I had to change a few things, when I altered the story plot just a little bit, so...yeah. Originally, I wrote that Evilie was immortal, but...I changed that. All the pieces of the rest of the story just weren't fitting together, and it was driving me completely insane. Sorry, guys. New chapters will be coming faster now, though, since I know exactly how everything goes and finally it DOES fit together quite perfectly. And, I also fixed all of the gramatical errors that I could find. It'll be a lot lovlier to read now.

Chapter One:


Like Bitter Smoke

"So, how is life without air?"

A pair of flashing golden eyes, indisputably ethereal-seeming in the vibrant luminosity, fixed themselves upon an unknown place, far off in the pitch-black distance. Not even the smallest indication that the snide comment had been heard. Midnight-colored hair thrown back by the cutting Autumn wind, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her thin jacket to ward off the bitter wind, Evilie Lynn continued, her pace steady and undisturbed by the recent inquiry. However, her distant destination was as unknown as the foggy future of the sick life she had never wanted for herself. Cruel irony at it's best.

Without air. A muscle in her neck twitched involentarily. Yes, he was my air. How am I still breathing?

"Still bitter, I see?" The cold, elegant voice mocked. "Sooner or later, Ev, you'll have to suck it the hell up."

Evilie's fists clenched themselves tightly together of their own accord. Her hard-as-nails façade remained carefully intact, her expression hard and detached, though the brief spark of anger that flickered unintentionally through her amber eyes could have potentially betrayed her, had he seen it. She longed to scream her lungs out at him, spitting out the many things that ran through her tortured mind, like the fleeting and sporadic flashback images which hounded her night and day.

But he would merely laugh, intentionally sparking the molten rage --flowing like liquid fire through her veins—into immediate action. She would inevitably lose control. She could not allow that to happen ever again. She kept her eyes dutifully trained on that unknown place in the vague distance, desperately willing him away with her hidden thoughts. She could feel him, though, tauntingly brushing his aura against her mind; carefully, the feeling like spiders crawling inside her skull, simultaneously painful, like sharp jagged claws slowly drawing themselves across her conscious.

He could not penetrate her defense system. She had been thoroughly and methodically trained to block him out. She was too strong. But he could, however, taunt her, and systematically break away at her seemingly iron resolve like the sick, wicked being that he was.

Evilie silently hurtled him front her mind with a brutal shock of power. He chuckled menacingly, unharmed, and her rage instantly grew. She could feel her golden aura, lurking just beyond the surface, patiently biding it's sweet time and testing it's restraints until it would be able to break out. She wanted to kill him. She really, really did. She was probably strong enough, now, that it would be a fair fight. If she died, it wasn't a great loss. She had nothing left to live for.

But she couldn't, the bastard had blood claim. If she tried to so much as lay her pinkie finger on him, she'd be blasted away seething and he would not wear a single scratch, unless he made the first move. He was untouchable now. Him and Bellatrix, since they'd executed their revoltingly flawless plan to nearly snatch Rhylie's last breath from him, knowing she'd finally sell her soul to save his life. The idiot was partial to rubbing that in her face.

Would he forever lurking one step behind her, she wondered, his hidden presence reminding her of a bright past which it killed her to think of Was this all a twisted game, to him? Her heartbreak, her sacrifice? The endless blur of days and nights which plagued her meaningless existence, now? Was it all just a game?

"I wonder," he continued, his voice cruel but civilized. His evil, crimson eyes appraised her critically, taking in her pale face and the dark circles beneath her shockingly lovely eyes. She fought a losing battle for a grasp on her impassive, icy façade. "What it is that kills you the most?"

He watched the unbidden twist of pain on her pixie-like face, the sudden tension in her shoulders and then the rigidity of her entire skeletal frame. She threw her hair from her face with a jerk of her head, her pace never faltering. Evilie contemplated bitterly how many times she had asked herself that very same question, without any real hope of ever receiving an answer. How he could easily pinpoint her darkest desires, deepest fears, and most agonizing questions was a complete mystery—his cruel, sadistic gift.

"Is it," He pondered aloud, cool and composed as ever, "That you willingly gave your soul, the very essence of your being, for someone that will never have any knowledge of the immeasurable sacrifice you have made for him? A man who defines your existence, but who no longer recognizes your face?" He paused, most likely to tauntingly gauge her reaction, and Evilie fought the sharp jolt of pain that shot from head to toe, nearly incapacitating her, causing her to falter and pause. He had it dead on, or at least half of it, so far. Not that she had expected any less.

Keep walking, She pacified, One foot in front of the other. Breathe.

"But, I'm sure, thinking of him happily living out his life, blissfully unaware of what the two of you once shared…someday falling in love with some other girl…" The thought of this concept, though not unprecedented, was the first time the word had been spoken aloud, and it was astonishingly painful. It was enough to violently knock the wind from her lungs and throw a sucker punch straight to her gut. She could feel her body trembling; she needed to collapse to the ground and curl in on herself, but she would drink bleach or slit her wrists before ever letting him see that.

She did not move, or speak, standing still as a statue. Evilie simply forced her breaths out evenly and then continued walking silently, each step seeming to take a sharp, fragmented piece of her heart and jab it viciously into her insides. Her insides were quickly becoming a tangles mess of bleeding, torn apart organs. Her heart was dead center, pumping the liquid fire readily through her system.

His voice was at her ear, his words unbelievably nasty, "He is mortal, my dear, and someday he will die. You, however, though death will catch you in such a short time, will never truly die. You will burn and writhe in hell, someday morphing into what I am now." She could not help the shiver that wracked her body. Her peripheral vision gave her an accurate but vague glimpse of his nasty grin, "You will never truly die, Evilie. You have no soul, only a meaningless heartbeat, and until the when fate finally catches you, you will walk this Godforsaken earth like a mere shadow, a ghost of who you used to be."

He had hit it dead on once again. She shouldn't have been so surprised. She could no longer hide and ignore his loathe able, revolting presence beside her.

"What," she seethed through clenched teeth, "Do you mean to accomplish, Cain, by stalking me around the woods and reminding me—" with torturous clarity "—of what I already know?"

"I merely meant to point out the hopeless desolation of your current predicament."

"Yes, well you've done an incredibly great job of doing that, you red-eyed freak, so how about you send yourself back down to the fiery depths of hell for a while, all right?"

His eyes were suddenly so crimson it was almost unbearable to look at. "Like you, Evilie?"

Her eyes flashed angry incredulity. "Excuse me?" She bit out.

"My dear," He began slowly, "This here is your own personal, self-imposed hell."

"And when did you come to that revelation?" She spat.

He merely grinned that, infuriating, sadistic grin.

"You. Are. Sick. Sick beyond the comprehension of even myself, and I've seen and met my fair share of demons in my life, Cain." She hated to say his name, but not being able to was weakness. She did not demonstrate weakness in front of him, unless it came completely and totally unbidden and was therefore momentarily uncontrollable. Consequently, a brilliant golden blast of light –her finally unleashed aura—blasted out around her, undermining her thoughts nastily, surrounding the small but powerful girl with a potent golden light.

"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk," He snickered, unimpressed by the blatant but unintentional show of power. "When will you learn, Evilie Lynn, to control yourself? You do not scare me."

She closed her eyes in concentration, looking unnaturally graceful in that simple movement, and when she opened them once again seconds later, the brilliant light had gone. The forest, with the twisted and gnarled branches and foreboding darkness, was a desolate black once again.

"I can't kill you because it's written in my blood that I cannot. It is not for lack of ability, motivation, or power."

"It makes it all the more satisfying to watch you suffer, knowing you will never have revenge against the ones who ultimately executed your downfall."

"Draw first blood," Evilie hissed back challengingly, gritting her teeth to prevent her palpable aura from interfering once again and therefore demonstrating her lack of control again. "I would gladly tear you to pieces."

He simply flashed her a grin. "Never."

She shook her head and chuckled darkly. "Coward," She muttered dismissively, turning her back.

Unfortunately, turning her back to Cain had never proved to be a particularly intelligent decision. Before she could even blink, Evilie had been thrown backwards and pinned painfully into the rough trunk of an old, massive tree.

"This is not the move of a coward," He told her calmly, "You're stubborn, Evilie," He whispered, as he took her petite shoulders and slammed them so hard against the thick tree trunk that the entire surrounding area shook. "Ever since you and Rhylie began you're irritatingly successful demon-hunts, I have hated you. Simply two lucky freaks with an obsessive vendetta. I wanted –still want—to bring you to your knees. I have nearly succeeded already, with a little help from Bella. You are strong, but even immortal, you can break. I can assure you of that." Evilie shot terrifying daggers with her eyes, but he continued regardless. "Trust me, you will regret ever having gotten yourself involved in my world. I can promise you that."

With lightning-fast reflexes, she blocked his next move and hurtled herself from his iron grasp; in record time, Evilie stood, fuming, ten feet away. "You and your sadistic little friend have both willingly damned me now, Cain," Her eyes glinted with unrestrained malice. "So, guess what? I'm no longer hunting the damned, ironic though it is. I am the damned, though it is in an entirely different context of you, and you have no one but yourself to thank for that. Sooner or later, you will get what you deserve and I'll be the one to do it. And I promise you, one day you will be begging me to not put your miserable being out of existence forever."

"Even if, by some miraculous twist of luck, you managed to destroy me, you would never be satisfied." His laugh sent chills down her spine, still. "Not even that could repair you, Evilie. You're holding yourself together by a single thread, and sooner or later, it's going to break."

As long as you won't be alive to see it, She thought vindictively, Just so long as you no longer exist.

"I'll put you where you belong," She hissed. "And I will watch you scream, Cain. There won't be any escape."

"You are condemned to the same fate, my dear," She hated how he called her that. It was a nasty, condescending gesture, meant to make her feel childish and insignificant. "Either way, you have already lost."

It was the unbearable truth of his words that left her trembling like a lost, inconsolable child, stuck in the terror of a nightmare, long after he had left. Leaving her alone with the silent nighttime forest and her shallow, unsteady breaths, fogging out in front of her face like bitter smoke.