Title: Amberlight
Author: J.E Talveran
Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: All characters associated with the Devil Wears Prada are not mine, no matter how awesome that would be. In additon, if werewolves, or femmeslash displease you, I think Amberlight would not be your cup of tea. I do not run with a beta and though I try to correct the mistakes I can catch, I can't find them all. I apologize in advance for any errors.

Chapter One

She was only a second or two leaving sleep's embrace when the dream sprung into her consciousness. The flashes and sounds came like a skipping music track...

A sweet smell pulls into the distance.

She winced and squeezed her eyes in a vain attempt to chase away the fog.

Silver light chases along a darkened path.

A moan slipped unbidden from her lips.

Bite. Shred. Feast.

Her eyes snap open.

"Oh, good. I was hoping you would wake soon." Someone moved before the curtains, the sun casting them into silhouette. They paused when she yelped at the invasive light, then tsked and turned, drawing heavier curtains down.

The result was a bearable twilight. Her eyes began to focus and take in her surroundings. She was in a bedroom, that much she could ordain from the heavenly-soft mattress she was on. The style was a quiet elegance that belied taste and wealth far beyond her own meager salary. So, it wasn't her bedroom...

"Andrea, are you sure you're awake?" the shadow stepped forward and clucked it's tongue. "Honestly, child. Up!"

Andy groaned at the command and closed her eyes one last time before pushing herself into a sitting position; and instantly regretting it as a sharp pain rocketed down her spine and curled into her toes. "Shit..." She cracked her eyes open and stared at her waker. "Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth nodded and took the last few steps to the bed. She was old enough to be Andy's grandmother but looked like she could have been Andy's aunt. Her hair was a swirl of red sprinkled with a few silver-white strands, and as she sat down by Andy's side, the smell of sandalwood and lavender floated on the air. "I suppose that's probably an understatement, dear." Her eyes traveled Andy's body and then pierced her with their gaze. "What exactly hurts?"

Andy wanted to mouth off with 'what doesn't hurt', but the haunting hazel made her rethink her first reaction. "Everywhere. What happened to me?"

Elizabeth brushed off her question, instead she asked another one of her own: "Any fever-dreams?"

Andy's mind flitted back to the brief glimpses she could remember. She shook her head.

The older woman pursed her lips. She locked Andy within her gaze for a moment longer, then turned to glance at the door. "You were attending the dinner, and afterwards you were most ungraciously knocked unconscious by an overeager photographer. Doctor Michaels, an old friend, checked you over..."

"I was knocked out?" Andy gaped.

Elizabeth ignored the interruption, "and assured me that all you needed was bed rest and an eye on you for the night. I saw no reason to jostle you into a car and back to your home."

"I was knocked out?" Andy repeated, the answer wasn't fitting right in her mind and she scrunched up her nose in confusion before deciding that facial expressions hurt almost as much as moving.

"Yes dear," Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively, "and you'll most likely be given a clean bill of health when James, Doctor Michaels', checks you over after break-" She paused, her eyes going to the grandfather clock by the far bookcase. "Well, after brunch now. Are you hungry?"

Andy's stomach answered for her and Elizabeth's eyes twinkled before she stood. "Here's a cup of tea to get you started, then when you're up for it, come out to the den and we'll get you checked out, mm?"

A tray was placed over Andy's lap and she looked up in time to catch the heel of Elizabeth's boot disappear through the doorway. The thank you on Andy's lips hit dead air and she sighed, staring down at the cup.

"A cup of tea? Why not a bottle of aspirin?" Andy sipped at the drink despite her protesting and tried to recall exactly how she ended up in a guest bedroom of the Elizabeth Wiltshire, one of New York's elite writers.

It had been a year or so ago, Andy was beginning to slowly rebuild her life after the Paris Incident, as she dubbed Fashion Week. Nate had moved up to Boston, Lily's eyes still held the lingering traces of betrayal, and Doug's laughter was strained as he tried to mediate the two over lunches. Andy's job at the Mirror wasn't easier than being Miranda Priestly's assistant. The new blood in the bullpen, she was best used to edit the sports' page or the weekly wrap-up then even breath on an article.

It was another week before the ruthlessness she had walked away from in France reared it's head in challenge. Two weeks after that, her edits over the coverage of an suspected arsonist bumped her into a reporter's chair and the original writer was back to detailing the weather forecast. Three months later, Andy had received a small award for her article concerning the dangers of charity scams in light of the earthquake in Japan. That night's benefit had introduced her to Elizabeth's attentions. He two had developed an instant rapport and before another three months had passed by, Andy was beginning to be shown at events and charities as Wiltshire's protégé.

Andy gulped the last of the tea, her pain gone and replaced by hunger. Last night must have been one of Elizabeth's book-release parties. It would explain why she was there, and those events were mobbed by the paparazzi trying to get the perfect shot off. Yes, Andy nodded, standing up and moving to the adjoining bathroom; she had obviously stepped into the wrong path at the wrong time and received a camera to the head most likely.

After her morning ritual, she peeled off the nightgown someone (Elizabeth, no doubt) dressed her in to change into the outfit Elizabeth had laid out when something caught her attention in the mirror.

Teeth and blood.

The wound was a garish red, swollen and inflamed.

Warm and moist along her earlobe.

The wound twisted along her collarbone, and there were cuts that went over the bone and under it, like...

Something had bitten into her...

It bit down into her...

Andy reared back from the mirror, slamming into the shelves behind her. "Ow, dammit!" She clapped a hand to the back of her head, biting back another curse. The lights behind her eyes faded as the pain did and she stepped towards her reflection, tracing a finger over the bite. It was cleaned, that much she could tell, but otherwise it was an utter mystery.

"Andrea?" Elizabeth rapped on the door.

"Coming!" she called back, quickly slipping into the outfit. Long, fitted white slacks and a green tunic with matching white belt. A pair of gucci half-boots completed the ensemble. She ran a hand through her hair, figured that "bedhead chic" was the best she could get and dabbed on enough makeup to look presentable before opening the door and meeting Elizabeth's questioning look with a sheepish smile. "I'm not holding him from an appointment, am I?"

"Not at all." Elizabeth placed a hand at her elbow and led her out and down the hallway. They breezed past several open doors before Andy was ushered into a small den. "Feeling better, Andrea?"

Andy nodded, "Yeah, you know, you could market your tea, what was in it?"

"Family secret," she patted Andy's shoulder and stepped aside as a charming older man walked in. "There you are James."

Doctor Michaels' smile was easygoing but his gaze was as sharp as Elizabeth's as he circled Andy. He asked her question after question, wondering how she was feeling, was there any pain along her spine, fever, did she have fever-dreams. Everything but how the bite was faring.

So, Andy brought it up.

Elizabeth answered before Doctor Michaels' could. "Oh, heavens, we don't know. You came to the dinner wearing that dress covering yourself up because of it. You never did tell us -why-."

Andy blinked. "I didn't?"

"Not at all, dear, in fact you barely mentioned it after your explanation. I didn't think it that important."

Andy's mind stumbled along the words but she nodded dumbly. The knock to her head must have been nasty. The last time she had been conked out, it was at her cousin's wedding and she still had a fuzzy recollection of the week leading up to that.

"Oh. Well... it just looked a bit inflamed."

Doctor Michaels gestured for her to sit on the couch. "Elizabeth mentioned it to me last night as she took that dress off, how women can breathe squeezing yourselves into those things; well, I looked it over and gave it a cleaning. That swelling should settle down soon enough."

"Swelling? Elizabeth, did you manage to sprain your ankle before we've even set out?"

Andy froze. She knew that voice. She knew those smooth tones well enough, having had listened to them tear people down and up and sideways just for good measure. In fact, Andy closed her eyes and saw the disdainful expression, the arch of a silver brow, the purse of lips, the ice-blue gaze.

"Ah, Miranda, you're just on time. James will make sure Andrea's fine and then we can start."

"Andrea?" Miranda's voice took on a confused lilt. There was a shuffle behind Andy and within seconds, that ice-blue gaze seared into her. "Andrea." This time, Miranda's tone was flat.

"Um, hi." Andy winced as Miranda Priestly's attention left her and turned dangerously onto the other woman.