A/N: Chapters 1 though 12 have had minor edits made to grammar and sentence construct. It shouldn't affect your knowledge of what's happened so far even if you don't go back and read them again.

Chapter Thirteen

I was caged.

My surroundings were black and cold. I shivered.

Emptiness. The dark all around me was deep and solid, yet somehow empty. That couldn't be right. There had to be something out there, anything. How had I ended up trapped in this void?

One thing was certain. I had to get out of here.

But my cage had no door, no lock. Only an unyielding top and bottom and thick bars on all sides. I grabbed the bars, shuddering as the feeling of icicles plunged through my hands, and I pushed. Tugged. Shook them. No use.

I had to get out of here.

"Jess?"

I quickly turned. "Vincent!"

He was suspended in the darkness, arms by his sides, feet flat but touching nothing, eyes downcast. I found it odd that he didn't seem disturbed by the chilled air of this place, but the thought was unimportant. I tightened my grip on the bars, gritting my teeth as a new wave of cold shattered into my body.

"Help me!"

Hearing my own frightened voice only served to make my heart beat faster, but all Vincent did was turn his head slightly, still keeping it down so that his hair hid his eyes. He made no motion to come forward. After a few strained seconds, I wondered if he'd even heard me at all.

"Help me!" I said again, rattling the bars. My heart rattled in time.

Like a piece of paper thrown onto a fire, his outline curled and blackened, dissolving into the void around us with increasing speed. Fading. Disappearing.

Leaving me.

"Vincent!"

He was gone.

Wet trails dripped down my cheeks, but I ignored them and sank back, too shocked to bother wiping them away. I couldn't believe he'd just left me here. Shrugged off my pleas for help.

"Enjoying yourself, werewolf?"

I quickly turned in the other direction and immediately wished I hadn't.

Simon. No, Assailant One.

He wasn't wearing his robe, but he did have a long metal stick in his hand. The end glowed a hot and threatening red, throwing smoke onto his face. The acrid odor of something burning hit my nose and I shrank away, eyes wide. He smiled, shifting the stick to his other hand.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll keep you entertained for a long time."

As he stepped towards me, I tried to move away again, but was stopped by the cruel jangle of chains and something hard around my wrists and ankles. They were shackled to the corners of the cage, I realized, staring at them. When were these put on me?

Assailant was right next to my cage now. He smiled even wider and tapped the glowing end of his stick to the bars, which briefly flashed red with heat. "Promise me you'll scream."

I shut my eyes.

No!

"Jess."

No pain yet. Breathing in terrified gasps, I dared crack my eyes open and saw Vincent standing—floating behind his cousin. He was looking at me now, and his expression was so very sad.

He was also holding a glowing stick in his hand.

"Vincent," I mumbled, feeling fresh cold bleed through me at the sight I couldn't believe I was seeing. "Please. Don't…"

He came towards me, towards my cage and Assailant. "You're a werewolf," he said slowly, sadly. "Werewolves are monsters. They attacked me and my family."

Assailant agreed with a nod. "Werewolves are monsters that deserve to die."

Vincent stopped beside the cage, beside his cousin, and peered at me through the hazy light that drifted from the end of his glowing stick. I stared back into his red-tinged gray eyes, shaking violently and tried to form a reply.

"Please…"

"You're a monster, Jess. Monsters need to die."

Together, they pulled back their elbows and thrust the sticks through the bars, hot tips aimed at my face.

--

4 AM. That was as far into the morning as my nightmare had the courtesy to take me.

When I woke up, my heart was beating so hard it was painful, like it was trying to break out of my rib cage and hide under my bed. I swiftly brought my hand to my face, remembering those heated sticks, but there were no burns, no scars. I was soaked in cold sweat, though.

Feeling too clammy to stay under the covers, I got out of bed and stood up, shivering a little, though I'm not sure if it was from crawling back into the cold of a December night or from my terrible dream. After pacing several times, I sat down on the edge of my blanket and hugged my arms, willing my pulse to slow down.

That had been one of the worst nightmares, if not the worst nightmare I'd ever had. The sheer height and intensity of it had been rawer than anything I could recall in my life. Such fear. Such helplessness. Such a feeling of betrayal.

These emotions were nothing new to me, especially not since the fateful events of last week, but the third one, that strong sense of betrayal, hurt more than ever. Because while I had suspected Shannie and Ben of ratting my identity out to the hunters, I'd found out pretty quickly that my assumptions had been wrong. I hadn't been betrayed at all. But Vincent…

What was I supposed to think? Yes, he was Assailant's family, but that alone didn't prove anything. Just being related to Assailant didn't make him a traitor. Perhaps he had been sincere with me all this time and I was fretting about nothing. Or, perhaps he knew I was a werewolf and was eager as his cousin to capture and kill me. I just didn't know.

My dream seemed to suggest it was the latter, which would explain why my chest tightened so unbearably even as I recalled his image, his gray eyes and adorable smile. I didn't want to believe it, though. Who wanted to believe that her crush had been lying about his motives since the day they re-meet?

After coming home today, I hadn't bothered calling Shannie. My thoughts were still too jumbled even then, in too many pieces to put coherent words together, and I knew that if I talked to her, I'd just start crying again. And I hate crying. Besides, knowing her protectiveness over me, she'd likely jump straight to the worst conclusion about Vincent's relation to Assailant. Not only would she deter me from interacting with him ever again, she'd also probably seek him out herself so she could beat him bloody. Not the best way to deal with my dilemma.

Besides, the issues my lycanthropy had brought about were my own to deal with. I'd asked Shannie and Ben for their help when we drew Assailant and his buddies into that trap, but the danger involved had almost been too much. Sure, I was the one who got the worst of it, but I'd promised myself at that time that I would tackle any remaining obstacles on my own. I couldn't keep asking my friends to jeopardize their lives just for me. It wasn't worth it. I didn't know how dangerous my current problem was, but looking at my record, it was probably going to be plenty dangerous.

Informing my parents had crossed my mind, too. Simon was living at Vincent's house; all we had to do was tell the supernatural regulations board and they could stop him from coming after us again. But what made me hesitate was, again, my uncertainty about Vincent's connection to all this. Did he know? Did he know what I was, what my family was? Did his dad know? Or was Simon the only guilty one? I had no clue what the regulations board did with discovered hunters, but I didn't want to bring Vincent any trouble if he was innocent.

Unfortunately, all I had decided on right now was what I would not do. I would not get Shannie and Ben more involved than they already had. I would not tell my parents about this. I would not bring today up with Vincent when I saw him at school, refuse further invitations to his house, and hope to death that somehow I'd find out just how much he knew.

Not much of a battle plan. But I didn't know what else to do.

--

Mrs. Mackenzie scheduled a surprise test for us in third period, so Shannie was unable to confront me about not calling her yesterday, though she did shoot me a rather spectacular glare when we turned in our tests. I hurried out of the room as soon as the bell rang, of course. I knew we would talk at lunch, but I wanted to delay the moment as long as possible.

I suppose ignoring her pissed her off, because at lunch, she grabbed me before I could sit at our usual table and dragged me off to a fairly remote corner of the lockers. Jody and Michelle watched us go, looking more confused than ever, those poor two. I would've returned their look, but I was busy trying to make sure my lunch tray didn't spill as I was pulled along.

"You forgot!" she hissed as she rounded on me.

I didn't answer, pretending to be interested in my sloppy joe.

She would not be deterred, however, and tilted her head so that she could see my face better. When I glanced at her, I noticed that her expression was one of mingled irritation and concern. "You forgot to call me," she clarified, as if she needed to. "I told you not to forget! What happened?"

I didn't answer and flicked my eyes to the other end of my tray.

For a moment, she didn't say anything either. Then I heard a sharp intake of breath.

Her eyes had widened. "Did he try something?" she asked, suddenly righteously angry. "'Cause if he did, you know I'll kick his sorry—"

"Nothing happened," I interrupted, careful to keep my own face blank.

Shannie raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Nothing happened?" she repeated. "What do you—Oh." For some reason, her expression softened. "Oh."

I was confused, but I tried not to show it. What epiphany had just popped into her head?

"Nothing happened, huh?" she said yet again, more quietly. "Geez, no wonder you're so depressed."

Wait, was she…? Did she think that…?

"Sorry about that," she said, sounding truly sympathetic, and patted my shoulder. "I'd thought, y'know, with the teddy bear and all, that he liked you, but if nothing happened yesterday, then… I dunno. I got all worked up for nothing, huh?" Her mouth twisted into a guilty frown. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I automatically said, doing my best to look sad. Inside, I was grinning. She thought that nothing had happened, literally nothing, no flirting or joking around, a standard dull study session when I'd hoped for something more, which was why I had avoided the subject. I couldn't have asked for a better misinterpretation from Shannie. Yes!

"I don't suppose kicking his ass anyway would make you feel better?"

I shook my head.

"Thought not. Shoot."

And so we returned to eat our lunch and brushed off Michelle and Jody's puzzled questions on what on earth we were up to.

--

Just like that, Shannie left me alone about what happened at Vincent's house. When we saw Ben later, he didn't say anything, so I guess he'd never known about our study session, which was completely fine by me.

It was avoiding Vincent throughout the rest of the week that was difficult, especially since we had homeroom together and he knew where my locker was. From time to time in class, I'd accidentally look at him just as he tried to exchange a meaningful 'I want to talk to you' glance, and I'd pretend I never saw. Little twinges attacked my heart every time, but I pretended I never saw.

To her credit, Shannie helped too by noting whenever Vincent tried to approach me, and she would suddenly start up idle chatter about school stuff to occupy me. Even when he hovered nearby, waiting for us to finish talking, she wouldn't let up. On Thursday, she even sent him a small glare not unlike the one I'd received myself. I felt bad. Maybe he deserved her cold treatment, maybe not, but it sure beat getting his ass kicked by a girl.

During passing periods, I had to fend for myself. It was horrible, the lengths I went to avoid him. Normally I exchanged my books right when the bell rang so I wouldn't have to worry about it later, but that week I began varying the times I visited my locker. Sometimes it was at the beginning of passing period, sometimes I intentionally stayed in class a couple minutes to organize my papers extra neatly, and sometimes I waited so long I was almost late to my next class.

My closest call was on Friday morning; just as I shut my locker and ambled off to chem, I heard Vincent call my name behind me.

Curse my werewolf hearing. Like before, I pretended not to notice and kept on walking. He didn't try to follow me through the crowd of other people. I was both relieved and saddened. When I got to class, I mumbled a weak greeting to Ben and plopped down in my seat with my head in my hands.

I couldn't keep playing the avoidance game forever. Not only was it physically impossible, but it was also too emotionally draining. Purposely staying out of his way and saying nothing to him, even if I still didn't know whether he knew I was a werewolf or not, hurt so much. These past three days had been hard enough. I couldn't imagine getting through another week.

Either way, my luck ran out that same day at lunch.

Vincent must've finally found out where I gather to eat or learned the location from somebody else, because as I prepared to take half-hearted bites out of my hamburger, he came to our table and asked me above Shannie's loud conversation if he could have a word with me alone. Out of excuses, I went.

Ironically, he picked the same remote corner of the lockers that Shannie had for our talk, and as I leaned against the wall, arms crossed to stop their shaking, I poured all my effort into looking him in the face so he wouldn't think anything was wrong.

"What's up?" I said, as calmly as I could.

"I've been trying to talk to you all week." He smiled. Though the corners were a bit strained (from the exact reason he just said himself, I guessed), it was the same adorable Vincent smile as always, still able to make me go a tad weak in the knees. Darn it.

I feigned minimal interest. "What about?"

"Um, well, on Tuesday—"

Oh, no. I braced myself.

"—you seemed pretty sick. Are you okay? I mean, you still look kinda pale right now," he said worriedly.

I cursed myself again and wondered if he could tell my arms were trembling. "I'm fine," I lied. "Must be a relapse or something. I've been taking my medicine, anyway."

Icky as those blood-replenishing potions were, I'd been taking them alright. Only five more days of diluted tar to suffer through.

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah. Thanks for asking, though."

"No problem."

Silence ensued. Deciding to take my chance, I turned to go and said, "I guess I'll see you around?"

"No—wait a sec."

Drat! I winced before turning back to him. Now what?

"Yeah?"

"I have to tell you something."

My heart rate hit a new high as I fought to keep my expression neutral and not the flabbergasted gaping I wanted to convey. Nevertheless, my voice squeaked when I said, "Oh?"

Vincent's gaze shot to the ground, then rose to meet mine. His eyebrows were drawn in—I wasn't sure what emotion was playing across his features, but he seemed a bit distressed.

"Jess, I like you."

Now it was my turn to be distressed.

Don't get me wrong. Though I didn't know if I could call him my friend or my enemy, I still liked Vincent. He was (or faked being?) nice, funny, thoughtful, and caring, all very good traits. Remembering our few times spent together made me blush and coaxed those dratted stomach butterflies to start dancing. Before Tuesday, these words I heard now would've made me the happiest girl on the planet, but now, they just brought me more pain.

I realized he was staring hopefully at me. He wanted me to reciprocate, but I couldn't. I liked him too, but I couldn't tell him. Not now.

I'd already opened my mouth before my mind had formulated a reply, and thus I had nothing to say. A thick cloud of disappointment fell over Vincent's face.

"It's the truth," he said.

Unable to stop myself, I said in a hollow voice, "Is it really?"

Confusion cracked him between the eyes like a heavy whip. My words visibly wounded him.

"Of course."

Sure, he claimed it was true, but was it really? He could be lying, my brain reminded me. He could want your skin laid out like a rug and your bones up for sale to the highest bidder.

Or he could like me back, for real.

These two questions were plaguing me far too much. I was sick of it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, finally unable to match his gaze. I lowered my head and slowly shook it. "I can't… I don't feel the same way."

Not true! my heart screamed. My brain screamed back and told it to shut up because this answer was for its own good.

"Oh." The tone sounded strange, like he'd tried to say it as softly as I was speaking, but his voice decided to be loud anyway. I didn't look at him again.

Until…

"I wanted to ask you—even if you don't feel the same way about me—if you wanted to go to Winter Formal next Friday."

I couldn't hide my flabbergasted expression any longer.

"Just as friends," he said quickly. "It won't mean anything. I just thought, maybe, it might be fun if we went. Together."

Again, I opened my mouth before I had summoned a response. Damn, how I wanted to say yes! I wanted to apologize for hurting him and accept his offer, but… I couldn't. Not until I knew whose side he was on.

"I'm sorry," I heard myself say.

He didn't push it, just nodded once, clenched and unclenched his hands, and turned to walk away. "Alright. … I guess I'll see you around."

The guilt was killing me. It was crushing my throat and wrecking my lungs. I couldn't breathe. That was probably why my heart wrested control from my brain for a short moment, just long enough to make me blurt out, "I have something I have to tell you, too."

He halted. So did my thought processes, I think.

He was looking—no, searching my face. Still hopeful. "What?"

"I…"

What the hell was I doing?

"Actually, I'm not that great with chem. Horrible, actually. Don't know why you wanted my help anyway, heh heh."

I wanted to punch myself in the teeth. I could not have picked a lamer time to admit how bad I was at chem. It was official; I was going insane.

And do you know what Vincent did?

He laughed, loudly. It was strong and genuine, full of pure mirth. I just blinked at him. My timing had been downright idiotic, yes, but I didn't know it was that funny.

When his laughter had trailed away into chuckles, he said with a familiar smile, "I knew that already. It was just an excuse to invite you over." More chuckling.

"Oh." I seemed to be saying that a lot today. I forced a chuckle of my own.

"Yeah. I'm doing fine in chem." Another short laugh. "Wish I could say the same for English, though."

Sudden warmth rushed through me, inspiration spurred on by my heart, which was still manning the controls against my better judgment's wishes. "I'm pretty good in English." Then, before I could check what I was saying, I'd offered, "Maybe we could study together sometime?"

My instant regret was swept away by the force of the grin on Vincent's face. No more disappointment, a lot less pain. A lot more hope.

And I felt a lot less pain, too. I couldn't help but smile back.

"That'd be cool," he said.

"Cool," I agreed.

"So, I'll see you, then?"

"Sure."

As I watched him leave, the guilt that had been killing me released its hold and slithered away. I saw sunlight flash on the single earring in Vincent's left earlobe, admired his spiked brown hair, squashed the inexplicable urge to run my fingers through it, and sighed. A part of me was happier after our conversation. Even after avoiding him and denying that I liked him back, he wasn't upset with me. One little study session offer and he was smiling. Smiling. Those reactions of his made me feel good. Really good.

But was it safe for me to feel this good?

The smile slipped from my face and I leaned heavily against the lockers, hand over my eyes.

What the hell was I doing?

Just what was I supposed to do now?