A Feral Interlude

Disclaimer: Violence, language, melancholy, lots of angst, and a pinch of hormones. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.
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A Feral Interlude: Besetting Memories

He felt like he was sleeping on a creampuff. The soft comforter and pillows cushioned him comfortably—quite different from the squalor he'd grown up in, sleeping on the cold floor or in itchy haystacks. Hell, he'd slept in the dirt, the muddy foxholes and trenches of the wars, up in trees, and in gutter trash motels even the lowlifes wouldn't dare frequent. The creature comforts he'd been spoiled with since being with Isabela were growing on him.

Fighting to stay asleep, he stretched out, sighed and rolled onto his stomach, absently reaching for Isabela. His hand only found empty bed next to him. Growling, he flopped onto his back and sat up on his elbows, ears perking for the telltale sounds of her showering, or maybe moving around in the next room.

Nothing.

He sniffed the air, and caught her stale scent. Jerking out of bed, Victor stalked around the suite. He was alone, but her things were still where she'd left them. Grunting, he got his trademark black jeans and pulled them on as he wandered past the table under the sitting room mirror. A note on hotel stationary rested on the tabletop. He snatched it up, reading her lovely handwriting:

At the park. No rush—I.

The trepidation that had welled in his gut eased. Still, he dressed quickly, pulling on his trench coat as he stormed out of the hotel room.

The early afternoon climate was crisp and promising warmer weather, ground still wet from the torrential downpour the night before. He strode down the avenue, eyes looking around intently until he saw the wrought-iron archway of a city park. As he walked into the park, his mind buzzed with foreboding disquiet. It pissed him off to be apprehensive, but his animal instincts were keenly on guard.

He walked through the extensive park, following the path through the sparsely-leafed trees before the path veered off into several directions by a park sign directory. A chilly breeze carried through the trees overhead down to him, bringing a cornucopia of stray scents from the east of the park. Heading down the path upwind, he crossed up a hill and came out of the tree-lined path onto a wide meadow. The winter chill had withered the foliage, and the sun hid behind a cluster of grey clouds, making it seem like later in the day than it actually was.

Scenting the air, he walked down to come upon a playground equipped with jungle gyms, safety turf, sandbox, and all sorts of child-safe slides and little bouncy animals for toddlers to ride. A few kids, toddlers, and their mothers ambled around on the playground, childish cries of glee and the chatter of women carrying over the breezy wind. Around the circumference of the playground were park benches. Most were empty as the Parisian mothers played with their daycare-aged kids, but at the far side of the playground, he spotted Isabela, sitting and watching the scene. The collar of her auburn coat was flipped up, protecting the nape of her neck from the wind. Her Italian leather boots and espresso leggings made her skin look warm and radiant, hair lustrous as it wafted in the breeze. From his vantage point, he could see her profile and not much else. She was watching the children scamper merrily around, a faraway look in her eyes and her lips smooth as her hair tussled softly in the light wind.

Victor walked over just as a chestnut-haired boy dashed after his bouncing ball. It rolled to Isabela's feet, and the toddler scuttled towards her and dove down to pick it up before staring up and giving her a beaming smile. He held up the ball and offered it to her, laughing and gesturing for her to play.

Victor stopped and watched, intrigued to see what she'd do.

Isabela stared down at the cherub-faced boy with the adorably green eyes and chestnut curls. Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned back and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. The boy's mother called for him, so gathering up his ball against his chest, he dutifully ran back towards the playground, shooting a smile over his shoulder along with an innocent wave.

Her hands wrung together, eyes smolderingly distant as she watched the toddler join his mother. Isabela felt a hollowness advance through her chest and seep deeper, to her very marrow. It'd been centuries, and she still felt a pang when she saw a child that reminded her of Alejandro…or looked into the face of a child with green eyes similar to hers that made her wonder about the child that hadn't lived; Would he have had my eyes? Glancing away from the little boy who jumped into his mother's arms, she closed her eyes and let her animal self detach her away from the pain of the past.

"I hate it when you get pensive" the wry rumble startled her. She turned to look over her shoulder just as Victor loped around the bench to sit next to her, crowding her by stretching his arm to rest along the back of the bench as he huffed through his nose and glanced over at the playground. She stared at him before glancing back at the playground herself, but Victor saw the glow in her preternatural eyes.

"You slept in" she mused, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

"Would've slept longer had a certain little viper stayed put in bed" he quipped sourly, giving her a sidelong glance.

A rueful smile pulled at the corners of her lips as the russet rings around her pupils flared out and the green of her eyes glowed playfully at him. "Just wanted to catch up on some things" she murmured, tipping her face towards him to add, "Must've gotten lost in thought."

He grunted, nose wrinkling at nothing in particular. "You think too much" he muttered aloofly, cold blue eyes shifting from a couple of kids monkeying around on a jungle gym to a little girl sitting under the slide playing with her dolly. "How can you stand it?" he suddenly groused. She glanced at his irascible glower, not sure what he meant. Looking over at her, he gestured with his chin at the playground. "The smell" he grunted, "Spoiled milk, rubbing alcohol, and powder—Gives me a damned headache."

Isabela betrayed a soft laugh. "It's the age: blotting nature and biology out with chemicals and saccharine-smelling things made in labs" she shrugged. "It's a pity. There's nothing like the smell of an infant" she mused and went back to watching the kids.

Irked by the thought, Victor huffed through his nose and changed the subject. "Don't tell me we're gonna sit out here all damned day" he sneered, nails scraping idly at the back of the bench.

Humming, Isabela absently flexed her tapered fingers and mused, "You said you had an old contact dig up what he could find…just how much did he find?"

Victor turned to shoot her an implacable look. She glanced at him, stoic. They stared at each other for a few seconds, but neither could read the other's motives.

He felt the unease from before return, along with a wave of aggravation. Looking away cavalierly, he snorted, "So much for not wanting to fight. Don't start that shit up again. I already told you…and either way, I thought you didn't wanna make this personal—"

"Victor 'Dog' Logan, son of Margaret Creed and Thomas Logan, and older half brother of James Howlett" she recited from memory, preternatural eyes calculating as they bore into his. "Born, roughly, in 1835 in Alberta Canada. Veteran of four wars; would've been five, but the Korean War was too soon after WWII; couldn't chance bureaucracy catching up with you and your brother. Average number of estimated kills in the thousands, give or take. …" she trailed off when she felt the wave of anger rise in him. "It isn't personal, at least not in the sense where we learn out of a necessity or vindictiveness. I found out about you because it's my business to know, and because I'm incapable of forgetting. So, how much did you find out?"

Something wild and dangerous was flashing in Victor's eyes, and she knew he was suppressing it through sheer will.

He warred with the animal inside him—She knows everything! No one should know—and then he realized how she must've felt. Trapped, furious, and alienated. He stared at her for long moments before scoffing disdainfully.

His fingers dented the back of the bench when he gripped the wood. "Nothing much" he reticently murmured and glared at the kids on the playground, feeling awkward and angry.

"All the things I've learned about you, and for the life of me, I don't understand you at times" she mused, a cold smile on her lips. "One thing I don't understand is why you turned on Jimmy—"

"Watch it!" he snarled lowly, cutting glare flaring back to her.

She felt the untapped boiling rage the subject raised in him, a dangerous subject that had anyone else been bold to bring up would no longer be breathing. Unruffled, she leaned back, uncrossed her right leg and crossed her left leg. "Siblings are a touchy subject for everyone. But then again, you know that. I had a younger brother too…" she murmured serenely, watching as the chestnut-haired child and his mother left the playground. "But, I'm sure you know that already as well" she trailed off and glanced at him.

Setting his jaw, Victor said nothing, but his nostrils flared crossly at her.

She smiled and her eyes narrowed menacingly, jarring him. "Trust me, I'm not judging you…I wasn't much of a good elder sibling to my brother either. I loved him, just as much as I'm sure you care for your brother still" the muscle in Victor's jaw twitched from how hard he was clenching his teeth and how tense he was, "but, at least your brother is still around, somewhere. I envy you…"

"Yer testing my patience, Izzie, and I don't fucking like it—!"

She suddenly sat in a way that allowed her to face him on the bench, and Victor finally noticed the leather satchel stored under the bench and tucked away just out of eye level. Staring at her, he immediately understood where it was all coming from.

Glancing at the satchel, she mused, "It was quite a shock—seeing a part of my past I thought buried and gone forever. If you were able to find that, then I know there's more you unearthed."

After a pause, he grunted humorlessly and sneered, "Oh, what's the point of telling you if it's gonna stop yah from being so sentimental. Hearing you pour your guts out is pretty intriguing—"

"I killed my brother. His name was Alejandro. I killed him when he was only 7 years old…" she shrugged, remarking, "Still intriguing?" He clenched his jaw, eyes remaining flinty. "Ah, so you already knew that" she mused, tossing her hair away from her face as she glanced back at the satchel. Mischa…so your work did live on.

She knew her old confidante's journals were the only way any history about her could've survived the ravages of time. It'd been reckless of her to assume the work died with him, but then again that period of her life had been so chaotic that she had scrapped it to the recesses of her recollections, along with her feelings about the Krause family.

Instead of the anger he'd expected, he sensed a flood of relief come over her as she leaned back and returned to watching the kids play. "I have a knack for killing anyone that means anything to me, directly or indirectly. Doesn't matter" she spoke, breeze blowing tendrils of her hair to dance around her shoulders and face. "I don't know if it's exclusively a feral thing, or if it's just me, but over the centuries I've come to realize animals like us can't live in the lives of mortals" she mused. "And I mean other mutants as well. They're not in the same species as us; they just straddle the line, while we are defined by it…"

"What the fuck does it matter?"

She stared at Victor, who gazed at her with discontent.

"All this fuckin' introspective bullshit—it doesn't matter one goddamn bit" he spat gruffly, eyes gazing at her intently. "It's done. Nothing you can do about it, and yah sure as hell can't change what you are, so why the fuck are you trying?" he leaned in close, his breath flaring against her cheek. "You need to get out of your head, Izzie. It seems like a claustrophobic place to be" he rumbled, eyes narrowing when her stoic veneer chipped and an unreadable emotion entered her gaze.

Lips pressing together, her gaze intensified on his. She was taken aback. The pang of cold jealousy she felt for his crassness left her irked. How can it be that easy for him? He was a being who was seemingly detached from himself—from his introspective self. His thoughts didn't linger on the past, and his moments of rumination were always about the present. She wondered if he became that way after such a cruel upbringing, or if it was intrinsically hardwired in him—if it was just part of his nature. Part of her was jealous of his ability to disregard sentiment and rid himself of the burden of his past. That part of her wanted to rebuff him—What about your brother? Did you push him away? What have you done that haunts you, Victor?—but another part of her just hurt for him.

"What do you want me to say, Victor?"

He stared at her, a scowl playing on his lips. "You're right" she declared, confusing him for mere seconds until she continued, "So smart, and infallible—you've walled yourself away from the guilt and hatred and disdain you have towards yourself, from any sense of remorse you could have about the things you've done, or didn't do. You've achieved what I've wished for—what I've wanted for hundreds of years. It's allowed you to be wise while others have fallen to folly—while I've scraped over the hot coals of my own personal hell in my mind…but the outcome is still the same."

She paused, preternatural eyes glowing at him.

"I might be overly introspective, but you're the absolute opposite, and look at us: we're absolutely alien to our surroundings, to the people we've known and cared about…and even to each other. And the best part of it all? We're permanent, indestructible and unique, and miserable" she took a breath, shaking her head and fighting some vicious impulse before opening her eyes and leaning close to him. "In the end, we're both the same. We're alone…" she whispered calmly, but the strain of her words was like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Staring rapaciously down at her, Victor felt rancorous and helpless, but most of all, he felt hollow. She knew how to cut to the core, but the pain with which she did it left him wanting to yank that pain away from her so he could inflict it on someone else. Impotent rage surged through him, but Isabela didn't pull away or anticipate a blow. Instead, she leaned closer, one hand falling to rest on his thigh and the other on his shoulder. For the first time, he saw the ache in her eyes, and it was for him. Not for some ghost of a lover, or out of pity or lust, but for him! For what he made her feel.

"We're both utterly alone, Victor" she murmured before taking a sobering breath, her eyes truly sad and her lips tantalizingly parted.

He drowned in her eyes; his body starved for her, and the animal roared under his skin.

Nothing around him mattered. And to a certain degree, what she was saying didn't matter. All that mattered to him was her, and him, and annihilating anything that came between them. He didn't want to talk—didn't know what to say and was too angry to care, so he leaned in and kissed her, a charge of pride stoking in his chest when she leaned in to meet him half way.

When he captured her lips with his vicious mouth, he just wanted to breathe her in and taste her—to prove to her that because they were the same they could never be alone again.

He kissed her possessively, and she let him, lips molding to his. To Victor, the kiss lasted a fleeting eternity, until he noticed the numbing sensation that began to lace through him.

Eyes snapping open, he realized too late that the familiar tingle of stillness was coursing through him to incapacitate his limbs and extremities. Isabela's hand moved from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and the numbing surge of her pheromone was like icy fire under his skin.

She was shimmered with so much stillness that Victor couldn't even struggle against the sensation. He could only manage a begrudging snarl as he glared blazingly at her when she broke the kiss and traced her thumb along his cheekbone.

"Don't be mad" she murmured, eyes soft but earnest.

"Fuckin' jokin'?" he managed to slur, stillness making his tongue heavy in his mouth.

She leaned back, her hand caressing his jaw tenderly. A few rays of sun broke from the overcast clouds, and Victor finally noticed the shimmer of her skin. Her reaction to the little boy made sense now. He realized she must've been sitting there the whole time with her skin laced with stillness, waiting for him to come along and fall into her trap.

"No, I'm not joking." His glare intensified, and the muscle in his jaw twitched with his suppressed fury. "Our truce is over…I could've sneaked out, but I didn't want to. I wanted to tell you to your face—"

"You fucking bitch" he seethed in a contemptible growl. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought to not slur, "Yer mine—will fuckin' catch up to you and make you pay…" he struggled to fight the numbness, but only managed a fidget before Isabela cupped her hand over his cheek again.

He felt the icy sensation tingle through him again as she mused, "Victor. You are not an idiot…and neither am I. We're animals. We'll move on, as we should, and not pursue something that is not in our natures—"

"I will track you down" he cut in with irrevocable determination to his tone. "I'll find you, and when I do, there's nothing that'll stand between the two of us, especially not you, Isabela. You'll never run away from me—!"

"But I'm not running away from you."

He stared at her, her candor and earnestness setting him on edge. She leaned close to him, resting her head on his shoulder and inhaling his musky but furious scent. "What did you expect to happen, Victor?" she inquired, keeping the judgment out of her tone. "You're a beast…bound to no one. That won't change…and neither will I—"

"And what about you?"

Victor's growl reverberated through his chest, stirring Isabela to look back up at him. She stared at his malicious glare.

"I'm a monster, Victor. I've killed the only blood that mattered to me…everything that's been part of me died because of what I am, and I've accepted that. My beast accepted me, and isn't bound to anything, not even you" she stated with fire in her preternatural eyes.

"Oh?" he sneered disdainfully. "If that last bit was true, this would be going down real fucking differently, and we both know it. Am I the only fucking feral on this whole goddamned planet that has any sense?" he snarled at her.

She didn't answer. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder and remained silent for a moment.

"I want to be alone until there's nothing left."

She was staring off at the playground, and Victor felt the lead that had been weighing down in his gut drop lower. The breeze picked up, whipping around them languidly.

"Until they're all gone, and there's nothing left. I can keep killing and living, until there's nothing…until there's no one that matters, because there's no release for me. I've dealt with it for half a millennia, Victor. You haven't lived long enough to realize what it all means, and how we fit in this world. I've made my peace with it…but I cannot endure it anymore. I won't, because if I do, I'll cease to be, and the beast will forget me…"

The bone-splitting isolation she extolled made him feel hollow in his chest. It was something he'd never considered, and the fact that she would embrace it instead of taking from life like he did made him shudder internally. This powerful, impervious being nestled against his side was the closest thing to homo-superior perfection he'd ever come across, and instead of sitting at the top of the food chain, she completely divorced herself from it.

Staring down at her, Victor ignored the burn in his tightly clenched jaw and itched to grab her.

"I don't see how any of this means you can't be mine."

Her gaze whipped back to his, eyes wide and incredulous. Her stoic mask was completely shattered, making every emotion readable on her face to his keen smoky eyes.

Once again, he'd pushed through her defenses, leaving her unguarded and raw.

Feelings blazed through her unbidden, and just when she felt lost in the gulf of remembrance, Victor pulled her back.

"M'stuck here just as same as you, Izzie. There hasn't been one person I've met that I haven't killed or done worse to…my own blood included. Doesn't mean I'm gonna leash my own fuckin' self to be the miserable bastard everyone thinks I should be" he rumbled in a hard tone, watching as her gaze refocused and her mask slowly cloaked her emotions again.

Then it hit him. Something tickled his recollections, and he suddenly remembered what Dan Dresner told him—while revenge had fueled Dantès, he found peace once he recovered his humanity. As Monte Cristo, he had disconnected himself from humanity and given himself to revenge, but once he allowed himself to forgive he became Dantès again—recovering his humanity…it's all about realizing God's Providence and the importance of waiting and hoping that he'll intervene in the world; punishing the bad and rewarding the good…

Isabela was sentimental enough for the both of them, but he never thought she was set on any form of a moral compass. He suddenly wondered why she'd chosen Montecristo as her surname. Was she disconnected from everything because of some sort of revenge? Who would warrant such a penance?

"No, it doesn't, Victor. I never said it should, but just because we're very alike, doesn't mean we're on the same path" she murmured and stared into his eyes, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

She was taking revenge out on the only person she could—herself. It shocked him to realize it so late, but he still couldn't understand it.

"I had gotten used to the idea of being alone forever. It'd stopped scaring me after…after I spent years in the wild. Eirik was the first immortal I'd met in centuries. I thought…I'd unconsciously held on to some hope, and then there he was. I gave into it and was happy to do so. I'd never thought for a second that he could die—that just because he'd lived for a millennia didn't mean he was impervious or indestructible."

She paused, her eyes lowering to her hands as she folded them and tried concentrating on not seeing the face of her dead lover in her mind's eye. "I don't expect you to accept anything. The truth is, I've never wanted anything from you, and that's what makes us so different, Victor. It's why anything more is impossible—"

"There's no fucking way I'm letting you go." His eyes were flinty and his scowl was murderous. "I don't care what your goddamn hang ups are. There's nothing you can say to persuade me, viper, and you know it. Once I get my hands on you, you'll wish you'd been smart enough to stay—!"

"I can't allow myself to be yours. I won't let you, no matter how much I may desire to" she cut in serenely, skin shimmering gold as she leaned in and added, "You know this too, because you feel exactly the same way about me."

His jaw clenched and his angered flared. "I'll find you. Sooner or later, I'll find you again and make you mine. There's nothing that'll get in my way once I do" he proclaimed with chilling resoluteness, but his eyes were blazing with heat.

A sad smile tugged at her lips. Isabela leaned in close, until only their noses were brushing, and said stoically, "I wouldn't expect anything less, Victor."

She kissed him then, and stillness skittered across him for one final dose of numbness before it dissipated. Their kiss lasted seconds before she pulled away and collected the satchel.

"Goodbye, Victor…and if it's any consolation" she paused and leaned over to whisper against his lips, "this has been the best interlude I've ever had…I'll miss you."

With that, Victor could only irascibly stare as she walked away up a path to exit the park, leaving him to sit alone at the park bench and look like a lover who was just jilted and left to brood on a cold Parisian day. He watched her go out of sight through the trees, and he raged internally, trying to fight the stillness in his limbs to go after her. By the time he was able to flex his fingers and claw his nails into the back of the bench, Victor's vision was narrowing with a berserk rage he couldn't contain.

Once he got his motor functions back, he was on his feet and stalking at a slightly wavering pace out of the park, leaving in his wake the fluid gossiping of the women as they lamented him being broken up with in front of a playground.

By the time he made it back to the hotel, he was stalking at a dash to their suite, knowing she was more than long gone, but still blinded by his need to prove it all to himself. When he burst into their hotel room, he found all her belongings gone. What the hell did you expect? He berated himself and slammed his fist into the wall, effectively embedding his forearm into the plaster. Roaring in impotent anger, he pulled his fist out and raged against his surroundings, until he noticed the note and glossy picture left on the bed.

Shaking with fury, he stalked to the bed and picked up the note in one hand and the picture in another.

I thought you should have this, since I took the Polaroid out of your pocket. Already miss you—I.

Looking at the picture, he recognized it as one of the many photographs that had come in the satchel. It was a 3x5 photo of Isabela sitting on the swing in a life-sized gilded canary cage, dressed in stilettos, a shimmery corset, and feathery train that hung behind her like a bird's tail. She looked like a preternatural beauty from another world, all flirty and enigmatic.

Shoving his hand into his inner coat pocket, Victor realized she had taken the Polaroid of them canoodling in the diner from a couple of days prior, but the check was still there.

The only thing he had of her now was the picture and her stray scent on the piece of paper.

Sticking the picture and note into his pocket, he bristled with his own rage until the next thing he knew he was stalking down to the lobby of the hotel. His vision was narrowing out at the edges, and he felt it was only a matter of time before he went absolutely berserk.

He heard someone shouting behind him, but it wasn't until someone ran in front of him that he realized they were talking to him. It was the hotel concierge, and he was telling him in fluid French something about a message. The man handed Victor an envelope as he continued to explain that his female companion left it for him and had completed checkout.

When he tore the envelop open, he found a plane ticket with the destination to be set for anywhere he wished.

Victor didn't realize that the deafening roar was coming from him until his surroundings came into focus again and he found the poor concierge laying lifeless in the wreckage of his berserk rage and people screaming around him. He'd literally just killed the messenger. The envelope and ticket were clutched in his hand as he ran out of the hotel.

By the time he had calmed down, he didn't recognize anything around him. He stood in the middle of Paris, at a complete loss. It took him several moments of brooding to make a decision on what to do next.

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It had been a long 48 hours. Nick had a team tracing Kazuya's last whereabouts before he'd gotten to Manhattan, but figuring out who the other dead mutant was had left hours of wasted resources when he couldn't afford the hassle. Stalking down the hallway towards his office, he couldn't help wonder just how the hell two of the deadliest mutants figured into the bigger picture.

Entering his office, Nick never thought the answer would be patiently waiting for him while sitting in his desk chair.

"Agent Fury. A pleasure" the exotic woman said, coolly leaning forward in his chair to fold her hands over his desk. "Please, refrain from doing anything drastic. I'd like to discuss matters with you."

Nick set his jaw and walked over to the front of his desk. "I gotta say, Vipress, your reputation doesn't do your cunning justice" Nick said and crossed his arms. "I'd ask how the hell you got in—"

"A useless question" she cut in and waved her hand dismissively. "A better question would be how I got mixed up in the matter you've been investigating" Isabela mused and placed a disk on his desk.

Nick glanced down at the disk with his good eye before shifting his gaze back at the predator smiling pleasantly at him. "And what is that? A confession?" he groused.

Isabela swiftly stood and walked idly over to the window so she could gaze out at the cold winter evening. "Not really a confession per say. It was an insurance policy. I'm leaving it to you" she declared and turned to give him an intense stare. "I expect you to cease pursuing me—"

"That's not a keen expectation, Vipress" Nick stated and rounded his desk, intending to get to the secret buzzard that would have his office swarming with armed guards in minutes.

"Now Agent Fury, don't insult my intelligence. Sit" she purred, the deadly gleam in her preternatural eyes promising agony if he didn't do as he was told.

So he did. He plopped into his chair and waited for her to make the next move, knowing full well she could rip his larynx out before he'd ever manage to reach the buzzard.

"I understand you're in quite a mess. Part of it was my doing, but I assure you I had the best intentions. I stole the tele-computer and handed it over to a man named Basset. He is the mutant left a ghastly mess in that warehouse. Kazuya was a free agent hired to dispose of Basset, but his employer hadn't thought me still alive" she smiled at that.

"So, this Basset double crossed his employer and threw you under the bus?" Nick inquired, his mind piecing together her involvement in the gala massacre. "How does Sabertooth fit into this?"

Isabela pressed her lips together in an unreadable expression. "He doesn't. His involvement was a fluke. He had personal matters with me…it was happenchance that he got mixed up in the situation" she paused and leaned against the windowsill before adding, "Now, I'm sure you're looking for your tele-computer. I cannot attest to its current whereabouts, but if your people investigate Armand de Lioncourt's recent dealings, I'm sure it will turn up one way or another. If not, the disk is a copy of all the files the computer contained."

Nick picked up the disk in question and marveled at it. "And why, pray tell, are you being so generous?" he stared back when she crossed her arms and contemplated him.

"I expect you to stop pursuing me, as well as Mr. Creed."

He looked at her and couldn't help disdainfully snorting at that. "You killed a dozen of my men. Not to mention stole top secret property and sold it to a terrorist—"

"To a corporate monopolist and war profiteer" Isabela corrected, adding, "I will quibble with details. It's my nature. I will also tell you that this is nonnegotiable. You stop pursuing me and Creed. If not, well…I don't think I have to specify any one thing I could do to make the matter any more worse for you and your superiors, Agent Fury."

"Creed has been on our radar prior to this. No way he's going to get a pass—"

"I don't like repeating myself, Agent Fury" she stated with irrevocable steel to her tone before loping towards the door. "Mr. Creed isn't a primary target, and we both know there is no clear delineated objective for either his capture, or mine. As for the bigger catch you've been fishing for" she paused and offered one last glance over her shoulder before declaring, "Consider it a bonus that my private interests coincided with yours; what ever is left of de Lioncourt is probably still waiting for you in his office" she shrugged musingly and added, "Long holiday weekend and all."

"Why'd you and Creed pair together?"

Pausing, she turned slowly and replied, "Now that, sir, is none of your business. Have a pleasant holiday season, Agent Fury."

And with that, she strode out his office and respectfully shut the door silently behind her.

Nick Fury slumped back in his chair, floored and beside himself. The deadliest woman alive had snuck into the Pentagon undetected without maiming one person before slipping out.

Holding up the disk filled with backed up files, Nick decided to put aside his serious reservations with the lack in security to instead put into motion the next phase of his investigation:

Bag whatever was left of the dead big fish de Lioncourt, track the tele-computer, and sign off on a cease and desist order for the pursuit and capture of the Vipress and the Sabertooth.

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After lighting the last candle, he knew he could no longer resist the urge to read the testimonial. Once everyone had been tucked into their warm beds and lulled to sleep, Ephram had gone into his study and picked up the book he'd been avoiding.

He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that the testimonial would be the missing chapter of a story he'd never understood. He hoped the answers would not frighten him.

Ephram opened the testimonial and read the handwritten account, only putting it down once when his wife Agatha came in with a package addressed to him. He begrudgingly put the testimonial to the side to open the box.

When he popped the lid open, Ephram was thunderstruck to be united with his father's journals; all in pristine condition, just like he'd left them in the care of the Holocaust museum before they'd been stolen.

Needless to say, Ephram went back to his study and thrust himself into the testimonial, set on reading it from cover to cover and promising to keep the journals in his care and to never part with them again.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Her first memory was visiting her mother's grave at a very young age. Her father, having converted to Catholicism early on before his successes, had taken her by the hand and walked her to the site. She had stared up at her father's austere and Moorish features, and asked him who was in the grave. The headstone read Princesa, but she didn't know her mother's Christian name.

"Your mother shed her heathen name when God married us, hija. I gave her the Christian name because that was all she'd asked of me. In return, she gave me you, and in turn, gave you her life."

Years later, her Tia told her the story of how her father bought her and her sister out of enslavement, forced them to take Christian names, and then married her mother because she was a Taina princess—"Princesa was the bondage name of your mother."

Her father had become a wealthy merchant in Spain, and once he landed in the New World, he became a prosperous and respected landowner. He owned acres of vast land on the north coast of the island and had become quite the businessman in the capital.

Isabela had spent most of her childhood on the sprawling ranch with her Tia as her caretaker. She had learned to bridge the spheres of her life from a young age, knowing she stood out from the old world of her mother's people and the tyrannical world of her father's. The only thing that seemed to anchor her at all was the wild—the untouched savage land of the jungle just beyond the boundaries of her father's land and beyond.

It called to her, made her feel safe and accepted, especially on the warm nights when she snuck out of the manor house and took to the jungle. She was never afraid of the animals that abounded in the darkness, or the eerie sounds of life from the slaves and their rituals. Many times, she would come out of the jungle and join the bon fires and dances of the nubian people as they sung and danced around the firelight. Like her, they were connected to the wild, but unlike them, she was different—

"You are divine. You are meant to be the gods' new child among the devils. Nothing is equal to you, cemí. Because you are a new child, you must understand your roots. You have the blood of gods in you; the wrath of ancestors in your eyes. But, your father will make you weak; he will hurt your spirit like he did my sister. Don't rebel like we did…but don't lay down and die like he will have of you…"

Tia had told her so the first time she caught her sneaking back into the manor.

Isabela had only been 8 years old. Her restless soul had been frightened by the isolating concept of being 'a new child.' She had questioned her Tia about her little brother—asked if he was a new child like her; wondered if they could protect each other from the loneliness.

"Alejandro is a devil born in our world. He is not like you, cemí."

Her little brother wasn't like her. After several years of widowhood, her father had chosen to remarry. Gloria had been a decent stepmother, albeit aloof towards her husband's mix-blooded daughter. When Isabela was 4 years old, she welcomed her baby brother with awe and love. She had hoped to find an equal, and protected him from the ills of others. However, overtime she realized they weren't alike. When he would fall, his wounds would continue to bleed. When he bumped his head, the bruises would remain far longer than hers. And when father looked on him, she saw the true exuberant pride in his dark green eyes that never shined when he looked on her.

The sadness she felt at being the lone 'new child' made a little lump in her chest, but the pain never lasted long, not with Alejandro's unwavering love for his big sister. The little boy inherited his mother's light brown tresses and dimpled cheeks, but like her and her father, he had dazzling green eyes. Unlike her father's, his eyes were exuberant and curious, and unlike hers, his weren't piercing and haunting.

They played together as much as they could, but as he grew older, their father forced Isabela to attend Church services while Alejandro was schooled at the closest town, under the watchful eye of his mother. Her chestnut-haired and green-eyed little brother had never understood why Isabela was kept at arms length by father, and it made him profoundly sad.

His sadness changed to anger the day some schoolmates picked on him while he waited for his father in the courtyard. His mother's anemia had kept her from escorting him to and back from school, so he was forced to wait for father. The boys shoved and teased him for being the son of a moor, and cruelly told him his sister was half heathen—half animal by society's standards. Alejandro was too little to fight back, so he covered his head and let them beat on him, silently hoping they would be through by the time his father arrived. In a flash, the boys' cruel tones were replaced by cries of horror. It had taken Alejandro a few moments to realize the blows were no longer falling on him, but instead on his tormentors.

He'd uncurled slowly from the ground to watch in shock as Isabela pummeled mercilessly on one of the boys while the other two cried pathetically in the mud. Hobbling to his feet, 5 year old Alejandro had looked on as his older sister pounded the boy's head against the ground, her hand fisted in his long hair as she bashed it over and over again.

"Izzie! Stop!" he'd shouted and ran over to pull his sister's arms.

Pupils dilated, Isabela shoved Alejandro back and pulled the boy's head up sharply by his scalp. Her fingers twisted painfully in the boy's hair, causing him to yelp and streak his face with blood and tears.

"This animal will tear you apart if you ever touch him again. Understand?" she hissed in a measured whisper that only her brother and his tormentors could hear.

The sound of her voice had scared Alejandro, but nothing had scared him more than looking up and seeing his father standing at the gate with a look of pitiless contempt towards his sister. When his father stalked over and coldly grabbed him by his arm, his sadness had turned to anger at the boys and at his own father for being cruel—the former towards him, the latter towards his sister who was left to stand in the courtyard while father dragged him away.

Isabela had watched her brother be pulled away from her while the boys managed to slither a retreat, leaving her to distractedly follow her kin. The smell of blood and the rush of violence had been her first dose of what her true nature was capable of, and as she licked her black talons clean of blood, something had come alive in her.

For once, the pain in her chest was replaced with exhilaration, and she liked how it felt.

The exhilaration didn't last long, though. Not with her brother being sheltered away from her. Father had been slowly moving her into a place of inconsequence for years while Alejandro grew older. However, he became more rebellious. Alejandro began to question his father and bicker with his mother, shifting into fits of rage that left him shouting at them for being unfair and cruel. Their father would silence him with a slam of his fist against the table, eyes blazing as he'd warn the boy, "There is no such thing as 'fairness.' If you continue to rage against me, I shall show you what true cruelty is."

He never raised a hand to Alejandro, thanks to Isabela. She would volunteer to take the punishment, and did so happily, since it met she and her brother were connected through more than blood. They were each other's champions. She would cherish the unconditional love of her sibling and return it twofold, and so she did, which often left her punished in isolation—locked in her quarters. She felt validated and loved most in those moments of loneliness.

When Isabela turned 11, however, the ranch was turned upside down by her sudden illnesses. She was bed-ridden by a terrible fever that left her burning up or shivering with bone-wrenching chills. For weeks on end, her condition fluctuated, leaving many to speculate she wouldn't survive the year. Then she was struck by a mysterious skin virus that left her skin blistered and cracked. The agony left her immobile for days. She was quarantined in her room and the only person allowed to tend to her was her Tia.

Her Tia sobbed over her prone form and begged the cemís to save her. Alejandro, only 7 years old, had cried in his mother's arms, terrified his sister would die and that he would never be able to protect her like she always had protected him. Even her father had sat in his study and stared into the darkness of the night outside, feeling a heavy weight on his soul. It was a punishment, he knew it was his punishment, but for the life of him, he only felt guilt for having become enamored with Princesa and fathering such an unnatural child.

Isabela had stared up at the ceiling, her breath ragged when she was struck by the pain of liquid fire racing through her. She'd jolted and tore at her skin, feeling the excruciating agony of her skin cracking and peeling along her shoulders and back, knees and elbows. Her Tia had tried to hold her down, but Isabela wrenched away and continued to claw at her skin, tearing the blistered epidermis away in sheets before realizing that the smooth skin underneath was bloodless but raw to the touch. Before long, she was huddled in a corner of the room, shivering from the sting of cold air on her burning new flesh. Her Tia had helped her calm down, telling her she had gone through her first change, and like a snake shed its skin, so had she. Her skin cooled, and as it did, it left feeling tender all over. Even her lips felt sensitive in the cold night air. Looking up at her Tia after what felt like an eternity, her eyes seemed to glow in the penumbra of her quarters. She hobbled back into her bed and into the candlelight, while her Tia gazed at the flickering shimmer that danced across her skin.

The fevers had left Isabela's eyes preternaturally toned; a vibrant frondy green with a russet ring around her pupil. Her healing had been unnaturally quick since childhood, and her nails had turned black and razor sharp almost overnight, but after shedding her skin, she'd literally become a different creature—a new animal. The animal inside her kept her huddled into herself, shivering as she felt her skin slowly warm with the flow of blood underneath.

She remained in bed for days, even after the local doctor visited her and was marveled by her recovery. Alejandro had snuck into the room while their father spoke to the doctor. Isabela sensed him in the room and slowly opened her scintillating eyes. Instead of shrinking back from his sister's preternatural gaze, Alejandro drew near and stayed fatefully by her side while she dozed back into unconsciousness.

She would awake days later from a jolting sensation that seared across her skin, igniting excruciating agony to blaze throughout her body.

In a maddened state of pain, Isabela thrashed around, screaming in anguish and clawing out of bed in blinding desperation. Alejandro had heard his sister's cry and rushed to her bedroom, throwing the door open just as his sister disappeared out of her window. Shocked, he rushed after her, climbing out the window to follow her in the haze of terror and fear.

Isabela didn't know how she'd gotten to the brook that skirted her father's land, but when the pain dissipated, she looked down at her hands and watched as wooden splinters and gashes were miraculously healed before her very eyes. Under the sun's rays, she saw her skin shimmer copper. Her eyes focused on the back of her palm, realizing that her skin was actually subtly layered with scales. The horror of it caused her to wail up at the sky and thrash towards the water to look at her reflection in the running stream.

Seeing her reflection for the first time in weeks, she was horrified to see the preternatural fire in her green eyes, the copper shimmer of her skin, and the carnivorous incisors and fangs that peaked just behind her parted lips. Raising her hands, she stared at her predatory talons and realized she was a monster.

"Izzie!"

Alejandro ran down the slope towards the brook, rushing towards his huddled sister. Isabela turned her wild expression towards the boy, her eyes shimmering with tears that spilled down her gaunt cheeks when he halted in his spot and stared with terror at her.

"Izzie…" he stuttered and stepped towards her.

"Stay away!" She yelled, her helpless fear and primal anger contorting her features as she trembled and huddled away from her little brother.

Startled by her reaction, Alejandro rushed forward to hug her, desperate to comfort her and show her he'd protect her.

His arms circled her shoulders and he held fast to her. "Don't be afraid, Izzie. I will protect you—"

His hands touched her bare shoulders and his forehead rested on her cheek just as her Tia came running down the slope out into the open space. Isabela's wild stare dilated to stare at her brother as he suddenly stiffened against her. Seized by a violent convulsion, Alejandro went into a seizure in his sister's arms, thrashing wildly and crying out.

"Alejandro!"

The boy's violent struggles caused him to wrench and convulse out of her arms onto the ground. Foam started to cling to the corners of his mouth as he arched his back sharply off the ground, his eyes wide and blank with pain as he shuddered and jolted. Isabela tried to hold him and stop him from hurting himself, but all she could do was slowly watch her younger brother's body struggle less and less, until his eyes focused on her for the last time.

Her blood-curdling scream tore through the valley and brought Gloria running from the manor. While the farm hands and the lady of the house looked for the children and the source of the scream, her Tia rushed over to Isabela, who was slowly rocking her dead brother in her arms and moaning in soul-shattering grief.

When her Tia drew close and murmured for her to leave him, Isabela wrenched away and held her brother to her chest. "GET AWAY! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The shock slowly left her staring devastatingly down at her brother pale features. She laid him down and began to shake with the realization that she had killed him—that her new skin had somehow killed Alejandro.

"I killed him…" she looked up at her Tia's woeful expression and whispered, "I'm a monster…"

Her Tia had told her to run, beseeched her to take cover in the jungle, but Isabela remained motionless and at her brother's side. Slowly, she started to feel the agony in her skin ebb away to nothingness and the burning in her jaw eased as she felt her predator's teeth retreat into dormancy.

She was yanked back to her surroundings by her stepmother's heart-wrenching scream.

The doctor had said he was poisoned. The grief had left Gloria bedridden, until one morning she passed away with tears staining her cheeks.

Her father had buried son and wife in the span of several weeks on the opposite end of his estate from where his first wife's grave rested.

Isabela had felt her father's hatred wane. He now looked on her with fear. Alone and without a true heir, he retreated from his ranch and spent years in the capital, leaving Isabela alone with only her Tia and the laborers of the land. Isabela had retreated into herself for those years of solitude, until one day when her father surprised her with his return.

He had been taken aback by the beauty that she'd blossomed into over the years of estrangement, but was unfeeling towards her regardless. He brought her to the capital and forced her into polite society. It wasn't until she sat for the oil portrait her father had commissioned that she realized he was prepping her to be put up for display among the elite of the capital in the hopes that she'd be married off—freeing him from his responsibility over her.

The portrait depicted a 15 year old Isabela in a red and black bodice and resplendent gown sitting at a reading table. Her long hair was draped down her back while a lace veil flowed down her shoulders. The preternatural glimmer of her green eyes looked ethereal with the russet ring that glowed around her pupil. A shiny red apple was cupped in her right palm while a black glossy rosary rested in her left hand. A single rose rested on her lap. A bible rested on the table next to her, her hand with the rosary draping the cross lightly over the leather-bound cover while the hand with the apple held it level with her bosom. Once it was completed, her father placed it in his parlor where all his visitors and prospective suitors could view his enigmatic daughter. The iconographic totems along with her exotic beauty brought her many suitors, forcing her to parade around in lavish parties in front of men twice her age and older. She remained aloof and intimidating, earning her the repudiation of her father during one trip back to their ranch from the capital.

Angry, she had rushed out of the carriage and ran past the manor in direction for the jungle. Her Tia had chased after her, beseeching her to stop before she incurred the wrath of her father. As Isabela ran, she tore at her corset and yanked free from the heavy garments that had stifled her, leaving her free to roam in nothing but her linen chemise and her quickly-tattered farthingale. She ran up the hill and searched out the freshwater cascade where she would retreat to and leap into merrily when she roamed alone. The cascade wasn't on her father's land. It was part of the unclaimed land between the ranch and the tobacco farm on the other end of the valley. That day, the wealthy landowner of the tobacco farm was chopping wood and tossing it onto his horse's carriage when Isabela sprinted out from the trees and leapt into the pool of water at the base of the waterfall. Hearing the splash and the giggles of a woman, Joaquin dropped his ax and snuck towards the underbrush to peek over the foliage at the beautiful woman who frolicked in the water.

Climbing out of the pool, Isabela tore the hem of her farthingale and began to unbutton her chemise when the shouts of another woman began to echo nearby. Sighing, she looked back forlornly and decided to run around the pool towards the property line of Joaquin's land in direction towards the mossy meadow shaded by the trees. When she turned to leap over some fallen brush, Isabela was startled by the tall man that suddenly stood up from his hiding place. Vacillating, she didn't bother to cover her modesty as her soaked undergarments clung appreciatively to her curves.

Joaquin's hazel eyes gazed at her with open interest and desire as he wiped the dirt off his hands and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. She stared at his creamy-but-tanned skin and marveled at the dusting of hair that peaked through his soiled shirt. Unable to suppress her smile, Isabela wandered away from him and lingered along the mossy rocks of the shoreline when her Tia finally stumbled upon her. Seeing the other landowner and aware of the look in his eyes, her Tia led Isabela away, admonishing her in her native tongue while the girl gave Joaquin one last sultry glance before going out of his sight.

Left smitten, the man made it his mission to find out everything he could about his neighbor's enigmatic daughter. As a foreigner among Spaniards and slaves, Joaquin had kept mostly to himself and his land, only venturing to the capital to sell his crop and show face. He was the son of a French mother and Basque father. After inheriting his parents' fortune, he moved to the New World, settling on the island barely a year before purchasing the neighboring land of the vast ranch. At first he was overwhelmed by the local gossip, but he snickered and ventured to the capital to meet with Aragón Saavedra, intent on formally courting his daughter.

Enticed by her beautiful portrait, Joaquin stood up to the austere moor and refused to heed his objections. "I ask your permission to see your daughter. If she does not wish to be courted by me, then no harm shall be done."

Isabela had been taken by complete surprise when she saw Joaquin dismount from his horse and debonairly cross the distance to take the porch steps two at a time. He took her hand and bowed, kissing it chastely before proclaiming, "I saw a beautiful nymph that looked very much as yourself, querida. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to discover that brazen beauty once more?"

It had taken everything in her not to smile beamingly at him. "I fear that I cannot live up to the image in your mind, sir—"

"I dare disagree. It is the image that cannot live up to your true beauty" he mused sincerely, his hazel eyes firmly concentrated on hers. When she blushed, he smiled, "I speak bold and plain, so I shall come out with it: I intend courting you, and only your disapproval shall stave me."

Isabela fell punch-drunk in love with him.

The brief courtship led to a demure wedding and the merger of signatures, deeds, and property. Isabela and Joaquin became husband and wife in the fall, and for the first time in her life, she was free and loved. Joaquin moved her into his grand home and allowed her to have her Tia close by as her attendant and the caretaker of the house. The anticipation of consummating their marriage had left Isabela tender and alight with excitement. Her skin tingled with dormant pleasure as she stood before their bed. Joaquin shut the door and surveyed her under the shimmering candlelight, taking his time to undress her slowly and appraise her beauty with his hands and lips. The mere contact of his skin to hers had been engulfing. They made love and basked in their torrid bond with only desire and adoration in their eyes.

Their wedded bliss abounded when she became with-child. His adoration of her left her glowing and exuberant, even through the oddities of her pregnancy. Her Tia explained that it had been the same with her mother; raw meat and blood had become central to her diet. Isabela's cravings for undercooked meat and blood were kept secret from Joaquin, however.

With his growing business after having merged holdings with his father-in-law, Joaquin was none the wiser. Isabela was happy and she loved him. It was enough. He wanted to take care of her and bask in the rapture of his life since seeing her at the waterfall.

The cravings got worse. It was all she could do to not gorge herself and still ache with hunger. The first time she used stillness had been a happy-accident. One of the ranch hands had come to protest about field conditions, and at finding Joaquin absent, had tried to intimidate the pregnant woman of the house. Instinct had kicked in, and the next thing she knew, the man was paralyzed on the ground. During his fall, he'd sliced his arm on a piece of broken glass. The trickling flow of crimson that gushed out of the gashed forearm had made Isabela lightheaded and ravenous. Her Tia had been harried in disposing of the body and coming up with a story to tell Joaquin, but Isabela was content in having provided for the life stirring in her womb.

The taste of blood from cattle no longer quenched her hunger. It was this very predatory craving that destroyed her first life.

She hadn't expected Joaquin to be back from the capital for another night. Her loving husband had missed her and couldn't stand being away from her when she was so near to giving birth. So, he had returned at night to their estate, expecting to find the house dark and his beautiful wife asleep in their bed. Instead, he was surprised to see the light of a candle still flickering in the main parlor. Silently, he entered his home and made his way to the parlor.

In the flickering penumbra, he saw Isabela clutching a figure in the dark, obscured by the back of the couch. When Joaquin drew closer, he was horrified to discover her mouth greedily set over the throat of a ranch slave, feeding off of the paralyzed man's blood. Hearing his gasp, Isabela turned her head in terror and saw her husband standing in the shadows of the hall. She covered her mouth in shock and slowly stood while the lifeless man slumped against the side of the couch.

"Joaquin…I was just so hungry…" she tried to wipe her mouth of gore, fretfully caressing her womb and already feeling the sting of tears in the backs of her eyes at her husband's shuttered expression.

"What are you?"

Flinching at the aghast disgust in his tone, Isabela's eyes brimmed with tears.

"What are you?"

His shout tore through the room and left her shuddering.

"Please, Joaquin…!" she quickly advanced towards him, wanting so desperately to touch him, and calm him with her rapturous touch.

She hadn't seen the blade.

It plunged into her womb vertically, tearing a pained cry of horror as she grabbed his shoulders and gasped.

"You're a succubus—!" he sputtered with grief, absolutely devastated as he grabbed her and pulled the knife out of her belly. "What have you done to me?"

He pushed her violently away, throwing her to the ground with a cry of agony. Stunned by the jarring pain, she choked on her whimpers and clutched herself.

"Please! I love you so much—!" she wept and tried to crawl away from him. He followed her with the hunting knife still gripped in his fist. She could feel the blood gushing out of her womb just as the sharp pains shattered up her spine like thousands of daggers leeching across her belly. "Joaquin…don't—Please!" she whimpered as he loomed over her with tears running down his face.

At first she thought the scream was hers. Fire blazed around her as her Tia struggled to pick her up and fend off Joaquin. His head was bleeding, and Isabela dully realized the bloody piece of stove kindling on the floor. She could only clutch her wound and watch as her Tia fought Joaquin before managing to pick up the blunt kindling and swinging it to explode across the side of Joaquin's skull. Left stunned by the blow while the knocked over candle continued to ignite a blaze around them, Joaquin's body slumped on its side while he struggled to move.

"Cemí! We must go!"

Her Tia dragged her out of the inferno and hobbled with her away from the burning house for shelter in the nearby woods. The pain didn't allow them to get too far, causing Isabela to double over in excruciating agony.

Her Tia told her the baby was coming. The horror of her blood-soaked gown was dulled by the chaos. The moonless night sky and the glowing inferno in the distance were their only illumination as Isabela struggled against the labor pains and the sensory overload of being fatally wounded.

Isabela cried out in pain as the contractions made her feel like she was being torn at the seams, her screams of pain muffled by the sounds of the jungle as she bared down on one agonizing contraction.

She'd expected to hear the sound of a child's cry. She heard nothing but her own wails of pain.

Her baby was stillborn. The soul-crushing grief left her doubled over and wailing, clutching her lifeless son as her Tia held her.

For what felt like eternity she laid there shattered before she realized Joaquin was left in the house. Struggling, she tried to get up and run back, but her wound arced through her. She screamed and struggled against her Tia who held her from running to the blazing edifice that was once her home.

Isabela screamed for Joaquin, falling to the ground and trembling from the liquid fire of her body accelerating her healing factor. Thrown on the ground, she stared up at the black sky and wailed as her wound healed into a jagged scar.

"God…please God…don't let this happen…" she cried. "Tia, please help me…" she reached for her Tia's prone form. When the woman didn't move, she crawled over to her and pushed her to lie on her back. It was then she realized that all the blood wasn't hers.

Her Tia had defensive wounds, but the stab to her side had caused her to quickly bleed out. Murmuring softly, her Tia told her to run. Her last breath came short as her eyes lost focus and dimmed.

Isabela's scream tore through the valley.

She slipped into oblivion for what felt like hours, until the shouts and commotion of people rushing to the burning house snapped her back. Before she knew what had happened, she was in the middle of the jungle, high up on the mountain, with her lifeless child clutched in her arms. Delirious, she buried her child and fell weeping into the dirt, pleading for God to deliver her into death. Instead, she felt something stir deep within her very marrow.

The primal side of her awoke, and soothed her, tearing the pain and the grief away from her and devouring it. She felt numb and hollow.

She remained in her feral state for years, alone in the jungle with only her primal self to rely on. All concept of life beyond the jungle ceased to exist with the passing of rain seasons. Her reliance on the savagery within shielded Isabela from the pain and her still-splintered psyche.

Time had become a subjective concept to her. After almost fifteen rain seasons, Isabela sensed the world shrinking around her, while she remained constant—indestructible and youthful.

It was a sunny day when she snapped back to herself. The animal had protected her and nurtured her within the confines of the jungle, and the time had healed her psychological scars. She hadn't hesitated on leaving the jungle. She walked out into the sun, following the path down from the Yunque to the closest town. Barefoot and clothed in tattered and bloody rags, she came upon a town and explained she'd been attacked by bandits. The townspeople took her in and gave her charity.

Looking at her reflection for the first time in 15 years, she was bemused to find herself unchanged.

Life had changed all around her, though. Her father had passed away 7 years earlier, leaving no known living heir. She found out Joaquin had perished in the fire, and that people thought her dead as well. Having found 2 bodies in the wreckage, no one bothered finding out what happened. Even her Tia's body had been recovered, but with no one alive to explain what happened, many considered it an accident.

Her father's and Joaquin's estate were unclaimed, suffering the legalities of arbitration and squabbling officials. Isabela returned to the capital and turned everything on its head with her claim over both estates. Using the portrait her father had commissioned of her, she proved she was the heir to the Saavedra holdings, and showing her wedding ring, claimed to be the 15 year old daughter of Isabela Saavedra and Joaquin Villamil. Baffled, the officials conceded in her demands and signed over all estate holdings to her.

She didn't remain in the capital for long. She toured her father's estate, and had all property packed and taken to his townhouse in the capital. She shuttered the house, and left all the besetting memories of her old life with it. Even though her heart was still numb, she couldn't bring herself to seeing her and Joaquin's home. Instead, she expanded the deed of the land under her father's business lease and gave it over to a caretaker. The two sprawling farms were prosperous and profitable for over a century, increasing her purse and keeping her financially taken care of aside from all her inherited assets.

Isabela did not want to stay in her land of birth anymore. She felt caged and stifled. The time had come for her to travel, so she did, far beyond the shores of the Caribbean to the Old World. She lived many lives in many places, all in the search for the truth that had destroyed her life—

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"—the truth that escaped me, even when I stared it in the face the day I killed my brother. I'm not human. Am I a god? A cemí like my Tia called me? Or am I a creature of a different caste from other beings? Am I above mortals, or below them? Over 3 centuries of living, and I still don't know. The only thing I have learned is that I am alone. But…I hope that I'm not unique. I hope that there are others—anomalies as you call them—in the world, and that some day I shall cross paths with another."

Ephram closed the cover of the book and sat silently, pondering the flow of words that still inundated his mind. Years of questions were answered, but he now found himself wondering what happened after.

The last time he'd seen Isabela was when the hysteria of Nazi occupation began to spread. He remembered her stern look at his father, and her harsh words that he not be a fool and let her help—

She'd known before all of them of the sort of havoc humanity could beset on itself because she'd lived long enough to see wars, famines, genocide, and disease kill millions while she remained untouched and immortal. It struck a chord in Ephram, one he knew would resonate with him for the rest of his life.

If she lived through all of that…could she still be alive? Where did she go when we were taken away? Where is she now?

Ephram shook his head at his frenzied musings and decided it was time for him to put his past to rest and spend the rest of his time looking forward to the New Year, with his loving family and the contentment of his life.
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THANKS FOR READING! PLEASE REVIEW!

Holy crap that was a long wait! I cannot believe it took me this long. Apologies to all! But finally, we find out about Isabela! I honestly didn't intend to drag it out for this long, but yeah. TA-DA! Thanks to all the readers for their comments and faves! It really encouraged me along.

Some words I use that I should define: Princesa (Spanish for "princess"), cemí (Taino for deity, spirit, or god), Yunque (PR's biggest mountain/ rainforest), hija (Spanish for "daughter"), querida (Spanish for "my love").

We're winding down, kids! Hopefully the next chapter will be up much sooner than this one! Thanks and look forward to your feedback!

A breath, a sound, a thought, a heart. Pieces of a whole when it comes to inspiration. Still enamored with Liev Schreiber and for giving me one of each of these pieces for my inspiration and writing.

-ROGUEFURY