A/N: -sigh- I have no life. xD Ah, well. Jesus, I hate waiting for UPS and/or FedEx. Ran out of books that amuse me, and they don't seem to concerned in meeting the delivery date on the ones I ordered. Meh. Should have asked for and Amazon gift card instead of Barns & Noble. xD //end rant\\ Enjoy!

--Salem, Arkansas--

Isabelle's whitish grey paws kicked up loose dirt, mud, and sticks. Every single instinct in her shouted at her to run. Howls sang out behind her. Those fucking werewolves! She'd happened to run across a pack of them. They didn't know what had happened in Memphis, but werecoyotes were not by any means liked by werewolves. Like the animals in there souls, the urge to drive each other away was ingrained in there DNA.

Fortunately, she could smell the coming borderline into free territory. She'd been so close to finding Matthias! She'd tracked him to Little Rock, then met up with the pack. The fucking Packs Master of Arkansas had found her. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! This sucked! She didn't even know where the hell she was. It was a fairly small town, and she knew enough about Arkansas to know she was in Saline County. Or should be by now, at least.

Finally her paws carried her over the border. Tension lifted immediately, but she didn't stop. Couldn't. The Packs Master could do just about anything he damn well pleased in his state. The border was there to tell the lesser wolves and other Alphas 'NOT YOUR TERRITORY'. Maybe the Packs Master would take a little pity on her.

Finally, the sounds of the werewolves died off and she slowed, panting heavily. Shifting back to her human form, she slipped into the town. Houses littered the sides of the road, broken down and dirty. The very definition of small town. So different from Memphis it was almost comical, almost unbelievable unless you saw it yourself. A sudden spark of pain lanced her heart. She missed her home, her family, her life. Nothing could bring them back, nothing she could do, say, think, or feel that would let her see her father's face, feel the comforting rise of magic. In a sense, her father was her Maker. Because her mother had been mortal when she'd given birth, she held little claim on her daughter.

Shoving the painful thoughts away, she continued slinking down the streets, hoping to God that this tiny little place had a motel. She also sobbed with relief when she found the neon aqua sign proclaiming vacancy in an ancient, run-down place. God damn, she missed Memphis. Wearily, she got herself a room, the lady who gave her the key was somewhat old, probably fifty something. She didn't seem at all concerned what a young girl could possibly be up to, dirty, ruffled, and flinching at every creak and groan of the place.

She found her room, it was clean human wise. The sheets were, at least. The rest reeked of old jiz imbedded in the threadbare carpet. Eww! Her belly roiled and her lips pulled back, exposing her delicate looking canines. "I can handle this." She whispered to herself, throwing her Nike gym bag on the bed. It still had most of the bolt money her father had been smart enough to keep for situations like this. Sighing, she stripped and headed into the tiny bathroom. It was clean, thank God. She showered, turning the hot water up as high as she could stand it, then scrubbed until her skin was red and clean.

Opening the gym bag, she pulled the tags off a pair of jeans, tank top, and underwear. She only pulled on the underwear and tank top, though. Then she crawled into the bed and focused on not breathing too deeply. She dreamed again.

She was in NyteSkye, the nightclub for Supers only. Blood witches, vampires, shape-shifters, weres, demons, you name it, NyteSkye catered to them. Obviously, fighting was forbidden on the premises. Neutral ground.

She saw familiar faces, dead faces, some of them. She watched as they danced, fucked, teased, laughed. Tears slid down her face, they couldn't see her. Ever again. Her lover, Jamie, was dancing with a girl she didn't know. A blood witch.

Suddenly, the place was swarmed with blood witches. All Skycraft. All bent on destruction. Blood splashed the walls, faces. Animals seethed and snarled, tigers, dogs, wolves, coyotes, birds. People screamed. In triumph, in death, in defiance.

She watched, frozen, paralyzed as her friends were slaughtered around her. Jamie's body slammed against the wall, a sickening cracking sound came the from wall, a nasty crunch came from the werecoyotes ribs.

Isabelle was sobbing now, when she tried to wipe the tears away, her hands came back bloody. She trembled, fear raging through her body, weighing in her belly, making her sick.

She jerked awake, gazing wildly around the room. Sunlight streamed in. No sign someone was trying to kill her. She breathed a sigh of relief and fell back on the pillows. She was so tired… but she had to find Matthias. She sure as hell was not going to die so soon or so easily. She'd find him. He was alive, at least she knew that. The amulet wouldn't have worked otherwise.

--Somewhere Under Corpus Christi, Texas--

Jacob eyed the Bloodcraft they'd found who had the balls to step on foot into Skycraft territory. He was young, probably a few years off from being a newborn. And damn if he wasn't Bloodcraft to the fucking bone. Despite his age, he's taken out at least ten of Jacob's spawn. Though, when you compared ten to the thousands of blood witches he commanded, it was hardly a dent.

But the fact that it was done by only one young man, now that was pretty damn interesting. And disconcerting. His hair was spiked and pale blonde. Not Bloodcraft or Skycraft coloring. But his eyes where the color of whiskey. The exact shade of Jacob's own eyes. The exact shade of Matthias's.

That bothered Jacob. Nagged at him. The man had been made, not born. There was no human anywhere in the Bloodcraft/Skycraft bloodline.

"The word you're looking for is dhampir, uncle." The boy sneered, baring his fangs. Jacob snarled softly. Matthias's bastard half-bred brat turned full blood witch, then. That meant his brother was alive. So, he'd get the joy of jerking off on his brother's cooling corpse and then fucking his daughter on it, after all.

He turned to his second in command, the hulking wall of muscle, Darius Jackson. "Get to work finding my brother. I want him tracked down and brought to me. Alive, you hear me? If he's dead, I'll make you wish you were, understood?" He growled. The man nodded, glanced at several people around the room, then left. The people he'd glanced at followed like sheep.

"Master? What shall we do with the boy?" One of his underlings asked, her brilliant blue eyes shimmered demonically, hungrily. Ah, he did like that one. He thought her name was Shea.

"Mmm. The dungeons, for now. I shall think on what we will do. It's not often we get to see this kind of amusement." The boy was led off, he didn't struggle. Didn't speak. Solemn and silent. Very much the same as his father, who would be dead within a week, provided Jacob's underling were slightly more competent than the average kitchen sponge. He doubted it.