Warren Burgess was one hell of a man. He stood above her in both height and a year in age. With hazel eyes that smized at her, Vanessa almost considered defecting just for the feeling she got when her fingers tangled in his brunette waves.

He sat on the edge of the bed wearing a grin she knew too well after the many, many Knights missions she had done with him by now. Vanessa wrapped her arms around his neck and straddled him, kissing across his shoulders and leaving love bites along the way. But, none that punctured. She hadn't bitten him yet like she did to everyone else she had laid with.

Every time she told herself she would, that she was just doing this to get another valuable victim to use. But, she never did because, well, she didn't...

She didn't want to think about that right now.

He leaned back and groaned. She smiled against his skin. He wanted her so bad. "Jesus, Vanessa."

The whole day they had called each other Robert and Edna as they pretended to be a couple interested in fairy-collecting. At night, they became Warren and Vanessa and their pretend play bled into reality.

"I've been waiting to do this all day," Vanessa said. She pushed his chest down onto the bed. He flopped to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"God, I love going on missions with you."

Love. He threw that word around a lot. He loved missions. He loved sick cars. He loved his Hawaiian shirt. He loved magic. He loved his brother. He loved crab cakes.

He loved enough for the both of them.

—

As her empty apartment became too unbearable, Vanessa increasingly sought company for the night. With rouge splashed across her lips and cheeks, she called out to beautiful people in the bar like a siren singing a sweet, desperate song.

She had no family, no friends, and no one to love her. She never got hugs or light touches or I love you's. She only got them from strangers in bed.

Or Warren. But that was few and far between. And she was as much a stranger to him as these people were to her.

After her late night trysts, she would lay down on her couch and pass out before the tears came and ruined her expert makeup. She refused to use alcohol to self-medicate as her parents and their friends had. She didn't want to become dull to the world.

But sometimes the pain just hurt so, so much and it was something that a beautiful woman's hands or a handsome man's practiced lines couldn't fix. But, Vanessa would try.

Vanessa wrapped her arms around herself, digging her nails in. Frustrated tears melted the mascara on her lashes. She could squeeze herself all she wanted but she couldn't replicate the love baked into hugs made for someone special.

And she could never hope to become someone's loved one, worthy of such a genuine thing.

Nevertheless, just for the night, they would allow her to be their lover.

And Vanessa could get the sweet touches she so desired.

—

With Warren, after sex, it was different. They would cuddle in bed and he would stroke her hair and whisper sweet things. Most times she would cry.

They never talked about that in the morning.

—

Except for one night.

Shadows grew around Vanessa and her feet boiled and bubbled blood. Pine trees stretched and criss-crossed a canopy, blocking the sun. Laughter followed Vanessa. Clara's laughter. Ringing like warning bells.

Vanessa looked down and her foot melted away until she ran on stumps. Pain froze her limbs and she toppled to the ground. Screaming, she crawled as the pine trees fell closer and closer and Clara appeared above her, perfect as always, with a horn poised. It struck down and the moment it pierced Vanessa's flesh, she bolted awake.

Warren's hands were already on her shoulders and concern painted his face. Vanessa coughed, fresh tears racing down her face and her cheeks burning. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. She didn't even care that Warren watched her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Warren said softly, his hands soothingly stroking her hair.

Vanessa shook her head violently, tears flying. "No!"

The vehemence surprised them both, but Vanessa felt like a tea kettle steaming, unable to fix the lid back on. Clara's nighttime visits always left her unsettled, like someone had peeled open her skin and flipped it inside out, and she had all the gross guts on the outside. And now Warren had to see that.

"Okay, okay." Warren sounded like he was taming a frightened animal. He pulled her hair out of her face and wiped at the tears under her eyes. His hands were rough with calluses yet melted into her skin. "Okay."

Vanessa closed her eyes. She felt the words bubbling out, but couldn't witness the remark. "Just...just hold me."

He did.

But they still didn't talk about that either.

—

Vanessa shifted the Camaro into low gear and cruised along the backroads of a forested preserve. Warren finished his banana and threw the peel out of the window.

They had reunited this morning to begin their new mission. Something about a lost talisman or something. Vanessa knew that whatever it was, it would be easy for them two. Together, they formed a dream team. She had no doubt they'd sooner get bigger and better missions. Though, part of her dreaded that, because it would mean the time to betray Warren crept closer. But maybe she could do it in a way that sidestepped him completely. Of course, this softness railed against her calculated nature and she pushed the thoughts to the wayside.

Warren reached for the volume dial and turned down Greenday's new album to Vanessa's quick glare. She had just bought that CD and she intended to listen to it the right way—with no interruptions. "Tell me one thing. Do you have any siblings?"

"It's against policy to reveal our personal life." Vanessa concentrated on the road ahead of her like a good driver, and moved to turn up the music again but Warren protected the dial with his hand.

"Oh, come on, Nessa. You know about my brother."

"And you shared that of your own volition."

When Warren talked about Dale, something deep inside Vanessa hurt. He talked of such a deep and abiding bond with a brother that had been with him his entire life. Vanessa wanted such unconditional, stable love in her life.

"Are you the oldest, youngest, or middle?" Warren asked. He flipped through the magazine in his lap flippantly. When he caught her staring, he smiled.

Something melted.

"I don't have any siblings," Vanessa said. Truthfully, she didn't have any family. Not anymore. But that was a much sharper axe to throw.

"Only child." He tsked and shut the magazine. "I should have guessed."

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

"For one, you're bad at sharing things. A blanket hogger of the highest caliber."

Vanessa scoffed. "I get cold."

"Look, babe, I don't mind. Cuddle up next time."

The talk unnerved Vanessa. It was pure daylight. They were solidly on mission business right now.

Over time, the veil between professionalism and whatever they had cultivated in the dark had dissipated. Vanessa didn't know if she disliked it, but she knew it made her uncomfortable.

It felt safe in the dark, under the covers, to whisper such lovely things. But the broad daylight burned away any such desire to be vulnerable.

Under the sunlight, she was Vanessa Santoro. Master strategist. Crown jewel of the Society. No one in her real, professional life knew the needy, desperate Vanessa that kissed and sucked and fucked to trick someone into holding her just for a moment under the cover of night.

Vanessa turned the music back up and Warren laughed.

—

There was only once she ever let someone else drive her car. Of course, for such a huge concession to occur, blood painted the circumstances.

Warren's left hand gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles glowed white and the other grasped Vanessa's as she screamed.

With every gasp of air, she only screamed more. It wasn't rational; it wasn't logical; who fucking cared? She could see her femur sticking out of her leg!

It hadn't even been a mission. They had been packing up at their hotel. Some idiot had tripped her, and she had been lost in Warren's stupid fucking eyes, and so she fell off the railing and landed in the worst fucking way possible. Fuck!

Vanessa's bubbling, incessant tears created bokehs out of the streetlights, and Warren's wet cheeks reflected the red, yellow, and green. His fingers indented her soft leather steering wheel cover. She shined that every week. And with Warren's foot on the pedal, the speedometer hadn't dipped under 80 the entire ride. Her precious suspension cried with each flight over a speed bump.

Warren carried her inside the hospital, and when they asked for what he was, he said he was her husband. Vanessa knew why of course—so he could follow her to her room—which he did.

Warren stayed with her the entire hospital stay, before and after surgery, and drove her to her apartment halfway across the country (she caved and had to tell him her address), and he tended to her that first week as she recovered. They cuddled and hugged and shared cheek kisses. But, nothing more, and that was what she needed.

Their intimacy had broken free of the night, and as Vanessa reviewed the development, she swung between horror and hope. And that wasn't even until she remembered what he had called himself in the hospital.

At the time, when he had said that, the minor detail of her broken femur sticking out of her leg had overshadowed that statement completely. But, a week later, as she drifted into sleep and Warren finally left, she sat up boltright.

He had said he was her husband.