A/n: Pic of Cynthia below. 

Chapter 25 -  Revelations in November (Faith Ashlynn POV)Pt. 2

"Where yours swuit?  You nweeds ones too," it's blurry, the image I'm pulling from the deepest, fartherest part of my memories. Still, now with new insight, I understand the confusion that Dmitri had written on his face. I had barely known this man, but I yanked on his hand, concerned that he hadn't found a suit for himself. The one he gave me large to the point that he'd have to carry me because I couldn't move an inch with so much weight.   

"Dmitri do ywou think I'll wever get to meet Chwelsea?" I asked when I was older, "I need to fwind hur,"  I told Dmitri when I was older. My voice still had a bit of childlikeness to it, so I knew I was still younger, but after months of pushing away all the thoughts I had, remembering that I was the one to tell Dmitri about Chelsea, now I couldn't help but wonder if searching for her had been the reason he died.

In my young mind I only have a vague description of Chelsea, and the image I had in my mind, was the one I saw on the television two weeks ago, and then it was a flow of memories. It wasn't much that I had forgotten, but it was things that the more I remembered, I couldn't remember anyone before Dmitri telling me. Furthermore, it went worse because the stories I was remembering, they came with a voice, a headache and something close to feeling like I was free falling. 

It was confusing me undividedly. I could remember - with great clarity - Cynthia leaving me behind. I was drawing such a large monumental blank when it came to Chelsea. She was... had been such an integrated part of who I was all my life. I had no idea why I needed to find so badly when I was younger, but that search never came to fruition when I didn't have a suit of my own. 

Exhausted and unable to even get one peaceful night sleep for nearly two weeks, I could barely keep my eyes open. I had been taking naps right after going to class, but after forty minutes I would shoot awake, the voice trying to speak to me.

"You hear a voice?" I blinked concentrating on Samson sitting on the bed, my hand in his. The past weeks were weighing on me, I nod and audibly exhale because I hadn't been able to reveal what I just had to anyone. "What - what does the voice say?" my eyes flashed up to Samson's blue wide eyes.

"You - you don't think I'm making this up?" he shook his head, "No."

Unsure, but wondering if it was not just me, "Because..." I take a chance, "you hear them too?" my eyes shoot down to the hand I was holding, that trembled slightly, but along with not being able to sleep things were starting to fit together. Moments that I had forgotten or pushed aside not understandings "You tracked my scent during the rain... you told your mom that... I'm pretty sure Thaddeus and Harleigh followed my scent as well..." How did he - they - track my scent? It's not like I used scented shampoo or even lotion. Everything I used had the littlest hint perfume in it, everything else bothering my olfactory senses. So how does one track by scent? 

"And driving in the darkness, when we should have probably hit a tree or fell into a ditch, Harleigh was able to make it to your uncles' house in one piece," I spoke watching Samson's eyes, knowing that he could tell me I was wrong, or that I was right.

"I - I don't hear voices like you," Samson whispered his eyes observing me carefully, "I - my - people like me, we don't hear voices, we aren't like-"

"Werewolves?" his eyes darted down to my hand, before looking up to my eyes, "You - how long have you known?"

I shrugged looking away, "You and your mom gave it away when I went into the woods. It took a while to concentrate, to check back - and then again - I hadn't been watching the news. But had - was - doing research on someone, and it came out that she died... or I think they're claiming she's dead," my head was in one big unsteady washing machine almost.

Closing my eyes I took a deep breath, before opening them again, "Basically ten days, but then I took into account your eyes, and how Amy can call your mom on this floor when she's in the kitchen or something and within a few minutes, bam..."

"So you know that we aren't fully human?"

This world had supernatural beings. I am not sure how others in the world felt about the supernatural, outside of all the hate, but knowing that Samson was different was a slight comfort to me. I was different for other reasons out of my control, I think. But it felt right to have someone there that could understand me. It was not the same, but I was starting to learn through my experiences that 'different' was not a bad thing. "Yes."

Samson blinked, tilting his head to the side, "Yet you've said nothing," I shook my head with a huff.

"I couldn't, I mean yes I thought you all were like the shifters on T.V. but if you weren't and I came forward you'd probably ask how I came even to be searching such things," I explained just concentrating on Samson's hand in mine.

"Well then I realized that maybe - maybe I was one of them, but I hadn't had a shift yet, I don't hear any better than before, or see anything enhanced, but I do hear that one voice in my head," my free hand rubs against my forehead.

"So - so you know that we aren't human," I gazed at him tiredly. Did he think it would matter? I mean I hear a man's voice - outside of Dmitri - in my head, I'm in no place to judge.

Still I nodded, "Mom and dad didn't want to tell you that we are shifters, which you're half shifter-"

"What is Cynthia?"

Samson smiled, "she's a full-blooded Fae."

"There isn't a lot of information about them online," I replied, "But I did see that the ones they call Elders, they offer Fae's refuge-" the hand that Samson was holding, he squeezed almost painful.

"You can't go to them Fatima, they can't be trusted," he said seriously, almost frantic. His eyes wide and the gray's of his eyes were overtaking the blues. It was beautiful. 

"You're eyes are going gray," I blurt out, blinking, he closes his eyes, loosening his grip on my hand. I hate that, I think shockingly, but I do not dwell on it. "Sorry- I have better control," he says sincerely, the tops of his ears filling with color. 

He's embarrassed, I piece together and knowing how it felt when I was unsure or flustered, I move on. 

"If Cynthia is a Fae, what are you?" I had been dying to know since I had put all the pieces together, I had already figured out that they were somewhat feline.

Pulling his hand from mine, the warmth was gone, he slowly walked to my bathroom, "I'll show you," I nodded eagerly.

One stiff nod, Samson disappeared into my bathroom, not closing the door behind him, while I sat on the bed, now perched on my legs, my whole body shaking, vibrating with excitement my prior exhaustion pushed aside. I had searched the Internet, looking at different pictures, trying to find the feline with the eyes that matched all of the Conrads, but it was hard to tell. From what I could find online there were werecats, werejaguars, and wereleopards. But with so many conflicting stories, I couldn't be sure.

On pins and needles I waited, until finally with the most predatory litheness, large broad shoulders and jaw with fierce bright blue eyes, much more colorful than in human form, Samson approached me carefully. A beautiful spotted beast, "You're nothing like a house cat," I blurted out my eyes wide and filtered completely gone.

"You're beautiful," I whisper looking at the almost random pattern of black spots, over slightly orange-reddish brown coat, the light in the room hitting him just right to the point where the black on his coat looked like silk.

Clearing aside all of my books, swiftly I tap the bed, "Come up," I ask him but still back all the way against the headboard. Leaping onto the bed, and lowering his self immediately, I stared amazed by the way he moved and settled.

"I guess you live in or near the woods so that you can run... I bet you're fast too," my words mumbled, still unsure, I leap off the bed and head for the bathroom, and find Samson's clothes, everything down to his boxers on the floor of my bathroom. But no Samson.

"Oh - oh it's you," walk back to the bed in awe, my fingers itching to touch him.

"Can I - would you mind if I touch you?" I roll my eyes at my question, how would he be able to tell me no? I think, sitting down. Soon, though, he's nearing closer, creeping towards me, blue eyes shining, open and inviting.

Slowly, I reach out, and he closes his eyes, as I trace the black spots around his eyes, the soft fur coat seems to lead my hands on their own, the white coat beneath my fingertips, leading up to his closed eyes. "So ... soft, sweet, so beautiful," I whisper reverently as my hands go to the top of his head, four finger tips at the middle of his head, rolling over the fur like fingers in a stream of water, cutting it like butter.

"Nice, soft touch, want her to touch me all over-"

"Ahh-" I shout cutting off quickly. The sound of Samson in my mind echoing, pounding like a headache settling in isn't helped with my scream of fright. Bringing both of my hands, I cradle my head until I'm lying down on the bed in a sort of fetal position, my eyes closed. Each jostle of the bed sends shocks from my pelvis all the way up to the back of my skull.

"You tricked me, Wyatt," Cynthia shouts angrily, her eyes narrowing in on his and I'm like a fly on the wall, "I don't want this thing," she points down to her bulging stomach, yet her glare on the man with dark brown skin, and light butterscotch eyes never lessen.

There is a creaky sound that's present, but all I see is the vision before me, "This child is an abomination in our world Wyatt, I will be banished for even carrying it," Cynthia fumes, the image of her is seen through an echoed haze. The edges of the image white, blurred all I can see is the anger in Cynthia's eyes. Her hand pointing to her swollen belly. "You'll be hidden here until she's born Cynthia. Until she's able to understand - until then-" As easy as the memory came, throwing me off, it is gone. Replaced by pressure in my head that makes it impossible to keep eyes open or even see straight. On pure instinct, I light my hand up to cradle my head, but even that is impossible and feels like an impossible task. 

"Fatima?" Samson calls and I wince when he sounds much too loud, his voice rings in my ears, and I'm not sure what happens. Samson see's my reaction and settles on the bed, only slightly jostling me and he remains quiet until my body relaxes and I'm lulled to sleep, no more visions.

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© 2016 roxann_season All Rights Reserved

Congrats to all the 2016 Grads. 

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For all of you reading this over as I add all these little new pieces, thank you. I know some are like what's the difference, but those of you that are just reading and noting the changes and ENJOYING them, thank you. 

I think Loving Ashlynn was good before, but this version is just, I feel like the storyline is a bit more precise and understandable. Also I think more can relate to Faith, not the being locked away part but just the regular teen girl with insecurities part. Also I LOVE that everyone appreciates the guy that Samson is. 

He is no Gabriel LOL but he is still fiercely protective of Fatima.