Campaign Character Backstory
Character: Sienna
Word Count: 5500
Heartbreaker.
That’s what she’d been called more than once over the years. Most of the compliments came from the audience at Midnight Delight after finishing one of her dances. Alistair himself would watch her dance on the rare occasion he was in the venue during her shifts. Not like she danced often; it brought in the big bucks, but dancing in a strip club – no matter how posh – was a little more degrading than the burlesque stage she dreamed of.
Heartbreaker.
What she saw in the mirror every morning after hair and makeup and a carefully curated outfit. A reputation. An identity, maybe. A mask she wore to smile and survive and save up until the Big Break finally happened.
But it was always her doing the heartbreaking. Always the cause, never the receiver. She knew one day the tables would turn. But not like this.
There was a particular cruel irony in the way the club’s lights still flashed, the dance music thumping so loud the floor under her back vibrated with the bass, carrying on like her life hadn’t come to an abrupt and violent end. The pain probably should’ve been worse, all things considered, but the wounds were consolidating into a singular burn across her torso. Acrid gunpowder filled the air, stinging her nose and throat with each gasp as she struggled to pull in air. Distantly, through the ringing in her ears, she heard voices shouting. More pops of guns. Cries of pain. A shape ragdolled across the room and crashed into one of the tables with a wooden shattering noise. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision. Isn’t the pain supposed to fade? When do I go cold? Sienna blinked, feeling a tear leak from the corner of her eye and ruin her perfect makeup. Please make it stop.
A flash of movement and white hair. Cool hands slipping under her waist and shoulder, lifting her and settling her into his lap.
Alistair.
His perfect brow creased with… it wasn’t quite concern. Or fear. Or worry. The corners of his eyes were tight with what could’ve been frustration – or anger.
“Sienna,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to be here.”
She tried to apologize but all that came out was a choked burble of blood. The bullets might have missed her heart, but she knew it was broken.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
**
Most people would be upset with the constant smell of cooking wafting into their apartments. Probably lodge a complaint with the landlord or go angrily banging on the door of the offending occupants to make their opinions known. To Sienna, the smell meant home. At least once a week, either Mr. or Mrs. Sherman would come knocking on her door with a foil-wrapped casserole dish asking if she’d eaten anything, she really should put some meat on her bones, has her work been keeping her at odd hours again?
“I promise I’m doing fine, Mrs. Sherman,” Sienna said, though she took the dish with a smile. It was still warm from the oven, and smelled like chicken pot pie. Her stomach rumbled; she hadn’t actually eaten yet and accepted the offering readily. “You really don’t have to.”
“Nonsense, dearie. I just made too much for dinner.” Mrs. Sherman gave her that warm grandmotherly smile that always felt like a hug. They both knew she was lying; the dish was full and warm and clearly meant to be a whole meal, not leftovers or extras. “With how hard you work you need something to tide you over.”
“I still haven’t returned your plate from last week –”
“Oh, don’t fret about it. Just give it back with this one whenever you can.” Mrs. Sherman pushed the dish into her hands to make sure she had a firm grip, then reached up and patted her cheek. “It’s really no trouble at all. You take care, okay?” She started to turn and hobble back down the hall towards the elevator but paused. “I heard the Marinos are planning a get-together in the community hall sometime later this month. Have they mentioned it to you?”
“Yes, Paulie came by yesterday to let me know! I don’t know my shifts yet, but I’ll do my best to make it! He said everyone’s invited but I don’t know if that means everyone or everyone, you know?”
“I’m sure he meant everyone,” Mrs. Sherman laughed. They both knew that didn’t answer the question. “It’ll probably be a potluck like last time.”
“I… uh…”
“Don’t worry your pretty head, dearie. I’ll make enough of whatever I decide to cover your contribution, too.”
“That’s… thank you so much, Mrs. Sherman” Sienna felt her shoulders drop with relief. There was no way she would’ve had time to cook enough food to satisfy a potluck for the Marino family itself, let alone the apartment complex. “I’ll pay you back someday.”
“Your enduring company is payment enough. Enjoy the pot pie!” Mrs. Sherman waved her fingers in a toodle-oo farewell and continued down the hall.
Sienna retreated into her apartment, letting the door swing shut behind her. The pot pie did indeed smell delicious, and she cut herself a small piece for an early dinner. It was too hot to eat right away, so while she waited for it to cool she headed back to her computer to check for new messages.
I cannot believe it! Pam has agreed to accompany me on another outing to the Faire tomorrow! I have been trying to decide what attire to wear all day long. Wouldst thou have any recommendations, my dear friend?
Sienna chewed her lip as she read Marcus’s message. As happy as she was that her friend was happy, something about this woman, Pam, always nagged at her. Admittedly, she knew next to nothing aside from what Marcus said – which more often than not was glowing praise and an endearing infatuation not unlike the boys who’d pursued her back in high school – but Pam almost seemed too perfect from the physical descriptions to the way she seemed to indulge Marcus while keeping him at an arm’s length. There was no way Pam didn’t know how he felt; the poor guy wore his heart on his sleeve. The last thing Sienna wanted was her friend being taken for a fool, or worse, be used because of his name or his money.
something simple, i’d suggest. you can’t have fun if you’re uncomfortable and some of those outfits seem more for fashion than practicality. are you doing the swordfighting thing again?
Yes! Pam has declined to participate alongside me this time, but my heart soars to know she cheers me from the sidelines. I believe I have a simple tunic that will suffice. But that feels so underwhelming! Should I not wear something more becoming?
if you’ll be in the tournament, you’ll be sweaty and dirty and gross. unless you want to bring a change of clothes, simple is probably better. she probably won’t mind
The typing dots popped up, vanished, popped up again. Thou is correct. I am anxious. I do not want to give myself hope, but I believe she may feel something for me as well. But I do not know how to ask! My friend Sienna, I trust your judgment. Please, tell me your thoughts?
She drummed her fingers on the keyboard, trying to decide what to say. Tell him to be careful with his feelings? Give him a reassuring compliment? Warn him that he might be seeing through rose-tinted glasses? She wrote a response, started at it for a minute, deleted it, typed again, stared at it for another minute before hitting Send. marcus, i just want you to be happy. take it slow and try to let her move at her own pace. be honest, and trust she’ll be honest with you, too. and send me pics of the fair when you’re back! it’s always fun to see what you get up to :)
I shall. My thanks, Sienna.
Marcus went offline. She sighed and shook her head. Then she dug into the pie. It was really, really good. Then she got ready for her shift.
**
marcus? marcus, are you there?
Sienna sat staring at her screen. Almost four days since his last message about the Renn Faire. It wasn’t like him at all to not reply after such an event. He always blew up her DMs with pictures and excited recaps of what he – and often Pam – had gotten up to. But this time… nothing. She sent another message. Waited a few minutes. Sent another. Got up and took a shower. Sent another.
marcus im getting worried. please just send a thumbs up
are you okay?
please tell me you’re okay
i’ll always be here if you need someone
The cursor blinked. No dots, no response. His handle didn’t change from offline. She wished she’d saved his phone number; that would’ve been more direct to just call him rather than waiting for an online message. To try and keep her mind occupied and not spiral over the what-ifs, she busied herself with some spring cleaning. The laundry pile had to be addressed. Mrs. Sherman would want her dishes back soon. She carefully excavated the half of the pot pie she hadn’t eaten yet and transferred it into a tupperware before setting the dish to soak.
The buzzing of her phone made her practically leap over the couch to snatch it up, hoping to see a response from Marcus on the app.
Instead, it was Lola, her co-worker.
Heeeyyyy S, sorry to do this but do you think you could help a gal out tonight?
What do you need?
Maddie called out sick tonight and I need someone to cover her shift for a couple hours until Ginger gets here.
I scheduled off tonight last week.
Yeah I know. Wouldn’t be texting if it wasn’t an emergency. Please? I’ll cover a shift for you whenever you need it to pay you back. Promise!!!
Sienna considered. It was so tempting to just say no, she had plans, she didn’t want to sacrifice her day off; it was entirely possible Maddie was just blowing off another shift because she felt like it, but Sienna didn’t want to cause problems if she actually was sick. Besides, laundry pile could wait a little longer. And the casserole dish needed more time to soak.
I can swing a couple hours tonight, but not the whole shift.
THANKS!!! Ur a lifesaver. Really.
She put her phone down, sighed heavily, and started pawing through her closet to find something to wear. Then she sat down to put her mask on. “Just a couple hours,” she said to her reflection. “It’ll be fine.”
**
Silence.
Darkness.
Pain.
Consciousness returned slowly, in a dark red haze.
The pain was different. Deeper. Concentrated in her gut. Like razor blades across her nerves. A fire in her throat.
She shifted, blinked, tried to see through the haze but her eyes struggled to focus. First it was too dark, then it was too bright. Her dress felt strange against her skin, pulling and sticking in some places.
A sound reached her ears suddenly, like they’d just popped from a pressure change. Fast, steady, thrumming in the air. Almost like the bass of a song she’d danced to so many times. It filled her with energy, pulled her towards it. The haze was lifting enough for her to see she was still in the Midnight Delight. She’d recognize that stage anywhere. But the club was dark and empty. No patrons, no flashing lights, no constant cheers and jeers from drunk men catcalling and begging the dancers to strip faster.
Yet there was that beat. She rolled onto her stomach, legs feeling gummy, pulling herself along the floor towards that noise.
Something crunched under her hands. Glass. Shattered glass. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks. A somewhat acrid smell reached her nose – several kinds of alcohol mixing with sweat and cigarette smoke.
But there was another smell. Rich and warm and metallic and delicious. Her stomach twisted, the fire in her throat begging for something to quench the burn, and she lifted her head to follow wherever this smell was coming from.
There. The source.
On the stage, arms twisted behind him, a man. Drenched in sweat, shaking, thrashing against whatever was binding his wrists to the pole on the stage where she’d been dancing however many minutes or hours ago.
“Please! Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” The man screamed into the empty club, his voice echoing and grating against her ears. She flinched, lip curling from the discomfort, feeling her gums ache. The man was practically sobbing. “Don’t do this, I beg you! It wasn’t my fault!”
Sienna gripped the edge of the stage, pulling herself up to see over it. She had to see where that bass was coming from, where that smell was coming from. Their eyes locked. The man sucked in a breath, the tempo of his heart kicking up even higher. His legs kicked like he was trying to scramble backwards, but he couldn’t go anywhere because fuzzy handcuffs kept him bound to the pole.
“No, no, god please don’t!” His eyes were wide and wild, unable to look away.
She levered herself up onto the stage, enraptured by the beat of his heart. It made her sway as she crawled, matching her movements to the rhythm, unable to tear her eyes away from the spot on his neck where his pulse was practically jumping out of his skin. Her hand brushed against his ankle. He jerked away, raised the leg, tried to kick at her. Her other hand caught it and held it in an iron grip, easing it back down. His chest was heaving, his scent changing as panic fought with something else. It didn’t deter her. If anything, it pulled her even closer. She stretched one leg to hook around his, scooted forward, made sure she was straddling him so he couldn’t kick or wriggle, hands running up his chest and plucking at his shirt.
“Oh god, please – please… I don’t… I want…” A flush crept up his neck, his cheeks, turning his face red with blood; that delicious, glorious, intoxicating scent drawing her in. His eyes were turning glassy and unfocused as her fingers reached his collar, pulling it away from his skin. His head lolled as her lips found the sweet spot she’d kissed so many times on so many clients, the spot that told her she’d teased and broken another heart.
When her fangs sunk in, he moaned. He tasted so good. His words turned into slurred pleas, though she didn’t hear them anymore. Just the bass of his heart as it slowed. She drank and the fire in her throat began to die. The razor blades in her nerves eased up. Satisfaction unlike anything else filled her.
The haze was creeping in again, pulling her under. But she didn’t fight it. There was no pain, no fear. She collapsed with a smile on her face and blood in her mouth.
**
The first thing she saw when her eyes opened again was Alistair sitting in an armchair, legs crossed and book in his lap, next to the bed. An unfamiliar but incredibly comfortable bed. She could feel silk sheets beneath her.
“And how was your beauty sleep, my dear?” Alistair’s voice was like a balm, washing over her as she tried to pull her thoughts together. The haze was still there, slowly lifting like a stubborn fog on a morning breeze.
“What happened?” At least, that’s what she wanted to ask. But when she tried to speak the words, all that came out was a soft wheeze. She blinked, tried again, lips forming the words but no sound coming out. Her hands gripped the sheets as panic started to set in. Why can’t I talk? What happened? Where am I?
“Easy, love,” Alistair said, setting the book on the bedside table and leaning forward. “It always takes some time to adjust. You just need to remember how to breathe. Try it. Slowly. In, and out.”
Remember to…? Sienna pushed herself up, scooting back and finally taking stock of her surroundings. A lavish, softly-lit room with heavy blackouts covering the windows. She was in a four-poster bed and a large desk with a vanity mirror sat against the opposite wall. Wherever she was, it was definitely not her apartment. Much more expensive. Probably Alistair’s place… though why was she there? Breathe. Just breathe. You know how. Finally, she sucked in air, though it strangely brought no comfort or relief like she’d been holding her breath. But when she tried speaking again, this time the words were audible. “What… happened? Where… am I?”
“An unfortunate case of wrong place, wrong time. I really wish it hadn’t happened this way, but perhaps there was also the silver lining of me being in the right place at the right time. If I hadn’t been there, you would have died. Well,” Alistair paused, a smile that was almost a smirk pulling at his lips, “I suppose you technically did die. But I was able to keep it from sticking, so to speak.”
“I… died?” She looked down at herself. Something nagged at the back of her mind. Pops of noise and light and the smell of gunpowder. Multiple spots of pain combining into a single point. Wanting the pain to end. “That’s not possible. I’m not dead.”
“Oh, but you are, my dear.” Alistair stood up and crossed the space to sit on the edge of the bed, one of his hands coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was cool, but the sensation of his fingers across her face sent sparks across her skin. She found herself leaning into it before realizing what was happening. “There’s so much to explain. But I’m afraid to tell you that you are indeed dead. And I gave you a gift. I Embraced you to spare you oblivion. It wasn’t your time yet. You’re safe now. No human can hurt you again.”
“What – what does that mean? What are you saying?”
“Can you not feel it? The strength? The clarity?” Alistair ran his fingers through her hair. “You are Kindred now, my dear. Vampire. I saved you. You made your killer putty in your hands. Don’t you remember? A pathetic man who thought a silly gun gave him all the power, and he couldn’t do anything to stop you. His strength is now yours, and he is only the first.”
Vampire? Dead? What…? A hazy memory drifted through her mind. A man cuffed to a stage. Begging. Pleading. Going soft and hard at the same time under her hands. The sweet, intoxicating taste when she’d kissed his neck – no. Not a kiss.
It sent a shiver down her spine. She tensed up, Alistair’s hand pausing on her back. Something in her gums tingled. An ache, then a pressure. Sharp points pressing against the inside of her bottom lip.
The tightness growing in her chest had nothing to do with the lack of relief breathing brought. His words made no sense. But she could feel something wrong. A stillness beneath her ribs, a silence where there had once been a constant but unconscious noise. No more heartbeat. No more life. Her vision swam as cold tears welled in her eyes.
“There, there. Let it out. You’ll feel better soon.” Alistair didn’t flinch away when she collapsed into his arms. Her sobs were messy, and not just because his clothes stained red where her tears fell.
**
Her morning routine was the same, yet so very, very different. For one, it was now her evening routine. Waking up with a sudden jolt, her shirt and sheets covered in blood, the fleeting memory of pain in her body as she could’ve sworn she smelled gunpowder for just a moment. Throwing her clothes and sheets in a basket to leave outside the door for a human – a ghoul, Alistair had explained – to collect and wash before sitting down at the vanity had finally started becoming a habit after almost two weeks. She stared at herself in the mirror. Pale skin, pale lips, and her eyes. God, her eyes. It was like staring at a stranger, that bubblegum pink so vibrant it almost glowed, they weren’t hers and yet they were. She started with the foundation, carefully massaging it into her cheeks until they looked just a few shades from healthy. Then the blush, highlights, lip gloss, eyeliner. One careful step at a time, putting on her new mask to hide the fact that she was dead.
Her vision blurred slightly, and in the mirror she saw the corners of her eyes grow red as more tears threatened to fall. Quickly, she snatched a tissue from the box on the desk and dabbed at the blood before it could ruin the makeup; there was only so much eyeliner and shadow she could use and it still didn’t hide all the red rimming her eyes.
There was a knock at the door just as she finished her hair. Alistair didn’t wait for a response before stepping in, pushing the door almost all the way closed and smiling at her. “You look gorgeous, my dear.”
“I… thank you.” Sienna stared down at her hands, noticing a small chip in the nail polish on her left pinkie. A tiny imperfection, but it made her lip twitch. She pushed the annoyance down, trying to bury it along with the ache in her stomach. She was hungry again. Alistair had brought her a man a week ago, and had talked her through the process. Just a small bite, take it slow, do it right and it won’t even hurt. But she’d been too shaken, too terrified, and he’s basically held the man down and used a too-sharp nail to cut the man’s wrist. That tiny cut had smelled so good, so sweet and warm, that she’d finally caved and pressed her lips against the wound and drank until Alistair gently but firmly pushed her away before the man went completely limp. It had taken almost the entire rest of the night for her to calm down enough to get ready for bed. Now the hunger had returned, a slow but inevitable emptiness eating away at the temporary life she’d taken until it was all but gone now. “Are you sure I can’t have a phone? A few texts shouldn’t be too much trouble. Please, at least let me leave a message for my neighbors. They must be so worried –”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about that, dear. I told you, arrangements have all been made. I’ve had my ghouls leave all the appropriate messages and letters for your former acquaintances. The lovely Shermans believe you’ve been asked to house-sit for a coworker while she’s visiting sick family. Your landlord has received an automatic payment for this month’s rent. Your sudden silence is but a blip in their lives, and sooner than you think, it won’t mean anything at all.”
“But my friends –”
“Will be fine.”
But… Marcus… what if he saw my messages? What if he replied? What if he thinks I’m ghosting him this time? She chewed her lip, staring fixedly at her reflection, resisting the temptation to shift her gaze just a few inches to the side to Alistair’s reflection. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, checked his watch. I can’t just leave him hanging. I have to know if he’s okay. But her Sire was stubborn. Far more stubborn than her. And he knew better. He kept telling her that. Just give it a little more time, he kept saying.
“I’ve brought you something to eat,” he said. On cue, the door swung open and a ghoul pushed another man inside. He was young, probably around Sienna’s age, and smelled faintly of alcohol and sweat. Another meal plucked from one of Alistair’s clubs, under some supernatural sway to keep him in a pleasant daze. Her mouth watered, the familiar tingling returning to her gums. She swallowed hard. Alistair sensed her reluctance and sighed heavily. “You’re breaking my heart, Sienna. Really, it isn’t so bad once you get over this little blip of remorse. How many times must I reassure you, if you do it right it’ll be just as good for him as it is for you? Just a few sips, that’s all it takes and the pain is gone. Please? For me?”
As he spoke, her nails dug into the desk hard enough to scratch the wood finish. It was so wrong, how right he sounded.
“All he’ll remember is being treated to a private dance. No mess, no memory, just pleasure. You can do that, can’t you? I know you can.” Alistair stepped forward until he was right behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, leaning over until his face was almost level with hers. They stared at each other’s reflections. When he spoke, his voice was a soft, reassuring murmur that melted the tension from her body. “Don’t you want to feel alive again? Isn’t that what you want?”
All she could do was nod because if she spoke, she’d see the fangs in her mouth.
“Of course it is. You want it. You want him.” Alistair kissed her cheek. His voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear it, even with her new senses. “Go to him, love.”
The man’s heart pulsed in her ears, overtaking Alistair’s voice. Her Sire pulled back, easing himself down into the same armchair he’d been waiting in when she’d first woken in the room. A tiny smug grin painted his face as his eyes tracked her movements.
She stood, a slow, fluid motion, fingers tracing along the edge of the desk as she turned to face her meal. His pulse was fast enough to dance to and she found her hips swaying to the beat. The hunger plucked at her nerves, reeling her in towards her prey. With each step, the trepidation and anxiety melted away. All that mattered was what flowed beneath the man’s skin. Warmth. Life. Relief.
When her hands ran up his chest, toying with his collar, his eyes fluttered with bliss. His hands slipped around her waist like he wanted to slow-dance with her, but there was barely any strength there. She kept swaying, spinning him around until his back was to her bed. He sank into it with the gentlest push, and then she was on top, straddling him, pushing him further until he was lying down and her lips kissed and teased along his collarbone, up his neck, just below his jawline, until she felt it. The carotid, carrying what she needed.
Her fangs sank in and he sucked in a breath, a thin moan slipping out with his next exhale. She drank, the blood more delicious than she remembered, more delicious than anything she’d ever tasted, banishing the memories of Mrs. Sherman’s home cooking to the edges of her consciousness.
Then, too soon, Alistair’s hands on her shoulders again, tugging her back. She gripped the man tighter, not wanting to stop because it was too good and the pain wasn’t entirely gone and certainly she could take just a little more before it was too much –
“That’s enough for now, Sienna. Let him go.” Alistair held on tighter and this time she didn’t fight it. He pulled her back and held her until she could feel her legs again. Once she could stand on her own, he released his grip and ran his thumb over her chin. A few dribbles of blood painted his finger, and he licked it off. “Good. That wasn’t bad at all, see?”
He snapped his fingers, and two ghouls stepped in. She moved out of the way as the man was scooped up, eyes half-shut and feet tangling over themselves, and escorted out. The door swung shut, and then it was just her and her Sire. The taste lingered on her lips, and the shaking was starting again. But before she could say anything or break down again, Alistair spoke. “I have some wonderful news, by the way. In just a few days, there’s going to be a party. A… gala, of sorts. An opportunity for me to introduce you to your new world. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. “You mean that I can finally see other people? I don’t have to stay in this room?”
“Yes. A chance to socialize, to get to know who’s who, see what awaits you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even have the chance to make a few new friends! That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“But I have you. Can’t you tell me what I need to know?”
“I’ve told you enough. Some things you simply must see and experience for yourself. And some things you learn best through… trial and error. I can only hold your hand for so long. Every bird must fly the coop eventually, and you’re almost ready to stretch your wings. I’ll have Justine procure some appropriate outfits to choose from.” He chuckled, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and turned to leave. “You’ll be fine, my dear. And I’m certain you’ll turn a few heads. Maybe even break a few dead hearts. God knows some of those stuffy Ventrue could use it.”
Before she could protest or ask more questions, he was gone once more. She was left to sink onto the sheets, trembling slightly, staring at the door. Soon, she could leave. Maybe return to her apartment. Apologize to the Shermans, the Marinos, explain her absence as best she could. Pretend her life hadn’t ended. Everything was fine. It would be fine.
**
Everything was not fine. The moment she saw him, the tiny spark of hope that had kept the smile on her face flickered out. There, across the room, was a familiar face. One she hadn’t seen in weeks. One she’d never thought she’d see again, let alone here, surrounded by cold and performative vampires pretending to enjoy each others’ company. Ignoring her Sire and the curious glances as she wove through the crowd, she didn’t stop moving until her approach caught Marcus’s eye.
His face brightened in an instant, and he also darted towards her. Their embrace made all the murmurs and soft music fade away. She held on tight, feeling cold prickles at the corners of her eyes and squeezed them shut because the last thing she needed was to ruin her makeup and cry bloody tears in front of the vampires she was supposed to make a good impression on. But the longer she held onto her friend, the more she realized something was missing. Because while they were both there, neither of them was alive. She could feel it in the chill of his skin beneath his clothes. The stillness of his chest, taking just a second too long between breaths. The soft scent of dead blood clinging to him.
At least there was one friend, now. One person she didn’t have to hide from or lie to. They could figure it out together.
But as the gala continued, more faces blurring around her and Marcus, she caught sight of something else that made her freeze. Marcus turned, curious, trying to make sense of why she’d gone stiff again.
Her eyes were locked onto a shock of white hair. Though he was still slightly hunched over, clinging to the edges of the ballroom and glaring with eyes that shouldn’t be red just like hers shouldn’t be pink, she recognized Samson in an instant.
No. No, no no nonono. This can’t be. This can’t be happening. If they were both here, if they were both dead, that meant… oh, god. Eve… Eve, I’m so sorry.
As if he sensed her gaze, Samson’s eyes flicked over and met hers. His eyes widened, shock and disbelief replacing the petulant sneer. His mouth formed an oh shit, and then he backed away, slipping through the crowd. Marcus nudged her gently, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Marcus was one thing, but Samson? This couldn’t be happening. Had Alistair known? Is this what he meant when he said make new friends?
“Sienna?” Marcus asked again, concern evident in his face.
“I… I’ll be back.” She stepped into the crowd, eyes fixed on where Samson had disappeared, searching for where he’d tried to hide. She couldn’t do this alone, but now she knew she at least had Marcus. But Samson didn’t have a Marcus. As far as she knew, he might not have anyone. Except her. He needed her. Seeing him here, after Marcus, made her heart ache even though it no longer worked.
If any of them were going to get through this, they needed each other. No more heartbreak. If their lives were shattered – broken – then she would put the pieces back together.
Somehow.