I awaken to the sound of running water, slipping in and out of the depths of total depletion and attempting to surface behind my heavy lids. I'm in a strange state of limbo, where I'm mentally aware but my body feels stretched out, loose, and unhinged from my weary joints. 

It's as if I've aged overnight, my body refusing to cooperate. In an out-of-body haze, I attempt to find the ends of my toes and fingers, tempting myself to flex them and think through their reach for some sense of where I was. In my mind, I pleaded with myself to stay asleep, for it had to be better than the torture waiting for me once I woke. 

Finding it difficult to fathom the way that we escaped, I take my small moment of peace to come to terms with my impending demise. I didn't have many regrets, maybe confronting the man instead of using my abilities to keep us covered. As my fingers slowly spread, I feel the soft fabric of the sheets under my palms. 

Cool to my touch, I slowly closed them on the material, gripping to this plain where I was safe in my bed and no longer dying on a snowy floor in a death camp. 

 Relaxing into the familiar scent of cologne from the plush sheets, I turn my head to peek through my lashes and note the sun pouring into the room from the crack in the heavy curtains. Tiny fibers of dust particles dance in the light from the movement. Any sunlight would indicate we weren't in the compound, meaning we had survived.

 We had come home to Marisol's. My face ached, my ribs protested the movement, but altogether, I was alive. 

Touching my naked form, I note that I appear to have been wiped clean, but the residue of the night prior remained. I felt gritty and unkempt, though I imagine my limp self was challenging to manage. Lifting my hand, I admire the bruising that had begun on my wrists from where they were bound and track it up to my arm from the multiple times I had been grabbed, pushed, and struck.

The inside of my mouth is raw, and I can feel that my lip is rounded, though when I touch my face, it's not split as I had thought. 

 More marks, more memories, but at least I could remember them. I flop my arm back down on the bed and watch the ceiling as I will myself to get up, listening to the familiar sound of a faucet filling the large tub. I test my reach, thinking of the temperature, and feel the dwindling remains of my magic protest at the offerings.

It would take me at least a few days to recover. I'd gone too far; my body felt limp, but there was no time to think about that now. Turning my hand in the dim light, I frown at the pale color of my fingers; my skin was losing its vibrance, but the black had receded. 

"Yes-- Tonight at seven-- Yes-- It will be small, rest assured-- Yes-- Please have security stand by. I'm counting on you, Ron." Verando walks into the room and pauses when he notices movement; clicking the phone off, he sets it on the dresser, then bends down to peer at me over the edge of the bed. In his hands, he holds a tray of fruits and some scrambled eggs. "I thought I'd heard you wake up."

Rolling onto my side, I take him in; he's wearing a pair of glasses that protect his sensitive eyes from the lighting on his computer screens. The sight amuses me, though I can't say the look isn't appealing. "I got cold." The chill creeps over my form so soundly. 

Nearing the bed, he presses the back of his hand to my cheek as concern crosses his face. The warmth is welcome, though even the gesture brings a grimace. "Darling--"

"Please don't, Randy. I really can't think about this right now." I pleaded with him, imploring him not to press further into why I was malfunctioning. I couldn't bear it. With all we had going on, I was broken, and I couldn't come to grips with that right now. After a moment of sulking, I push myself up onto my palms. "I'm just getting my bearings before we have to head back to the Dead City."

My legs slip out from under the sheets, and I scoot to the edge of the bed, only to have him settle the tray in my lap. Betraying me, my mouth waters, and I allow my dreams for redemption to be put on hold as I dig into the fruit bowl with enthusiasm.

 Smiling at my willingness to eat, his palm collects my cheek, taking in the bruising over my cheekbone. I hear his teeth grit, "It's good to see you eating." I feign a smile, earning a small flash of my favorite expression before he departs quickly to turn off the faucet. Clouds of steam billow from the bathroom door, and I wolf down my breakfast in an uncharacteristic fashion.

Tempting as it might be to hold onto my dignity, my charge to the Dead City could wait. The warmth of the bathroom was too inviting, too tempting; my body begged me for mercy. I was sore, tired, battered, and broken; a soak would prepare me for the work ahead. 

As soon as I finish, I make my way to the bathroom to slide into the inviting tub. The hot water feels scalding on my chilled body, and I settle in with an appreciative groan. "Who were you talking to on the phone?" I ask, I was used to his eyes raking over my body after a battle won. He was taking inventory, the same I would, assessing the damage of what belonged to him.

"Ron." Verando allows stiffly, though he hides it well. "Am I allowed to ask at least how you're feeling?"

Better than I expected. "As good as I can feel considering our predicament." Eyeing him as I run the sponge over my arm, I see he is well aware of what I'm after, and he folds his arms over his chest in quiet acceptance of my interrogation. "Care to tell me how it is we ended up here?"

"We were transported back to the Dead City via magic." He tells me, almost bored with it, as he sits on the tub's rim. In just a thin white shirt and some thinner shorts, he's already sweating from the heat. His soft, silvering hair indicates he's already showered for the day; he probably washed last night, knowing him. 

"That's it?"

Verando ponders this, folding his hands in his lap as he composes his thoughts. "Tiberius accessed the Celestial Being, and I considered going to the City Hall. He was able to transfer us there. I'm not well-versed in your magical vocabulary. What was quite interesting is that Gabriel let us go; the wraiths were escaping the forest, and he allowed us to leave in favor of diverting their path." 

His words catch me off guard, and I almost choke on my surprise. Splashing water as I drop the sponge, he tsks at me in disappointment, brushing the droplets off his shorts.

"Let us go?" I demand. 

"It surprised me as well."

"Just seems unlikely. Did he give anything away?"

Thinking about this, Verando tents his shirt, fanning himself as he tries to deal with the sweltering temperature in which I enjoy my bath. His hair darkens, matting down to his head as sweat beads on his temple and neck. "He told us he looked forward to speaking in the future. Honestly, he saved our lives. We could not have fought off the wraiths; if nothing else, they would have followed us back. Now, granted, I believe he placed the wraiths there; it was quite a difference from our normal foes."

 We did see Gabriel harvesting them, yet bringing them to this world required an immense amount of power to open and close the portals. Was that to say he did all of this all by himself? Stirring the bathwater with my feet, I lean back and rinse myself. 

The wraiths were powering his dark magic, which could allow him to use mind control. In other words, he was incredibly powerful —perhaps more powerful than me —and the prospect was horrifying. With no schooling to coach him, raw talent like that hadn't been seen since my father. 

"We got lucky." I finally allowed it. "He's using the wraiths. But why help us?"

Verando shrugs,  considering it himself. "He said he values life."

I snort out loud, finding it hard to envision a value of life considering he was involved with bounty hunters and the slaughter of magical beings. "I saw his chop house. Not buying it."

His expression contorts, and I know there's more he wants to say. "Nic. I need you to be honest with me." I want to remind him that he often kept things from me. Lying wasn't really in my forte; if I did, I usually came clean about it shortly after.

"Of course, but I don't-"

"Did you recognize Gabriel? Did he look familiar to you?"

The same thought had crossed my mind. Did I know him? I felt like I didn't know anything anymore. Our world had been turned upside down and inside out so many times; what was there possibly left to believe? He could be anyone from our past, brought back, but in the pit of my stomach, I had a hunch. 

"I have a suspicion about who he is." I allow. As he waited, I now knew why he had asked for honesty: sharing this information could change how we handled this individual. I pull my lips into a thin line with a slow, calm sigh. "It's too soon to say."

"Nic-"

It's my turn to change the subject. "Did you do nothing else last night than talk about me and Gabriel?"

With a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, threatening to tangle from the heat of the bathwater. It's beginning to grow out again, the length returning in a way that brings back the slight curl. 

Despite his reluctance, I began to relax as he gave me a recap of the events, the assignments he handed out, and what we expected from the recruits, Helen, and Tyler. It seemed as though things were finally starting to fall into place; our pieces were no longer so scattered, and this task force was beginning to shape into something we could rely on despite the setback. 

Gaining new members would be a huge plus, giving us more eyes, coverage, and options. There was room to breathe and the freedom to indulge in my favorite pastime. As he spoke, my eyes trailed down his body, his posture rigid as he perched on the tub's edge. The thin material of the pale shirt clings to his chest and across his shoulders in a way that accentuates the contours of his musculature as he reacts to the heat. 

I conjure more steam to moisten the material further, distracted by the specimen in front of me. As much as I was interested in the happenings of our community, with my worries soothed and spending two days fearing for our lives, I was itching to reconnect. 

"Bloody hell, are you cooking yourself?" He brings me out of my musings with his deep tone, tugging at the shirt to free himself of the restrictive material.

I feign surprise, resting my elbow on the edge of the tub to lean my cheek on my knuckles. "Of course not. Are you getting hot?"

"Yes!" Verando complains, "I don't know how you stand it."

I catch my lower lip in my teeth, pulling water into my hand as subtly as I can manage. "I quite like the heat." With a casual toss, the water splashes on his chest, causing him to gasp in surprise. In a movie I'd seen, the shirt's effect would be pretty magnificent. 

I had not anticipated the pale tiles' slickness or a skilled hunter's knee-jerk reaction. Losing his footing, he slipped off the tub's rim and crashed to the floor in a rather undignified fashion with a loud thump and a myriad of cursing. 

My hand shoots over my mouth as I leap out of the tub, effectively drenching him with the splash of water my motion creates. "Oh shit! Randy, I'm so sorry!" 

"What in God's name were you thinking?" More so embarrassed than injured, he'd managed to crack a few tiles, his voice rough with shielded frustration. 

Dropping down to rest on my hip in the tub, I take in my drenched warlord with my best attempt to hide my amusement. It wasn't often I caught him unaware; he must truly be exhausted to let himself react so sloppily. "Is it wrong that I think you're pretty?" I ask, feigning innocence. 

Shyly, I pluck his shirt, but not enough to sacrifice how it clings to his skin. Practically see-through, the thin fabric creates the desired effect of strained material crossed sun-kissed plains of masculinity and toned efforts. "I saw it in a movie, not quite like this, though. You weren't supposed to fall, and I expected a bit more... hmmm-" My tone drifts off, I sigh in quiet appreciation of the body before me. "It was entertaining, though?"

Making a face, he sets his jaw, and I skirt my fingers through his hair with a more apologetic expression. "Sorry to disappoint."

I can't help but chuckle, "Oh, I'm not disappointed, not in the least." Leaning over the edge of the tub, my ribs protest, and I kiss him gently. "Let me... make it up to you?" I trail my fingers down the drenched material towards the clinging shorts. 

His hand covers mine, warning me with his eyes. "You're a hopeless romantic." Verando doesn't sound enthralled with my attempts, his tone dry as he rights himself. The visible flinch brings me to heel as I control my impulses to see he's in no mood for my advances. "I'm quite sore, love."

"From the fall? I've seen you take harder hits than that?" I can't help the pout that my mood produces, unsure of what's wrong with me that makes me take this rejection so personally. I'm not used to denial; his body had always been at my disposal.

Verando inspects my bruised arms, kissing the rope burns on my wrist and tangling his fingers in mine. I admire the ring on my left hand with a small smile as he seems to be eyeing it, too. "From running miles and miles with you seated so graciously upon my back? Then, getting kicked across a clearing and chased by a dragon? Hoisted into the sky by a wraith, dropped, and thrown down a hill. Drugged and thrown into a cell, shall we go on? Your body is a mess, there is no way in hell you can convince me to take you to bed even if I was feeling up to it." 

All at once, I feel the embarrassment overtake me, and I rein myself in. He was always so stoic; he hadn't mentioned it before. "Do these hurt?" Verando's full lips press to my wrist.

"No-" His gaze hardens, and I sigh, "A bit. The drugs seem to be hitting me a little differently; I'm practically euphoric even though my limbs feel like they've been in a medieval stretcher. It's just been a while since..." I mumble, causing him to laugh, and I accept those terms at my expense.  Thankfully, it would appear I'm forgiven. "Does that amuse you? That I ache for you, Mr.Mercer?"

"It's been days." Verando reminds me, kissing my forehead as he climbs to his feet and pulls me to mine. Days might as well be weeks or months, considering when we first met, there was hardly a moment we could be apart. "Sometimes I forget you're in your twenties, though I suppose you're now nearing thirty. I'm glad we're not the same age; we'd never get anything done."

 At the slight about my age, I consider if I'd inflicted enough violence on him as he helps me out of the tub and hands me a towel. "Would you like to come with me to this event? There's no shame in staying home, but I assumed if I left without you, you'd be upset." 

I vaguely recall that the senator turned into a lycan the last time I was at one of these parties. "Rightfully so, though I could do without the drama of the last event. Are they giving you away again?" I retort, unimpressed by the reminder about my age.

Toweling off, I scrub my hair and relish the feeling of warmed skin and cleanliness. Placing the towel on the bed, I snag one of the remaining grapes off the tray and smirk at the warmth behind me, offering him the other half as he hugs me from behind. 

"No, but I might be willing to donate to your cause should you decide to make a bid. Would you like to play?"