The French translations are at the bottom of the page. Enjoy!


Lightning slithers its way across the nightly velvet of the heavens as a lone stranger walks the forlorn streets of Paris, France. His eyes, the palest shade of sapphire, absorb the landscape with idle disregard.

Eight years had passed since he'd last seen this lovely little nook of the city. Eight years since he'd seen her.

He runs his fingers along the rough wall of an abandoned house and glances at the pale sickle that kisses the smooth blackness of the sky where the clouds give way. It stares back at him, cold and remote. The very tips are tinged a lethal red… and it's spreading.

Like her blood.

Ripping his hand from the wall, he stuffs them into his pockets and moves on. He needs to get away. It doesn't serve him to be here, to remember this, to remember her. She is dead… gone.

Even now, it still hurt to acknowledge that. Her orbs of glowing amber smile at him and he forces the memory away. He'd been stupid then. He'd been weak, but oh, how he misses that weakness, that need for camaraderie.

Knowing all too well that it's unwise, he turns around and walks back to the house.

The sun shone fiercely on the bustling streets. It was unusually hot today. He wiped his dusky bangs from his eyes and jumped down from the three story window, landing gracefully on the second level of the fire escape. He'd spent many young years of practice performing this sort of get away. It was no surprise that he excelled at it.

He earned a few irritated glares as he plummeted to the stone ground, almost knocking over a heap of garbage. Straightening out his seedy attire, he gifted those uppity bastards a lofty grin, and then hurried down the humid alley. The stagnant air stirred to life as he smashed through it, a merry laugh coloring his breath.

Why his mother had moved to Paris, he didn't know. Hell, he didn't care. She scarcely affirmed his existence until trouble had him by the balls. The rest of the time she seemed lost in a drug haze, inert and pathetic, her bones protruding from her sick excuse of skin like broken glass.

He kicked over a trashcan and bolted into a throng of people. The sticky proximity of the pulsing bodies annoyed him and he cruelly thrust them out of his path. He ignored their icy stares, which he wished could cool the temperate, and ran into a nearby café.

"Sergei!" A portly woman scolded. "I saw that little episode outside. You shouldn't be so rude.

He shrugged. "They were in my way."

The waitress frowned in disapproval, but it soon disappeared behind a smile. "Today's Jeudi, is it not?"

He leaned over the front counter, smirking. "Yes."

She feigned surprise. "Oh, we are serving your favorite today."

"That's not at all the reason I came here."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course, not… You came here to see me, right?"

"Naturally," he said, reaching for her hand and kissing it.

"Good answer." She chuckled as he gave her hand back.

Océane was a good woman, the only person he partially trusted. She had a kind heart. At times, he craved that philanthropy to creep through his own heart, though his severe nature prevented it. Why this woman was so amiable to him, he could only guess. Never once had he disclosed any reason for her to show him compassion.

His eyes drifted after her as she vanished behind a two-way door into the kitchen. Her tight luscious curls of gold created a divine halo around her head and her blue apron clashed hideously with the pink outfit she donned. There was something about her that was beautiful, though he couldn't place it.

Discarding the thought, he let his gaze meander across the other occupants of the café. A man sat alone, his pressed suit crinkling as he hunched over, pondering. A young girl played messily with her food not too far away, and a couple sat near the back whispering secretly.

His lips curled up in disgust at the last eyeful and he took a seat on one of the stools surrounding the counter. It squeaked in protest to his weight and he sighed. Today feels peculiar somehow. He shut his eyes and massaged his temples. When's the last time he knew sleep?

Several days at the very least.

He rested his elbows on the wood table and cradled his chin in his palms. The brilliance of the blistering day was veiling something. He could sense that. It lurched over him like an unsteady wave, powerful, dangerously volatile.

Minutes passed by and he soon found himself dozing off. Jerking up right on impulse, he wiped the drool from his chin and glared at the little girl watching him intently, her rich amber eyes prying. He growled in annoyance, baring his teeth at her. She didn't appear phased. In fact, she seemed even more engrossed.

Averting his interest back to Océane, who'd emerged with a plate full of delectable food, he decided to ignore the child and focus on sustenance. The mouthwatering aroma coiled within his nostrils as he breathed it in, an innate gleam dancing in his chilly eyes… hunger. That same gleam possessed his orbs when he met his opponent in battle. He wasn't a skilled fighter, at least not yet. He would be one day. He'd be a killer.

"You can start eating." Océane chuckled. "You don't have to go on staring at it."

He didn't even bother with the utensils and dug right in with his hands. People stared, but he didn't care. His tongue soaked up the succulent flavor of the meat and he swallowed it before he finished chewing.

The little girl was still watching him. He cut his eyes at her and she giggled. Why was this child so fascinated with him? He forced his thought pattern aside and concentrated on the masticated piece of cow crawling down his esophagus.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

He looked up at Océane. "A while…"

She clicked her tongue. "Your mother isn't sending you out to get drugs now, is she?"

He shook my head, not bothering to answer.

"If you ever need a place to stay, you know my doors are always open, mon loup."

He smiled at the little endearment. She'd dubbed him that ever since she'd caught him in a street fight a few years ago. He'd lost, but he didn't let his prey walk away unscathed. One boy almost lost an eye and another had a dislocated shoulder.

"A wolf can fend for himself." He said, licking the remnants of food from my fingers.

"Few lone wolves survive." She exhaled, picking up my plate. "I have a feeling you will, though, mon loup."

He merely nodded and rose from his seat. Avoiding the child's gaze, he skulked out of the restaurant and down the street. A group of American tourists split apart as he walked straight through them, not deviating from his path. Their expressions depicted anger, though it remained in the backdrop of their eyes. They feared him. Good. He glared ahead, not caring to make eye contact with any of them.

It was getting hotter.

Wiping his bangs from my eyes, he glimpsed behind him and came to an abrupt halt. She did as well. Her little figure was hunched in a slinking manner and her chaotic tresses tumbled over her tiny shoulders in total disarray. He held his position, observing her frail flesh embodied vulnerability, a little lamb.

She titled her head to the side and smiled a beautifully ignorant smile, a child's smile. He bared his teeth as a retort and wheeled around to continue on his way. She whimpered softly, a tantalizing sound. He turned back slowly, his hands clenching.

Her molten eyes of amenity were locked on him, begging. What did she want? He ground his teeth into his tongue. Why should he have cared? She was nothing to him, just some nameless girl who found it engaging to be a thorn in his side. He didn't care.

With that deliberation, he turned for the last time and walked on.

His shabby boots' cadence echoed hollowly to him as he decided on a sidewalk that skirted a peaceful stream. The repulsive brownish green water twinkled in the rays of the sun and the vibrant trees swayed in the gentle breeze. He closed my eyes as the wind caressed his face, happy to finally have an appeasement from this wall of humidity. Was it natural for it to be this hot in these upper regions? He'd grown accustom to the freezing weather of Mother Russia.

Once again, he wondered why his pathetic mother decided on this place. He'd never acclimatized to the brightness. He longed for the snowy ridges of the Ural Mountains and the biting cold of the long winters. He longed for home.

Tiny fingers skimmed his arm and he twirled around, a savage expression gripping his features. She did not cringe away. She stood her ground, shoulders quivering and lips pursed in determination. He held the stare of her big round eyes and found his body relaxing. Though, he didn't want it to happen, the icy shield protecting the secrets hidden in his eyes shattered and crumbled at her feet.

She giggled and reached for his hand. Awestruck, he let her curl her soft fingers around it. They were welcomingly warm. She brought his hand to her face and studied it, a perplexed look on her face. He wanted to kick himself for thinking it was adorable.

"Wolfling…" she smiled. "Powerful…"

He didn't know what to say.

She sniffed his hand and made a face. "You smell like wolf, too."

Hearched an eyebrow and tore his hand away. "Run along, you annoying brat."

Her lower lip puckered. "I don't want to be alone… mommy left me…"

He then remembered that he hadn't seen anyone else with her at the restaurant. He'd naturally assumed that the couple she sat by were her parents. He cursed his own ignorance.

"Leave me alone, little lamb." His voice was steel.

Her lip quavered, tears rimming her eyes. "Don't leave me alone… please wolfling."

She must have been no more than five or six. If she knew him to be a predator, why did she insist on annoying him? Why was he still standing here? And why in the hell did he find her to be so endearing?





A/N: I don't know how this came to me exactly. This is a small three part story. I hope you enjoyed the first installment. This first part reminded me of the Pan's Labyrinth Lullaby. If I'm incorrect on any of the French, let me know! Thanks for reading!

French: Jeudi - Thursday / Mon loup - wolf (endearment) ((it's pronounced mon lu))

Dislaimer: yada, yada, yada