I dragged myself backward on the hard asphalt, watching the three figures approach threateningly.

"Did you really think you'd get away?" hissed the redhead, picking up a metal pipe from the pile of trash spread out in the narrow alley.

Damn, I thought, staring wide-eyed at the pipe in his hand. My fingers grazed my ribcage, and a sharp pain shot through my body. Broken ribs, split lips, a swollen face, and several bruises starting to darken over most of my body. I looked around with a growing sense of panic in my eyes—Fuck, I can't take any more beatings.

"We know who you are, brat," laughed the tallest of them, the one who had kicked me countless times in the stomach just minutes ago. "You shouldn't have come back."

I backed away, knowing deep down that this was a dead end, but I had no choice; I had to improvise. I stumbled to my feet and hobbled backward.

"Where are you going, cutie?" the redhead sneered, raising the pipe. I continued to back away; there was really nothing else I could do. 

The brick walls were too high to climb, and I was too injured to even try. One step, and I was enveloped by darkness—a shadow. Another, and my back slammed into his chest. I recognized him immediately; I could smell his scent. The wolf again.

"Are you going to run from me again? Princess." I glanced up into his amused eyes, but there was something more in them. Something powerful and wild.

I didn't need to do anything other than hold his gaze for a moment; he must have seen what bad shape I was in, and there wasn't time for talk. Behind me, I heard the trio starting to back off. I didn't blame them; if I didn't know who he was, I would have been terrified too. Conor took three steps forward, and I barely had time to exhale before they fell like bowling pins around me. 

My body gave out, and with a groan, I fell to the ground. In the background, I could hear sounds of pain and struggle, but I didn't need to watch the fight to know that he had the upper hand. I allowed myself a sigh of relief before I blacked out in a puddle of dirty water mixed with my own blood.

I moved between consciousness and darkness as he lifted me up, feeling a supportive arm around my waist. He helped me effortlessly, and I let him lead me away. I didn't care where; I just wanted to keep my eyes closed—that was all I asked for as I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"So you do remember how to talk." I noted the sarcastic tone, but I didn't have time to respond before I passed out again.

I woke up to the sound of jangling keys and heard him inserting a key into the lock, and soon we were inside a cramped hallway.

"You look like shit," he remarked, guiding me into the bathroom. "Wash off the dirt." 

It was an order, I thought, glancing at his broad back and dark curls before he shut the door behind him. A small smile broke through as I was thrown back to memories I had almost forgotten. Everything had been so incredibly different back then. I had been different, and he probably had too, but somehow he was still the same, and it felt safe in a way.

I pulled myself up to my feet and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Fuck, I sighed, squeezing my swollen cheekbones, but my lips were almost healed already. The positive side of my vampire blood was that I would recover pretty quickly. 

I stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash over me, enjoying the lather of the shower gel that smelled just like him as it spread over me like a comforting blanket. The door opened, and a gust of cold air hit me. Nothing happened; everything was silent. A moment later, I stepped out from behind the shower curtain and spotted a pile of clean clothes folded on the toilet seat. So that's why, I smiled and started drying myself off.

A little later, I stepped out of the bathroom in an oversized white T-shirt and a pair of boxers. Conor sat at the kitchen table with two cups of hot coffee in front of him; I saw steam rising from the porcelain edges, and the aroma filled the room. My gaze wandered from the cup to his swollen knuckles and scrapes; he had fared pretty damn well considering it was three against one. Slowly, I shuffled over to the table and sank into a chair with a painful groan. I noticed him raise an eyebrow, but I said nothing. Silently, he pushed the cup toward me, and I gratefully accepted it, letting the warm drink fill my mouth and warm my battered body.

"It seems a lot has happened since last time," he finally remarked, and I could do nothing but nod.

Where the hell should I start? I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. "It's a really long and pretty depressing story."

"They usually are." I spun the cup on the table in an attempt to buy some time while I tried to figure out what to say. "You said you never killed for blood."

His words made me look up at him suddenly with shocked eyes. "What?"

"That's what you said," he muttered.

"I—I don't, I'm not—"

"No? What the hell do you call it then?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice, and I couldn't grasp whether he was serious or joking.

I stared down at the cup for a moment before looking up at him again. "I drink from blood bags."

His expression said it all, but then he opened his mouth, "I saw you."

I pushed my chair back and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen while he calmly studied me from across the table. No more lies, I sighed to myself, leaning heavily against the refrigerator. 

"It's like a drug," I whispered quietly, "the more you drink, the more your body craves." I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, you don't need to hear this."

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged a bit. "I was the one who asked."

I nervously shifted and started fiddling with the refrigerator magnets. "Do you..." I began hesitantly, "do you think, could I... stay the night?" I threw a quick glance at him and watched him get up from the table and walk toward me as I began sorting the refrigerator magnets by color.

His hand grabbed my jaw as he turned my face toward him. "You can take the sofa in there," he said, nodding toward the room next door, "or the bed with me." One corner of his mouth tugged upward, "your choice."

Conor had left me alone in the apartment. I wandered around, nervously poking at things and waiting, but it didn't take long before my eyes fell on the bed. Damn, I was so incredibly tired. My ribs ached, and my thighs screamed from the run. The bed, I thought, I choose the bed. Quickly, I pulled off my shirt and fell down among the sheets with a satisfied sigh. Seconds later, the world around me went black, and I slept heavier than a bear in hibernation.

Suddenly, I was back in the castle, Les Griffes crawling on the ceiling. There was nowhere to go! They got me..! I woke up with a start and looked around the dark bedroom. A dream, fuck, it had felt so real. I rubbed my palms over my face and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs.Beside me, I heard deep breaths; I hadn't even noticed when he came home. I focused on the  sound, but it wasn't enough to calm my frayed nerves. Fuck it, it's all or nothing, I thought, and I edged closer, positioning myself among arms and legs until I found a comfortable spot and made a brave attempt to relax. It didn't work; I twisted and turned, moving arms and legs until I heard an irritated sigh behind me. 

"Sleep."

"I'm trying..." I muttered sourly, fluffing the pillow. My neck hurt, and my ribs screamed from his weight as he wrapped his arm around me, and I struggled to get out of the uncomfortable position. Annoyingly, his grip tightened around me. "It's a good thing I don't need to breathe," I muttered, feeling his body move from the silent laugh and loosening his grip a bit.

"Wasn't this what you wanted?"

I slowly turned to face him and nodded my cheek against his skin, "yes."

In a final attempt, I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat. Damn, it had been so long since I felt anyone's pulse or heard someone's breath. It was hypnotizing. My victims didn't count; they were food. A pang of anxiety stabbed me in the chest. Fuck, he was right. I was killing people. I felt nausea creeping in and did everything I could to shake off my sick thoughts. I have to stop. I'm stopping now, today, I'm stopping today!

My mantra was interrupted by a hand that slipped into my hair and combed the strands between his fingers. "Who are they?"

I couldn't feel my arm anymore from his weight, but I did my best to ignore it.  "Who?"

"The ones hunting you," he replied calmly.

I sighed and shook my head tiredly. "We messed with the wrong crowd."

"We?"

"Me and my roommates," I answered shortly.

"Who are they?"

"They are like me."

He was quiet for a moment, "and what are you?"

"A fucked up punk," I muttered tiredly.

He chuckled quietly and kissed my forehead.

I sighed and lay on my back. "We left when—.." my voice broke, and I took a deep breath, "Clocksworth disappeared, so there was really no reason for me to stay."

Even though it was pitch black in the room, I could make out how he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at me. "So whose fault is it that you feel so damn shitty that you drain people of blood and torture yourself?"

"You really suck at sugarcoating things," I grinned, but his words pierced my heart.

"It's a bad habit I have," he replied calmly but with a hint of humor in his voice.

I nervously licked my lips and turned away from his gaze. "What difference does it make?"

"That wasn't the answer to my question, sweetheart."

"My own," I replied with a sigh.

He shook his head and lay back down again. "Do you always lie to yourself?"

The space between us made my skin prickle with cold, and I moved closer again. "A bad habit I have," I mocked cheekily.

He seemed amused by my little outburst, for soon the hand was back in my hair, and his body warmth made my aching muscles relax. "Which gang is it?"

I shrugged. "Shifters with access to weapons and connections."

His hand moved from my hair down my body until it stopped over my partially healed ribs. "They almost killed you, Princess."

"It wasn't too bad, this time," I sighed and closed my eyes.

"So it wasn't the first time," he muttered irritably.

"They probably want to kill us," I stated dryly.

He was silent for a moment before he continued asking his questions. "How many are you?"

"Four."

He raised an eyebrow in the dark as he chuckled. "Four baby vampires against an entire gang of shifters? What the hell have you done?"

I shook my head; I didn't have the energy to talk about it. Instead, I turned toward him and buried my face under his chin. "We'll deal with it tomorrow."

His arm rested heavily over me, and I relaxed to the sound of his heartbeat. "So when were you planning to ask?"

"Ask what?" I wondered tiredly, on the verge of whining.

"If I want to help you."

"If I ask now, will you be quiet for the rest of the night?"

"Maybe," he grinned, and I sighed, lifting my gaze to meet his."Do you want to help me?" I asked.

"Do you want my help?" he countered.

I rolled my eyes. "Always so difficult."

"I'm waiting."

I met his amused eyes with a smile before deciding to make him wait a little longer and pressed my mouth against his. Willingly, he parted his lips, and soon my mouth was filled with his warm tongue. An involuntary moan escaped my lips as his hands moved over my broken body, but then he suddenly stopped.

"Dirty trick, Belmont, but I know that game all too well," he smirked. "So? Do you want my help or not?"