Chapter One: Nightmares & Broken Dreams

The night air was cold. His breath became an icy cloud before his eyes. It was pitch black, no moon or stars in the sky above, but he could see perfectly well. He barely felt the cold. There was warmth on his hands and he looked down at them. Blood covered his palms and dripped down his fingers to his sharp tipped claws.

Before him lay a long line of crumpled bodies, their faces obscured. Throats had been slashed, arms torn off, and hearts had been ripped out. His breathing was more like a pant as he took in the aroma of blood; he relished in the kill. But the hunt wasn't over. There was still one left. He could smell him.

He sped past the bodies and into the woods, his feet barely touching the ground. He stopped at a river and got real quiet, listening. A heartbeat, beating fast and full of terror, rang in his ears. His prey was close.

He leapt over the river, over a dozen feet across, as if it were a mere puddle. Through the trees he raced, snarling, his eyes burning red. A flicker of movement to the right and he pivoted ninety degrees, barely losing speed. The prey was before him, dodging around trunks and ducking under branches, desperate to get away. But it was no use. The hunt was over.

He looped around the man that was his prey and got in front of him. The man came skidding to a halt, tried to turn around, but he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. With a roar he threw him into a tree. The man collapsed to the ground, whimpering pleading whispers. He stalked forward and looked down at his prey, at the weak specimen before him. As the man looked up, he saw his face. He saw... himself. Vincent Keller.

And suddenly he was looking up at the hulking beast standing above him. Claws outstretched, the beast roared and slashed – and everything went red.

Vincent bolted up in bed, breathing hard, his body covered in cold sweat. He looked at the prone figure lying next to him; Tori slept soundly, draped in the light of the moon that shone in through the window. Vincent wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

He splashed some water on his face and looked into the mirror. He jumped back, startled, when he saw yellow eyes and pulsating veins. He had awoken in beast mode. Vincent took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let the breath out slowly and his pulse calmed. When he opened his eyes again his reflection had returned to normal.

Normal, he thought harshly. What was normal? I don't even know who I am anymore...

He continued to stare at the face before him. He was a man of two halves; the man he had been before his memories were taken from him, and the man he had become since. In nearly every situation he had opposing thoughts and feelings. Everything within him was a contradiction.

Up until now, Vincent had greatly ignored the voice within him that had been growing louder with each memory that resurfaced, many of them involving Catherine. But without the man he once was, it was as if the Beast had filled the void. The sheer power was intoxicating and had nearly consumed him, smothering the voice of a Vincent past. He'd been following a singular, instinctual direction. A pathway to to discover more of his beastly heritage and not let anything, or anyone, get in his way.

But something had happened. He'd listened to the voice, like a cricket of conscience, and sacrificed his own safety, along with the gem he had been so desperate to find, to save the lives of others. Now it was as if a dam had broken within him and the voice was now a scream.

Leaving the bathroom, Vincent breathed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. He started back to the bed where Tori slept, then paused by the dresser as a photo caught his eye. It was of himself and, supposedly, his platoon back in Afghanistan. His memories, especially from that time, were all hazy and jumbled. The picture was one of several he had been looking at after getting back from the events at the precinct.

Vincent picked up the photo and stared at the man he had once been. He needed to find out who he was, to piece together the splintered memories. Before it was too late. Before he lost himself in the power of the Beast once again.

–

Catherine Chandler pulled her gray knit sweater closer around her as she looked out the kitchen window at the frigid morning scenery of Greenwich Village. A beep from behind her signaled her coffee was finished brewing and she turned to pour herself a cup. She grasped the steaming cup and took a sip, savoring its warmth.

She hadn't had much warmth in her life lately. Even the walls of her apartment had been drained of their color and warmth. After Vincent had been taken from her months ago she had done many things to distract herself from her despair, which included painting her entire apartment a pale blue, a subconscious reflection of her mood.

She'd envisioned that when she got Vincent back that he would move in with her and they would repaint together. Dreams of them cuddling together on the couch as they teasingly argued over paint samples had often drifted through her thoughts.

But those dreams had never come to be. Yes, she'd found Vincent. But he didn't even remember her because of a mysterious regimen of experiments, conducted by her own biological father, to erase Vincent's memories in an effort to control him. Bob Reynolds had used Vincent to take out the head of Muirfield and then do something Muirfield had never been able to accomplish: find the remaining beast experiments and kill them. But her father had underestimated Vincent, who turned on him and nearly killed him.

But I shot him, Catherine thought with a shake of her head. Shot the man she loved to save the father she hardly knew who had done such terrible things. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. One last desperate attempt to save Vincent from himself and the dark path he had been walking. For even though he had been slowly regaining his memories, he was no longer the man he once was.

No longer the man I fell in love with.

He had become more beast than man.

Catherine walked to the couch and sat, setting her mug down on the coffee table. She pulled a shoebox toward her that she had pulled from the back of her closet late the night before. After Vincent had chosen his desire to kill over their love she'd been so heart broken. In most cases of a couple breaking up it was common to get rid of everything that reminded the breakee of the breaker. But because of the circumstances surrounding their relationship, Catherine barely had any mementos of their time together. It had been necessary not to keep anything around that could potentially lead Muirfield to Vincent.

But I couldn't get rid of these. She pulled off the lid of the box. Inside were a collection of notes from Vincent. Every time she had received one she'd felt her heart flutter and had butterflies in her stomach, like she was a little school girl who'd gotten a note from her crush. Most were just a word or two. "Roof." "Fire escape." But each one held a distinct memory of the beginning of their whirlwind romance.

She smiled as she went through the notes. This was the man she had fallen in love with. This was the man she had thought she had lost forever. But now she was unsure.

Just the night before she and her entire precinct had been part of a hostage situation. A group of armed men had taken control of the building in an effort to steal a gem that everyone seemed to be after; one that had connections to Vincent's past, but Catherine's own as well. Vincent had shown up to take the gem for himself, seemingly with no concern for the lives of Catherine and her coworkers. But when Catherine's best friend, Tess, had a gun to her head, Vincent came through and saved them all. And even though Catherine thought it had been because she had pleaded to Vincent to save them, it turned out he had done it all of his own accord. Because it was the right thing to do.

Catherine sighed and placed the lid back on the box. Now I don't know what to think.

Was the man who risked his life to save others, the man she had fallen in love with, truly still in there? Or was this false hope? Ghosts that she was grasping at like how she tightly grasped her coffee mug for warmth; something that would fade away and turn cold once more.

Then there was Gabe. A former beast and a man that was doing everything he could to redeem himself for his past crimes. Who had made it clear he wanted to be with her, whenever she was ready. He was everything Catherine wished for Vincent to be. Someone kind and caring that wanted to protect her, but also trusted her to take care of herself.

Part of her resisted. Gabe had committed some terrible acts, including an attempt to kill Vincent. But after his beast side had died and Catherine had resuscitated him, Gabe had become a changed man. How could she crucify Gabe for his misdeeds, but at the same time continue to hold onto hope for Vincent? She couldn't, that was the truth. She cared for Gabe. But she wasn't ready to be with him. Not when she still felt so lost.

A harried knock at the door broke her deep contemplation, causing her to jump and slosh her coffee onto her favorite pair of pajama pants. It would most likely stain, but it'd be in good company with the assortment of ice cream, wine, and yes, coffee stains already present. Catherine dabbed in vain with a tissue, then gave up and went to answer the door.

"Tori!" she exclaimed with surprise. She suddenly felt very self-conscious in her stained pajama pants and glanced quickly in the mirror to her side in the hope that her hair wasn't too unkempt. "Uh, what brings you here?"

"It's Vincent. He's gone."