a dick to his brother was taking it too far. Luke was built similarly to him, tall and leanly muscled like a long distance runner, and Shane started searching for any weak spots, but knew they wouldn't come to blows this time. Evan had ordered him long ago not to fight his battles so he had to console himself with the thought that karma was a bitch and Luke would get his comeuppance soon. With one last parting glare, Luke stormed off. As he left, Shane's attention wasn't on Luke, but had shifted to Damon and Christian across the room. Damon's usual smirk was eclipsed by a savage, victorious grin as he watched Luke, in direct contrast with the concerned frown Christian was sporting. As one, they turned and exited the room, unaware that they were operating in perfect synchronization. Shane watched them go, wondering yet again what the hell was up with those two. "Do you think he'll out me?" Evan asked. "Huh? Who?" Evan rolled his eyes. "Luke," he elucidated. "Do you think he'll tell people I'm gay?" "Nah, I think you're still safely in the closet. His vindictive side seems to only make an appearance when someone fucks with Layla." Which was strange, because the Chadwick twins really didn't appear to have a close relationship. "Speaking of Layla.... Bro, treat that girl right. I really don't want to have to rent a backhoe to find your ass." "I have every intention of doing just that." He grimaced and wiped the blood from his split lip. "And not just because Luke will attempt to dismember me if I don't." Grinning, Evan made a tissue materialize from his pocket and handed it over. "Is it wrong that I found that whole exchange infernally hot? Not you getting hurt and threatened, but Luke's complete disregard for human emotion?" Shane gave him an arch look. "Bub, I think you're the unstable one." "That's a distinct possibility," Evan said with a short laugh. "Maybe I'm a masochist." "I think you can take out the maybe and say that's a guaranteed fact." Shane grinned and hugged Evan briefly to his side. "I'm gonna head over to Layla's dorm now." Evan's smiling face shifted to crestfallen almost immediately. "But what about what Layla saw?" "What are you talking about?" The look Evan shot him questioned his intelligence. It was really rather insulting. "Hello, is anyone in there?" he asked, reaching up and tapping his head. "Layla saw death on you." His nearly jubilant mood plummeted. "Thanks for reminding me," Shane muttered. He'd been doing an exceptional job not thinking about it thus far. Denial was a wonderful thing. As long as he wasn't thinking about it, he could pretend everything remained hunky dory. But now, thanks to Evan, it was impossible to continue with his obliviousness. His mortality was staring him right in the face and he couldn't ignore it, couldn't turn away from this reflection of himself. Giving Evan a smile, albeit a melancholy one, he left him behind in the common room and stepped out into the cold, blustery afternoon sun. He paused for a moment outside his dorm, squinting his eyes against the glaringly reflective snow. He stared at the phosphorescent blanket, noticing it was a facsimile of how Christian had appeared in homeroom. He really hated being reminded of that. Sighing, he shifted his gaze around the expanse of snow covered ground. The Cornick Academy was where rich businessmen and socialites sent their kids when they couldn't be bothered to raise them. It was an expensive, ostentatious boarding school, at a high enough altitude that snow was guaranteed year round. The heated walkways that prevented snow and ice from hindering their path and the gourmet meals showed the school spared no expense to keep its students safe and coddled, and the parents that paid an outrageous amount in tuition placated. The dorms surrounded the school itself, eight buildings that housed thirty students each. At any given time, there were usually only two hundred twenty to two hundred thirty kids attending the school. Though a small school populated mostly by debutantes and wanna be wall street players, they still had a kick-ass basketball team and Shane was proud of their stellar undefeated record. Shaking himself out of his momentary paralysis, he walked the short distance to the girls' senior dorm and entered the warm, toasty haven. Boys were prohibited from the girls' dorms after nine, but seeing as it was still early in the afternoon, Shane didn't need to worry about some authority figure busting his balls for being there. He could hear some girls talking and laughing in the common room, but Shane paid them no mind and gazed down the hall where all the downstairs bedrooms were located. Each door was decorated gaudily by its inhabitants in a proprietary show of ownership. And they said only guys marked their territory. Not seeing Layla's name emblazoned on any of the doors, he meandered his way upstairs where he was accosted with more of the same. Only one door remained bare, the wood grain smooth and unblemished. Shane stared at that door for a moment, his heart doing peculiar acrobatics in his chest. It was sad and.... desolate, somehow. Every other door showed signs of the personalities living within, but this one was hopeless in its bareness. Bleak. Unerringly, he strode forward and tapped his knuckles against the door, knowing Layla was beyond it. Not even two seconds later, it swung inward to reveal Layla. She had ditched her hoodie and the black stretchy tee she was wearing combined with the dark skinny jeans delineated how tiny she was. He could clearly see the ridges of her ribs and her hip bones jutted out anorexically. Either she didn't eat enough to sustain a kitten or she had the fastest working metabolism ever. He made a mental note to get some carbs into her ASAP. Grinning at her, he cocked his head to the side. "Hey, can I come in?" My Soul to Take Her dark purple gaze dropped to his mouth. "What happened to you?" she asked, that husky voice filled with concern. "Oh. This." Shane's grin stretched into a full-fledged smile, stopping just short of reopening his split lip. "Just a minor disagreement, that's all." "A minor disagreement?" she repeated dubiously. Thankfully, she didn't question it further and opened the door wider to allow him entrance. Shane stepped inside and took a minute to survey her private space. It was depressingly utilitarian. Standard white stucco walls, two beds that would pass an Army barracks inspection, two stable wooden desks. The only evidence he saw that she'd attempted to personalize the room was the full length mirror on the door and the lavender scented candles on the nightstand beside the left bed. Even her bed didn't stand out as hers, just a black comforter and a pillow. All through his perusal, Layla watched him. He was acutely aware of her purple eyes on him and he finally turned to face her. "It's nice," he said. "Spartan but nice." She shrugged. "I'm not materialistic, that's for sure." "Definitely not materialistic," he agreed, doing another sweep of the room. This time, he noticed something distinctly personal. A photograph in one of those small 4x6 frames, right beside her laptop on the desk. Without waiting to ask for permission, he picked it up, studying it closer. In the photo, Layla stood with Luke and some other guy on a sandy beach. Crashing waves were in the background, the sky pretty dismal and gray like a storm was brewing. Layla had this beatific, radiant smile on her face, her arms wound around the nameless guy's torso. Luke stood on the other side of the guy, chest bare, leaning casually against a piling, looking bored and disinterested. The guy, though he held Layla close with no reservations and had an easy grin on his face, looked vaguely uncomfortable being stuck between the two of them. It was something in his gray-blue eyes, like he was being constantly pulled between them. Shane tamped down the uncharacteristic jealousy that flared in his chest, kind of like heartburn. "Who's this?" he asked. "That's Ryan. He was my best friend." Something in her voice had him looking over at her, at the sorrow that made her grape eyes darken until her pupil was nearly indistinguishable to the iris. "Was?" "He died a few years ago," she murmured quietly. "Drowned." Before he could even question her about that - because, God, she must have seen his shadow and known what was coming - she forced a tight smile. Taking the photo from him, she promptly changed the subject. "Mom captured Luke perfectly in this picture," she said. "This is classic Luke." "How do you mean?" "I mean he's always like he is right here. Disinterested." She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but he spends a disproportionate amount of time either hating everything or being completely apathetic. There's only been a few times he's actually smiled and let his guard down." Sitting down on her window seat, watching her as she spoke, he realized they really didn't know all that much about each other. "What about your mom?" "Hmm, my mom," she mused, wandering around the room while she thought before settling in the middle of her bed, legs crossed Indian-style. "She's inconsistently a mother. Before you ask, I mean that she'll be all doting and loving one minute and then turn around the next and tell us to get lost for a while because she needed space. She's spent the time since my father left searching for a suitable replacement husband, one who's much older and more loaded. Now that she's found him, she doesn't have much interest in us anymore, not that she ever had much to begin with." "Your dad?" he questioned softly. "He's an archeologist, believe it or not. A wife and kids was too much domestication for him; he's a free spirit. Split shortly after Luke and I turned three. We're pen pals, nothing more. I'll get post cards from him periodically, the last one coming from Egypt. He used to write to both me and Luke but when Luke kept throwing the letters to him away unopened, his letters started coming at even longer intervals before stopping altogether. Father doesn't even ask about him anymore." She laughed quietly but it sounded pretty mirthless to Shane. "You know, I've always been saddened by the fact that Luke doesn't understand me but I realize now that I don't understand him either. He's always been so fearless, while I'm afraid of almost everything. Even when he came out to me and Mom, it was like he couldn't care less what we'd think of him, although maybe that's admirable. He just said, 'Got a C on my algebra test, got detention for cussing at the teacher and I'm gay. I'm going to the movies now.' Mom was shocked to say the least but I think I knew already so it was more a confirmation rather than a revelation for me." Shane listened intently to everything she had to say, absorbing these tidbits about her life like a sponge. It was shocking to discover how very similar their home lives were. Absentee dad, an almost reluctant mom. The only major difference was their relationships with their siblings. Layla and Luke really didn't have much of one but Shane and Evan couldn't be closer if they tried. He thought about his brother. Though he had watched Evan struggle with leukemia, distressed that he couldn't assist in the solitary battle against Death, he often took for granted the health Evan had reclaimed. But what had Layla said earlier? Death was lying in wait inside Evan? The cancer was in remission, and in some cases it stayed dormant for the rest of their natural lives, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. It was a sobering thought. Evan could succumb to the sickness again at any time. 'Well, color me depressing,' he thought. "Listen to me," Layla said with a self-deprecating little laugh. "I'm going on and on about myself. What about you? Evan did all the talking earlier." Actually, she hadn't said much about herself at all, just her family. Shane would have liked to hear about her, but he allowed her to pass the conversation baton to him. "Um, my family's not so different, really," he admitted. "Parents are still married but they both do their own thing. Dad's the one that's been there for us the most but he's devoted to his work. He's hardly ever home. Mom is.... Well, she's an alcoholic. She's a morose drunk and stays in a depressed stupor 24/7. I remember when Evan first started getting sick, before we knew what was wrong with him, I started to notice these big bruises on him. He stopped eating and if you knew him you'd know that was abnormal 'cause the boy eats his own weight in food daily. I went to Mom because Evan kept telling me he was fine. Mom didn't do anything at first, not until Evan came down and his pants fell down around his ankles. He'd lost so much weight because he couldn't stomach anything that he was skeletal. The doc told us the cancer was so advanced he probably wouldn't have survived had we waited even a week." He cracked his knuckles, teeth gritted. Even after three years, it still made him so fucking angry. "I blame Mom. Dad was away at the time so it was up to Mom to be doing the parenting. She didn't notice anything was wrong with him and even when I went to her with my concerns, at first she just told me I was paranoid, that I was creating problems where there were none." The look on Layla's face was sympathetic without the slightest trace of pity. Or maybe that was empathy he saw there. Even if she hadn't gone through his particular situation, he had a feeling she'd dealt with similar ones concerning her ability. They talked for hours, finally getting into more serious and personal territory. Shane wasn't even aware of the time passing as he told her about his dreams of playing basketball back home at ULA. She, in turn, confessed that college wasn't a top priority for her directly after high school, but later she would like to refine her art at the Pratt Institute. She showed him drawings she'd done right here at school and the attention to detail was superb. There were quite a few of him - sitting at his desk but gazing out the window in a morning daze, suspended in midair in his basketball uniform, holding onto the rim after doing a slam dunk - and he noticed her blush deepen as each depiction was revealed to him. As the room grew dark, forcing her to switch on the bedside lamp, they found themselves both lounging on her bed. Shane was stretched out lazily on his side, propped up on his elbow, and Layla sat near his knees with her legs drawn up to her chest, chin on her knees as she faced him. She was finally comfortable enough in his presence that she brought up Ryan and told him everything about her best friend. "He was everything I wasn't," she said softly. "Confident and popular. I was amazed when we first started hanging out but he got through my defenses and somehow got me to open up. When I saw his shadow I.... I had to go away for a while. I missed his memorial service and when I came home I was still so despondent and miserable. Mom had announced she was sending me and Luke here and the night before we left, I tasted alcohol for the first and only time. I got so drunk, lost my inhibitions that kept me so rigid and I got a tattoo. It's not something I'm proud of." "What'd you get a tattoo of?" he asked, imagining a tramp stamp of a butterfly or rose or even Ryan's name somewhere. He should have known Layla wouldn't be so predictable. With a blush reigniting in her cheeks, she turned her back to him, lifting her shirt up to her shoulders and deftly unhooking her bra. There, between her shoulder blades, about six inches tall, was the Grim Reaper. A black cloak concealed his body, head included, but the tattoo artist had inked two red orbs in the hooded face for its eyes. A scythe was in its left hand, but the right arm was raised, a bony finger pointing outward. It was eerie and disturbing and clearly showed how Layla thought of herself. "As you can see, I wasn't in a healthy frame of mind after his death," she muttered, shivering as his fingers traced the figure. "Adding alcohol to the mix just exacerbated the problem." Something came over him at that moment. Seeing the self-image she had of herself scarred forever on her back, hearing the sorrow she still felt in her voice, he just wanted to comfort her and get even closer to her. Maybe it was taking advantage of her in a vulnerable state but he didn't see it that way at the time. All he was doing was following his instincts, but most especially his heart. Sitting up, following the path of his fingers just seconds earlier with his lips, he trailed kisses around the Grim Reaper. His hands, of their own accord, settled on her slender hips, thumbs rubbing small caresses across her smooth skin. A gasp hitched in her throat. She turned to face him, dislodging his hold, her bra remaining unhooked but her shirt fell back into place. Her wide purple eyes searched his face for some internal question and she must have found the correct answer because her body fairly melted against him. Winding his arms around her, he pulled her onto his lap, his raging hard-on pressing eagerly against her thigh. He felt woozy, which was understandable, as all the blood in his body had centered in his groin. It felt like they were sequestered away in their own world, in a place where time had no meaning, nothing mattered but the two of them. One arm remaining around her tiny waist, his free hand curved around to the nape of her neck, fingers tunneling into her long, luxurious obsidian hair. Their faces inched closer and closer until finally their lips connected. It started innocently enough, like the brief kiss in the auditorium, but soon his tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart. Her tongue tentatively met his own, causing a groan to issue from his mouth. It was, above all else, a kiss of exploration, finding and settling into a gentle yet hot kiss. "You're beautiful, Layla," he whispered when they broke the kiss to catch their breath. He was fast losing his tenuous control but it was imperative he tell her this before continuing. "You're beautiful and generous and warm. You shine so bright and pure, like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. You are not and will never be anything like the Grim Reaper." Her eyes swan in tears for a moment and she blinked rapidly to make them disperse. Taking a deep breath, she placed her cool hands to either side of his face, eyes locked with his as she touched her lips softly to his own, initiating their second kiss of the night. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, matching the hummingbird fluttering of hers. Never before had a girl affected him so much, to such an extent that one touch to his cock would cause him to blow, but at the same time one small kiss made him feel ten feet tall, his heart on the verge of bursting with too many emotions to identify. Just by the tentative, hesitant way she acted with him, he knew she was a virgin. He was a big guy, six foot six inches and muscular, with a dick that was in proportion to the rest of his body. Layla was barely 5'5", with narrow hips and a very diminutive stature. Always before, he'd been damn proud of the wood he brought to the bedroom, but at that moment he couldn't help but wish for smaller equipment. Damn, this had to be love if he was wishing for a tiny cock. Hoping that if he gave her enough preparation it wouldn't cause too much discomfort, he layed her flat on the bed, stretching out alongside her. Their parallel position just made their height difference more apparent but he ignored that, bending his head to reconnect their lips. He undressed her reverently, unwrapping her like a precious gift, alternating between kissing, nibbling and caressing each section of skin he revealed. When her shirt and bra hit the floor, he molded one pert breast with his hand, lowering his mouth to the other one. Her nipples pebbled under his ministrations, her body undulating restlessly beneath him. Carefully, he removed her skinny jeans and underwear. Kneeling beside her, he gazed down at her gloriously naked body. Though the too evident ribs and hip bones concerned him, reminding him too much of Evan when he was sick, the rest of her body was.... resplendent. A graceful, slender neck, smooth shoulders, pert, high breasts, a flat, almost concave stomach. He peppered kisses along each part his eyes devoured, finally ending up between her legs, staring at the moist, hot space every fiber of his being craved. Layla was moaning nonsensical words, her body shifting on the bed, and it only intensified as the tip of his tongue flicked her clit. At the same time, he rubbed a single finger around her opening before sinking it inside her. He brought her to the brink of orgasm twice, tongue laving attention to her clitoris, his fingers working at her small opening. When he could slide three inside her comfortably and her thrashing and moaning reached a crescendo, he shucked off his clothes and rolled on a condom he found in his wallet, one of three - hey, he was an optimist. Blanketing her body, he kissed her, their tongues tangling. He nudged her legs wider apart, settling his hips between them, the tip of his dick seeking out her entrance. Thinking of ripping the band-aid off so it hurt less, he laced his fingers with hers and plunged deep in one forceful thrust. Layla's body went rigid beneath him, eyes squeezed closed, her fingers crushing his in a brutal grip. He stayed still, waiting for her body to adjust. His heart had picked up the erratic beat again, blood rushing in his ears. Tunnel vision gave him a perfect view of her perspiring, strained face. As soon as the lines of distress in her forehead eased, smoothing out, he unclipped the leash he had on his hips. Drawing almost completely out, he waited a second until her eyes opened again and were locked with his, then he sank back in. Three more thrusts and Layla's hips began rising to meet him, more instinct than anything else. His orgasm was already building but he was determined to wait for her first. It was a pride thing. Without warning, Layla's body went rigid again, for an entirely different reason, and her mouth opened wide. Quickly, he covered those luscious lips in a kiss, catching the keening cry that escaped from her very diaphragm. Her feminine walls contracted convulsively around his dick, triggering his own orgasm. He got in five more quick thrusts as he started shooting his sperm into the tip of the condom. Both of them, with their breathing labored, lay in blissful silence for several long moments. Layla twined her arms around him, her face buried in his shoulder. She murmured something he couldn't quite catch against his skin before turning her head and laying a gentle kiss to the furiously pumping vein in his neck. Making quick work of getting rid of the used condom, he settled on his side, drawing Layla close, protected in the circle of his arms. Nothing mattered in the moment. Not getting busted for being in her dorm after curfew, not his imminent death. It was all forgotten, unimportant. Everything else paled in comparison to having Layla in his arms. ~*~Chapter Four~*~ The murky light of dawn filtered through her bedroom window, waking Layla from a slumberous sleep. She stretched her arms above her head, pointing her toes, deliciously achy. She had no idea what had come over her last night. Layla had never before behaved so wantonly but Shane's imminent death had been a heavy weight of her heart and she knew she had to seize this opportunity with him before it disappeared. She really hadn't expected her first time to be that enjoyable, either. There had been numerous horror stories circulating about other girls' firsts, and they had made Layla understandably wary. Not that Layla had ever really expected to lose her virginity at all. Her middle school years had been spent with boys keeping a distance from her until Ryan but even when she'd found that connection with him, she'd never seen them advancing past friendship. And then Shane had captured her interest, and later her heart. She'd been resigned to unrequited love and had just about convinced herself that was enough to keep her fulfilled through a spinster life. That and her future dozen cats would keep her warm at night. Last night had surmounted and far exceeded her expectations. The pain at first had been sharp but very brief. Considering his size, that was unbelievable but so true. She spent the night cuddled against his firm chest, her bare breasts pressed to the top of his washboard abs, head on his muscular pecs. That was the first night of dreamless, restful sleep she'd gotten in years. Usually, her sleep was plagued with phantasmagoric nightmares. Rolling to her back, she swept her arm out to find Shane but encountered only empty space. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up in bed. No trace of him remained. His clothes were gone, there wasn't even an indentation in the mattress where he'd slept. Disappointment crashed over her, eclipsing the joy she'd been experiencing only a minute ago. She should have known she was just another notch on Shane Chambers' headboard. Shoving her fingers through her tangled black hair, she flopped back on her bed, turning her head to check the time on the alarm clock on her nightstand. A folded sheet of notebook paper blocked the digital readout. Frowning, she tucked the sheet around her, modesty reasserting itself even though she was alone. Plucking the folded note from the table, she unfolded it and began reading. 'Layla, I'm so sorry. I wanted you to wake up in my arms but Mason sent me a text telling me that Coach and Mrs. Fitzgerald are taking the team into town to start our conditioning early. Apparently, the gym in town is bigger and better equipped than ours, though I think it's because Coach has a meeting with a scout from ULA. I'll be back around lunchtime and after school I'll have to make up my morning classes. But after that would you possibly want to do something? Again, I'm really sorry for running out like this. Hope there's some forgiveness in my future. Shane.' My Soul to Take Her whole body had started to shake, fine tremors running through her. Moving without conscious thought, she threw on the first clothes she spotted, grabbing her hoodie on the way out the door. She raced down the stairs, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, nearly plunging to her death five times as she struggled into the hoodie. All through her mad dash, she muttered something that sounded to her through the dull roar in her ears like, "Oh, God, Shane, no, no, no, oh, God, please, no, please, please...." His note had said both Coach Daniels and Mrs. Fitzgerald, meaning the basketball team and the cheerleading squad. Everyone who had a shadow. Doomsday had arrived and she had no idea if she was too late to stop them. Shoving out the door, knocking aside a groggy girl with a mug of coffee, she entered the arctic coldness outside. Snow flurries combined with tears she hadn't been aware of shedding obscured her vision, but she saw no bus and no cluster of teenagers waiting impatiently to board that bus. Without a second thought, she began running down the small, narrow road leading away from the school, feet occasionally slipping on ice patches, developing a stitch in her side after just three minutes. Her leg muscles burned like fire, her lungs aching, throat dry. The extreme weather conditions definitely weren't on her side and only exacerbated all her problems. In her mind, an endless reel of catastrophes that could await her played, tormenting her. She would have sobbed if it wouldn't have drastically slowed down her progress. She intensified her efforts, gathering her meager strength and pushing herself to move faster, faster, faster. About a mile and a half down the road that curved around the mountain, she caught sight of her worst fear. A big yellow school bus was hanging precariously over the edge of the road, on the verge of plunging hundreds of feet to ricochet off jagged edges. A strangled scream tried to rip its way past her aching, parched throat, but all that escaped was a gasping, wheezing breath of air. Falling to her knees in a snow drift, still a dozen or so yards from the bus, she hung her head, finally unleashing the sobs that had been contained in her chest. What the hell could she do now? There was no time to retreat back to the school and call for the appropriate help, and there was no way she could single-handedly pull that bus back to safety. Sobbing at the injustice, she banged her fists against the ground, the chapped skin of her knuckles splitting and oozing blood. She didn't even notice. All that took precedence in her mind was the bus ahead that would tip forward into oblivion at the slightest gust of wind. Shane was in there and would take her heart with him. Chloe, Mason, Curtis, Melanie, Frankie.... They were all about to die a premature death, and though the majority of them had excelled at being cruel to her, Layla would do anything, sacrifice everything, to save them. "It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?" a voice said behind her. Gasping, she scrambled in the freezing snow to turn around, her leaden limbs making her fall back on her butt. Breathing hard, lungs aching with every inhale and breath puffing in wispy clouds with each exhale, she stared up in a daze at the dark figure before her. Damon Levi-something. She was momentarily confused at his presence, befuddled enough that the bus looming at her back was pushed to the back of her mind. She'd seen him in fourth period yesterday and the impression he'd made on her hadn't been a lasting one. Shane had dominated all her attention then. "W-what are you doing here?" she gasped out. "The bus.... it's g-gonna fall...." "That's the plan," he said, smirking. A red glow briefly pulsated in his black eyes. Her uncomprehending gaze never broke from his face. "What?" "Oh, Layla, Layla, Layla," he chanted sarcastically, beginning to pace in front of her. "Let's see if your mind can wrap around this. Eighteen years ago, I was there when you were born. A pink, squalling baby with a soul that fucking REEKED, STANK with your goodness. It was insulting. But I do so love a challenge. I relished the opportunity to darken such a PURE and fucking BRIGHT soul. It was easy enough to give you the gift of sensing death but did you appreciate it? No! You ungrateful BITCH!" It was difficult to follow him. His voice fluctuated between calm and collected to agitated and angry, back and forth. And his words, the meaning of them, she still couldn't comprehend anything. What was he saying? Did he.... Was he.... What the hell was happening here? Standing directly before her now, looming over her, imperious and intimidating, his dusky skin mottled a marbled black and red before returning to normal again. Her eyes widened in terror and she attempted to scramble away but all her muscles were locked in place. She couldn't move, could barely breathe. What the hell was he?! "This," he said, nodding his head towards the bus still behind her, "is the event that will tip the scales in my favor. Upon their deaths, your soul will rot and decay and will be all mine. I'll have had the satisfaction of turning one of God's human little angels. The bragging rights alone will be astronomical." "What? N-no!" she stammered, teeth chattering from both fear and the cold. "You can't do that! Those are just innocent kids in there!" "Innocent?" he sneered. "I think not. Have you forgotten Chloe tormenting you, Curtis tripping you down the stairs, Becky spreading vicious rumors about you? Wouldn't you be so much happier without them around?" She was ashamed to admit it, but a small, microscopic part of herself that was dark and corrosive sat up, salivating at that thought. Beating that evil part ruthlessly into submission, she reminded herself that Shane was also on that bus, that not all of them had ridiculed her. "No!" she screamed, scratching her throat raw. "You can't do this! They have their whole lives to live. If somebody has to die, take me." She would gladly give her life to save Shane's. Damon snarled in rampant fury and he pounced on her. She fully expected her life to end right there, but he wrested her around, a fist balled in her hair forcing her to watch as the bus slid in small increments closer and closer over the edge. She screamed, one long, continuous, anguished "No", her whole body bucking and thrashing trying to dislodge him, to stop the inevitable plunge. "Damon! Stop this!" The new, commanding voice halted everything. The bus's descent, her scream, Damon's inhuman snarling. A glorious figure rose over the teetering bus, magnificent wings of heavenly white outspread, a bare, pale chest gleaming in the morning sun. White-blond hair whipped around a beautiful, glowing face, much longer than it had appeared yesterday. That was.... Christian Savior. "You have done your test, Damon," Christian said in a voice that was both masculine and yet brought to mind a choir of beautiful singing. "No one is to die this day. Release Layla and move on." Layla knew Damon had an objection ready but before it could be uttered, Christian's gorgeous, luminescent wings swept forward and a gale force wind blew the bus backwards, away from the precipice. She expected it to crash down, but it landed almost gently, not even jostling the dazed passengers. Leaving behind the drama and unanswered questions with Christian and Damon, Layla scrambled to her feet and lurched over to the bus, preparing to bust down the door if need be. But it was already miraculously opened for her and she climbed aboard, rushing down the aisle to the back where Shane sat. Everyone was dazed and confused, like they were coming out of a drugged sleep, mumbling quietly to themselves and others. Layla ignored them all, intent only on Shane. Her gaze never wavered from his face. That beautiful, sharp, masculine face that no longer had a shadow superimposed over it. None of the teens on the bus bore a shadow anymore. She fell gratefully into his arms, squeezing him tightly, reiterating the three words she'd whispered against his skin last night. "I love you, I love you, I love you." Bemused, he pushed her tangled hair away from her face and kissed the tears from her cheeks. "I love you, too, Layla," he murmured. "Did you get my note?" Laughing, she squeezed him even tighter. She'd been prepared to die for him; she was much happier to live for him instead. ~*~Epilogue~*~ Christian Savior hovered above the spot where a school bus full of teenagers and three adults had almost perished, his wings beating gently to keep him aloft. He gazed down at the demon below him on the ground, shaking his head sadly. "I never told you, Damon," he said quietly. "You picked a good last night. It suits you. 'In that day the Lord with His severe sword, great and strong, will punish Leviathan the fleeing serpent, Leviathan that twisted serpent; and He will slay the reptile that is in the sea.' Isaiah 27:1." Damon Leviathan's face contorted in rage, briefly marbling black and red. "Fuck you, Christian. Don't quote the Bible at me." Shrugging, Christian watched one of his white feathers fluttered through the air, almost indistinguishable with all the brilliantly white snow, except for the glowing, glittering filaments of the feather. Glaring at him, Damon caught the feather desultorily, where it instantly began smoking beneath his clenched fingers. Demons were now allowed to touch anything divine; it had dire consequences. In his angelic form, Christian was vulnerable to him, and Damon had just made that point crystal clear. "I told you eighteen years ago, Damon. Layla's soul is incorruptible. Her soul is pure and untarnished. Your decay cannot touch her." "Decay, huh?" Damon sneered. "Come down here and say that to my fucking face, you sanctimonious prick." Something out of Christian's control had him lowering to the ground before Damon, his wings snapping back and away. The bottom feathers dragged in the snow, slowly going numb from the cold. Smirking, Damon dragged a finger along Christian's bare abdomen, from his belly button up to his collar bone, leaving a burning, smoking trail. Suddenly, Damon's hand was around his neck, his skin sizzling. A strangled scream of pain ripped from Christian's abused throat, his knees going weak, the acrid scent of his own burning flesh assaulting his nostrils. Involuntary tears obscured his vision, making Damon's smirking face blurry and distorted. Just as suddenly, Damon released his agonizing hold, and Christian fell to his knees, breathing in heaving gulps of air. Damon stooped down beside him, whispering in his ear, each teasing brush of his lips sending stinging bolts of pain straight to his toes. "If you hadn't interfered, yet again, Layla's soul would be mine now. Without your interference, that stupid slut wouldn't have fallen in love and been intent on saving her fucking boyfriend." "No," Christian choked out, moving infinitesimally to escape Damon's scorching touch. "No, Layla would never have bowed to your influence, Shane or no Shane. Her soul shines bright and even the curse you set on her, the one that repels people along with showing her death, could not darken it. Just admit you failed and move on." He glared at him, leaning farther away. "And I am not the one who interfered, Damon. You were the one tormenting Shane. We agreed not to interact with them, especially the people who directly affect them." For an interminable time, Damon stared into Christian's bright blue eyes, the ever present smirk momentarily missing. Then he blinked those fathomless onyx eyes, pulsing red for a single second, the smirk making a reappearance. "Well, there's still Luke."