The water hit him on the back of the neck and ran down the gulley between his shoulder blades, snaking a trail down his spine and travelling over the various inked pictures and symbols that patterned his skin. With his hands pressed against the communal shower wall, he remained like that for a few moments, letting the spray massage the tension out of his body and all the while I stood and watched, feeling like a voyeur and yet unable to tear my eyes away from him. My gaze touched every inch of him that I could see, coveting his broad shoulders down to the small of his back, the tail of the dragon that curled around his hip and the way the water trickled down his muscular thighs. The noise of the shower echoed off the walls and just when I thought he had no idea that I was even there and was considering leaving before he spotted me, Harper turned around, and as brazen as ever, gave me a full frontal shot framed by an arrogant grin.

"Are you going to just stand there or are you going to close the door and get in here?"

The dark glimmer in his eyes was irresistible but still I hesitated, suddenly feeling nervous at the thought of getting it on with the others just a few rooms away. Shaking his head, he stepped out from under the row of shower heads and casually sauntered over to where I hovered, the water dripping from his hair, down to his chest. Reaching round me, close enough for droplets to fall onto my arms, he pushed the door shut and wedged a plastic-backed chair against the handle.

"There," he said, leaning down and running a damp finger along my jawline. "Now there's no need to feel shy, angel. It's just you and me."

Turning his back on me, he walked towards the shower room again without looking back.

"Unless of course you've forgotten how to do it, it's been a while after all," he called over his shoulder.

I knew he was smiling. I could feel it from across the room as he submerged his head back under the spray, letting the water soak his hair and no doubt grinning with the knowledge there was no way I wasn't going to take the bait. Of course I was, but I was sure as Hell going to make him work for his catch.

Pursing my lips, I stripped, hesitating for the briefest of moments when it came to removing my shirt, feeling the slight chill in the air whisper over my skin as I did so. Stepping into the shower room, I was grateful for the heat that permeated from the spray and marvelled at how running water had become such a luxury to me. If running water was a luxury, then hot water felt nothing short of a miracle.

As I approached Harper, he did not turn around or even acknowledge that I was there and I felt the unpleasant buzz of nerves tickle in the base of my stomach. He was right: it had been a while since we'd last clutched at each other in the cab of the lorry in Fenton's yard. So much had happened since then, so much had changed.

I had changed.

I tried hard to not think of the two long puckered ridges that now decorated my back, a constant reminder of the truth from which I could not escape. I recalled Harper's fingers running down the scarred skin, his fascinated exploration of the horror that I had tried to hide from him. I wondered whether he would be just as enthralled now or whether the novelty would have worn off and his fascination turn to disgust.

Taking a deep breath, I continued, enjoying the warmth of the water between my toes and wishing the heat would ease the ache in my muscles and soothe the tension that dogged my every step forward. When I reached Harper, I felt lost, halfway between a desire I had to satiate and an urge to flee. With a hand that trembled far too much for my liking, I reached out and touched his back with tentative fingertips at first, tracing along inked lines yet the more I touched him, the more my confidence surge with every second as my hunger for him won out. Placing my palms flat against his skin, I resisted the urge to grin when I pressed my mouth against his back and heard him moan with pleasure. I stayed there for a moment, relishing the taste of his skin upon my lips and then very slowly, my hand wandered down, lingering briefly on his hips before reaching round, following the contours of his pelvic bone. Brushing the base of his taut stomach with feather-light caresses, I allowed my hand to drift down, down until I found my goal. I did smile then, as I felt how hard he was and heard his breath quicken with every stroke of my hand from base to tip.

Leaving a trail of kisses down his spine, I lowered myself to my knees and he turned around, pressing his back against the shower wall and looking down at me through his long dark lashes. With a want that was threatening to spiral out of control way too soon, I ran my nails lightly up his thighs, leaning in closer so that he could feel the tantalising warmth of my breath on his skin. He was groaning before my lips even touched him, grasping my hair in his fists and pulling me close as I took him into my mouth, teasing him with my tongue.

"Fuck, Megan," he hissed. I locked eyes with him and his lips curled up into a sexy smile as he watched my mouth work him over again and again. Just when I thought he'd reached his peak, he reached down and pulled me to my feet, laughing softly at my bemused expression. Snaking his hand round the back of my neck, he tugged me close and kissed me hard with a voracious hunger that sent a warm pulse rippling over my skin. We remained there like that for a moment, his mouth moving against mine, with the water cascading over us. I was so lost in his embrace, so lost in the sensation of his body against mine that when he began to turn me around, swapping positions, it took a few seconds for me to realise what he was doing.

"Wait," I stammered. "Harper, wait...."

But it was too late. He was behind me and he could see. He could see everything.

I leant my forehead against the shower wall, defeated and ashamed by the scars that had ravaged my skin. In my head, I saw his face, I saw the disgust and the repulsion. I saw the horror and the rejection and prepared myself for it all.

What I hadn't prepared myself for was for Harper to press his mouth against the top of one the scars and plant soft kisses along its path. I gasped, my eyes widening as he continued smoothing his lips up the other ridge, his hands finding mine and his groin pressed against the base of my spine.

"Beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling at my neck.

"No," I protested miserably. "How can you even say that?"

"Beautiful," he insisted, nipping my ear with his incisors.

I turned, pushing against his chest, burning with anger and indignation at the lie that tripped so easily off his tongue. "What happened to the Harper Cain that always gave me the brutal truth of it all? When did you start to sugarcoat the facts to spare my feelings?"

Ignoring my rebuff, he inched closer and curled a hand into my hair, winding it around his palm. "You want the brutal truth, angel? Stop whining about the things you cannot change. Wear your scars with pride because every single scar your body carries is a testament to who you are and what you've overcome. Our scars represent survival, they represent strength and each one is beautiful because of that." Grabbing my hand, he pushed it downwards, covering his thick shaft with my palm. "That's how beautiful I think you are. Does that feel like a lie to you?"

I shook my head. His fingers untangled from my hair and travelled down to my breast, where he stroked his thumb languidly over my hardened nipple.

"Does that feel like a lie to you?" he whispered. Down, down his gentle touch wandered, over my stomach, sliding between my thighs, his fingers moving expertly.

"And what about this?" he said, slipping two fingers easily inside, curling them slightly as he fucked me with just his hand. I could barely speak as I bucked my hips in sync with the movement of his devilish fingers, eventually exhaling a moan that brought a smile to his lips. Dropping to his knees, he splayed a hand on my stomach, holding me in place, the other hand still moving between my thighs. I felt the rough scrape of his facial hair against my skin, his mouth exploring my body until he found my most sensitive spot where he teased me with maddening strokes of his tongue.

I was undone, completely and utterly at his mercy as the steam of the water clouded the shower room. My moans turned to cries of pleasure and the heat pooled at my core, sending shockwaves of bliss through my body as I came hard, digging my nails into his shoulders. He didn't stop, prolonging the pleasure almost to the point of pain and until I thought I might buckle to the floor and had to beg him to stop.

"Stop?" he laughed softly. "Oh angel, I have barely started."

With little chance to recover from the onslaught of his mouth upon my body, Harper stood and ran a hand up my thigh, raising it to curl my leg around his hips. With a wicked grin, he entered me with one easy thrust, grinding hard against me. Pulling back for a moment, his eyes glinting mischievously, he thrust hard again, pushing himself back inside me, filling me so fully and deeply that I cried out his name and captured his mouth with a forceful, feverish kiss. I tasted my own desire on his lips and groaned as he moved faster against me, the impetus of each thrust driving me closer and closer to the edge again.

My lips brushed along his jawline, finding the soft skin of his throat and I bit down, driven wild by the thought of his blood in my mouth, on my tongue. Harper moaned in ecstasy, his ragged breathing in my ear. His blood seeped from the wound and I lapped it up hungrily, so full of thirst for him that my whole body ached to be fed in every way possible. And fed it he did, with every stroke of his hand, every hard and fast thrust of his hips. With ease he picked me up, wrapping my other leg around him so I could hook my ankles together, pulling him even closer as my hands clutched at his back, feeling his muscles tightening. Pushing my back against the wall, Harper buried his face in my neck and returned the favour, his incisors piercing the thin skin there and his mouth sucking on the puncture marks and the harder he sucked, the harder he thrust into me.

"Oh god," I moaned, curling my hands into his wet hair. I couldn't stand it any longer, I couldn't hold it at bay anymore and I didn't want to. My body trembled with the anticipation of what was to come and when the flood of sensations finally exploded throughout my body, Harper let go, pouring himself into me with such a force that I all but screamed his name, hearing it echo off the walls and knowing there was no way the sound of the shower could have drowned out my cries. I didn't care though. He was mine and right then, I didn't give a damn if the whole world knew it.

Holding me there, with the water still pouring down our slick bodies and the warm buzz of rapture still coursing through my skin, Harper nuzzled my cheek with his nose.

"Beautiful," he whispered against my skin.

******

We sat on the bench that lined the walls of the changing room, wrapped in towels, side by side. The steam from the shower hung heavy in the air, leaving a sheen of slick moisture on every surface. Unspoken words separated us until I could bear it no longer, the burden was simply too much to carry.

"Harper," I broached gently. "What Josiah said ...about what happened at the compound...."

"Forget it," he said but I saw the way his fists clenched and couldn't let it go. I had to tell him, I had to explain otherwise I knew the ghost of Brandon would always remain between us.

"No, I can't," I insisted, shooting him a wary glance. "You have to understand that I would have done anything, said anything, to keep myself alive. I had to, not just for myself, but for Lucius too. But it wasn't how Josiah said." I swallowed hard, fearful of how he would react but knowing I had to do this. I had to tell him the truth. "I admit, I tried. I tried to remember what we once had, I tried to forget what we had become, but in the end, I froze and so did he. Neither of us could go through with it, we couldn't pretend. I'm not telling you this to hurt you and I understand if you hate me for it, but I can't stand to let this go unsaid."

With a deep sigh, Harper shifted, straightening his spine as he reached over to where my hands lay on my lap and covered one with his, interlocking his fingers with mine.

"I don't hate you for it, Megan. I admit, I was a little jealous...."

"A little?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. "Okay, okay, insanely jealous. But when I left the chapel, I realised that it was crazy to be mad at you. You think if it had been Jenny, I wouldn't have done the same? He was your husband. She was my wife. There are bonds there, memories, emotions that are hard to banish. I get that."

"Oh," I said. Jenny.

He squeezed my hand and smirked. "Jealous?"

"A little," I admitted, then gave him a wry smile. "Okay, okay, insanely."

He laughed then and tugged me towards him, pulling me onto his lap so that I was straddling him.

"I have to say, you're being remarkably okay about all this, Cain."

"Am I?" He pulled me closer, the towel sliding up my thighs. "Well, I suppose if you hadn't done what you did, then you might never have escaped. And if you hadn't escaped, you wouldn't be here now."

"What happened to you?" I mused. "You're being particularly agreeable. It's very unlike you."

"Yes," he said, his confident grin wavering. "I'm saying and doing a lot of things that are very unlike me. You seem to have this effect on me."

Gently he stroked my damp hair off my face, tucking some stray locks behind my ear. His eyes bore an uncertainty, an uncharacteristic vulnerability that always struck a chord of fear in my heart to see because it always brought with it a deeper connection that wrapped its roots tighter and tighter around my soul.

"Megan, I...." he began.

I pressed my fingers against his lips.

"Don't," I gasped. "Don't say anymore."

Grabbing my wrist firmly, he kissed my palm with an open mouth, his emerald eyes searching mine for something I didn't want him to find.

"What are you afraid of, angel?"

"Everything."

"And don't you think I'm afraid?"

"You, Cain?" I afforded him a weak smile, but my brow wrinkled with confusion. Harper Cain, afraid? The idea seemed ridiculous, completely and utterly insane.

"Ah, well see here, now you're getting closer to the truth of it all. Put me on a battlefield facing a hundred Varúlfur and I'll howl a challenge louder than all their cries and run headlong into the fight with a big fucking grin on my face. Put me one on one with you and I'm more afraid than I've ever been in my whole life. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't do feelings all that well, but if I can do it, if I can sit here and tell you that I love you, then you can do the same. Because I do, you know, and whether you admit it or not, I'll keep loving you and I'll keep saying it too, even though it scares the living shit out of me to say it out loud. I love you, Megan Garrick."

I held his face in my hands and pressed my forehead against his, closing my eyes.

"You had to do it, didn't you?" I whispered. "You had to say it."

"Is it really that terrible?"

"Not terrible. Terrifying," I said.

"I know. But I still love you."

I sucked in a breath. "And I love you."

He smiled, brushing his lips against mine. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You have no fucking idea."

*****

Fenton's new base was an old derelict secondary school in Battersea, a remnant of London's failing inner city education system that had been deserted for years now, shrouded behind broken fences and overgrown ragged bushes. The place had been forgotten, once a haven for addicts and gangs and now a haven for vampires. The survivors from Oxleas and the Second Cleansing housed themselves within walls ravaged by damp, gathered together in rooms with leaking ceilings and boarded up windows, all learning how to live again, learning how to keep on surviving.

I wandered along the corridor, running my fingers along the faded art-class and literacy projects that lined the walls, the wannabe Picasso's and Austen's, now immortalised on yellowing pages that were patterned with clusters of mould. Following the sound of voices, I entered a doorway on the left which looked like the old science room containing tall benches with gas taps and broken glass beakers. Someone had sprayed-painted Einstein is God on the whiteboard in big black letters.

Scanning the room, I found Lucius and Harper sitting side by side on one of the worktops in the corner, the little boy busily chatting away and pointing to pictures in his story book and Harper sitting stiffly beside him and looking so awkward as the child tried to make conversation that it made me chuckle inwardly. When Harper glanced up and shot me a blatant 'rescue me' look, I laughed out loud and shook my head, walking over to where Fenton stood to the rear of the room, sorting through a bin-bag full of clothes.

"Hey," I said, reaching his side and raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Clothes for our people," he explained. "Some of them don't have much."

"Well, aren't you a regular humanitarian," I said dryly. My eyes drifted over the piles of clothes and stopped when I spotted an item of clothing that I recognised only too well.

On the end of the worktop, the jacket that Garrick had been wearing at Oxleas was neatly folded yet still stained with his blood. The blood had now faded to a dirty brown and was so engrained in the cloth that it was hard to tell whether it was indeed a stain or a pattern on the fabric.

"I kept it...." Fenton confessed, his face reddening a little as if embarrassed. "I'm not even sure why. I thought that maybe I would wear it, that it might bring me some sense of comfort. But I can barely even touch it, let alone wear it."

My hands hovered briefly above the jacket. Holding my breath, I gently touched the soft twill, feeling the dull ache of grief when I remembered how he had looked wearing it and how he would never wear it again. From somewhere far off, I heard the whisper of my name and I turned expecting to see him standing there, that long Mohawk falling over his face, but instead found myself staring into Fenton's ever-wary eyes.

"I asked Harper if he wanted it."

"Oh? And what did he say?"

"He said it was a shitty jacket and that Garrick always had poor taste in fashion."

Smiling, I ran my fingertips over the antique brass buttons. "Well I always liked it."

"You're welcome to have it. If you want it, that is."

"Really?" It was a little too big for me admittedly, but if I was to roll up the sleeves, I figured it might look okay. As soon as I pictured myself wearing Garrick's jacket, I realised just how much I wanted to wear it. "I'll need to wash it," I said.

Fenton nodded and walked away, busying himself with his task and handing out various items of clothing to those dotted about here and there. I still wasn't quite sure what to make of the vampire whom Garrick had created. I knew practically nothing of how and why Garrick came to turn Fenton. Apart from the briefest glimpses of grief for his maker's death, Fenton remained strangely cold and distant and watching him walk the room, donating clothes to those in need, I struggled to see how he would ever help revive what was left of our people. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was too tainted by Harper's distrust of Fenton to see beyond his awkward aloofness. He had saved my life, after all. I could only hope that Garrick had seen in him something worthy of the blood, something that maybe I couldn't yet see.

I perched myself on the edge of the bench, my hand resting protectively on the coat and letting my eyes wander around, feeling comforted by the presence of so many familiar faces and lifted by the tumult of voices, punctuated by the odd peel of laughter. It felt good to be here amongst them and I could see they felt it too, a strength garnered only by being together – a defiant fuck-you to the world the Varúlfur were trying to create for us.

When the sound of a ringtone suddenly began to resound through the room, the buzz of conversation halted, expressions switching from bemusement to stunned surprise. My back stiffened, the muscles tensing across my shoulders when I realised that it was me they were all looking at, that the noise was coming from me, or more accurately, from right next to me. I looked down, staring wildly at Garrick's coat still neatly folded by my side on the bench. The trill of the ringtone was coming from somewhere within folds of fabric.

Pulling the jacket onto my lap, I searched inside the pockets and quickly found the source of the noise. My hand trembled as I held up Garrick's mobile phone in front of my face.

The screen lit up as it rang, highlighting the name of the caller on the display, but I didn't need a name to know whose number it was.

I practically knew that number off by heart.