"Can I speak with you?" Ron mouths from across the room. 

I sigh. 

He was so tired; hopefully, my departure wouldn't wake him. Slipping out of his grasp, I slide my pillow towards him to keep him in position, preventing the accidental removal of any wires with his tendency to sprawl. My body aches from lying on my belt. I gesture towards the door as we step outside, remove the annoying accessory, and then stretch.

 "How is he?"

"Devastated. What a fucking mess. How badly can we fuck up, Ron?" I run a hand through my hair, grimacing that I was still wearing the same blood-stained shirt. My watch was splattered, and I tried not to look at it, reminding myself that those injuries were well on their way to healing.

The hits never stopped in this life; in a way, I was incredibly thankful to him because I had no family left to kill. There was no one left in my life that could hurt me as severely as the loss of my mother, save for him. 

Lycans held deep family bonds that went beyond the ties of blood. The entire pack felt each loss, but now he was the only bit of 'pack' left for the remnants of his species. 

I had felt we were making progress, about to step over the last bit of the darkness and find him the happiness he so desperately deserved. Our lives were working; we were happy. I have no tears left; I'm just angry-- unexplainably angry.

To what end and for what purpose?

"We've lost a lot of people in the last few years; this one is... hard. She was his wife at one point." 

I don't recall if this was common knowledge, but Ron doesn't appear surprised by this. I assume there is very little about Verando that could surprise him at this point. I wish I could have that luxury; it seems every time I think I know him, he proves me wrong somehow. 

"Well, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. The child-" 

I flinch. I don't need to hear about the passing of that innocent baby. My heart can't take it, but Ron holds up his hand to stop my spiral. 

"He is doing ok, we were able to put her on life support until he could be... removed. He's premature, but he's alive. We are going to need to move him to a different hospital that can better tend to his needs. He will need to be in intensive care for some time until he can finish maturing. I need you to sign some paperwork-" 

I'm reeling from this information, and I take a step back. 

How? 

How could the child survive if it were born early? 

How could they remove him? 

I part my lips, but nothing comes out, and I can't help but feel as though it's unfair that they claim witchcraft is evil when medicine could perform such feats. 

"Mr.Matesscu?" 

"Right. Yes. I'm sorry, I'm just-- In Romania, I had never heard of such things." 

He pulls his eyebrows down and tilts his head. I clear my throat, shaking my head and waving the thought away. "Doesn't his father need to sign? I'm not his father; Verando is--"

Ron makes a face, folding his hands in front of him, in the patient way a schoolteacher might deal with a slow student. "Mr.Mercer is in no condition to make choices for the well-being of an infant. You are listed, by his own handwriting, as the child's legal guardian in the event of the death of the parents or their incapacity. I was there when he wrote it." 

Those aged eyes watch me through his glasses, gauging my response. 

So Verando had thought this might happen? When did he do this?

"Mr.Mercer is very thorough, as I'm sure you  know."

 Maybe he was worried that she would take him and leave him alive to use me. 

As if I could live my life without him.  "Of course he did," I murmur, "Can we add to that document?" 

Ron blinks at me, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. The poor man looks twenty pounds lighter since I first met him. "I'm sure we could?"

I nod. "Draw it up at your next convenience that Helen and Tyler should take over the care of the child if Verando and I are deceased." 

Ron pulls out a small notepad and jots down the instructions with a grim expression. "You and Mr.Mercer sure are convinced you aren't going to live to see the end of this." 

I can't help but scoff,  "That's the funny thing about life, Ron. Nobody makes it out alive. Is that all? Where is the child?" 

My body rejects the idea; this is a motherless offspring that was produced by magic I don't understand. Marisol was dead; I saw it with my own eyes. Medicine had overcome more than I could fathom, yet I couldn't help but wonder how the child survived when she did not. 

It's too fresh, too new; maybe it was best the baby went somewhere else while we processed this.  

"He is in the intensive care ward; he can't be away from the incubator until his lungs are strong enough to breathe on his own." 

I wrinkle my nose at the thought. An artificial womb? 

"Nicolas," Ron takes a step closer to me. "The woman you are calling Red is not dead. She is alive, for now, but in intensive care. If Mr. Mercer realizes —You and I know what will happen. The reality is, she is property of the state; if she can be cured, they will do so before they throw her in prison." 

My heart thunders in my chest as my blood begins to boil, yet I can feel the color rushing from my face. 

She's alive? How? 

I clutch his jacket, and Ron carefully places his hands over mine. Forcing myself to blink, I unwrench my fingers and leave icy fragments on his shirt. 

"Nicolas." He says once more, watching me, his voice hardly above a whisper. "We are speaking off the record; if anyone tries to bring up this conversation, I will adamantly deny it. But, Sir, we can not let the state have her. She's hardly hanging on, I highly doubt but.."

I know what he's asking me, what he wants me to do. I inhale sharply, as if fresh air might somehow eliminate this situation. Approaching the door, I touch it gently and peer in to see that Verando hasn't moved. Closing it soundlessly, I agree with Ron. 

He can not know she survived, and the state can not have her, no matter how unlikely. 

"Where is she?"

The instructions are vague, and yet I can feel where I'm going by the pull of familiar magic. It's weak, faint. Ron was correct that she was not long for this world.  The words resonate in my head, 'Fill the syringe up with air two times, putting both tubes into the line closest to her chest. Her heart will stop.' 

No one would suspect me, and if they did, my immunity was much more substantial than that of Ron or Verando. Even so, the thought races through my mind that this could be a setup. Entering the room with no name tag, I slide the door shut behind me and lock it. 

I consider diverting the cameras, but that would only raise suspicion. Sliding the syringe into my sleeve, I walk towards her bed and see that she's wearing a neck brace with a tube sticking out of her throat. 

At least there was not much left of her. Lowering myself into the rolling chair, I scoot to her bedside and take in this whisp of a woman. When I knew her, she was fuller figured and voluptuous, but this century had not been kind to her. Her body looked plastic under the gown, thinner, sickly. She was dying long before Verando attempted to dispatch her. 

Such is the way of magic users when they trend toward dark magic.  

Her pale skin reveals her darkened veins all too easily; the central line, visible through the crease in her gown, and I close my eyes to clear my head. "It didn't have to be this way," I tell her gently. "I don't think we could have worked together, you and I, but we didn't have to try and kill each other."

The bed rattles in response, and when I open my eyes, I see her gaze locked on me. It takes me by surprise, and I almost fall out of my seat before reaching for the tubing—Red smirks, gargling an attempt at a laugh before flinching.  

My hand hesitates, not because I don't want to kill her, but because I have so much I haven't asked her. Lowering the syringe back into my lap, I take her in entirely once more. I had won, and she had lost. She practically waggles her eyebrows at me, taunting me. The universe was cruel to allow this filth to live while taking Marisol from us. 

"So you're awake." 

It's not a question. Her eyes never leave me; the look of delight on her scraped and bruised face makes my stomach threaten to flip. Kill her. Do not hesitate. I close my fingers tightly around the syringe. 

"Blink once for yes, twice for no. I'm going to be blunt because my time is short. I'm assuming that you don't want to die." She blinks in response. "Today, your number has been called. I am prepared to turn you over to Verando, and after what you did to his wife, I'm sure he'll have a lot to say to you. There will be no time limit; the world can burn around us, and if he's not done with you, I will not stop him.

 I'm prepared to keep healing you, to keep you alive, as long as it takes for him to finally feel at peace with the fucked up shit you've done. I will put your corpse on support and leave you in this vessel until the damn earth plummets into hell itself before I allow you peace." 

My voice darkens, its calm tone lowering as I describe to her the fate I had concocted.

 Finally, when I allow her to stew on that, I relax just slightly. "Or I can end it. Right here, right now. You're already dying. I have to imagine you're in a lot of pain, judging by the number of wires surrounding you. The government would be happy to take claim of what's left of you, but I'll do you this kindness if you cooperate. Do you understand?" 

She blinks once, with little other emotion, in quiet acceptance. 

"A deal then? You seem unconvinced." That haunting gaze only peers at me from the gaunt tone of her face, but I receive no response. She was a corpse, hardly clinging to this miserable plane. Unable to bear looking at her any longer, I stand abruptly. "If it's defiance or lack of strength, I have no time or patience for this; I'll suppose I'll just see you in hell."

 I turn on my heel, and the bed rattles. Glancing over my shoulder, she blinks. Reluctantly, I sit back down. I had no right to take this from him. I should have fought for him, for his freedom to finish her himself. But, seeing him in that bed, I knew that Ron had every right to implore my good nature.

 Verando could not be allowed to have her; it would ruin him. I place a pen and a notepad in her lap and move her hand to hold the pen. "Write in Romanian. I don't want anyone to see it. How did you get here?"

"Help."

I narrow my eyes, and she winks. "Ask Tonic."

I had already suspected that Tonic knew more than he let on. "Where is your home base?"

"A hotel in the middle of New York City. House of Cards. I use that money to fund my habits." 

Of course. There had to be a place she was staying; more surprising was that she was acting independently. 

Red taps the pen curiously, eyeing me as if she wishes to say more."You've grown up."

"Fuck you." I snap, my blood pressure rising with my growing disdain for her ability to breathe. "The only thing I need from you is a sense of what you had planned. I still have to clean up your mess."

She begins to scribble down some words, struggling with her seemingly damaged wrist, but she manages to scrawl out a paragraph. 

"You can't stop what's coming. If you think I was the mastermind behind all this, you are wrong. There are more powerful things at play here than a grudge between you and me." 

I shove the notebook away, uninterested in her threats, as she starts writing again. 

"Have you figured out the mind control yet?" 

The grin curls onto her face so wickedly that I come to the end of my rope. Filling the syringe with air, I grab the tubing beside her bed and inject the first air dose into the lines. She inhales sharply in surprise, yet she seems almost pleased by my decision. 

As I push the second dose of air into the lines, I sit back in my chair and comprehend my decisions. It's a disturbing calm my body has claimed; my palms no longer sweat, my mouth no longer runs dry. I go through the motions, but I've accepted that this was my task and I had to fulfill it. 

The death of cruel creatures no longer bothered me. 

Her heart rate begins to pick up.

"No one will remember you, miss you, mourn you; you will die alone," I tell her. Her body quivers in response to the air pocket. "But--" I stand, ready to leave. "I forgive you. I forgive you because I would never have figured out who I am without you, and I know that you did not intend to become the villain. The schooling we endure changes us, and you would never have made it if there were not good in you. 

 I know, Red, that you are behind much of my life's suffering, and I know more than anyone how much you have suffered. I'm sorry that you are my trial, but I have defeated you. For that, I can no longer hold a grudge." 

The brace holds her here as she sputters on her lack of blood flow. Her heart rate skipped and hopped before finally flatlining. Those eyes never leave me, locked on me as they darken. 

"Stay dead this time, bitch," I tell her quietly as I grab the notebook and leave the room. The nurses rush down the hallway as I trudge back toward Ron and my warlord, showing no change on my face as they murmur about the difficulty of managing a lycan patient.

Hesitating, I cock my head at the distant commotion. With a sharp inhale of fear, I pick up a run as I head for the room and push past them to see Verando has pulled his IV out, trying to get out of bed while two attendings grapple with the concept of stopping him. 

"Mr.Mercer, you need to rest."

"I've rested enough," Verano demands, pulling at the cords and tubing. "I have to see Marisol."

Did he not remember her face when they took her away? 

Her cold body, her pale lips? 

Did he think she had survived? 

In his determination, it seemed proof enough to me that he already knew her fate. "Randy." I attempt, my voice clear enough to bring him to a pause. I gesture to the attendant to back off as I approach him. "Please. Get back in bed-"

He's hurt, and he wants to retreat; he wants to pull away, to be anywhere but here. I was gone when he woke up, and I accept the blame for the ache he places on my shoulders. "Where-" It was weak to ask me where I'd gone, to open his mouth and explain how much my absence worried him. 

He'd shown me enough of this version of himself that he hated, that there was fear underneath the mask. 

"Leave us," I tell the two men firmly. They want to protest, but Ron encourages them to leave as he enters the room. "Marisol isn't..."

"No, she's not." Verando interrupts me firmly, only to grimace at the throb in his temple. Shaking his head as he steps away, the realization of our situation dawns on him. Ron glances at me, and I nod to him, pulling my lips into a thin line. "Stop acting like I'm crazy; what are you two passing looks about?"

I'm surprised he even noticed. "Red is dead. I had to confirm it, to make sure." I tell him as seamlessly as I can manage. "Do you remember what happened to Marisol?" I press, "Do you remember why we're here?" As I take his hand, Verando jerks his fingers out of mine, making me frown and direct my malice towards Ron, who takes the hint and leaves. "Don't you dare do this to me."

"Just stop-"

"No," I tell him firmly. "You don't get to shut me out. I know you loved her, Randy. I had to live with that every damn day; I loved her, too. But you don't get to shut me out. You don't get to punish me for seeing you--"

Wheeling around, he glowers down at me as he approaches quicker than I had anticipated. "Don't make this about you. This has nothing to do with you, it's because I blame-" 

"Red is who you should blame. Damn you if you say yourself because that is shit, and you know it." 

He scoffs and turns away, but I snatch the thin cotton shirt and yank him back to face me. "Listen to me, you stubborn bastard. You can be angry and grieve, but you don't get to hide from me any longer. If you're going to be angry, be angry with me because I'm furious too!" 

Shaking his head, Verando responds with a look of disbelief at my intensity. 

I tighten my grip, frost climbing the cotton as the weight of our situation settles in the pit of my stomach. We'd lost another piece of our family, Legardo was right, everyone who sides with us dies. "You did everything you could to save her. You have a baby to think about. Her baby. Your baby."

The broad shoulders sag, the tension leaving his jaw as my words startle him out of his retreat. "How is that possible?"

I exhale, for I don't understand it either. "I don't know how. Medicine, I suppose? But he is alive, Randy. He needs you just as badly as I do. I can't do this without you; I have lost you to her death once already; I can't go through this again." 

Verando had been honest with me that he loved her; he had coveted and chased her his entire life, and then I came and changed the narrative. In a lot of ways, Tonic was correct; there was only one person Verando loved as much as me-- Marisol. But in the end, I triumphed over this untameable man.

I was left to pick up the pieces, and I needed him to get it together right now. "It's never been fair to us, how quickly we must step back into the fray. But I need Alpha. I need my warlord, because we aren't done yet."