(Verando's POV)

To be happy for rain was an odd sensation; the water slipped haphazardly through the trees and cascaded off the fir branches down onto their shoulders from the heights above. To feel the rain, caressed by the sweet scent of trees, was an experience he had reconciled to losing.

Stefan shakes out his umbrella with a grimace, watching with a wrinkled nose as Keeta skips through the puddles in her sun hat. 

The water splashed around her bare legs while she was posing as a man; in the depths of the woods, she left her skin exposed to the cold, for she could not feel the elements.

 "I don't often get to see you smile, Verando." He notes, desperate for a distraction as the water claims the toe of his designer boots. 

Verando hadn't even realized he was smiling. Composing his face, he offers a single-shouldered shrug, annoyed at his absent-mindedness. "Rain makes the air smell amazing; it's nice to be immersed in something other than exhaust and anguish. Reminds me of Romania." 

Stefan giggles, tilting his head to lean on the stick of the antique umbrella. "I never pictured you as someone who would care. But I guess that's the lycan part of you?"

 His eyes track the full moon's pale face through the openings of the branches; it peeks out behind the clouds, making his hair stand on end. 

"Not possible." Keeta twirls innocently. "He's probably thinking about killing someone. Too angry to be happy." 

A curious statement, as he had found he was much less angry these days. But, he'd also accepted that Keeta was mentally damaged from her time with the Sirens.

Shaking his head in disgust, Stefan waves her off as if she were dust on the mantel of his elegance. With a 'tsk', he straightens his shoulders to rise above her claims. "I'd describe you as complex. Only enhanced by your wonderful way of speaking, the world is lost on the butchering of the English language. Foul creatures such as yourself, Keeta, slay the very language with your uncultured tongues. Mr.Mercer has always been very well-spoken; it's lovely for me to hear it. Much like the rain."

 Pursing his lips, Stefan raises a perfect dark eyebrow as he takes measure of the pale creature.

 "And then there's you. Soul-less."

 She sticks out her tongue innocently, springing to hop into a puddle that splashes the hem of his pants. 

With an enraged noise, Stefan berates her in French, quite eloquently for one naturally from another country. 

Verando sighs, attempting to enjoy the rain once more. His jacket was carefully stashed in his backpack, and he allowed the water to drench his shoulders. Broad muscles steamed lightly,  rejoicing in the cool air sucking the unrelenting heat from his core. 

Tilting his head back, the water matted down the gray locks and darkened them into a more natural hue that gave him the appearance of a younger, mortal man. 

Would it be horribly selfish to wish to run?  

Verando's mind wandered back to me, back to my concerns with his roaming heart. It was true; returning to his home had been something he had hoped to do since the day he had been taken. But, surrounded by the unfamiliar wood, treading through streets that had long since been repaved and repurposed, home as he had known it no longer existed. 

It was one of the few things a machine and magic could not resurrect. Home, now, was wherever I was, and as much as he adored the fresh smell and the open air, he was eager to return to the familiarity of my side. 

"Verando? Verando, are you even listening?" Stefan waves a hand, and the lycan warlord snatches his wrist out of defense, only to tense as he releases it. 

With nature came all of its minions, those who hid amongst the trees and leaf litter, sheltered in the depths of the woods. This wasn't a time to allow himself to drift; they weren't out here on a stroll. "I said, are you picking up the scent of these leeches?"

Keeta seemed entirely unoffended by the term. She, too, appeared thrilled to be out of the city limits. Their stay in the cramped hotel had been less than ideal, living with humans who looked at them as a freak show; the lack of judgment in trees and darkness was a welcome reprieve.

 Spain had much stricter laws on magic creatures, as it had a massive population of war-torn magic users unable to process what they had been through. 

After the war, many had tried to return home, and the country had become overrun with the unseen creatures, now super-powered with their curse and combat-trained veterans of all shapes and sizes. Thus, the great cleansing had restarted once more. 

Fear makes society do unsavory things. 

"No. It'd be easier if it were quieter." He comments casually, skirting his hands over his body to subtly confirm the placement of his weapons. As much as he was enjoying the weather, a rusted blade would not do. He yanked the jacket out of the pack, shouldering it to slip on the sleeves and zip up the front partway. "Tracking the dead is quite difficult." 

Not to mention, he was traveling with two different genres. Their own scent muddied the waters.

"We should make camp," Keeta suggests, stretching her hands to catch the increasing droplets. "Not a vampire I know is going to wander around in this rain; we don't want them to think that we are ambushing them by showing up undetected."

Stefan scoffs. "No, of course not. Not an ambush predator..."

Irritated by the bickering, he opts to interject. "You drink blood as well, Stefan." Verando points out, causing the man to look taken aback. 

"Donated blood, my sweet. I don't murder people, I never have. Strigoi seduce their prey if we must, but we catch and release. We don't turn our bitten subjects into undead savages."

 The lycan pinches the bridge of his nose, contemplating the risk of leaving them both to fend for themselves. 

With a loud exhale, Stefan holds his hands up in reconciliation. "Alright, I'm sorry. I guess I am just a touch biased."

Keeta allows for an amused grunt; she gestures to Verando. "Me and this one will be barbarians on our own, then. We hunt to survive; no one donates my dinner. I can't wait until we are allowed to walk amongst the public again; it's time to level out the food chain."

 Her words didn't surprise him; it was what he'd been curious about in the back of his mind all this time. How would predator and prey function in the same room? The same households? Walking side by side through life, knowing their demise could be sitting across from them?

 Hiding their existence could be the only thing keeping them from extermination. 

Stefan matches his concern, "Attitudes like that will get us burned at the stake. This town is full of slayers."

"Bounty hunters." Verando corrects.

"Magic users." Keeta reminds him. "They just need to see our side of things."

Verando sets his jaw, "You didn't see the camp, Keeta. They aren't catching us to relocate us; they're chopping us up for souvenirs. As much as I feel we have every right to exist, I struggle with allowing our old ways to resume. Werewolves were just as guilty for eating people, more so killing them, really, but I don't wish to see that return. 

Humans outnumber us; we'd do well to remember that when we decide to reveal our true numbers. We've seen only the head of this serpent; I assure you, they are much more capable than one would think."

Another war. 

How was it that they had been dropped right where they had left off? He'd often considered asking to be taken back, placed at the bottom of that forsaken river, and left to his demise. If not for me, he would have welcomed the interruption of this tiresome routine. 

Now, he was damaged goods. At times, even showering was difficult, except when I was with him. Fighting off the fear while catering to the compulsion for cleanliness could be quite exhausting. Water nearly took his life; the wolf was weary of it, and he'd never felt more disappointed in this body than with its new fear of something so mundane.

"There certainly is a lot to think about," Stefan responds cooly. At least as far as the Strigoi was concerned, he was happy to back off when other parties had had enough of him. 

In silence, they trudge through the gaining weather. What was once uplifting was now a stark reminder of the comforts of modern living. With the chill setting in, having a heartbeat was suddenly a disadvantage, considering his undead companions. The tremble had begun to overwhelm the muscle fibers, forcing the occasional involuntary shiver. 

"You're cold." Stefan points out. 

The hardiness had effectively been zapped out of him by modern domestication.

"I'm fine." But where were they trying to go? Meeting the coven in the rain had already been ruled out; this journey seemed to be for not. He had just wanted to return to the woods, even to his detriment. It was the first speck of land they'd seen save for the forest housing the wraiths. "I think I hear a waterfall ahead; perhaps there is a shelter nearby."

"A waterfall?" Keeta cocks her head to the side, making the short, chopped red locks flip with the sudden movement. 

"Sometimes, the water carves a cavern. What we lose in the ability to predict an ambush, we gain in the masking of our scent, which is much more valuable considering what could be hunting us." 

Though admittedly, the thought of being anywhere near a body of water greatly disturbed him. To drown was one of the more uncomfortable versions of death he could fathom, and experiencing it only confirmed its promise to be slow and unrelenting. 

As he had suspected, the falls had effectively carved out a notch behind its expanse; though they weren't as heavy as he had hoped, the cave behind would suffice for a temporary shelter from the rain. Hesitating at the narrow path, threatening to pull him under with the power of the surging water, he takes a quick step back. "I think I'm going to survey the perimeter on my own; I can cover more ground that way. Will you two be alright on your own?"

Stefan eyes him suspiciously, his lips pulling down into a frown. "By yourself? You'll catch your death. You need to warm up."

Keeta shrugs dismissively. "He's right. We're getting in his way. He's the professional; let him do his job."

"Your best friend isn't his husband." Meeting his gaze, he places his cool hand carefully on the jacket sleeve. "Just be careful? Nic would never forgive me... if something happened to you. I wouldn't forgive myself."

Slipping uncomfortably from his grasp, the lycan does his best not to show how the words had touched him. "Not much out here more deadly than me."

Save for Caspian, if he'd followed as had been intended. 

Nearing the edge of the water, he pauses at the distinct scent of a corpse and the heavy aroma of perfume. He holds up his hand to stop the two from following, and the eye shine appears in the shadow of the falling water. Multiple pale faces covered by hoods crowd around the entrance of the waterfall.

Verando had considered jumping through the falls to the water below for a moment, but that fate seemed worse than a quick end by vampires. Slipping one of the knives off his belt and into his hand, he assumes a slightly more defensive posture. The cave echoes with hushed murmurs and the patter of feet as the cloaked figures huddle by the path. 

"We mean you no harm," Verando tells them quickly, cringing at his lack of practice with the language. While Marisol had given him a refresher, but her dialect wasn't the best.  

The red-eyed individual glances around him at his undead companions. "Are you taking captives?" The thick accent and verbiage gave the gray-haired man pause. 

"No. They're my friends. We're searching for a vampire coven. We're with the resistance." 

What resistance would that even be? The one hoping for peace on earth? 

His stomach dropped at the figure bared, glimmering white fangs with a hiss. 

"Well, that's too bad. We will, unfortunately, have to demonstrate what happens to those who side with the resistance." The sinister tone causes his hand to tighten on the hilt of his blade. Taking a step back, Verando encourages Stefan and Keeta to back up as the cave erupts with light, and the hooded man removes his cloak to show his civilian clothes and a large grin. 

The group bursts into laughter while the lycan attempts to decide which vampire skin would look best mounted over his mantle. 

Practically falling over from the humor of it all, the man encourages them into the cave. "You were pretty worried! Next time you're trying to find a vampire coven, perhaps don't come out during a full moon on a storm, my friend. Also, don't bring such chattering specimens with you?"

 The clear English makes Keeta sigh in relief as she eagerly pushes past Verando to enter the sizeable force. The man extends his hand, and Stefan brushes him off with a huff and a scowl; Verando shakes his hand with his sour emotions on display.

 "Leo."

"Verando. You make a terrible first impression."  

Leo shrugs, "You speak like a native; you should know these people would have welcomed you if you had only asked. We have been waiting for the Good King for some time; Mother wrote on a scroll to expect this day... didn't think it would take so long but...."

"You're hard to find." Verando accuses sharply.

The red eyes glimmer as the ashy-skinned man bumps him with his elbow, "Not for one who knows. You knew where to find us when you stopped to listen. It's good to see a friendly face. Can't trust too many magic users nowadays, not even our kind with the lies Caspian uses to recruit." 

Guiding him over to the freshly lit fire, they sit on a downed log, long since worn from many seats over the past years. 

"It's been a long time coming."

"It would seem there was very little Mother didn't predict. You should know that she predicted we would fail." 

As much as he disliked being the pessimist, recruiting people to die didn't sit well with him on more levels than one. The light of the fire flickers off his clothes, reflecting in the pale hue of his eyes. Watching Keeta interact with those of her kind made her appear much less foreign; they weren't animals; they were people cursed as he was. 

Considering this, Leo strokes the stubble of his jaw. "Mother put a lot of faith in you and your lineage. If these truly are our final days, I want to spend them fighting for what is right."

With a scoff, he carefully trails his fingers up and down his sleeves to warm his chilled form. His breath fogges as he speaks, the only source of warmth beyond the fire among the dead. "A righteous vampire..."

Leo frowns. "You don't believe it?"

Shaking his head, he finally allows his shoulders to relax just slightly. "No, no, it's not that. It's just interesting to be on this side of the prejudice. In my time, we had just come off of the war between lycans and vampires; I didn't expect you to be so-" His voice trails off, disappointed in himself for his assumptions. "I'm grateful for any help you wish to offer."

Holding the cold, stone-like hand on his shoulder, Leo pats him. "We are all a family, no matter the species." 

It was an odd sensation to meet a rational ally finally; as much as he wished to let go, his body remained rigid and uncertain as if preparing for the next attack. Between the falls' roar and the fire crackling, his senses in this cave were all but obsolete. 

The group was a surprisingly warm bunch, mostly civilians with the odd individual; Leo had recruited them over the years in preparation for the warnings that Mother had passed down over the centuries. Much as she scarred him for life, she did love her children and had used the knowledge gained through his grandfather to do everything in her power to ensure the survival of her species. 

She knew their best chance was together; she must have entrusted her offspring to eradicate the bred-in hatred of anything that wasn't pure. 

Vampires had attempted extermination once before; they had met man's wrath and paid a hefty price in the form of near extinction. Once more, they played on the lives of werewolves to regain power, only to fall to their knees at the end of a bloody power struggle. Now, it would seem the rebuild involved humility. 

Watching the twisting bodies of the dancing figures, a woman gently strums a guitar, and the odd-sounding song pours out of lifeless lungs. While vampires weren't bad singers, their eerie voices created a hollow tune of minimal keyed notes carefully strung together to hide the lack of pitch. Even undead, on the brink of war, they seemed content. 

It brought back the forgotten smile from hours before, a gentle reminder that his people needed him, too. 

A plate is brought over with a slab of thigh meat, causing him to lean away. "I don't eat humans."

"It's deer." Leo chuckles, shaking his head. "Consider being grateful. We don't often find deer around here; when we do, we tend to leave them so they can breed. One of our newest members caught it early this evening. None of us eat meat, so it's a novelty." 

Inhaling slowly, it's too good an opportunity to pass up, and he can't help but relish in the taste of the fresh-caught game. 

"You're still actively recruiting?"

Leo nods. "We have to if we want to have the numbers. But, in all honesty, people get lonely when they live forever. You make friends, you want to stay with them.. you offer them immortality." His red gaze falls on a few of the couples dancing together to the sound of the guitar. 

"At the cost of their soul." Verando points out, tone low, almost disappointed in the situation. "Seems selfish to me."

Pulling his lips into a thin line, the vampire sighs through his empty chest. "Or it could be a beautiful gift to love someone so much, never to wish to leave them, even if it means you're both damned. If I'm being honest, I'm willing to fight this war because I have been given this incredible life; it would be selfish not to wish to give some of it back if it means others can go on to enjoy it in exchange. I don't see it as a curse." 

Verando had often heard that some viewed immortality this way; it wasn't typical to meet a being who didn't wish to use the 'gift' to some advantage, whether political, financial, or personal. To use it for love alone seemed like a farce, a veil to hide a darker plot too unsavory to reveal in casual conversation. For now, he'd remain suspicious of the overly friendly vampire. 

With his dinner consumed and the festivities winding down, the thought remained. People get lonely when they live forever. How long had Caspian been on his own? In their time together, from childhood into adulthood, their friendship had been unnerving in many instances. Caspian's obsession for the gray-haired male had been aggressive as well as confusing, at the time he had been too young to entertain it could be a physical attraction and as they grew older, he had been at no shortage of women to keep him straying from his faithful friend. 

There was something Caspian wanted more than anything, something he had lacked since Sota banished him. Drumming his fingers on his knee, he finally straightens, averting his eyes from the taunting flame of the campfire. Assuring that Stefan and Keeta were occupied, he stood to find Leo in the crowd of the undead. Their smiles and laughter warmed the atmosphere amongst a crowd of corpses, the glow of the fire even threatening to throw color onto pale cheeks. Finally, he finds their generous host. 

"Leo. I need you to tell me where you last saw Caspian."