(Verando's POV)

"Thanks for joining me." The redhead adjusts her hair in the window's reflection, crossing one leg over the other. "That was quite some plan luring me out like that; tell me, were you entirely impressed with yourself? Did you think I'd come quietly? Do you think I'm a fool?"

 Verando doesn't respond, glaring at the window as he sits across from her in the limousine. Giving him a stern look, she takes out a gun from her purse and cocks back the hammer, pointing it at him. "I'm talking to you; it's rude not to answer."

Unfaltering, he exhales, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I chose to be rude, it would seem."

"You're such a child." Red scoffs in quiet disappointment, shaking her head at him as she relaxes her grip on the weapon. "You lost, so you're going to pout? That's not what I was hoping for, considering how bold you were at our last meeting. Or was it that I didn't get you drunk first? Not fun anymore now that I'm missing some fingers, I suppose. Are you thinking of how many more pieces you can lop off of me?"

 She places her heel firmly between his thighs, grinding the toe into his groin as his teeth grit.

"Answer me, dog."

Shoving her foot away, the gray-haired man composes himself from the flash of rage. "I'm coming with you to get this over with. How much banter would you like? I didn't realize I was expected to take requests."

Red slams her heel down, leaning forward as she cocks the gun at him once more, almost lazy about it, as if taking his life would be as simple as breathing. "It's a shame that I can't quit poking you, that I can't find a way out of this dance between you and me. Almost insulting, actually, that I find you so amusing. I could blow your damn brains out, killing Nic, and then go and kill that bitch, too, yet you act as if you have any control in this situation.

I own you until you stop breathing, I suppose I was expecting... a bit more concern over that prospect." Showing him her hand, she twists it back and forth in the dim light. "Do you like it? It healed pretty nicely... thought you were going to piss yourself when you saw me outside that hospital. What did it look like when Tonya jumped? Did she look scared?"

"You're disgusting. A true sadist."

Red laughs out loud, scooting across to sit beside him. "Aren't we all in this line of work? I just became what I had to become; I evolved. You, my darling psychopath, are the horrible person in this mixture. You are the one who keeps coming back, who just won't... die. Never had I met anyone who death runs away from, you must be really wish to burn on that pyre."

 Taking him in, she pats him firmly on the cheek, enjoying his stiff nature. The way he observes her with quiet acceptance, the way his body remains coiled on a hair trigger, a man such as this was worse than a wild animal. 

"Look at you. You want to do something. If I took my eyes off you for a second, you would actually kill me this time. Things like us deserve to be put down. Unfortunately, we've chosen to chase each other rather than the real devils. We don't get to survive this, but I might live just a bit longer if I take you out of the mix, actually, that's a guarantee."

This wasn't for him; this was for me and Marisol. He could endure her behavior, for all she wanted was a reaction from him. To see him angry, to watch him fight, but that was all the two of them had ever done, even when she was punishing him. 

As much as the wolf begged to retaliate, he remained still, for in his life, he held mine. Red produces a knife from the sleeve of her thigh and shows it to him playfully, running it over her lower lip. 

"Still saying nothing?" She asks through her teeth before plunging the blade into the side of his thigh. It produces a slight jerk, but no sound follows. She jerks it out, twisting the reddened knife as she props her feet up in his lap. "It was my favorite part about playing with you, you know. You just took it, no matter how hard I hit you, it actually started to piss me off in the end."

"Are you going to torment me? Just planning my evening." The man retorts dryly.

With an almost girlish giggle, she kicks her feet off his lap. Leaning forward, with one quick flip of the blade, she pops the buttons of his shirt, pressing the edge to the line of his abdomen. 

"You really suck the fun out of all this when you sit there, staring at me like I'm the bad guy." Making a small cut across his abdomen, she jerks the knife away as the car stops, and he allows for a small sigh of relief. 

Red steps out, waiting for him to exit as he protects his freshly stabbed leg.

 "A blessed blade, that's new." Verando murmurs. 

"An experiment, happy to see that it's working. Does that hurt?"

 They enter the dockside warehouse, and he wrinkles his nose at the scent of fish and oil; the gawking gull's overhead chirp and squawk even at night as a musty crew unloads fish from a docked boat. 

Not what he was expecting, but it was brilliant; they wouldn't be able to find them here, and the smell of the fish would overwhelm his own.

"This will keep any pets you've trained from finding us, as I'm sure they're all frantically searching for you. Though, if I recall correctly, you never managed to train anyone to sniff out the bad guys like you can." The roll door slams behind them, and candles illuminate the darkened room. 

She leads him to a chair, gesturing to the poor piece of furniture that seems as though it had seen better days. "Sit." 

"You need to give me something first. Where is Marisol?"

"I said SIT!" She shouts roughly, her tone hoarse with exclamation. "You're not in control here!"

Finally, he obeys, if not only because his thigh is throbbing. Adjusting her hair, she clears her throat. "She will be here momentarily, a little insurance to make sure you do your job. " Stepping over to him, she toys with the blade, gesturing to him to place his hands on the armrests. 

"Don't worry, I remember how much you hate being tied up. I won't restrain you, as this needs to be your own doing, or so say the scribblings of deranged men in caves. Did you know the universe took my husband from me?

It left me feeling as though the only way to tap into this power was to sacrifice everything. I had even grown to accept it, an act of equal exchange. So when I met your boy toy, and Acer asked me to help him, I figured it was merely the universe playing out the same horrible dance. I even felt sorry for him that I had to witness you two trying to pick up the pieces of what was inevitable. 

So, imagine my surprise when you managed to help him beat that bitch. Imagine my horror when a demigod decides to save a mortal damned to suffer. Loan and I were never given another option, when we lost our trials... our families... we were left entirely alone. So why does Nicolas get some exemption?" 

Red places the point of the blade on his shoulder, dragging it slowly across without pressing down. "I didn't... want... to be the villain. When I first came here, I tried so damn hard to make it work. I just wanted my own version of this story, to be something other than the woman who gave up."

With a slow exhale, she drags her fingers through his hair, emotion welling up in her voice. "Why does Nic get a second chance... redemption... power... fame.. a goddamn kingdom?!" Her voice rises, and she plunges the blade through his hand, making him grit his teeth as his shoulders lock down to restrain himself.

 As she yanks the knife out, he clutches his hand to his chest and curses under his breath. "So that's a yes to the torment then? I hear they have a thing called therapists in the future. Why don't you tell all of this to them?"

With another laugh, she observes the red streaking from his hand down his shirt, moving behind him once more. "It's my cross to bear, and I feel oddly insistent that you know that I didn't want to be like this. It was like this path wasn't made for me, and everything I touch turns to ash. Yet somehow, Nicolas comes to the future and finds the land of milk and honey." 

Gripping his hair with her free hand, she tilts his head back to look at her, pressing the knife to his throat under his jaw. "A Solmonari has to suffer to become strong. Perhaps whatever remains of him after this will be useful. It might be nice to flip the script, to play you off as the villain and join forces with the good guy. This time, I'm going to make sure you're fucking dead."

Releasing him, she wipes the remnants of the blood off his shirt, smirking as she checks the superficial cuts on his abdomen. "God, you Lycans heal so quickly."

"Is this where I tell you that he will never join forces with you? Killing me won't bring you any closer to what you want. The only way to stop being the villain is to step away from the narrative, and I'm sorry to say that you're doing a shit job." Verando spits, the ache in his hind was making his stomach twist. A blessed blade was something he hadn't prepared for; typically, his body was able to block things like this out. 

"Oh, I don't think I want to be on the same side as him, but I would like to return to my status before this rock stops spinning. I did have a question, before you.. You know." She drags the blade across his jaw, making him struggle not to flinch, wary of the blade. She was sporadic, all over the place, jumping from one narrative to another. 

It was as if she didn't even know what story to believe anymore. 

"How much should I worry about that granddaughter of yours when you're gone? There was no stopping Helen from bringing Nicolas here, and I had made a promise to Tonic, but he actually could have been useful until you had to go and convince him to forgive you. He had finally had justice served; he had lost everything. Now you're going to get married?"

 Without warning, her expression changes as she smacks him sharply across the face with the butt of the knife. "Married?!" She demands. "Do you have any idea-" Inhaling sharply, she shakes her head, disgusted. "A husband, a wife, and a baby. Maybe it should be him in this chair, not you. But then, he doesn't have the celestial being... and I think I'm going to need that."

Verando answers by spitting a mouthful of blood at her, and she nods in appreciation as she brushes the blood from her dress. Tonguing his cheek, they make harsh eye contact before she smiles sweetly, snapping her fingers. 

Two large men drag Marisol in, still in her short shorts and his t-shirt from where they had yanked her out of bed. 

His heart leaps into his chest, and he moves to stand, but Red flashes the knife at him. "Don't take another step or I'll put a bullet in her damn head."

"You don't have to hurt her. I'll give you the damned wolf, just let her go." Verando snapped sharply; it was a plea he'd seen dozens of times. There was no way Marisol was leaving here alive, and judging by the look on her face, she knew that as well as he did. Revealing a hostage was simply guaranteeing that they would be killed the moment the target was dead. 

There was no chance Red wanted witnesses. And killing him would mean Marisol was free to continue hunting her.

"I don't have to hurt her, but I want to." Red assures him, "Do you know how many of my men she fucked up getting her here? Even pregnant!" With a laugh, she yanks the gun from his holster, pointing at the Spanish woman without taking her eyes off the warlord. "How many bullets does it take to kill a lycan?" Red demands. "You'd better give me a number or I might just guess."

"You're out of your damn mind!" Verando snarls at her through his teeth. 

"You have no vision! How many people have you done this to? We are all the villains in someone's story. Think of this as atonement, paying the price for all that running you've done. Now are you going to give me a number, or do I need to start firing-"

"Stop ranting and shoot me, bitch!" Marisol demands.

"Gladly." Red cocks the hammer, shooting her in the chest, a direct shot to the lung. 

Verando jerks forward, eyes wide. "NO!" He shouts, only to have Red point the gun at him now.

"Uh oh." She says dramatically before rolling her eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't be such a dick? Now look, you're running out of time." 

Verando flashes his teeth at her, struggling with whether fighting back was even an option. Would she actually revive the woman if he surrendered? Experience said no, it was foolish to play along with this, to think that she would honor any word she'd given him. But he couldn't escape the sickening feeling she'd gotten ahold of Marisol, and unfortunately, he had been correct.

Red tilts the gun up towards his head. "Listen, you can fix all of this. Call that white bastard and give her the other half of the celestial being. You'll die, she'll live, Nic lives, everyone wins. Maybe with you out of the picture, we can finally get back on topic with the whole 'end of the world' debacle." 

Verando flinches, the words cutting. The monster in the background rejoices, a chance to get out, the best of all worlds, and yet, could he damn Marisol to a fate worse than death? Even now, the beast clawed to get free. While Alpha was mated to me, Marisol had been his first love before he'd even known what the word meant. Verando's eyes lock on Marisol, her hand over her lung as she coughs and sputters. 

A year ago, it would have been so simple to give up his life for her. For his child.

The looming darkness had become an afterthought, a whisp of its former size and weight. His shoulders sag as he rocks back on his heel, his mind desperately searching for a way out of this, but she had him cornered.

He couldn't allow Marisol to die. If he didn't do it, then I would die as well. How could he effectively fight her off while Marisol choked on her own blood?

"Don't." Marisol manages through the blood seeping from her lips. "Don't do it, Verando. I won't be her fucking battery."

"I can't watch you die, again," Verando responds through the restraint of anger.

Marisol had no hidden god; she was just a lycan. "There are fates worse than death." She manages, choking, sputtering, clutching her throat.  "I believe in an afterlife. Kill that bitch and let me go."

How long could her body hold out? How long could their child last? 

"Shut up." Red barks at her, pulling back the hammer once more, as if to shoot her again. "" 

How many times would he be forced into this situation? How often would life continue to slip through his grasp, just out of reach of happiness? His voice, once the one that beckoned for his failure and life, had now transformed into one of encouragement. 

"You were not born to serve. You were created out of lust, born into hate, raised in humility, and trained for succession. It is not your destiny to kneel. You know what you want; take it, for all you want can be yours. You are my vessel. Act like it."