I keep silent as I work on him in the bedroom. Verando sits on a stool, back facing the sink as I work on cleaning the stab to his collar bone, it's deep and narrow, but it seems to be benign enough due to the rapid healing. 

I dump the alcohol on it if nothing else than to punish him for fighting. With each swab of the gauze to pull away blood from the various injuries and bruises, I became more and more concerned. 

My stack of soaked linens was growing. Yet, it would seem he was already healing faster than I could treat him.

Verando brings the bottle of vodka to his lips, and I shake my head as he tips it up and back. Snagging the bottle, I set it down roughly. 

"Care to share?" 

Those light eyes catch my gaze, and it almost makes my heart skip; I'm too close to him as I hover to get a better line of sight on his injury.

The bright lights of the bathroom play on the multiple shades of gray in his hair. Tangled, carefully styled to be classy and yet playful, though tousled from a rough evening of apparently getting his ass kicked. 

Streaks of blood ruin the illusion, smeared across his forehead and through those tangles. 

This man was a killer, not a boyish Englishman. His jaw was stubbled with growth, almost enough to hide the scar on his lip. "Randy, what happened? Can I please hear this from you before I have to hear it from the news?" 

Verando points to the alcohol. "I'm going to need some more of that then." 

Making a face, I hand it over. I can't handle an intoxicated lycan on top of trying to mend him, though it would seem at this point it was moot. The wounds would be healed by morning. I keep silent, not daring to interrupt him as he recounts the evening for me. 

Without having to pry, he tells me everything, and for the first time, I feel as though he's not holding back.

For so long, I had wondered how I'd feel to have my Alpha back. I had missed him, and to an extent, the no-bullshit attitude had its positives, but now, as I listen to this story, I can't help but feel a pang of regret. He was back, which meant that anyone who crossed us would not get the same 'thoughtful' approach of live and let live. 

I focus, trying to relive the details as he paints a vivid picture of the fight scene. I want to be sick and cheer all at the same time as I think of him shoving her into that oven, only to learn moments later that she was still alive but just two fingers lighter. 

I touch the bruising on his shoulder. "So the repair is holding up?"

"I haven't felt this amazing in a very long time." The gray-haired man admits, glancing downward as if he were ashamed of that fact. "I don't think I realized just how restricted I was till she hit me with that damned pan. I waited for it to hurt, and it did, but... it just didn't matter. I had been in so much pain for so long, I think she could have lit me ablaze and I mightn't have noticed..." 

I knew the shoulder was painful; I had seen him limp as long as I had known him. I remember back to that very first night, seeing the scars and thinking immediately of how it would weaken him. Looking at him, shirtless before me, I trace my fingers over the lines across his collarbone.

 "I feel like myself for the first time since it happened."

For so long, I had played off his injuries as his age; now it seemed as though he was a young man again, complete with raging testosterone. 

"Let me look at your side." I gesture to him to lean over, and he flinches as he does so, balancing on the sink. 

"So, do you think she's going to be helpful?" 

I want to think about something else, back to the actual reason why I was tending to him.

"No, but it's worth a shot if she does turn out to be useful. She brought Marisol back to break us up; she wants us to be apart; I have to wonder what she knows." Verando trails off, rubbing his temple, only to remove the implant from his ear and flinch. "I think that gun blast blew out the speaker on this implant."

 I examine the gash on his side, frowning at the location because I know keeping him still will be close to impossible. 

How fast would he heal? Should I even worry about any of these?

Rummaging through the medical kit I manage to salvage, I frown at the fact that it's well-stocked and looks well-used. My mind wanders to the beginning of his story, speaking of twins that he was being cruel to at the start of the night. 

"Verando, are you back in the mafia? Or starting your own?"

The lycan scoffs at me, mid-swig of vodka. "No. Organized crime is so cliché. I'm merely running recon on these lycans to prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else."

Wrapping my fingers around the gauze, I squeeze it firmly, willing to let it go, but I can't. 

"Did you hand over the pack to Helen just to get it out of your way? Randy, you know this means a great deal to her. She thinks you're stepping down, but by these standards, you're not, you're just ruling from a different angle."

Setting the bottle down, he takes in my words, and where I fear he will deflect, he meets me with acceptance. We're discussing difficult things, and I don't feel like I'm stripping him of the information. 

Perhaps it's the vodka, but I'll take it. 

"The pack won't follow me, and it's not a pack, to begin with. I do believe in Helen; she's just got to believe in herself. At the end of the day, it is you to whom I belong, and it's you whom I'm concerned about.

 I can't focus on you if I'm chasing teenagers, entertaining the public, and managing the outbreak simultaneously. So...perhaps in a way, yes, this is like a Mafia, if you'd like to look at it that way. I'm the Don, and Helen is my subordinate. Realistically, I don't think pack mentality as we know it would work in this time, darling; they're just a different type of wolf, hell, they don't even look like wolves.

I've got to do things the way that I know how, and that's my way."

But he's not on his own; he has me. While he is sharing, I don't understand why it's so challenging to involve me in these decisions. 

"You do seem to be quite effective." I allow, stiff.

He had managed to outdo Red all on his own, just as I was doing things on my own that were more productive without worrying about his safety. We were both reaching a point where we could trust the other to stay alive. I knew he'd come back, and he knew I could easily protect myself.

I decide to let it go, relaxing my shoulders. 

Verando had done what he told me he was going to do; he had obtained the information from Red by means that he thought were necessary, even if he was running a secret corporation alongside his musical career. 

"Alright."

Almost choking on his drink, he tilts his head, and I can't help but smile, my lightweight warlord. "Alright? Is this a trap? Am I supposed to fight for your right to tell me to stop?"

I chuckle, lifting my shoulders half-heartedly. "No trap. I... I trust you. I asked you for honesty, and you told me you'd be as honest with me as you could be; you told me about David Malcom, and you told me about Red and the twins. I trust you, and if this is necessary, I understand. I wasn't raised under the thumb of the mafia, like you were-- I don't understand how these things work. If this is what needs to be done, then let it be so." 

I do trust him-- with my life. I trust him with the fate of the world. He could be a promiscuous bastard who let his crotch do his thinking at times, but he was also one of the most feared leaders of our time; there had to be some validity in that.

Taking me in, Verando drops the bottle, and I jump to catch it, practically sprawled across his chest and parting my lips to scold him as he kisses me. The taste of vodka and the faint hint of cigarettes was fitting for my war-torn warlord. 

It builds quicker than I expected, although clumsy, as he invades my mouth, and I struggle not to cling to him with his injuries. 

"I want to tell you something." Verando finally manages when we're both breathless. 

I chuckle against his mouth, not needing many more details after riding the high of my current realizations.

"Can it wait? It's not often I get to simply kiss you."

"You're a good kisser." His accent is heavy as he finds my lips again; I place my hands on his chest, ducking away to drag my lips to his jaw.

"What is it? Before I take you captive for the evening?" Climbing into his lap, I straddle his hips, and he jerks in surprise, making us both slump off the stool and onto the tile.

"Bloody hell!" He gasps, and I jump off of him.

"What?! What happened?!" Fumbling with his pants, I note that his belt is gone and narrow my eyes at him for just a moment, then undo the button, fearing the worst. 

Had he been maimed? Kicked? Never to reproduce again? 

I jerk his pants off his hips and spot the large bruise on his inner thigh, sighing in relief. 

"For the love of the gods, Randy, I thought she'd castrated you with how you reacted."

"Might as well have!" Verando complains; I mock him as I roll my eyes in typical warlord fashion before placing my hand carefully over the injury and sending healing energy into it. In comparison, my healing was minimal now; this type of thing I could do.

 "Women have no appeal to me whatsoever." 

Shaking my head, I glance up at him through my lashes.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you rudely interrupted us for?"

"Oh, right." Clearing his throat as if such an announcement needs less drunken slur, I watch him in amusement, tugging his pants back up as the bruise dissipates, though I don't bother buttoning them. "You asked for honesty. Here it is. The rebels are magic users. Those people? Living in the deserts? I don't have the specifics, so I was keeping it to myself, but I smelt that god-awful burning-" 

Relizing that my gaze is turning more shocked than hopeful, he leans slightly away as he continues.

"The twins seem to have some power; they came from that community. I haven't looked into it, but.. you know, we could? Look into it, that is."

I lower myself into a sitting position, trying to swallow what he's telling me. Were we correct in thinking that the earth was trying desperately to rebuild itself? We had spoken so much about bringing back the balance that it would take an army to right the atrocities caused by centuries of war and neglect. 

"We could start over." I breathe.

"Oh, darling, I don't remember it well enough to start over." Verando almost complained, and I put my hand over his mouth.

"No. Lord, you're drunk, how did you ever survive on such a horrendous tollerance? No. Randy. If these are magic users, this could be our chance. We could have the numbers we need for a comprehensive approach to tackling this problem. We would need specific types of people, but this could be the break we've been looking for!" I tell him excitedly, only to grimace as he licks my hand. "That's awful; you know I hate that."

A devious look clouds his expression, and I warn him with my eyes as he growls playfully in his chest. In a quick move, he pounces, and I'm pinned beneath the shirtless man, pants sagging around his hips as he rests on his hands and knees over me. 

Bending, he kisses my neck to the crook of my jaw, dragging his teeth over the skin, and I shudder at the feeling. "Stop!" I practically squeal, only to cover my mouth, shoving my hand into his face to stop him and growling back at him as he bites my thumb. "You're going to wake up Soli, you drunk!"

"Good." His voice rumbles, tracing his tongue up the length of one of my fingers. 

I flush, removing my hand from his face and staring at him in bewilderment. Slipping his hand up my shirt, Verando attacks my navel with his mouth; I tangle my fingers in his hair and grit my teeth as I try to gain control of this situation. 

"Take your pants off." His voice is a low rumble, breathless with desire.

"Randy, your ex-wife is in the living room, and it's becoming clearer to me that you're quite intoxicated. We need to rethink your level of control." 

I slip out from under him, and I'm met with a full-blown assault of what I can only describe as a pout, rebutting my proposal with an expression of defeat that catches me entirely off guard.

 It wrenches my heart, "Are you okay?" 

Sighing at the question, Verando stood to deflect my prying eyes, stumbled to right himself, and reached for the bottle. I carefully moved it out of his reach, hiding it behind my back. 

"You're not acting like your normal drunken self."

Frowning, he crowds me like a dog after a treat, circling me clumsily to grab the bottle and only succeeding in slipping and sliding around the bathroom before he concludes to pin me to the vanity. I place a calculated peck on his chest, a gentle plea. 

"I've got a lot of head trash tonight, alright? 'M just... fucked up right now."

"Head trash?" I capture his hand and bring it to my lips as he avoids my gaze, "Is it because of her? What you did with her in the past?" I'd tried so hard to erase their time together from my memory, yet every time her name was brought up, all I could see was his body covered in welts, not unlike how it was now with how she'd struck him with the pan.

After what feels like an eternity, he nods. 

"There's a part of me that thinks I deserve this. There's a part that wants that lifestyle, to be struck like that, not to have to think about anything and work through all this shit. I-" Verando sighs, finally meeting my eyes. "I'm just trying to cope because I don't need that anymore, even if I like to think that I do in times of weakness. 

The darkness was weighty tonight; for a moment, when she was speaking, I had thought of every way I could kill everyone around us, and I could justify it if it meant ending her as well. I was ready to kill, hurt, and do whatever it took if it meant she would die. I like to pretend I'm not that person, but I'm not so sure on days like today. I want to get lost in you; it's the only time I feel anything remotely human. Which isn't fair to you, either."

My hands slide up his body, cupping his face, stroking his cheekbone with my thumb as I absorb the minor revelation. A tiny glimpse into the inner workings of this secretive man, overwhelmed by a darkness that he struggles to escape, only I see it for what it is. 

His darkness is not evil, nor is it sinister; it's simply sadness. Immense sadness that he carries the weight of all too seriously. "You would never hurt anyone if you didn't have to," I tell him firmly. "You're a good man. Red owes her life to your generosity." I pull him to me, kissing him slowly as I try not to let it overwhelm me. "I love you, every part of you, even the dark parts."

I can hardly keep up with him as he removes my clothes with inhuman strength, shredding them off my body as if they were made of paper. I scramble with his, trying desperately to fulfill this need for humanity. It didn't feel like a chore, or as if I was pacifying him, my body rejoiced in my ability to satisfy a need.

In the depths of bed, we find each other, and I see my passion for the slow burn.

 Aftercare was never something I had managed to master, yet I felt he truly needed it tonight. With his injuries, we couldn't partake in our usual intensity, but as I press my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me, he takes me from behind, and I relish the closeness of feeling every inch of his body pressed to mine. 

We find something more than the chase for a release.

Hooking his hand under my knee, I grind back against him and purr his name as I take all that he cares to give me. I reach behind me, clutching at whatever piece of him I can grasp to pull him impossibly closer as I lose myself in what can only be described as lovemaking. 

A term that used to make me gag and recoil at the very thought of something so grotesque as the overly hyped gesture. I savored every bit of him as he worshiped me, pleading for me as he climbed. My warlord always shocked me with the passion he brought to the bedroom, and he never shied away from allowing me to hear his pleasure.

I was left breathless as I finished, trembling with aftershocks as he followed me. My fingers slip into his, unwilling to relinquish one piece of him. 

"I love you." Verando exhales against my shoulder.