"Lila," A gentle, hesitant voice said. It was female, and very young sounding. She sounded....Innocent. And scared. Absolutely terrified. I could hear her voice shaking. With a start, I realized the fear was for me. "Lila, my dear. I'm so sorry." The voice said fervently, and then, with a start, I woke up.

The sun pierced my eyelids. That would've been a shock enough, because it meant that I had overslept, but combined with the weird voice in my dreams, I had to lay in bed for a few minutes composing myself. That was a few minutes to many. With a ear-shattering sound, a voice bellowed up the stairs.

"GIRL!" It said, none too kindly. I sighed deeply, rolling to my feet. I was all-too-used to being addressed like this. After all, Dane, my "father" in every legal sense of the world, hated my guts. I didn't know why it was me he choose to adopt that day. My mind took me back to the moment when I first met him.

It was a cold, rainy day in my home of Vermont. At the orphanage, which had been my home since my real father disappeared, it was adoption day. I hardly bothered to care about this anymore. My age made people immediately recoil from adopting me. I was only eight, but that made me a real veteran when people wanted bouncing babies and too-cute toddlers. I didn't get a second look. But when a man came in through the doors, I knew he was different.

First was his appearance. People came to adopt in their best clothes, to make a good impression. This man was wearing a rumpled, slept-on T-shirt and faded, ripped jeans. Not the greatest looking guy, either, with his beady, hungry looking eyes, and unshaved stubble. He headed right to me, and stood there, sizing me up. I did the same, giving him my best 'don't mess with me' glare. He was unfazed and turned to the nearest handler.

"How much?" He grunted, motioning in my general directing. The handler, shocked that someone was interested in adopting me, rattled off a few numbers. Seeming satisfied, the man pulled out his wallet. A few days later, I was heading off to a new "home".

On the way there, a gloomy silence filled his crappy beat-up car. "I'm Dane Resdin," he said, breaking into me staring out the window. "Your Lila." I nodded at the not-question. "Last name?" My head lowered in shame, and he guffawed loudly. "Hah!" he shouted, then continued. "Got no parents, that's you. They didn't want you, for good reason." My tears welled up at this. I had always been sensitive, crying at the drop of a hate. So I turned my face away from him, hiding that fact that I was crying, but I guess I let out a sob.

Immediately his head snapped up. He grabbed my chin and jerked my face up. So fast I hardly registered it, he smacked me across my face. I recoiled, leaning against the door, and a hiss broke through my clenched teeth. One of his hand's was gripped in my hair still, too tight, while the other was calmly steering the wheel.

"Now you listen here. Crying's for sissys. You cry in front of me, and ill give you something to really cry about." And then he released me.'

That was the start of me and Dane's relationship. I soon figuered out why he adopted me. He needed a cook, a cleaner, and, when drunk, a punching bag.

"Dammit! You better get your ass down here girl, or I swear!" interrupted my thoughts. Dane's threats needed to be taken very seriously. So I was dressed, down the stairs, and frying bacon in under a minute. I was rushing because of my tardiness, and thus spilled hot grease on my hand. Tenderly holding my hand, and holding back the tears that sprang up in my eyes, I set out Dane's meal.

"Breakfast." I called softly, then scurried out of the kitchen. Just in time, I grabbed my backpack and was out the door as the school bus pulled up.

Automatically, I shifted so my hood fell over my face. Barely a person glanced up as I slouched my way to my usual back of the bus seat. I blocked out the happy chattering numbly, analyzing my burned hand. People at my school just didn't seem to like me. Maybe it was the way I dressed, in my cheap K-mart clothes, always in layers. For some reason, I was continuously freezing during the winter months. I could feel a few of the popular girls staring at me. The lip gloss wearing, designer clothed girls. Their whispers didn't reach me, but I self-conciously looked at my outfit.

Worn, holey jeans under a black skirt, and a white, long-sleeved shirt over a light blue hoodie, with the hood pulled over my face. My scuffed, hand-me-down pink converse high tops were looking no shabbier than yesterday. I basically looked like I did everyday. I even glanced at the window to check that my reflection was the same. My hair was long, thick, and black as night. My eyes were brown as chocolate, and framed by long lashes. My cheekbones rose high in my face, and my mouth was small, with full lips. I hated my face. It was vulnerable looking, prompting people to either protect me, or hate me. Usually it was the latter.

I looked at the girls again, only to realize it wasn't me that had been staring at. It was the boy in the seat across the aisle from me. He can only be classifed as a grade-A hottie. Broad, strong shoulders, and a toned, muscular body. A face the made me want to cry, with bright, blue eyes. His brown hair had the tiniest curl to it. He had the physique of a model, and I could feel the cockiness exuding from him.

Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed something. If I looked hard enough at his jacket, it morphed into armor. The kind of armor you saw in archeaology movies. But it was fresh, new looking. And clenched tightly in his right hand was a dagger.

A/N: Tada! Like it, hate it? Tell me!