I sat curled up in the corner of the bathroom for some time after Brandon left.

"I'm sure you have a lot to think about," he had murmured, his fingers tracing a pattern across my bare, bruised shoulder before turning and walking away, leaving me still staring at the reflection in the mirror. I had been vaguely aware of a key turning in the lock, a small audible click that echoed through the empty bedroom, but all I could do was continue to stare numbly and breathe in the scent of the bath oils that were now starting to make me feel the creeping touch of nausea in the base of my stomach. Backing up slowly, I hit the wall and slid down it, crumpling to the floor, tangled in the white bed sheet that I still clutched to my chest. Thin skin stretched tightly over my knuckles as I gripped the linen around my body.

My gaze drifted to the large porcelain bathtub and I had the urge to fill it again and plunge my filthy body into the water. I wanted to scrub my skin till it bled. I wanted to rid myself of the stain that I was sure covered every inch of me. But the thought of lying in that tub - where I had lain with him - was enough to ignite the bile in my gut and I gagged, clapping a hand over my mouth as my body reacted the only way it could. Frantically crawling to the toilet, discarding the sheet along the way, I bent naked over the bowl and felt the burn of the acid as I dry heaved.

By the time I managed to stop, my eyes were bloodshot from the heaving and my stomach felt freshly bruised, as if someone had pummelled at my flesh again and again.  Flushing the chain, I rested my forehead against the cool rim of the bowl and tried hard to control my breathing which was wracking my chest with great pained wheezes. My ribs hurt when I inhaled too deeply but I knew the bones were already fusing back into place. Staring down at my legs, I shuddered when I saw that I still bore the horror of Felix's final attack. The wound stretched around my thigh, marking the span of his huge jaws and the skin was a mess of puckered, angry-looking scar tissue. I tentatively touched the ravaged surface, grimacing when the image of Felix's decapitated head and dead eyes assaulted my mind and fought the urge to gag again when I remembered that final dark shape looming over me.

My husband, the monster.

Using the toilet as support, I managed to climb to my feet but felt the tremor in my legs as I stood upright and had to brace myself against the wall in fear that I would collapse. My head was fuzzy with panic. I couldn't think straight, let alone walk straight and taking a tentative step, I stumbled over to the washbasin, just managing to reach it before my legs could give way underneath me. Twisting the faucet, I gasped as the blast of cold water shot out, rebounding off the basin and splashing my stomach, but it was just the shock I needed. Leaning down, I desperately shovelled handfuls into my mouth, trying to rid myself of the taste of bile before spitting it out and watching transfixed as the water swirled and gurgled into the plughole. I wished so much that I could follow it down into the drains and slither back to the dirty gutters and grimy hide-outs of Whitechapel and escape this rococo-patterned nightmare.

Glancing up, I stared woefully at my reflection in the mirror. The girl trapped in the glass stared back at me with fear plastered across her face, her eyes telling tales of defeat and submission. I felt defiled by her presence, disgusted and ashamed that I was her and that she was me. Reaching out a trembling hand, I touched her face, softy tracing the dark circles under her eyes, the contours of her cheekbones, the shoulder blade that he had touched. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against hers, laid my palms flat against the glass, against her palms, and closed my eyes, trying to prevent the tears from breaking to the surface.

A small, pale face flashed into my mind, fine blonde hair like a halo, Buzz Lightyear socks tinged with blood and that shy half-smile that somehow managed to freeze my blood and warm my heart both at the same time. With a sharp intake of breath, I pushed myself away from the mirror, my face now twisted into an ugly sneer and I stumbled across the bathroom to where the bed sheet lay discarded, gathering it around me and heading back into the bedroom. Stopping just inside the room, I glanced towards the door and quickly padded over and pressed my ear against it, attempting to detect whether any of Brandon's mutts might be waiting on the other side. I could hear nothing directly outside, but the strong scent of the Varúlfur drifted through the crack under the door. They might not have been on guard, but they were here somewhere or at least had been very recently. Frowning, I backed away from the door.

None of this made any sense. I should have been dead. Again. And yet somehow, for some reason, Brandon had managed to secrete me away in this room, with its huge bed, ornate furnishings and luxurious carpet even though Daniel and the rest of the clan would have given anything to tear me apart. Then there was the question of Walter and Noble themselves. Brandon had said they didn't know that I was here, wherever here was, and clearly he didn't want them to know that he had me. Yet despite whatever twisted notion he might have about us, was he really going to defy Richard and Grayson, not to mention their mysterious client, for some fucked-up fantasy that could never, ever work? How long could he keep me hidden here without them knowing? Maybe he thought that now they had Lucius, as long as I was held here in secret, I could never be a threat to Mr Drachmann and whoever it was that he represented. Drachmann gets Lucius. Walter and Noble get paid. Brandon gets his trophy. Everyone's happy.

Moving over to where the thick drapes covered the window, I pulled desperately on the embroidered fabric, crying out in despair when I saw the heavy industrial-looking metal shutter that had lay hidden behind the curtains. Running my hands around the edges, I tried frantically to find some small gap to prise open the shutter but there was nothing, no gap, no padlock, no button. Nothing. I slammed my fists against it, the metal vibrating and the noise resounding through the room. Staring at that blasted shutter, a cold voice whispered in my ear, sending icy tremors scattering like spiders across my skin.

He had them put there for you. All of this is for you.

I crumpled onto the chair in front of the antique dresser, wrapping the sheet around my body and tucking my feet up underneath me. Another mirror greeted me, the same girl with the same damn face; the one that told me it was pointless to fight, the one that told me to accept my fate, the one that told me that there was no escape from this.

I could do nothing but wait for my husband to return.

*************

By the time Brandon did return, the first signs of hunger had begun to nag in my stomach, like an insistent pull on my insides the way a child would tug on your hand to remind you he was there and needed your attention. As my veins lamented their thirst, I heard the scrape of the key in the lock and felt the panic rage through my muscles.

 When Brandon appeared, his face was etched with a fierce tension that soon dissipated when his eyes fell upon me. I noticed that when he shut the door, he did not lock it behind him. Instead, he just leaned his back against it and exhaled deeply, his body visibly relaxing as he watched me. I, on the other hand, sat upright in the chair, my knees pulled in tight to my chest and hands grasping the sheet.

His eyes drifted to the open curtains behind me, the metal shutter still on show. With a frown, he pushed himself away from the door and stalked across the room. I flinched as he passed me, and then again when he grabbed the drapes and swiftly pulled them shut, straightening out the fabric as he did so.

"I know it's not really fitting with the feel of the room," he said, shooting me a reassuring smile and walking over to the where I sat before leaning down and planting a small kiss on the top of my head. "But it was a necessity, I'm afraid and besides, if you keep the curtains closed, you will never know that it's there." He stroked my hair and arranged some tousled locks on my shoulder, almost as he had done with the drapes.

"A metal shutter is pretty hard to forget, curtains or no curtains."

"It's for your own good," he replied stiffly, moving away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His forehead wrinkled under his dark curls and he shook them off his face, just as he shook away the tension that had resurfaced in his eyes.

"Keeping me prisoner here is for my own good?" I stared at him, incredulous.

"I can imagine that might seem hard to believe, but it happens to be true. It's much better for you to stay in here right now. In here, I can keep you safe."

"But you said it wasn't safe for me. You said that, Bran," I shot back as accusatorially as I dared.

"In here, in this room, it's safe," he insisted. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "Outside of this room, I can't protect you. Outside of this room, you're fair game."

"Fair game? For whom? Daniel? So you let them all do whatever the fuck they wanted to me and now you're saving me from them?" I saw how he winced when I swore but continued regardless. "They tortured me, Bran. They ripped me to pieces and you sanctioned it. You sat back and let them do it, hell, you watched them do it and now you're trying to tell me that you're the one who will keep me safe? You're right; this is too hard to believe." I shook my head and felt my eyes grow hot with tears.

"And what was I supposed to do, Megs? What did you even expect? They demanded that you be punished for your crimes. They wanted retribution and I denied them that. Me. I gave them as much as I could in return for your life. You think they ripped you to pieces? If they had, trust me, you would not be sitting here now so don't talk to me about what I let them do."

"You made a deal with them?" I gasped. "You let them do all that as long as they didn't kill me."

"You saw how easy it is for them to lose control. They just need time to get used to the idea of you being around so for now, it's best that you stay out of their way. They know they are not to come up to this floor, but it's not been easy keeping them away, trust me. I bargained for your life once, Megs. I can't do it again, not yet anyway."

"What do you mean not yet?" My eyes narrowed.

He smiled smugly. "Like I said, everything will be okay as long as you stay here for the time-being. Then once everything is sorted, once everything is how it should be, then maybe, I don't know, maybe we can talk about a little more freedom. But until then, you have to trust me."

"Trust you? Tell me, Bran, will you ever get tired of doing deals with my life?"

His smiled quickly faded, replaced by a scowl that sent warning signals radiating through the room. "Do you really want to have this conversation? Please Megan, I'm really trying here, the very least you can do is meet me halfway."

I wrapped my arms tightly around my knees and said nothing. I was walking too close to the line. I knew it. After all, Brandon might have been keeping the rest of the wolves at bay, but who was going to keep him on a leash if I took one step too far? I watched, frowning in confusion as he leaned down and unlaced his loafers, slipping them both off his feet before shuffling back on the bed until he was resting against the pillows.

"Come over here, Megs," he said softly, patting the space next to him. I stiffened instinctively, my eyes wide with trepidation.

"Megan," he said again, a harder tone creeping into his voice. Slowly, I unfurled my legs from underneath me, placing them both on the deep-pile carpet, feeling every fibre as if it were digging into my skin like razor-sharp needles. My arm shook as I used it to lever myself up from the chair, still trying to hold the sheet around my chest with my other arm and with each step closer, Brandon's eyes widened a little more as did his smile. As I stood by the bed, he patted it again and I tried to tell myself this was all normal; this was all just perfectly normal.

He sleeps on the right, I sleep on the left. He sleeps on the right, I sleep on the left.

Tentatively, I lowered myself onto the bed, almost as if I were lowering myself into my own coffin, my body cushioned by the plush pillows and thick mattress. I sat propped awkwardly against the pile of cushions, as close to the edge as I possibly could.

"Look at me, Megs."

I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth as I turned my head to look at him. He had shifted to face me and I could see the hard lines of his body underneath his Ralph Lauren T-shirt, the contours of his thigh muscles through his jeans, the way his curls framed his features perfectly. In another lifetime, I would have reached over and brushed a wayward curl behind his ear. I would have pressed my lips to the warm skin just under his lobe. I would have let my fingers slip under the hem of his T-shirt to caress his firm stomach just above his navel. But now, it was all I could do not to scream in his face.

With his face crinkled in concentration, he reached a hand out to me and using just the very tip of his index finger he ran it down my upper arm, from my shoulder down to the inside of my elbow, where his touch lingered on the soft skin. Withdrawing his hand, he rubbed his finger and thumb together as if my skin had left some strange residue on his fingertip. When he seemed satisfied that it hadn't, he reached out again, firmer this time and with two fingers instead of one, he stroked from my elbow down to my wrist which he then tugged, laying my arm flat on the bed beside me. There he sat, seemingly enthralled as he let his fingers creep into my upturned palm, tracing small circular patterns that made my hand tingle with a maddening itch.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a hesitant smile and when he exhaled audibly, I realised he had been holding his breath as he had touched me and I wondered if he had been as convinced about this as he had tried to make out.

It was my turn to hold my breath as he moved closer, not close enough so our bodies were touching but enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him and enough to feel his warm breath tickle my shoulder blade.

"See?" he whispered. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" His fingers were on the move again, bolder now as they wandered back up my arm, pausing momentarily before they gently ran along my collarbone. "Baby steps, that's all we need. Trial and error. What works, what doesn't. We can find a way through this, Megs, I know we can."

My body tensed almost to the point of pain as his hand drifted downwards, stroking the top of my breast just above where the sheet was wrapped tightly around me. His breathing was heavier now, his eyes fixated on the spot where his fingers caressed me. Leaning over, he pressed his mouth to that same spot and I felt the dual sensation of the smoothness of his lips together with the sandpaper scratch of his beard. It was a brief contact of mouth upon skin and he pulled away quickly, slicking his tongue across his lips and I saw the grimace he tried to suppress and the way his face twisted with a fleeting disgust that he could not hide.

"Brandon..." I began.

"Maybe we should try the bath thing again?" he pondered. "It was easier in the bath."

"We can hardly spend all our time in the bath," I replied quickly. Just the thought of it made my head pound furiously.

"Probably not," he chuckled. "But at least the smell wasn't so bad in there."

I glanced at him. "You're kidding me, right? You hardly smell of roses yourself."

Now he did laugh, throwing his head back, his eyes sparkling with typical Brandon mirth and I watched him aghast and in pain all at the same time, because the sound was warm and rich and full of memories.

"Okay, touché," he remarked, raising an eyebrow. "At least I know that I can bear to touch you. That will have to be enough for now." He ran the backs of his fingers along my jaw line, moving up to my lips which he parted slowly with his thumb. "Tasting is off the menu for the time-being until we acclimatise to each other, which is a shame because I really do want to taste you again."

He shifted to his knees beside me, grasping my jaw and forcing me to open my mouth, his head inclining to get a closer look. My incisors had been elongated the whole time I had been here, clearly a warning sign that danger was imminent and with his other hand, Brandon reached out and smoothed his index finger over one of them.

"You know, I've never removed the teeth before. Do they grow back like this if you pull them out?"

It was said without malice or spite, so matter-of-factly as if he were talking about trying some new kind of food, but that made it all the more terrifying and the possibility all the more real. I shook my head, staring wide-eyed at him.

He studied them, turning my jaw this way and that so he could examine them closely, prodding at the gum, even pulling on one and making me wince.

"We should consider it. It might help. They don't suit you, really they don't."

My face grimaced in pain as the hunger pang burned through me and I tugged my knees up instinctively and clutched at my stomach.

Brandon looked at me in alarm. "You're still in pain?"

"It's not that," I gasped. "I - I'm hungry."

He stared blankly at me for a moment, before running a hand through his hair, pulling the curls back off his forehead. "Damn Megs, I'm so sorry. Of course, you're hungry, how stupid of me! Listen, I'm pretty sure there's a Thai place not far from here. I can go there now and bring you back your favourite."

Pad Thai. Chicken with ginger and spring onions. My favourite. Her favourite.

"I c-can't eat that," I stammered, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "You know I can't."

He blinked, before breaking out into a forced smile. "You could at least try. You always loved it."

"Things are different now. I can't eat that anymore."

His face darkened again as he bit down on his bottom lip, slumping back onto his heels, his eyes brimming with hurt. "You have to ruin things, don't you?" he sniped, bitterly.

"I-I can't help it," I said. "No more than you can help what you are."

"Fine," he snapped, thrusting his arm out. "Then if you need to do it, do it with me."

I shook my head furiously, staring at the blue veins that taunted me under his skin. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because...."

"Why the hell not?"

"We do not feed from Varúlfur."

The words hit him so hard that he visibly recoiled, his mouth curling into a sneer and a flash of amber encircling his pupils. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the sheet, dragging me to my knees and pulling me against him. One hand coiled into my hair and he tugged hard, forcing my head back and making me cry out in pain.

"Let's get one thing straight," he hissed. "There is no we anymore, do you understand? I will humour the necessities as much as I can bear, but from now on, you are not one of them. You never were. Oh, I can understand your need to latch onto something, but that was when you thought you had nothing. And now you have me." His hand reached under the sheet, his palm damp with sweat as it moved up my thigh. Bringing my face close to his, he nuzzled my cheek, letting his lips travel to my ear which he nipped gently. His breath was hot and rasping on my throat. "I will get you what you want, okay Megs? I'll do it because I want to make you happy, but just remember that I expect you to express me the same courtesy." His fingers moved higher, wandering over the curve of my buttocks and I whimpered at the intimacy of his touch. There was a time I would have ached for this, but not now. Now it just left me cold and fearful.

"Please, Bran...." I begged.

"Then say that you will do what I ask." He was unravelling the sheet from around me and I couldn't breathe. I could feel the rush of cool air on my skin and his fingers dancing lightly up my spine. "You will, won't you Megs?" He tugged my head back again, his eyes locking with mine. I nodded but a tear slipped down my cheek, which he wiped away with a kiss.

"Good girl," he soothed. "You always were my good girl. We can fix this, I promise. As long as we stick together, we can get over this. You and me, we can get over anything. I truly believe that. There are so many people who would be against this, so many that just wouldn't understand. But we understand, don't we? Because love like this just doesn't go away. The first moment I saw you, I knew this would be for keeps and they can all try to tear us apart, but what we have is stronger than everything. Stronger than the vampires, stronger than Richard and Grayson and all their fucking pointless rules. They're holding us back, Megs and I won't stand for it, not anymore."

He lowered me down onto the bed, the sheet now discarded and there was nothing between me and him except his clothes. Pressing himself against me, he put his face into my neck and began planting fervent kisses down my throat. I could feel his hardness against my thigh, his hand covering my breast as his mouth moved downwards. It seemed he had decided tasting was very much back on the menu as his desire triumphed over his repulsion and his lips worked my skin over and over. And I was frozen throughout. Frozen because I knew I didn't want this, I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear him.

Yet when I squeezed my eyes shut, it was as if I were looking back into that mirror again and I saw her. I saw her wrapped in his embrace, I saw the way she smiled, I saw the way she clutched at him, I saw the way she believed everything he had said, just as she had always believed everything he had said. She wanted it to be true. And just for a split second, so did I. Because it just seemed easier that way. Easier to believe that we could get back what we once had. Easier than accepting the harsh reality that was splintering my heart into pieces.

Just when I was wondering how much she would let me endure just to get what she wanted, Brandon moaned in anguish and buried his face into my chest, hugging me in a tight embrace. His chest heaved in and out against my stomach and he lay there for some time, trying to catch his breath.

"It will be okay, Megs, I promise you," he finally whispered. "You don't have to worry about the vampires anymore and soon, we won't have to worry about Richard and Grayson either."

"What do you mean?" There was something so ominous in his promise. I could feel it, like static prickling through the air. "Bran?"

He shifted so his face was above mine and he smiled, that young Brandon smile, as he stroked my hair gently.

"I'm going to take over the clans," he said, his eyes alight. "I'm going to get rid of Richard and Grayson and I'm going to unite the clans under my leadership."

"You're not serious?"

"I am. And it's already begun. Why do you think Daniel allowed me to save your life? Because I am the one who is going to take over. He's always known that. Hell, Richard and Grayson have always known it too. That's why they persuaded me to come back to them all those years ago and that's why they hated you so much. They thought you were preventing me from becoming the leader the clans so desperately needed."

"And now they're just going to let you take over?"

He chuckled, curling a lock of my hair playfully around his finger. "Of course not. They're still clinging on but they don't realise that they have served their purpose. They were always figureheads, nothing more. They're not uniting us, they're dividing us. Their ways are old and antiquated; they don't understand the basic needs of their own clans any more. They set us these rules that have been born out of the old ways, from the times when the Varúlfur first rose to power and they won't deviate from them. If it's not broke, don't fix it, they say. But I say, it is broke. All of it. They're more lawyers now, than warriors. They're making us look weak. There's no risk, there's no bravery, there's no fight to achieve greater things."

"And you're going to get rid of them, how?"

"I'm going to kill them of course." It was said with such innocence. Such ease. Only I saw the glints of amber in his eyes all too clearly. When he saw my look of horror, he bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, stroking my cheek with soft fingers.

"Don't be scared, Megs. I've got it all in hand, trust me. Everything's in place and soon they will be gone and nothing is going to stand in our way. We can be together, only this time, no lies, no pretence, no Richard and Grayson hanging around like the old ghouls they are, always trying to destroy what we have. And I will be head of the clans and everything will be different. Everyone will know that you are mine and no one, and I mean, no one, will be able to touch you but me. It's going to be so perfect."

With another kiss, he rolled off me and headed towards the door and I sat up, quickly gathering the sheet around me, despite knowing it was futile.

"Brandon?" I called out, hearing the tremor in my voice. "You said I didn't have to worry about the vampires anymore. What did you mean?"

He paused, the handle half turned. "Like I said, forget them. They're not a threat."

"They'll look for me. They'll be hunting for me."

He flashed me a smile. "No. No, they won't. Because they're the ones being hunted. I told you it had already begun, Megs, and it has. They won't be looking for you because they're too busy protecting themselves." He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Not that it will do them any good, mind you. This Cleansing will achieve what the first one failed to do. It will wash them from this city until it was as if they were never even here."

Opening the door, he looked back at me before he left, his eyes coveting my trembling form as I sat so small and alone in the middle of the huge bed.

"Right now, my love, you might just be the only vampire left in London."