The clock was ticking. An endless, mind-numbing noise as if someone was inside my head, furiously hammering on my skull.

I sat with my back against the bedroom door, listening to the sound of the grandfather clock down the hallway, each tick echoing loudly like the constant tapping of a deathwatch beetle. I was wrapped in the sheet once again and the bloodied shirt, my one and only item of clothing, had been discarded, thrown into the bottom of the wardrobe as if hiding it away would stop me from remembering what had happened down in the torture room.

It had been three days since I had seen Brandon. Three days since he had clutched at his head and screamed in anguish, tears pouring down his cheeks. Three days since he had towered over me as I had frantically tried to scramble away from him. Three days since I had seen the beast fighting to escape, desperate to break free from human flesh and get to me. Three whole days and nights since Brandon had kicked out at the chair, sending the chair and my dead victim tumbling to the filthy floor and then he had fled from the room, leaving me quivering and breathless in the corner, staring at the door he had left ajar and waiting for him to return and finish me.

He hadn't returned. I must have stared at that door for a good five minutes before I realised that he wasn't coming back and that he had deserted me, leaving me with the perfect opportunity to escape.

It was nothing but a fleeting moment of hope, of course.

No sooner did I start to unfurl myself, when I heard the sound of footsteps hammering down the staircase and the scent of someone who made me wish I could swap places with the human junkie tied to the chair. Daniel always had a way of making me wish for Death.

When he appeared in the doorway, he glanced around the room, casting his eyes over the dead man before wrinkling his nose up into an ugly sneer and shaking his head.

"Up," he snapped, turning his gaze on me and I did so, climbing to my feet and pushing my back into the corner, not daring to get any closer to him. "Oh for fuck's sake," he snarled in disgust and stomped over to where I had thrown the blindfold, picking it up and whirling me around to face the wall. Wrapping the blindfold over my eyes again, he tied it tight, cruelly knotting it at the back of my head so that it cut into my skin and made me wince. Pushing on my head, he pressed my face against the cold plaster, pinning me there as he moved in closer.

"Back to your ivory tower, princess," he sneered.

"Wait, what? W-where's Brandon?"

"He's gone out. Must be your lucky night. Thanks to you though, some other vampire isn't going to be quite so fortunate. God, I'd love to see the mess he's going to make of them because trust me, no one dishes out punishment quite like your husband does. And he really isn't in a good mood. Hell, on nights like this, I can't help but be impressed by his stamina because he can go through a fair few of you vermin. But not to worry, we have plenty on ice waiting to join the party. Who knows? Maybe one of them might be your boyfriend?"

Harper's face flashed into my mind, a brief shot of pain that felt like it would crack my skull bone in two. Would he and Garrick have escaped the Cleansing? I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering where they were going when they had left me in the backstreets of Whitechapel - headlong into what they thought had been just an ambush, but had actually been the start of something far, far worse.

Daniel sniggered, before tugging me backwards by the collar and sending me sprawling towards the door. "Get moving."

I had been surprised yet relieved when he had pushed me into the bedroom upstairs and I had heard the lock of the door behind me. Removing the blindfold, I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, shocked and dumbfounded by what had just happened and wondering how in the Hell I had managed to survive my second stint in the basement. In a strange, unsettling way, round two had somehow been more painful than round one.

And since then, I had waited. And slept. And waited.

I knew he would come back.

The problem was that I wasn't quite sure which Brandon it would be.

***********

The dress hung on the hanger, hooked over the top of the wardrobe door and looking like the blackest of wraiths dancing in mid-air.

 I would have recognised that dress anywhere. How could I possibly forget it? It was the dress I had worn to the Walter and Noble Christmas charity gala. The dress that Brandon had insisted I wore. A rich silk floor length gown, the fabric draping all the way down to the small of my back, revealing a wide expanse of flesh. I remembered that night for a number of reasons. Most noticeably for the number of times that some of Brandon's colleagues had taken advantage of the backless gown, putting their arms around my waist under pretence of an innocent welcome, but their fingers finding my bare skin all too often, lingering on the small of my back. And more significantly, for Brandon's post-party confession that he had enjoyed all the gluttonous stares and the fastidious efforts of his cohorts to get close to me, to covet what only he could taste. And taste he did that night, over and over again.

And here it was, like the ghost of Christmas past risen from the dead and now haunting me in my new life.

The lights had been dimmed to nothing but the large lamp that sat on the dresser, casting its soft hue across the room and illuminating the corner where Brandon now sat.

He was slouched with his hands resting on the arms of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, pressed black trousers and polished black brogues, his curls slightly wet and slicked back, he stared at me under heavy lids. The air was weighty with something dark and oppressive and I sat up immediately when I realised he was there, feeling as if many hands were holding me down, pressing on my limbs and body. My slumber was proving hard to shake and I cursed myself for falling under so deep that I could barely fight my way out again.

"Put the dress on." His voice, although soft, cut through the silence, making me flinch.

My breath hitched in my throat. "W-what?"

"Put the dress on, Megan." It was the Megan that threw me. This was officious, demanding Brandon and I was plunged right back into that dark hole of uncertainty and tension, desperately trying to second guess his intentions.

Climbing off the bed and walking over to the wardrobe, I grabbed the hanger and headed for the bathroom.

"No. Not in there. In here." He motioned for me to remain where I was and I stared at him for a few painfully panicked seconds, feeling trapped in the blankness of his gaze. His mask was unreadable but I felt the heat building up around him, the way you do before a big storm is about to break - that suffocating, claustrophobic bind that tightens before the thunder roars overhead and the clouds release their torment upon the ground.

As I dropped the sheet, feeling my cheeks burning as I did do, he shifted in the chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he brazenly let his dark eyes touch every part of my body. I turned away slightly as I slipped into the dress, pulling the gathered straps up over my shoulders, the softness of the silk feeling alien on my skin. Fixing the hidden zip at the side, I stood awkwardly, wrapping my arms around myself as if I were still naked.

He stood up slowly, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out his iPhone. Tapping the screen a few times, soft soulful music suddenly streamed out of the speaker.

Girl I'm in love with you, this ain't no honeymoon, past the infatuation phase.

My chest tightened. My throat felt arid as I swallowed hard. This song. Our song.

Placing the phone on the dresser, Brandon walked over to me and taking my chin in his hand, he lifted my head to meet his gaze.

On returning to the room three days previously, despite being shell-shocked by that night's eventful horrors, I had felt the human's blood reviving me. Although it had been not nearly as much as I would have liked, what little blood I had consumed helped to infuse some vigour back into my exhausted body. I had hoped I could hold onto that feeling but no sooner did I look upon his face, I felt that strength dissipate, as if it just evaporated into the air when my eyes met his.

"You forgot, didn't you?" His other hand ran up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, and stopping to adjust the strap on my shoulder. "I suppose I can't really blame you. You've had a lot on your mind lately."

He inched closer, taking one of my hands in his and wrapping his other around my waist, keeping it on the silk just below my exposed back.

And though love sometimes hurts, I still put you first and we'll make this thing work.

"Happy Anniversary, Megan."

I stiffened as he drew in tighter, his lips brushing against my forehead before pulling back and looking down at me with one eyebrow raised.

"You're not going to wish me Happy Anniversary?"

"I'm struggling to work out what's happy about it," I stuttered.

"Everything. I wasn't sure we would ever spend another anniversary together and yet here we are. Surely that's worth celebrating?" His hand travelled upwards ever so slightly, one finger coveting the skin on the small of my back. "And besides," he continued. "The more I discover, the more I realise just how much this was meant to be. You were meant to be with me and I am the one destined to protect you. Every little hurdle we encounter is a like a test and each time we are proving that we can get over anything in order to be together."

"I would hardly call what happened downstairs a little hurdle. You didn't get over that, you ran away."

He laughed but it sounded cold and forced. "The fact that I walked away proves we can survive anything. I should have killed you, but the truth is, I didn't want to. I chose to walk away; I chose not to kill you." He inclined his head slightly, his mouth close to my ear. "Just as I chose not to hand you over to Drachmann."

I froze, the awkward awful dance coming to an abrupt halt.

"You were going to give me to Drachmann?" I whispered hoarsely.

He smiled but his eyes revealed a deep awful darkness, one that saw too much, one that knew too much. "No. But he wants you. Enough to let London run red with the blood of thousands of vampires in search of you it seems. Of course, you can imagine my surprise to learn that my wife should be very much an integral part of our client's big plan."

His hand was bolder now, fingers splayed out on my back. The heat emanating from his palm was like an iron on my skin and I imagined it leaving an angry red hand print on my flesh as he held me firmly in place against him.

"You know, Megs, I'm really going to have to insist on a far more honest approach to our marriage going forward. After all, how am I able to protect you if you lie to me?"

"I haven't lied to you." The storm was coming and I was right slap-bang in the centre of it.

"Good." He planted a small kiss on my nose. "Because I have been very honest with you and I'd hate for you to throw that back in my face by keeping things from me. So, why don't we start the ball rolling by you telling me just why my client wants you?"

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed out its midnight hour lament, the tolling of the bell playing out of sync with the John Legend track and jarring with the whispering of the ghosts. It was like listening to a song playing backwards, an awful sinister sound that made the hair on my neck prickle and any second I expected some demonic voice to come creep-creeping out of the speaker.

I wet my lips with a small sweep of my tongue, not wanting to look at him but unable to free myself from the hypnotic bind of his steady gaze.

"I-I don't..." I began, and then gasped as that hand that had seemed to melt the skin on my back, quickly travelled up to my hair, grasping a handful and pulling sharply.

"Please, Megan. Please don't make this difficult for me. You do know and you are going to tell me." As if to accentuate his words, his grip tightened and my roots screamed.

"I'm a threat to their plans," I burst out.

Brandon's eyes narrowed. "You? But you're just my wife. What kind of threat could you possibly be to them?"

The rage bubbled up inside me. The first real spark of something that felt familiar, something that reminded me of who I was - who I really was. I glared defiantly back at him.

"They want me because I'm the only one who can stop them. If they get me, then they will kill me just as they are going to kill Lucius and then all your efforts to get back what you had will be wasted. All this trouble you have gone to in order to show them all that you are untouchable will mean nothing."

And there it was. A barely-there flicker of panic that crinkled his brow ever so slightly, a momentary widening of his dark eyes, the way his lips parted releasing the tiniest exhale of breath.

"How?" he demanded. "How can you stop them?"

"I don't know," I said, wincing as he yanked back my head. "I swear it, I don't know how. I only know that I can and Drachmann realised the same that night in the cemetery. Why do you think I was so desperate to get away? Because he knew, Bran and he made it quite clear that he knew." I hesitated, studying him as the truth of my words burrowed deep under his skin. "What will you do, Bran? After all, it's one thing to keep me hidden away because you want me, but now that Drachmann wants me, he will stop at nothing until I belong to him."

A small, bitter growl fell from his lips. "You belong to me," he snarled.

"You said it yourself; they will tear London apart to find me. You can't protect me, not from them."

"I can and I will," he snapped, releasing me suddenly. "You are mine and you will always be mine and I will be damned if I will ever let them have you! I have concealed you for this long, all we have to do is sit tight and once they have found the boy and used him to open the gates, then it will be too late and they will no longer need to worry about searching for you. And anyway, once I am in charge of the clans, I can demand they relinquish any rights on your life in return for our services that they so greatly desire."

The blood seemed to rush to my head all at once; swirling around my skull and making me feel dizzy. "You don't have Lucius?"

Brandon stared at me, his face crinkling with confusion. "No, we don't have him. We went to Garrick's rat hole looking for the boy, but all we found were two very dispensable members of Garrick's gang and you, of course. But soon we'll have Garrick and when we find him, we'll find the boy too. It's only a matter of time, as each night goes by, more and more are being flushed out of their hiding places and soon there won't be anywhere for him to hide."

I was awash with hope and despair. Brandon didn't have Lucius but neither did Garrick, that much I knew. My insides churned at the thought of Lucius out there, lost and alone without anyone to protect him and here I was, imprisoned in a Varúlfur stronghold and unable to save myself, let alone save the boy.

As my hand reached out to touch Brandon's face, it was his turn to stiffen I trembled to feel his skin under my fingertips and I was torn between wanting to let my hand linger there and wanting to rake my nails down his cheek.

"Please, Bran, please give up your hunt for Lucius. Don't give him to Drachmann, I'm begging you."

"Why? What do you care what happens to him?"

I let my thumb brush his bottom lip, hearing the sharp intake of breath. My traitorous hands continued their offensive work, the other one gripping him by the waist and pulling him closer. The heat from Brandon was burning me and it was combined with a tumult of anger and confusion that was engulfing us both but I couldn't stop now.

"Because I know exactly what Drachmann plans to do with him and he's just a child, Bran. A child! He's an innocent in all of this and everyone is using him to get what they want. Garrick, Drachmann.....and I can't bear it. If you could just see him, get to know him like I know him, then you wouldn't do what Drachmann demands. You wouldn't be able to. Please Bran, please don't." I gritted my teeth and nuzzled at his jaw line, resisting the urge to let the bile rise in my throat as the strong scent of his true form assaulted my senses.

He recoiled with a hiss, gripping my shoulders tightly and holding me at arm’s length away from him.

"What are you doing?" he gasped, his face twisting into a tortured grimace.

"I'm begging you. I'm asking you as your wife to do this one thing for me."

"Do you not think I have done enough already?"

I stared at him, lost and desperate. "I will not ask anything of you again, I swear it. Just this one thing."

"Just this one thing." He shook his head in despair. "You ask like it is nothing. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if they discovered I would even consider concealing the boy from them?"

"But you would conceal me from them?"

"That is different," he snapped. "I don't care about the boy."

"Well I do!"

"I don't understand. Why does he mean so much to you?"

Hot tears stung my eyes and I blinked to keep them at bay. "Because he is like me, Bran. Because he is a child and he has no one, just as I had no one. And because I look at him and see everything I wanted, I see what you would have denied me - a family. What if, all this madness, all that has happened has been for one reason: to bring Lucius and me together? What if I am being given a second chance to have that family I always craved?" I reached out again, my fingers touching his chest, drifting upwards to brush the skin of his neck where the shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. "What if this is our second chance?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

I offered up a small sad smile. "You could never give me that child I always wanted. God, if it didn't hurt like Hell back then, but I understand now. I understand. But what if this is our opportunity to have a family, Bran? Okay, so he's not ours, I know that and yeah, as families go, we'd be considered pretty damn dysfunctional but we could do it. I know we could."

I stepped closer, feeling him flinch as my other hand traced the waistband of his trousers.

"Y-you would want that?" he whispered.

 My fingers crept round to the nape of his neck, entwining with his dark curls as I pulled his head down slightly so our noses were almost touching. I could smell his aftershave, that musky hint of cologne that conjured a hundred memories of me burying my head in his neck, tasting his skin and pressing my body against his, just as I was pressing my body against his now.

"More than anything," I murmured, my lips brushing briefly over his. Just enough to hear him moan softly. Just enough to make him gather me into his arms, his hand caressing the skin at the base of my spine. Just enough to ignite the fuse.

"And you would stay with me? You would be mine?"

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes."

He crushed his mouth against mine, before planting fervent kisses across my cheek and when his lips found my neck I said yes again. I said yes when he continued, his kisses travelling along my collarbone as he slipped the strap of the dress off my shoulder. I said yes when his hand smoothed over the curve of my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin silk of my dress.

And I said yes as I looked over his shoulder straight into the eyes of the Megan who stared back at me from inside the dresser mirror, her face etched with pain, hands splayed against the glass in desperation and her mouth desperately forming the same word over and over again.

No, no, no, no, no.