by --darkness--

She was certain that everyone saw it. It was clearly there, and it screamed. It was the same old thing that she had felt all her life. She was alone in the crowd. Even here, in this refuge from the taunts of those who would ostracize her for being different, in this place where the sound of The Cure pulsed the smoky clove-scented air, and in this place where the few dozen other people there were dressed in the same Gothic style she had adopted as her own, even here she was alone. They did not feel the same thing inside as she did. There was a darkness buried in her they could not understand.

It's not that they were ignorant of the darker side of the human psyche. She would never accuse these people of being posers. They were deeply into the music, style, even the literature of the Goth subculture. The few other art majors there created paintings so similar to hers that usually only other artists could discern which had painted which. Some of these people were definitely more immersed in the Goth subculture than she was. Yet, even here, in what should have been her refuge, she was utterly alone.

Jennifer, or Luna--as she preferred--glanced at her dear friend, Mandrake. He was so damned handsome, with long black hair and deep green eyes. He was naturally muscular, and wore his peasant shirt unfastened in a manner that made him look incredibly Heathcliffe-esque. The large Celtic cross tattooed on his chest peeked out of the opening of the shirt and made the girls--and a few of the boys-- want to rip his shirt off and see the rest. Mandrake was smart and sexy, and the Goths in the room seemed drawn to him on a number of levels from lustful desires, to camaraderie, to near idolization.

Even so, Mandrake really didn't let anyone close to his surprisingly complex heart except Luna, and she appreciated that. Still, she couldn't love him for some reason, and there were places in her heart she couldn't open even to him. If only she could, she thought to herself as she stared at his incredible physique, she would find new ways to enjoy the wonders of this boy-god. She felt a slight flush as she thought of things carnal, but she did not feel the mad passions she longed to feel for someone.

Luna could see the intense look of concentration on her friend's face as he worked the Ouija board. She recognized the look. The room around him was tuned out by his desire to really make it work. Even Astra's long fingernails, which she was discreetly running up his thigh under the table, could not distract him from his quest. Mandrake was earnest in his desire to become a mystic, but was incapable of buying into cheesy theatrics and stylish belief. He was determined to make real connections to the metaphysical. Luna admired him for that.

She slipped out the door of the old stone basement in which they were gathered, and out the back door of the huge old house where a handful of the wealthier Goth girls--nicknamed "the Brontes"--had established a haven for the college's small Goth community. Tonight was a full moon, as good an excuse as any for a gathering. Luna was supposed to feel at home at the Brontes', but she had never felt at home anywhere.

She headed home, not knowing what else to do. Maybe she would surf the net and chat with like-minded people, always in the hope of someone who "got" whatever the hell it was that alienated her from everyone. She had only gone a block or two when she knew she was in deep trouble.

"Hey, Todd! Looky up ahead. It's a vampire chick!" The drunken voice was loud and slurred, but the current of spitefulness which ran through it was very clear. The voice was answered only by a grunt, but she heard the heavy footsteps of two drunk college boys pick up their pace.

She hurried her own step, hoping that they would decide it wasn't worth the effort. She was limited by the heavy boots she wore, but her black dress was light and loose-fitting. She wore a hood when she went to Goth parties like tonight, and she let it fall to allow her vision to be unobscured. Her jet black hair with three bleached locks fell to about her shoulders. One shock of it fell in front of her eyes as she broke into a bit of a trot. She brushed it back with her hand, and could tell that her palms were already sweating like mad. She thought for a moment of trying to run back to Mandrake, but knew she couldn't elude two boys to get all the way back there. She was rather short, a little heavy-chested, and not at all athletically inclined.

"Witchie-pooh!" they sneered over and over as they drew closer and closer. She had stayed at the party too long. It was a week night in a small town, and few people were likely to be about at such a late hour on a chilly spring evening. No lights came on as the drunken boys chased the Goth girl down dark streets in the middle of the night. She was alone, except for two souls who had been little more than animals before they drank several pitchers of cheap beer. Now, they were something less than animals.

They did not tire of their game, and she decided at last to break into a flat run. Physical prowess was not her forte, and she only had taken three steps before a cruel hand snatched her hood, and she felt herself falling backwards. Other rough hands caught her, and she was dragged quickly into an alley between a closed laundromat and an abandoned store. A hand came across her mouth, and she could not even scream.

She saw her two attackers. One was short and very stocky. He was the one covering her mouth. She couldn't see his face, except that he had a goatee and moustache. The other was taller and very big. From the shape of his head, she knew he had a flattop. The only light, and the moon were both behind them, and she could discern no facial details.

"Looky-looky, she's got some big-old tits on her short little ass," the tall one said, ripping open the front of her dress and then doing the same to the black bra beneath. The tearing of the straps stung her pale skin, but the hand over her mouth stifled her cry of pain and shock as her full breasts tumbled out into the open. "No wonder she runs so slow. Jesus Fucking Christ, Jason! Look at those melons!" Snickering.

"Hey! She's got a god-damned nipple-ey ring. What a fuckin' whore!"

Luna had gotten the ring in her nipple because one of her girlfriends told her that it drove men wild. It was miserable for a while, but Luna had found that it did produce some pretty intense reactions from the male animal. No reaction had been quite as intense or as animal as the one she faced now.

The tall one--Jason? Todd?--reached a long finger toward her and hooked it through the small golden ring on her left breast. His finger was so big that it almost didn't fit into the opening. He motioned for his friend to take the hand off Luna's mouth, certain that she knew better than to scream while in this precarious situation.

His massive frame towered over her, but he lowered his drunken mouth down to Luna's tear-stained face. He whispered in her ear as she trembled, but tried not to move, fearful of the pain it would cause her. "I think I'm gonna give this little nipple ring a fucking yank. Just because I want you to know how god-damned nasty I can be. What do you think?" She shook her head frantically. "Well, then, you'd better get a good attitude about this, understand?" He increased the pressure on the ring until she nodded wildly, tears of desperation pouring out of her eyes, and mascara streaking her round cheeks.

"Good! Good!" he continued. "Now! Show me how big my dick is!" Luna was confused. Keeping his big finger stuck in the ring, he held up the other hand so that his palms were facing each other. He moved the free hand like a fisherman boasting about the length of "the one that got away." Luna had almost reached the point where she was ready to give up on the whole thing and endure whatever pain they might inflict upon her just to avoid this humiliation, but she heard a whisper from that secret dark place inside of her, and the whisper told her to keep them talking and threatening as long as she could. As long as they were talking, she was alive and not completely desecrated.

She held her hands up about ten inches apart. He twisted the ring hard, "Not even close, Broomhilda!" Luna held her hands about two feet apart. He stopped twisting it, but maintained pressure. "That was before I saw you. Now, show me how big you want it to be when I get all hard to fuck you. Show me the great big dick whores like you dream about!" She held her hands out at arm's length and looked up at him hopefully. He grinned, and let go of the ring. He leaned over and whispered, "I know where to find this ring if you give me any more shit!" He stepped back, and the short one took over.

"Well, listen here, Morticia. Me and my boy here are gonna fuck the shit outta ya. And I know for a fact that crazy bitches like to fuck," more snickering, "and I can't think of no body crazier than a bitch with black lipstick and earrings in her eyebrows and titties." He leaned over her now and licked her eyebrow. The tall one giggled maniacally. "So, I'm gonna put you on the ground and then hike up your dress while I fuck you up the ass. And the big boy here is gonna play with them big old tits and your nipple ring while you suck on his dick. If you fight, bite or scream... we'll fuckin' kill ya. Nobody really gives a shit about you freaks anyway." Luna sensed that they were done bragging now, and that she was about to be raped. Part of her wanted to yield to the streak of fatalism which led her to believe that this disaster would befall her and nothing could stop it. In fact, that had been the way she lived her entire life. Under this full moon however, she kept hearing a voice inside of her that told her to try to get out of the situation. The voice now whispered a single word, "RUN!"

She threw an awkward knee which came up short of its target, and she tried to break away, but the big one just grabbed her with one hand on her near shoulder, and his other big hand on her far hip. He threw her up against the wall, and she felt her breath escape her body. Her sudden strength abandoned her, and she slumped to the ground and covered her face. This was going to happen to her, and she was going to descend into madness. She had always believed she'd run mad someday. Now, she knew what would bring the onset of her madness. Just as rough hands grabbed her forearms to pull her forward to her knees, a new male voice boomed into the alleyway.

"SHE walks in beauty like the night!" The old poem, as expressed by the baritone voice, sounded like a well-reasoned argument against this bad thing which was about to happen to Luna.

She looked up and could catch only glimpses through the legs of the two boys between her and the voice. The newcomer was not as tall as the big one, but he was fairly tall. He was not muscular like the stocky one, but he had a very masculine frame to him.

"What the fuck do you want, Shakespeare?" the little one stepped toward him.

"That's not Shakespeare; it's Byron. As to what I want... I want you to crawl on the filthy ground before this dark goddess of a woman. 'She walks in beauty like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes. Thus mellowed to that tender light, Which heaven to gaudy day denies.'" Again, it sounded to Luna like a reason for them to stop this awful thing. They took it as a challenge.

The big one went after him first. Luna wanted to run away, but the voice inside told her not to abandon this courageous stranger. She watched the fight, totally transfixed. Luna had seen martial arts on TV before, but she had never seen them used for actual combat. It was rather a different experience.

The newcomer was on the balls of his feet. As the big college boy reached to grab him around the neck and shoulders, the newcomer placed both hands on his opponent's hips, stopping his forward motion and leaving a short space between the two men. The stranger's right arm flew up, and a driving elbow crushed the nose of the drunken attacker before him. As the wounded giant staggered back, the newcomer drove a spear-like open hand into the groin of his opponent. Goliath crumpled forward.

The short one tried to come in from the side, but found a backfist to the cheek the only reward for his effort. Luna expected to see a dynamic kick to the head next, but the newcomer simply grabbed the second attacker around the back of the neck and bent him forward. From behind the college boy, Luna saw his short stocky body lift again and again as powerful knees struck his groin and solar plexus. Then, as the vicious little punk slumped to the ground, a roundhouse kick--at about knee level of the still standing newcomer--caught the fallen assailant on top of the head. He was out cold.

The big one had regained his feet and this time succeeded in getting his hands around the neck of Luna's defender as he had turned to again face the behemoth. Calmly, the smaller man brought his right knee up in front of his own chest like he was cocking a gun. He brought it down savagely on the inside of the knee of the powerful, but outmatched boy.

The assailant cried out in pain, but did not release his death grip on his opponent's throat. The newcomer raised both hands in the air over his head and twisted his upper body away while taking a step back. It broke the grip as his shoulder levered against the outstretched arms of the tall attacker. With his hands now free and above the big boy's arms, he rotated his entire body swiftly back to face his opponent. As he drew to face the surprised college boy, his lead hand was planed palm down and struck the drunken rapist on the temple. It was too efficient a counterattack, and the staggered bully turned to run. Luna saw the big kid turn toward her, and she was afraid he was going to hurt her again. She flattened herself against the wall and covered her aching nipple and exposed breasts with her hands. Suddenly, she saw the tall boy tumble forward and find himself in a choke-hold with a "chicken wing" painfully twisting his right arm. "Would you like to finish this?" The baritone voice of her defender was barely winded. He sat with seeming effortlessness on top of her once menacing attacker. Luna saw for the first time that her rescuer was a blond, with short hair and an angular face. He was probably about thirty. He wore black jeans, and a black leather jacket.

"Finish this?" she stammered.

"Finish the fight," he said as calmly as if he were offering her a chance to operate the remote for the TV.

"I can't. I'm too small."

"Yes, my lovely, you can. He is a vicious punk, but he does not have your heart.

He does not have what you have inside of you. If I let him up, you could knock him out before he ever touches you," he spoke with an unnerving calm, but Luna found that she was actually considering the ridiculous proposal. The boy was gasping for air and grimacing in pain, but he was obviously lucid and ready to move if released. "You deserve the opportunity, to become your own defender. There is a dark strength in you that will allow to be avenger instead of victim." He seemed to speak as if he had been analyzing her for her entire life. "Do you want to let that power loose?"

Luna considered his question for a terrifying moment. She, five-foot-two and one-hundred-twenty pounds, an avenging angel? This half-naked art major, a dark and angry bringer of retribution? Ridiculous! It was absurd!

"Let the motherfucker go," she heard a cold voice whisper, and she knew it was the voice that spoke from that place inside herself where even Mandrake couldn't go. She balanced herself and stared hard at the boy. She saw him evolve into the demon that would rape a girl. The stranger looked at her hard, and then nodded. He stepped back slowly and released the writhing would-be-rapist. He began to struggle to his feet. He was going to launch himself onto this girl whom he hated for no other reason than she was not him.

Luna kicked straight ahead like she was kicking a football Charlie Brown style. (Lucy didn't pull it away this time, though.) The toes of Luna's heavy boot struck the crouching demon-boy right between the eyes, and something in there broke. He stood almost straight up from the force of the kick, and looked at her in amazement for an instant. Then, he toppled backwards. He lay there for a moment, stunned and bleeding profusely from his face. Luna stood calmly over him. She saw him change back into the drunken college boy. She knew his next action would determine hers. He sat up on one elbow, and muttered in a drunken, injured voice, "You're dead, bitch. We're gonna fuckin' kill you."

Luna calmly stepped forward and ground her heel into the throat of the demon whose reappearance had coincided with the rise of the threat from the boy's mouth. As his windpipe collapsed, Luna removed her boot from his throat and watched him begin to choke to death. It did not disturb her.

She turned to the other boy, just regaining consciousness. He gradually recognized that his friend dying on the ground next to him. Simple sorrow crumpled his face for a moment. Luna stared at him calmly. Soon other things began to appear in the boy's face. Anger, yes, but not at Luna or the newcomer. It was a self-loathing and remorse, guilt for the awfulness his own dark impulses had brought. Luna walked away from this one, putting her hand in the offered hand of the stranger.

"Justly done, Dark Angel," he said softly. She did not speak for several minutes. She simply walked with the man who had saved her and then encouraged her to save herself. It was taking time for her conscious mind to make peace with the creature of her own subconscious which this man had helped come into its own. He offered his leather jacket to cover her nakedness. She saw that he was wearing no shirt himself, but did not seem phased by the chill in the air.

Finally, she spoke to him. "I shall call you Byron," she said, "but what is your name?"

"Thomas Shane. I would love it if you called me Byron, though."

"Are you a man? a phantom? a familiar?"

"Simply a man who has had a recurring dream in which I walk down this street under a full moon and stop--that--from happening. I had always ignored it before, but tonight I had the dream just after I went to sleep, and it was more urgent than ever before. I finally just got up because it was so disturbing. I threw on jeans and a jacket and came here. I didn't know exactly how it would turn out, though."

"But you knew I was strong enough to do that? To win that fight?"

"That came from instinct and experience. I saw it in you. That and the loneli--"

"The loneliness, Byron? You can see it; so you can say it. Until this moment, no one ever saw me before."

"I've seen you in many dreams, Dark Angel. Many dreams."

"And what did we do there?" She was feeling a new effect of her coming into her fully-realized form.

"We--um--"

"Say it, Byron. Say it and know that I want you to say it."

"We had passion like I'd never seen before. Not even in other dreams. We made love like mad people, losing ourselves completely in the act."

"Before that moment when I realized what dark strengths lie buried inside my soul, I never dreamt that I could do that. That I could strike and kill. I thought those the acts of a madwoman." Luna spoke confidently but passionately. "Now, I fear the greater madness might come if I deny the desires growing inside of me."

"My house is only a block away," he said, pointing in the direction in which she had already turned. She did not speak again until they were at the door.

"If you take me in there," she whispered as she looked at him hard under the light outside the door and her dark eyes truly met his bright eyes for the first time, "my heart will be wed to yours for all time."

"I pray that it's so," he said softly and earnestly as he opened the door. Then, realizing the moment upon the brink of which they stood, he swept her up into his arms, and carried her over the threshold.

He had a modest home, with Asian style furniture and decorations. There was a large leather shield with a red dragon over the mantelpiece, and it caught her eyes immediately. He set her down, and she looked around the room with the intense eyes of an artist. The decor showed restraint and taste. There was a desk on the far side of the room with plaques and certificates hung above it. Over them, a samurai sword.

Luna crossed to the desk, leaving Byron standing near the door. The plaques on the wall were from the Army Special Forces, and each commended Sergeant Thomas Shane.

"You are a professional soldier, Byron?"

"I was; I guess I always will be in some ways. I write novels and teach martial arts, now. I'm more of a private man than a soldier most of the time."

"I see." She didn't know what else to say. A soldier, a writer, a teacher--all this was exactly what this man should be. She stood and looked up at the samurai sword, she knew she would learn to use it one day, but that was to be a long time from now.

She waited for Byron's strong arms to come around her, and they soon slid around her waist from behind. She leaned her shoulder gently against his chest, and he easily supported her. The desires grew inside of her slowly. Like a tea kettle waiting to sing, she felt the pressure build inside her until she could stand it no more.

Luna turned inside her lover's arms, and kissed him on his bare shoulders and chest. He was still cold from the chilly nighttime air, and his nipples were firm. Luna felt a surge of her own power within this relationship when she kissed him across the smooth chest and teased one of his nipples. His body reacted passionately, and his unflappable cool was replaced by the release of his inner fire.

Byron placed his hand on her cheek and turned her face toward him. He stared into her eyes, verifying that this dream was real. Then, Luna closed her eyes as his mouth began to descend toward her waiting lips. She felt his lips on hers, and then his tongue parting her lips and touching her own probing tongue. She felt strong hands clutching her tightly, and his powerful chest expand with air as his excitement grew beyond his control. Just as she wished he would do so, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his ear as he moved smoothly down the hall. His room was not exactly spartan, but it was very minimalist. The books were arranged neatly on the shelves which occupied one of the two longer walls. No clothing littered the floor. Everything was designed for practicality except for a large original painting of an angel wrestling a demon. This dominated the long wall opposite the bookshelves. There was no bed in the occidental sense. There was a large, firm, but very inviting sleeping mat on the floor. It was to this that Byron carried his young love. As Luna felt herself descend gently onto the mat, she felt a tremendous desire to have this man's weight upon her. She longed to support him while he used his powerful physique to propel himself into her again and again.

Luna lay on her back and reached up to touch her lover. He knelt between her legs. Her hands caressed his chest and arms as he gently reached for her and slowly began to unzip the black leather jacket which covered her exposed body. Her back arched and her body rose off of the mat, seemingly responding to the lingering motion of the zipper. She drew in a sharp breath as the clasp at the bottom of the zipper gave way. The jacket tumbled open, and she lowered her torso back onto the mat. She looked up longingly at this incredible man and wanted to rise back up to him. He gently placed a finger on her lips, however, and then gestured for her to wait a moment. He kissed her warmly, and then...

To her dismay, he quickly rose and left the room. She lay there, her heart pounding and her breath coming in the deep slow respiration necessary to come back to sanity after being abandoned on the brink of ecstasy. Before she could totally calm down, however, he reappeared with a bowl of cool water and a clean cloth. He lovingly wiped the mascara from her cheeks. He gently touched the edges of her mouth where crude fingers had smeared her lipstick, and finally he wiped clean the spot on her brow where a profane tongue had licked her. Luna somehow understood that this man was perceptive enough to appreciate that it would aggravate her sense of style to realize she had first made love to him when her appearance was besmirched.

He set the bowl aside for a moment, and then helped her remove her torn dress, boots, black leggings and panties. She lay naked before him. He wore only black jeans.

He pulled the cloth from the bowl and began to trace every curve on her body: the nape of her neck, the curve of her breasts, the slimming of her waist, the rounding of her buttocks into the sensitive backs of her thighs. He traced around the curve of her knee, and then began to bring the cool--but not cold--cloth up the inside of her quivering thigh. Luna reached down and ran her hands through his short blond hair. He looked up for a moment, and smiled softly. He took her hand and kissed it reverently before he returned to his work. He finished bringing the cloth up the inside of her thigh until he reached her shaved vagina. Gently, he pushed the cloth against her swollen lips, using it to part them.

He lowered his head to kiss her warm and receptive opening. As he passionately kissed her outer lips, he began to slide his tongue inside of her. Luna began to buck with each tiny penetration and movement. Her eyes were closed, and her mind so unfocused by his incredible soul kissing that she could not even create mental images of what he was doing. Behind her eyelids she saw only a whirling, ever-changing series of vibrant purples and lightning-bright blues. Her forearms and hands were on the mat, and other than that, only the top of her head and her feet made contact with its surface. The voice inside cried for her to let go of any inhibitions she may have hidden anywhere inside of her.

"YES!!" she screamed in a voice louder than she had ever used in passion before. "YES!! Make me crazy, Byron! I want to lose my mind in your love!"

Byron found her clit with his tongue and began flicking it back and forth. After a few moments of that, he took it into his mouth and sucked with the lightest pressure. Luna literally bounced off of the mat for a moment, but her newfound strength allowed her arms to catch herself before she crashed back down. She was nearing an orgasm, but didn't want to have her first one with him from oral sex. The desire to have him inside her was overpowering. She dropped her hips back down to the mat and reached down with her hands and firmly grasped the hair at the sides of his head. She pulled him up to her forcefully, but not painfully. Not that this warrior-poet would have minded the pain.

"Inside me," she whispered urgently as his head came up to hers. "Inside me." He knelt and unfastened the black jeans. He was not wearing any underwear, and his penis tumbled out. It was fully erect and fairly long and thick. It curved upward slightly. Luna reached for it, and paused for a delicious moment. She felt its length and its girth in her small hands. She appreciated its hardness and its mass. She slowly guided it down to her vagina. She traced it around the smooth shaven outside for a moment, thrilling at his ecstatic gasps as his glans brushed her hot skin. She could not enjoy the moment for long, though. The urge to fell him thrusting inside of her was too great. She placed it at her entrance and invited it inside with a gentle pull. He took it from there.

His first stroke was slow, smooth and deep, not stopping until his curly pubic hairs touched her bare skin. Luna found that she could not breathe until he began to withdraw. Her ecstasy at having him so deep inside of her was so intense, that her body could do nothing else except revel in the surge of pleasure. When she regained her presence, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and bit down into his shoulder.

Her hips rolled up to meet the next thrust, and the little voice inside of her told her to unleash the animal passions inside of her. Ironically, yet appropriately, the same internal presence that could allow her to coolly dispense dark vengeance supplied her with the passion to dispense with all reason and reservations in favor of a mad passion. She dug her black painted nails into the flesh of her lover's back and wrapped her legs around him.

Byron, for his part, did not back away from the passion. Taking only pleasure from the bite and the scratches his love gave him, he began to pump himself into her with a wild fury, pausing at staggered intervals for a long powerful stroke which explored the depths of both her body and soul. At these moments, Luna wavered on the edge of unconsciousness, so intense was the ecstasy. This Luna--once Jennifer--now felt that her true self was completely emerging. She had become something more than a girl, more than even a woman. What had Byron called her, "Dark Angel?" That was who she was, now. A bringer of cold vengeance and heated passion. A figure of emotional and physical power, both of which she was unleashing in her lovemaking. She was a writhing, biting, clawing, kissing, screaming, loving creature. A slave to her passion, and to Byron's.

The pattern of wild thrusting offset by the long strokes of deep penetration kept the Dark Angel's body thrilled, but not settled into a rhythm which brought her to climax. Sensing that thrill could become frustration, Byron began a constant series of powerful but more predictable strokes. As she felt her body begin to ascend into orgasm, she felt Byron steadily increase the pace. He was drawing near as well. She tuned into their bodies, and at just the right moment whispered the word, "Now!" He began a frenzy of throwing himself into his Dark Angel. She arched back for a moment in welcome reception, and then as she felt every ounce of her physical and emotional presence descend into the point of his penetration she brought her small body up to him and clung to him with all her might.

Rather than having a single orgasm, they shared one glorious release followed by a series of smaller point and counter-point explosions. She gasping and crying out with each; he, softly growling. Each sensation led to a reaction, and there was a moment in time when it seemed that it could never end. Finally, it subsided. All that was left was the most intense love the Dark Angel had ever known. They lay there in one another's arms until they drifted off to sleep.

She did not know the hour when she awoke. She looked out the window. It was her favorite kind of day, cloudy, ominous, foreboding. She put the jacket back onto her satisfied body and found the pants from a black martial arts "gi" in his closet. The drawstring allowed her to make them fit well enough.

She put them on and held her boots in her hand. She sat on the mat next to her sleeping lover and stroked his hair. She kissed him on the forehead. His eyes fluttered. He smiled as he saw her. "My Dark Angel," he whispered.

"I have to go now," she said and touched his cheek.

"I know," his voice was calm, but filled with love.

"Byron--I've found out so much about who I am lately. About how I can live and love--I..."

"I know, my love. I know. There will be others, many perhaps, with your newfound... appetites."

"But in the end, Byron..."

"In the end, we will share a life and a home, Dark Angel. You will never be alone again."

"Soon, my love."

"Soon, my love."

The Dark Angel kissed him and left his house that morning, headed for a new life. A life of dark vengeance on occasion, but much more a life of maddening passions brought to sanity only by the comfort that she would never be alone again. In the end, she knew, he would be there.