*These next three chapters aren't really new.  I just broke up some of the earlier ones, where I actually had several chapters combined into one, just to make it easier on myself as I edit.  Sorry for any confusion*

By the time Eliot finally made it to the hospital, a winter storm was in full swing.  Sheets of snow lashed at his windows as he steered his car along the deserted mountain road into the small parking garage that sheltered him from the waning daylight. 

            Even as he left his car for the icy chill of a newborn winter he could still smell the spicy scent of roses, as fresh as spring. 

            His entire car smelled like her. 

            The crisp scent haunted him all the way up to the twelfth floor.

When he entered Alazzdria’s room, he was surprised to find her out of bed, lounging on the window sill, staring wistfully out at the falling snow. 

            “I woke up today,” she announced on a dramatic sigh as the door shut behind him.  She shifted on the ledge so that she faced him, tucking her knees beneath her chin.  “Being comatose was so boring.”

            Eliot scoffed, moving across the room to take a seat in a chair that sat by the bed.

            “What did you expect?”

Alazzdria shrugged her slender shoulders.  “For everyone to coddle and take care of me, of course,” she sniffed.  “It almost reminded me of the old days…”

“When I used to be royalty,” she added, just in case he forgot.

As if he ever could.

“Those days have passed, Laz,” he said, gazing down at his hands.  They were clean and pale now, but he couldn’t help but be flashed back to a time when they had been constantly covered in the red of blood.  “We were both different back then.”

“Hmph.”  Alazzdria wrinkled her nose.  “It’s been a long time since you called me by that old nickname.”

She beamed and laced her pale hands together to gaze at him from over the tops of them.  Like a smug fat cat knowing it finally had a tricky mouse cornered, he couldn’t help thinking.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me, then?”

“Not on your life.”  He glared as he remembered one of the many reasons why he should have told her to go to hell instead of considered offering his help. 

They had known each other for years—decades—and she had done absolutely nothing to deserve his forgiveness or his help. 

Hell, he should have been one of the people out for her blood. 

But, he admitted, there was one thing holding him back from doing either.

“You said you’d make it worth my while if I helped you?”  He asked in a heavy voice.  A part of him felt as though he were making a deal with the devil.

Alazzdria’s reaction didn’t diminish that worry either.  She beamed, and leapt down from the sill to land on two pale feet. 

“Oh, Eliot darling,” she gushed.  “I knew you couldn’t stay angry with me for long!”

Happily, she clapped her pale hands together, like a spoiled child glad that she got her way.

Just like she knew she would.

“Your deal,” Eliot growled.  “What is it?”

Alazzdria raised a dark eyebrow and promptly rose on her tip-toes with all the poise of a ballerina. 

“You mean you wouldn’t help little ol’ Lazzie if something wasn’t in it for you?”  She pouted as if she were hurt by that fact, but mischievous tilt to her mouth gave her away.  She knew him—probably better than anyone, Eliot realized in annoyance. 

“Tell me darling,” she said, while raising her arms over her head in the elegant motion of a dancer.  “What do you want from poor, innocent Alazzdria?”

“Hmph,” Eliot scoffed.  There was nothing poor and innocent about her, he thought as his gaze trailed over her slender frame, from the rumpled cap of black hair to the still pointed tips of her pale toes on which her entire body still balanced. 

She was almost as small as Miriam, but her body held a confident, acrobatic grace which made her seem taller, as well as a slippery opponent in a fight. 

Which, of course, Eliot knew from experience. 

She might have looked like a harmless teenage girl, but she was all lethal killer. 

He didn’t feel a glimmer of pity for her, even as his gaze past over hers; an empty, haunting gaze of milky gray eyes that stared at nothing. 

With her uneasy grace and quick poise, there were days he even forgot that she was completely blind. 

“What could I possibly give someone like you?”  She pressed with a little frown when he didn’t answer.  “You’re the one with the fancy new coven, and a comfortable life—not to mention, no one seems to want to kill you.”

Eliot glared at her.  “Knock it off,” he snapped.  “The only reason you have no one is entirely your own doing.”

Alazzdria shrugged in the hospital gown that seemed slightly too big for her tiny body.  “How rude,” she sniffed.  “Besides, who needs anyone else…when I can always count on you?”

He didn’t bother to give her an answer. 

“What, Laz?”  He snarled, cursing himself once he realized that he used that nickname again. 

He couldn’t help it.  Though he might have despised her now, there had been a time when they had been…friends, in a way.  As close as the brother and sister they pretended to be now.

Back when he had genuinely wanted to help her whenever she pissed someone off and wound up in trouble—which happened more often than not, now that he thought about it. 

But now, she was on her own, unless she made it worth his time. 

“Start talking,” he grumbled.  “Or I’m walking out.”

He stood and took a step in the door’s direction to bolster the threat. 

“Wait!”  Alazzdria shifted to the balls of her feet, and the motion caught his attention.  She didn’t usually like to remember her past as a dancer.  The graceful movements only appeared when she was nervous.

Too nervous to sit still. 

“You’re hiding something,” he accused, voice deadly soft.  “The real reason why you’re so desperate for my help.”

Alazzdria bit her lip.  He could tell from the way her legs trembled that she had to physically keep herself from bouncing onto the tips of her toes again.  “Now, now darling.  Why would you think that?”

“Cut the crap, Laz.”  He glared, though she couldn’t see it.  “Tell the truth or I’m out.  Who’s really after you?”

She scuffed her feet against the linoleum floor.  He didn’t miss the way her unseeing eyes darting uneasily around the room, like they did when she was thinking hard about something. 

“Fine,” she said finally in a small voice.  “But remember…you asked.”

“Who’s after you?”  Eliot demanded. 

That milky gaze met his unflinchingly.  “Shadow hunters,” she said with a delicate shrug. 

“What?”  Eliot felt as though she’d punch him deep in the gut, though it had been a long, long time since he had allowed her to get close enough to even do that. 

“You asked,” Alazzdria grouched.  She twisted easily on her feet, putting herself out of reach. 

Which was a good thing that she did, Eliot realized as his fingers clenched aching to strangle her. 

More than strangle her. 

“You led them here?”  He couldn’t hide the horror in his tone, even if he tried. 

Shadow hunters were a race of creatures that even his kind respected…though, some might have used the word ‘feared.’ 

They were law keepers of sorts, who had their own twisted darkness they used to keep order among his kind and the other immortal beings who roamed the earth.

Alazzdria forced an exasperated sigh.  “Where else was I supposed to go?”

He didn’t answer that.  Instead, he took a menacing step in her direction, eyes narrowing into furious points.  “What did you do?”

Alazzdria crossed her arms.  “I stole something,” she said on a sigh.  “Something that I had no idea was so damn important until they sent the damn cavalry after me,” she groused.

Eliot felt his eyes widen.  “You…stole something.  From shadow hunters?”

“To be fair, I had no idea what they were, until they pulled out those nasty swords,” Alazzdria explained on a shudder.

“What the hell did you steal?”  Though, he was willing to admit that the object really didn’t matter.  She had stolen from shadow hunters, point blank. 

This time, even Alazzdria had gone too far. 

She shrugged again, rising back onto tip-toe.  “I didn’t even know it was important,” she whined.  “It was some dusty, old piece of parchment.  You know how I love old things.”

“What did it say?”  Eliot asked shaking his head.  Only Alazzdria could spark a murderous rampage by stealing something that sounded, for all intents and purposes, like a stupid old book. 

“Oh no ya don’t,” she said, shaking a pale finger.  “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Not,” Eliot snapped.  He turned for the door.  His hand barely brushed the metal before he heard Alazzdria take two small steps after him. 

“I’ll give you blood,” she declared. 

Slowly, he turned around to see her dangling her pale wrist into the air like a treat.  “My blood,” she added pointedly.  “You know all the wonderful properties a witch’s blood can give a vampire.”

The ability to walk in the sunlight for one. 

Eliot stared, eyeing the blue vein he could see snaking beneath her pale skin. 

Before he could help himself…he swallowed.  Though, for good reason.

Witch’s blood was a powerful, powerful thing.  The fact that Alazzdria was offering it freely, proved more than anything just how desperate she was for his help. 

“Just a drop or two, mind you,” she added, clasping her hands behind her back.  “You know how I hate pain.”

“Yes,” he said, almost in amusement. 

The woman was immortal—she could never die.  Yet, she feared physical pain more than anything. 

Eliot remembered how even back in the days they had been close, she hated to so much as prick her finger. 

Though, she had a damn good reason.

“Fine,” he said.  “I’ll protect you.  For now…”

It felt important to add that last part. 

Alazzdria beamed.  “Oh Eliot, darling!  I knew you’d help me!”

She did a little dance on the tips of her feet. 

Eliot watched her with a frown.  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”  He asked coldly.  “Playing the role of sleeping beauty?”

Alazzdria planted her hands on her hips.  “I woke up, remember?”  She shook out her silky hair.  “How dramatic it was.”  There was a wistful tone to her voice.  “I opened my eyes as that horrid nurse, brushed my hair.  She shrieked and ran for the doctor.  It was like something out of a television drama.”

She smiled, proud of herself. 

She had always had a dramatic streak, Eliot remembered. 

Then, she frowned, turning those eerie eyes to face him.  “How disappointed they were, when they couldn’t get a hold of my mysterious brother to share the good news.”

Her tone was accusing. 

“It’s the nineteenth century, Eliot,” she sniffed.  “Try to get a damn cellphone.”

“It’s the twenty-first century,” he corrected. 

“Is it really?”  She cocked her head thoughtfully.  “How the time flies…Still,” she chewed on her bottom lip.  “You should really keep up with the times.”

“I don’t need a phone,” Eliot snapped.  He made the word sound equivalent with ‘lollipop.’

Alazzdria waved him off with a pale hand, but as she did she sniffed on the rush of air.  Though it seemed impossible, her eyes widened. 

“Do I smell…my little sitting human?”  Eliot stared as two delicate fangs slipped free to press against her bottom lip.  “Oh, Eliot, tell me you didn’t kill her!”

“So what if I did?”  He crossed his arms and leaned against a bedside table. 

Alazzdria pouted.  “I liked her.  How very naughty of you!”

She wagged a pale finger disapprovingly.

She seemed genuinely upset.  Eliot was almost tempted to let her think the worst, but…

“I didn’t kill her,” he admitted on a growl.  “I’m not that person anymore.”

“Really?”  Alazzdria waggled a black eyebrow.  “When oh when did this change of heart occur?” 

Eliot turned his back on her. 

“That’s none of your business.”

She flinched at the harshness in his tone, but had enough sense to keep her mouth shut—for once. 

Instead, he saw when he turned around again, she had gone back to staring out of the window with a pensive frown. 

“Does that mean I’ll have to live with you and those awful twins?”

“Whatever.”

Those gray eyes sought him out from over her shoulder.  “Where?  A nice mansion in the hills somewhere, I trust?”

“A hotel,” he said, upper lip curling from his teeth into a grim smile.  “Not even a very nice one, on the highway just outside of the town.”

Alazzdria groaned.  “Ugh, Eliot.  You certainly have fallen far from the luxury we used to live, my friend.  A hotel?”

She made it sound synonymous with ‘sewer.’ 

“You have any better ideas?”  He countered. 

She shocked him with a charming smile.  “Actually…I do.  I figured that due to unseen circumstances, you wouldn’t have a home suitable to my…tastes.”  Another chilling grin that revealed her fangs.  “So I bought a house.”

“Today,” she added as his mouth gaped open.  “You’d be surprised at how easy it is over the phone.”

Eliot didn’t know how to respond.  He wanted to be skeptical, but this was Alazzdria, after all. 

He should have been glad that she hadn’t bought the whole damn town. 

“How?”  He asked, watching her gloat against the window glass. 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grinned at him wickedly.  “With cash…of course.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Where?”

“In town,” she said simply.  “It’s a lovely house, really.  Huge and old, Victorian style—you know how much I love that era—”

“Where?” he growled.  She seemed to be dancing around the answer on purpose. 

“Oh, nowhere, really,” she said innocently.  “It’s very close.  Those silly shadow hunters will never find us.”

“Whatever.”  He headed to the door. 

He was hallway across the room, when her voice floated back to reach him. 

“Do you miss him?”

He froze with his hand still clenched over the doorknob.  “Who?”  he asked, though he already knew the answer. 

“Him,” Alazzdria insisted, as though it explained everything.  “Sometimes when it snows, I can’t help but remember…”

There was a real hint of sadness in her voice, for once.  With a sigh, Eliot forced himself to turn back to meet her sightless gaze. 

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh.  “I miss him…sometimes.”

She nodded.  “They never mention it, you know,” she began almost in a whisper.  “When you become immortal…The years may pass by but the pain never ever goes away.  No matter how many centuries pass by.”

Eliot knew the feeling. 

“I know, Laz,” he said softly as he turned back for the door.  “I know…”