Chapter Nine is already written. Email me at twieveluv(at)yahoo(dot)com to get it.

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Here is a little section of chapter nine for you as motivation. This is 6 out of 12 pages that have been written.

I woke up the next morning next to a seemingly sleeping Tristan. I didn't think he was really sleeping but decided I wouldn't 'wake' him anyway. So as quietly as I could I rolled off the bed.

"Where are you going?" his voice caught me at the door.

I shrugged and looked over my shoulder to wink. I swallowed. There couldn't be a more beautiful picture than Tristan, bare-chested, propped up on his elbows with the sheet covering his shorts so it appeared he wasn't wearing anything at all. He seemed to know where my thoughts had gone because he gave me a wide toothy grin.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" he asked in a teasing tone.

I forced my foot up off the ground and stepped into the hall.

I headed down the hallway to my old room and into the bathroom.

I took a relaxing shower, feeling no need to scorch or freeze myself for once since the day I moved in with my Aunt Collie. The water came over me and I felt refreshed and cleansed. Sadness gripped my heart as I thought of my friends. I still missed them, I would always miss them. But now I was not alone in this world. Not anymore. Tristan was here. It felt so good to tell someone else trivial parts of my past. I shared the burden of my mind with him yesterday as I cried. If only he could do the same for me.

I assumed he went out to feed last night, even though he didn't mention it. He physically and emotionally distanced himself before he left and that was when I knew. Remorse for whoever died last night took another toll on my heart. I felt guilty in some way. I was in love with a man who took lives. Took loved ones away. I hadn't tried to stop him last night and as a human being I should have.

I sighed as I turned off the shower and grabbed a plush towel. Securing it tightly around my body I stepped up to the counter and sink. I grabbed my facial cleanser and washed away the make up and dried tears the shower had missed.

I applied only water proof mascara today though. I looked in the mirror at my reflection. My eyes looked less hollow, more alive and bright and my skin wasn't as ivory as it had been. The sun had taken its subtle toll and brought a golden glow to my features. I sighed, of course with a tan came my freckles. They ran along the bridge of my nose and under my eyes but thank god they didn't spread out from there.

I guess I could understand why people would consider me attractive. I had a nice figure and long lean legs. I was more stacked in the chest department than Victoria but I was only a 34 B. But now I know that no one can truly be as attractive as the person you're in love with. No one would ever compare to Tristan in my eyes. Yeah, yeah, I know, Tristan could be a super model. A pretty successful one I'd reckon, but he had a different light about him that I couldn't see for anyone else. Any other just as physically good-looking guy could never compare.

If everyone knew how much more attractive love was they wouldn't even glance at me, they'd probably still glance at Tristan, because they would be searching for their one-and-only. I was just thrilled I had found mine. And he had stayed by my side as I cried my eyes out yesterday.

Feeling fully uplifted like I hadn't since I was eleven I walked into my old bedroom.

"Why do you own this?" Tristan said, giving me one of those looks I can't decipher.

He was standing by my suitcase holding up a pink lacey thong.

"Ohmygod!" I yelled as my hand flew to the top of the towel I was wrapped in. "Drop that!"

He did and it fell back into the suitcase on top of all my other bras and underwear, that I didn't remember being at the surface of my clothes as I dug through them yesterday.

"You're going through my suitcases," I accused giving him a hard look.

The blissful feeling I had in the bathroom was dissolving. Oh, it was still there but other emotions were taking over. I was standing there with only a towel on and my hair still dripping. If I didn't have so much hair it wouldn't have been a big deal but since I did there was a nice little puddle forming behind me. When I tried to step back into the bathroom, upon realizing this, I almost tripped. Luckily I caught myself on the doorframe.

I was about to tell him to leave as his eyes raked over the towel I was wearing but the smile he gave me only caught the words in my throat. I shut my mouth and glared. That was about all I could do.

"Get dressed," he said, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

He turned on his heel but didn't take one step towards the door. He just stood there with his back to me. Apparently he thought he was going to stay in the room.

"Aren't you going to go?" I asked jokingly. (Yes, real word)

"No," was his solid answer.

Dropping the pretense I said, "Yeah you are."

"Think of it as a test of trust," he said casually. "Do you trust me enough to believe I won't turn around?"

I begrudgingly admitted to myself that I did trust him. I was in love with him. He could ask for my life and I would hand it over in a cookie tin.

I sighed and shrugged off the towel. For added measure I threw it at his head. To my immense satisfaction I hit my blond target. He pulled it off its landing place around his neck and threw it at me over his shoulder. He threw it a bit harder than I did and it made me take a step back. I threw it back at him with added force.

I was too flustered to aim especially well so the heavy towel hit his shoulder.

He growled. "Do you want to make this harder for me?" He asked in a low voice. "Put on clothes before I lose my conviction."

That was enough motivation for me. I reached down and selected the undergarment he had been holding up and a bra. I slipped into my $120 dollar Abercrombie & Fitch jeans that boys like to rag on. The kind with artistic and attractive holes and an antique tinge and some paint splatters. The whole 'I can't believe you spent that much on those pants. I could do the same thing to new jeans that would only cost me $10' conversation bored me to death. When you hear completely pointless discussions enough times you just start avoiding the people who start them. Namely: really old people, relatives and hicks.

I felt a surge of old me as I slid on a white Express t-shirt instead of a black one from Victoria's bag. I twisted my hair into a curly wet messy bun pulling out the hair that formed my side-part bangs and some loose strands around my ears.

"Okay," I said slipping on some turquoise stilettos from one of my suitcases. Shoes, my one and only addiction. Well maybe not my only…

He turned around. His eyes focused on a particularly big hole on my right thigh.

"What did you do?" he asked with wide eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked defensively. This was one of my favorite outfits.

"Did you get in a motorcycle accident?" He asked raising an eyebrow.

I sighed loudly. He was one of them. Another fashion deprived male.

I looked him over. He had on a dark gray thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up revealing sleek forearms. He had on jeans that were a light faded blue. He definitely looked good, that was undeniable. He was dressed practically, just like I liked guys to be. I almost laughed imagining what his expression would be to the boys back home with their gelled hair and pink striped dress shirts with their white shell and metal necklaces. The kind Jenny jumped all over for.

He caught my expression. "What?"

I sighed and walked past him with a secretive smile. "So, what are we going to do today?" I asked hopefully. I brushed my long bangs out of my eye.

His eyes followed the movement and narrowed. I searched my hand for whatever he was looking at and stared at my manicured nails.

"Shoot," I said under my breath as I stuffed my hands into my back pockets.

"Do you want to go out?" I asked quickly.

He was momentarily side tracked. "Where would you like to go?"

I shrugged. "Anywhere…" I said graciously. If I could get on his good side maybe the manicure wouldn't come as such a blow.

"Fine," he said and fixed his gaze on my wrists that connected to my hidden hands. "Can I see your hands?" he asked. His tone wasn't accusing but innocent. Too innocent. He was trying to put me at ease but it didn't work. I liked arguing more than this calm stuff. I could hold my own with an angry Tristan. An innocent one was way beyond my field of play.

"Why?" I asked calmly.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"I don't know," I said. "You've never asked to see them before. I'm just curious as to why."

"You've never hidden your hands in your pockets before," he countered.

"I was cold," I said with a shrug.

"Aurora," he started. "Let me see you hands. Now."

I sighed and pulled them out of my pockets.

"Your nails are very attractive," he said in a quiet voice. "How did they get that way?"

"Margaret did them for me," I said. That apparently wasn't a good answer. His eyes narrowed and his mouth became thinner.

"How did you meet her?" Tristan asked in a seemingly calm voice, but it was hard, void of emotion.

"She came into the salon," I said firmly. "And those bracelets were a dead give away." I was still miffed at being branded.