I am taking the advice of a loyal reader and going back and placing the POVs in the earlier chappies. I also am combining some of the shorter ones so that our chapter list isn't so dang high. Enjoy rereading some of the old stuff if you feel like brushing up on the earlier mythology revolving around our precious HON kids.

The smell of paint swam through the air and wrapped its tender fingers about my body and pulled me into the studio, my studio. It was obvious that this room belonged to me and all time that was spent in this area should always be run by me. I glanced around the corner and saw bright lights emitting from the room. Whoever was using the space was using it with audacious pugnacity. Ballsy dipshits! This is my room. Sure, my mom was the headmistress here and arguably the most talented vamp in the world. No, I did not let it go to my head, but I did willingly take the perks.

Perk one; her talents have been passed to me in the form of art. Perk two; being a supremely talented priestess's son with a noted artistic affinity, I am gifted with my own studio. Studio space may not necessarily be hard to come by, but it's much easier to focus in my own space. It's also much easier to spend time with my figure models without other students breathing heavily in my space… Hmmm, figure models.

I looked around the corner and I could see bright lights flooding from the room. Whoever was using my studio didn't care if anyone noticed his or her presence. "Private Studio" is clearly marked on the door! Who the hell would have the balls to use my studio? The entire House of Night knows who I am and what I do!

Enough! Ballsy dipshit! I walked around the corner and threw open the door, loudly so the person would know someone had entered. I was absolutely giddy to see the guy drop his paintbrushes and run away when he was caught.

Ballsy dipshit… With a superb ass that I had never had the opportunity to tap. I would know, I never forget. Ah hell.

I feel the need to back up and explain myself. My last statements could be used as judgments against me, for which I would like to defend myself. I understand that you may not have heard of me, so let me introduce myself so that you have an idea as to who I am, what makes me say such chauvinistic statements, and act in such an abrasive way.

I am Alden Marc Redbird. It's a pleasure to meet you. Being a fifth former at the House of Night, I already have a reputation. Now, if you have not heard of my reputation I am sure, judging from your looks you have an idea as to what it is. I have been called everything from womanizer, to Casanova (thank you?), to philanderer, to Lothario, to the climax of what every male wishes to be. Some of this is entirely earned, and I take full credit. While other parts are purely the offspring of gossip. I have heard stories based on my exploits that are ridiculous. But hey, if girls are lying about sleeping with me, I can't be all bad, can I?

I would like to say I'm not your typical notarized rounder, but I'm sure you'll soon figure out that we're basically all the same. We find seduction attractive and we grow bored quickly. What would you expect with products of the disposable age?

I should step off of my soapbox before I slit my own throat trying to defend my actions. Here are the facts: girls are easy and they react well to my… abilities. Human, fledgling, or vamp, it really makes little to no difference, they love me and I love them. There was not a girl in my high school I did not make a play for that I did not get. I have made my rounds at the House of Night and now I am in my fourth quarter stage, hoping for some trade-ins.

Back to the ass. "Excuse me?" I asked as sweetly as possible.

The girl turned, her wavy black hair swinging around her shoulders. She looked at me confused and then placing the paintbrush in her mouth (very, very sexy) she pulled out her iPod ear bud.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." She said, removing the paintbrush from her mouth (hot) while accidentally wiping paint on her cheek.

She was the type of girl you picture with combat boots and ripped jeans on the front of some calendar, bending over a '62 Dodge Challenger...

She had a distinct hot mess quality that this school had been missing for a long—no, the entire time I had been the local skirt chaser. She was of regular height, neither short nor tall, but curvy with a small waist and long legs. She had on a long ragged flannel shirt that curved over her small chest with the sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, paint was everywhere. Her shorts were ripped and also covered in paint, but beneath the grungy nineties rocker outfit was an indie beauty seducing me. The girl stared at me and all I could think of was ripping off her Tom's shoes and laying her down on the floor right now. I could forgive the studio interference—this once.

"I'm sorry," She said again, more forcefully this time. "Did you say something?"

I broke from my dirty thoughts and smiled as brilliantly as possible. Laughing slightly, I walked over and brushed the blue paint from her cheek and murmured, "Welcome to my studio."

Finley

Who the hell did this guy think he was? I can't find a decent space to paint for hours and when I finally begin to make progress he comes in all Upper-East-Side-pretentious and yells at me. Right in the middle of a spectacular Iron and Wine rift, I might add. I was just about to get the shadow blended perfectly when he interrupts me! Then, just to make me as frigging angry as a Cobain in-between-meth days, he just stares at me like I'm some homeless man in a painting studio and my clothes are covered in crap.

It's paint you moron!

"I'm sorry," I pause and decide I should put more venom into my words. "Did you say something?"

That got him, he snapped out of whatever self-worshipping thoughts he had going on and walked over to me. He smiled, what I am quite sure he thought was the most panty-dropping smile of all time, and knelt down wiping something off of my cheek. Oh, awesome, I had paint on my face. "Welcome to my studio," he breathed into my ear, sending shivers down to my toes.

Okay, this idiot has some game. But that doesn't change the fact that he interrupted my—ah shit! His studio? He's Alden Redbird? "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that the "Private Studio" message meant your studio." Great, I am painting in Alden Redbird's studio, that's like painting in the Sistine Chapel, when Michelangelo was on a break… and he walked in on you... and you got paint on the floor. Awesome, I look like the biggest effing tool on the planet. I could feel the rush of blood flood to my cheeks.

His smile widened and he offered his hand. "I'm Alden Marc Redbird, I know the middle name is pretentious, but my mom likes when I use it... You know, artist's namesake."

I took his hand and shook it weakly, hating myself. All of my energy was spent cursing obscenities in my head. Suddenly, I realized, oh shit, Alden Redbird can see my painting. I mean, he can see it and pick out ever little detail that sucks about what I am painting… I shifted over to stand in front of my canvas, hopefully he hasn't looked yet… "Hi, I'm Finley."

Alden Redbird was the most talented artist in the world. Literally, at this moment everyone was vying for his work. His talent was one that hadn't been met since the classics. Modern art had been a big bag of nothing until this kid came on the scene. Being a fledgling artist myself, I know that I have talent. At my last school I was the best, that's why I was sent here, to study in the same air as Alden Redbird. You know, as if his talent could seep into me by osmosis. Ridiculous. Now, on my first day, no first hour, I had offended the resident prodigy. And from what I could tell, the attractive, womanizing prodigy. Yay.

Alden continued to stare at me. He had deep brown almond shaped eyes that were framed by a fringe of dark straight hair that stuck up messily around his face. His mark, like his super famous mother's, was completely filled in and added to. I knew he had not Changed yet, and here he was looking like a fully changed Vampyre. His mark was not the normal sapphire but a dark shade of purple, almost amethyst, with light lines of curves and spikes around his brows. He was tall and sinewy, the type of guy who walked by and everyone, girls and guys, turned to stare. He also was the type of guy who would sleep with absolutely every girl and give details to every guy about it.

I straightened my shoulders and crossed my arms, bracing myself for whatever insults he shot at me. He was an elite, far above whatever rank I would be considered, rich, tailored, pampered, and gifted, not only by vamps but also by the goddess.

"It's nice to meet you Finley. What are you painting?" He leaned back and glanced (easily) over my shoulder at my painting.

I shuddered and realized blocking the canvas was a lost cause, he was too tall. "Its an abstract."

"Obviously." He replied quickly and cockily.

I found that last kick of cockiness annoying so I slapped my brush into my cup and stepped over to let him stare fully at my canvas. "It represents the loneliness of a solitary life within an individualistic society."

Alden chuckled loudly and rounded on me. "Deep," he grumbled and took at step closer. "I can really feel it with the spirals. I am spiraling into the abyss of depression…"

I rolled my eyes and began to organize my brushes and place them into my case. "Thanks," I murmured and slid my canvas from the easel not bothering with getting fingerprints in my wet paint. I turned dejectedly and began to stomp from the studio, completely ruining my piece. Shit.

"Finley, wait!" Alden spoke loudly behind me, with laughter still in his voice.

I did not wait.

"Seriously, stop." He spoke again and suddenly he was before me, blocking my exit. "You're messing up the edge with your fingers."

"Do you think fingerprints could mess up the abyss?" I asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Alden's laugh boomed in the clean open room, echoing from every wall. "The abyss could swallow anyone whole, but I don't want your anger at me messing up this piece. Put it back until it dries."

"What does it matter?"

Alden swooped down and removed the canvas from my hands and put it back on the easel. "It doesn't, but you'll feel better."

Ha. This guy had earned every bit of his reputation.

"Have a seat." He motioned to a large couch that sat across from a chair by a large open window.

I did as I was commanded, saying nothing.

"You're mad at me." He stated, still smiling widely.

I sat, making no affirmatives or negatives, just staring out the window.

I could hear him chuckling as he got up from his chair and rustled around behind me. Finally, after moments of loud rustlings he sat back down and handed me a large piece of paper. On it was a drawing of a dark charcoal. A dark swirl formed the center and swirled out to the edges of the page. There was a depth that only a motivated skill and a trained eye could create using only dark charcoal. It was the twin to my canvas. "What is this?"

He grinned crookedly at me and replied, "It represents the loneliness of a solitary life within an individualistic society, spiraling into the abyss of depression."

That was the night I met Finley and I am pleased to say that wasn't the last time she tried to bitch slap me. After I "shared" my junior high rendition of "Loneliness" I felt lacking in my manly area, so I told her good night and allowed her to continue to work in my studio.

I can't describe how much our first meeting had shaken me. Sure, seeing a hot girl is always a nice addition to a day (or night)… but seeing a beautiful, sassy, hot mess is an entirely rare occasion. Add artistic and deep and you've got yourself license for monumental philanderer failure. I decided there was only one way around what I could clearly see would become the heart wrenching end of a teen movie where the bad ass grows a soul and falls for the girl. Oh how tender.

I had no intentions of turning over any leafs neither small nor large. I walked out of the studio with my mind set exactly where I needed to go.

There was a soft knock at the door in the melody that told me exactly who stood outside my door. I checked my clock, that fucking idiot! It's past curfew, like that matters to Mr. House-Whore. I rolled my eyes and ran my fingers through my strawberry blonde hair and ruffled it into my eyes. Looking into the mirror, I saw that I had achieved the just-out-of-bed-tousled look. I raised an eyebrow and smiled, I looked hot.

"Selene," Alden's voice sounded frustrated through the door. "Your face is beautiful enough without you staring at yourself while I stand out here… Past curfew by the way."

I threw open the door and jutted out my hip, resting my hand on it. I can be a bitch when I need to be.

"Like that matters," he said softly and grinning like the nasty fool that he is.

I pursed my glossed lips (the gloss I know he loves, raspberry). "Of course it doesn't. But I do love to see your pretty face sweat every now and then."

"You've only see me sweat a few times," His dirty mouth drawled. "And I am almost positive you're eyes were closed the whole time."

I smacked his shoulder and ran my fingers to his elbow and pulled him inside my room. "You dirty boy! Don't bring up my exploits in the hallway!"

I stared at his violet tattoo and wondered what life was like before the differently colored tattoos became public. Alden and I had been friends since we were children, our parents had always been friends and we seemed bonded together by the strangeness of our tattoos, mine crimson, his violet. I of course told him that it was a prophecy that he would turn out gay. He reminded me that that would only be a massive loss for me. Which, as much as I hate to say it, is completely true. Our parents had raised us next to each other from birth. At first I hated him, he was the favorite and totally spoiled. His dad would take him out every morning to shoot his bow and arrow and his mom would let him draw all day. I was forced to take every lesson known to man, Latin, Greek, Horseback riding (which Alden came to only when he wanted), history, and so on. Alden was a Redbird and all the vamps sat in rhapsody just waiting for him to show an affinity for everything. Blah, blah, he is an awesome artist. My mom was like the first Red Vamp ever; I'm pretty awesome too. I can grow just about everything, thank you very much. Soon, I realized that Alden and I were both the favorite vamp children, which was when I started seeing him differently.

Alden curved his lips into a cunning grin and slid down onto my bed like he was returning home. "Like you care if anyone hears. We've been playing this game our entire lives." He curled his elbow under his head and rested his head on his upturned palm. "It's what we do. Shall we get to it?"

It was true, we were Alden and Selene of the House of Night, not necessarily a couple (Ew, I don't do "couple"), but not completely separated. I assume we would always be connected in some way. We would always like the curve of each other's bodies and the taste of the other's blood. We had been hooking up since before we had been marked and we had perpetually hooked up since. He was by far the best lay in the House (and outside of it for that matter, Oklahoma boys don't really have much to offer… except for the occasional blood suck). I could see he had already unfastened the first two buttons so his chiseled chest lay gleaming in the moonlight. A slight gleam of sweat lay across his collarbones, I definitely would be licking that very soon, but for now, I enjoyed the game. We enjoyed the game.

First play, "Do you think I am this easy?" I asked, sliding into my vanity chair and began knotting my hair into a bun. I knew Alden liked the hair down and free, this would just annoy him to take down later.

"Yes," he answered bluntly and sighed. "By the way, I hear you've lowed yourself to outside townies." He sat up and walked over to me and whispered over my shoulder, making me shudder, "Can you taste the dirt in their blood?"

I hated when he did that. It was an all out foul play; he knew my ears were a weakness... as was my football playing blood boys. It was bold, but I turned around and spread my legs, allowing my nightgown to creep up my thighs, revealing the lack of underwear beneath. "Never," I paused turning the spike holding up my hair making it tighter, a few tendrils fell into my face like magic. "But I do here you can taste ugly. Speaking of, how does that new girl taste… what's her name," I stopped, tapping my finger on my lower lip. "Thinly? No that can't be right, her ass is huge."

Alden's dimples popped out of his cheeks as his grimace deepened. That was one of the many things that added to his complex attractiveness. He was a picture of walking contradiction, he had dark hair and pale skin—the type that you would assume that would be pasty but instead it just highlighted his emerald eyes and stubble that graced his strong, dimpled jaw. He was tall and strong, thin, but not skinny, a gifted artist but not a flaming genius, making him a socially awkward teenager. He was the biggest pussy chaser, but was the kindest son to his mother on the planet. Just when I had decided he was the biggest tool to my bitchy nail, he would surprise me with a thoughtful gift for my horse or a massive donation to the Nature Conservancy. I hated that.

"She is not ugly." He spoke roughly but with a direct firmness. His fingers dug into my shoulder as he continued. "What do you know about her?"

"What do you care?"

"I'm purely curious about any new girls who enter our school. You should know that by now."

"Purely curious? What an oxymoron."

Alden shrugged and began untying my hair.

I rolled my eyes and flipped on my iPod to our sex mix.

"Did I say I wanted to do you?" He asked brusquely, his hands leaving my hair.

"Did I say I wanted to do you?" My anger tinged my voice as I re-knotted my hair.

He smiled his seal-the-deal smile. "It doesn't matter. How do you know her?"

"Your mom introduced me when she was moving in. It seems she's quite the talent."

"Hmmm," he breathed and bit his lip thinking deeply. Hell, I hated when he did that, I wanted to smack his face and fuck him right on this cowhide-covered chair, if the antlers wouldn't puncture a hole in my ass just for trying. Talk about an inconvenient sex chair!

"I'm bored with the new girl talk. If you want to get in her pants, I just warn you, they may be roomy. I hear she's been around."

"Roomy as in she's a slut and many men have been in her pants or as in she has a fat ass?" He led me to the bed and unknotted my hair again, tossing the spike behind him.

My hair fell to my shoulders and I exhaled in delight. Alden knew how to work me. I hated that. "Both," I breathed.

His hands were on me and I only barely heard the words, "We'll see," when I closed my eyes and allowed Alden to lay me down.