Veera didn't turn into a little girl when it came to guys. She didn't believe in that. She especially didn't believe in that when a happy ending was impossible. And yet when she walked to the library she had a skip in her step. She fiddled with the zipper on her sweatshirt, not nervously, but out of excitement.
When she walked through the doors she let her hand dart from the zipper and to her side. She spotted Silas and smiled. She had known him since she was little and had been fascinated by him. She expressed that by pestering him, relentlessly and somehow that seemed to gain his attention favorably. And she didn't mind one bit. She regained some composure and lost the skip and returned to her normal saunter.
"Hey!" She greeted him, leaning over the table he sat at. "You're a sight for sore eyes." And he was. She could remember being a teenager and gawking at him. She had grown to resist from gawking, but only just.
She stood back up straight and unzipped her sweatshirt."Is it hot in here?" She had to try her hardest to keep her lips from breaking into a smile. She shouldered off her sweatshirt me dropped it on the table. Underneath was a shirt she had searched for, after Silas told her about being in a band, with his face plastered across the front. She watched him. Her mouth finally broke into a grin.
Maveera believed in fun. She had had too much shit to happen not to. It was the reason she was able to look at Silas without concern. At least not overwhelming concern. They were impossible. It couldn't work out. And even if that weren't the case she felt like she could see something going on behind his eyes all of the time. It was part of his appeal, a bit of mystery. She didn't know what that mystery was, but it was definitely real. But she wanted not to care. She didn't want to dwell on something that she couldn't change.
Silas was recuperating at a very slow pace but recuperating all the same. He was trying to get over things. All the issues that had started as a result of turning Hannah were being confronted. And he only had Kassia Black to blame. She'd made him confront his demons by confronting him. So in a sense he didn't see what he had done to her as too much of a curse.
Instead, it felt as if it were a bit of a blessing in disguise. She was headstrong and stubborn with a wicked streak a mile long and an amazing temper. She was the daughter he'd never gotten to have. And as such, she did not take no for an answer. Nor did she let him walk all over her or allow him to pretend that nothing bad had ever happened.
She was nothing like Hannah.
And he'd found that had been what he'd needed all along, some responsibility. He had needed someone to not only blame him, but to teach as well. Kassia was the perfect student. He found that she attacked nearly everything she approached with a rapid hunger, one that would make any father proud.
Teaching her the best ways to handle her curse and in turn, herself had taught him that not all vampires were bad. Because he himself was not. He'd started to forget that in all honesty. And it had taken a child (in comparison to his own age) to convince him of this fact.
Now none of this had been enough for him to quit his drinking completely but it had gotten him to slow it down a bit and to actually go to do his job in the library completely sober. Which was one place he hadn't been without a hangover in quite a few days.
Luckily for him, he seemed to have picked the right day to do it considering that a certain overly hyper werewolf had decided to come skipping into the library. "Hey," he nonchalantly returned her greeting,eyes never leaving his book. "How's the werewolf wonder been? Talk around the Staff Room is that you had detention with someone who happened to dislike animals, that true?"
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't amused by hearing that story. Everyone had been amused by that story, well everyone except Hawthorne, but he was going through some weird emotional issues right now, so Silas didn't think he counted. But a certain movement out the corner of his eye caused him to glance up for a second, right into his own face. Or rather a giant print of his face.
"Merlin," he groaned. "How in hell did you get your hands on that?" It had been years and he meant years since he'd been even remotely famous in the muggle world. He'd honestly thought all the shirts and other memorabilia had turned into dust by now.
"Don't tell me, I underestimated my fame?"