The darkness was absolute. He couldn't make out even a sliver of light. Not that he cared, or that he needed to see but like this he was alone with his pain and even worse; he was alone with his thoughts. He counted the drops of water that leaked from somewhere nearby. Plop, plop, plop plop.

Maybe the monotony of it would lull him into sleep. He snorted, there was no chance of that. None at all. Exhaustion hadn't taken him, not even once. He slipped in and out of a daze from time to time, but that was as close to sleep as he got.

He concentrated on the pain in his shoulder and shifted a bit to feel it better. Courtesy to the salt in his wound it opened at his movement and warm blood trickled down his back and front. It didn't occupy his mind for long. Nothing did. Except for her.

He jerked his mind away from her, like he would with skin too close to fire. Because just like fire, thoughts about her burned. They seared into his mind, his heart, his very soul and like fire, they consumed him.

There was no way of escape from here. Not that he hadn't tried, his wrists were bloody and raw. He suspected down to his bones. But the ropes were tied in a way that constricted further the more he struggled. His hands were tied behind his back, which was pressed against a wooden beam. So there was no way he could unfurl his wings to rip off his binds. His wind had been taken by a witch during the fight with the traditionalists. It was only temporary, but he didn't know how long he would have to go without it.

That was why he hadn't been able to protect her. If he'd had his wind, he would have mowed down the seraphim without a second thought. And she would be safe, with him. Again he asked himself, why? Why hadn't she told him? Why hadn't she taken him with her? Why had she lied to him?

He shook his head. He didn't need to ask those questions. Because he knew her. She had done it because she hadn't seen another way. In her own way she had tried to keep him safe as well as all the others. He sighed. Leave it to Daphne to go against Alric on her own, because it was safer for everyone else. Stubborn woman. His stubborn woman.

He'd been confounded by the feelings she'd inspired in him. The way she cared for him, the way she trusted him with her life. Even after he'd tried to kill her, even after he had searched her out to do just that. These confusing feelings had only grown the better he got to know her. And when she had been in his arms he'd felt like coming home, from a lifetime of wandering. Like he was waking from a lifelong dream, to live truly for the first time.

If they had done anything to her, if she hadn't survived... No, she had to be alive. He was sure he would have felt it somehow if she... He shook his head again. The thoughts about her had consumed him again. And they hurt like hell. More than any wound on his body did.

The queen had been right about one thing; he yearned for her. With every heartbeat and every waking thought. It wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced. He'd pitied those in love before he'd met her. That stupid concept that made fools out of men and reduced women to quivering puddles of cheesiness. He'd pitied Kate, that was before he saw what kind of strength it had inspired in the terror. She'd always been an unsettling being to him, but to see the fury she'd unleashed while fighting for her werewolf had been staggering, if a little scary.

Kate had fought like a madwoman, against throngs of enemies and she had cut through them like a fiery blade.

He'd lost his family and fought, meeting out his revenge, consumed by wrath and sorrow. And he knew that that had fueled him. But this? After having been alone for so long and being nonchalant about it, he'd gotten used to it. Only to have her wriggle into his heart and lodge herself there good and tight. With her warmth, her stubbornness and her fire. She possessed an inner strength that he had never seen in another. Her will to live, the constant battle with herself, her nature and her loneliness. Things he understood. But she had done a much better job of what life had dealt her than he had.

What he wouldn't do to get back to her. He'd do anything. And now he finally understood the madness that had burned in Kate's eyes. The same madness that was lingering inside him now. Threatening to drown him.

Mist lay his head back against the beam. He needed to think of something else. Growling at himself he tried. There was one thing he didn't get. Why had the princess come after him and why now? He hadn't killed, or even seen a seraphim for years. If he'd killed the king twenty years ago, which was the last time he'd killed one of them, why hadn't they come after him then? It didn't make sense.

And where had the queen seen him before? She'd said something about his eyes being empty and he guessed that she was right. He had been empty for a very long time. Numb to anything but anger. But when had she seen it?

Letting his mind drift back to every seraphim encounter he could think of, of which there were many, he closed his eyes. Then he tensed, he remembered one encounter that had been different, because it had been the one time he hadn't killed his prey.

The night was crisp and clear. He could smell snow as he walked the dimly lit streets of some nameless city. One of too many to count on his journey to get away. From the seraphim, from his memories, from himself. It was a night like any other. He made his way from the tavern he had frequented for the night to get to the room he'd rented from a human.

Normally interacting with mortals was forbidden, according to the system. Well, he pissed on the system. He didn't care what the high and mighty had decreed forbidden and what not. It wasn't an act of rebelling, not as it been in his youth, but more one of necessity. If you had enough money, they didn't ask questions, plus, they had no idea what he was. Or who. Which was a definite advantage if you were hunted for who you were.

He was planning on leaving here soon. He'd heard of a city that welcomed outcasts and any myre that wanted out of the system. How that was possible with the ruling ancients he had no idea. But different sources had verified it. He briefly allowed himself to think of Nathan and what he'd have to say to something like that.

"Bloody brilliant," he's no doubt say. "Let's go!"

And they would have been on their way. If he hadn't been dead. If he, Mist, hadn't killed him. A twinge of pain twisted his chest and he punched the thought from his mind.

He hiked up the collar of his coat and hurried on. Passing a dark alley, he heard a whimper. Followed by harsh words.

"Show us, little girl. I know you can. Show my friends your fiery wings." Mist stood rooted to the spot. 'Fiery wings'?

"You don't want me to hurt you, now do you?"

Mist heard the flicking sound of a knife, it was followed by another whimper and rough laughter. He rolled his eyes and turned into the alley. Sure enough, somehow a gang of filthy human men had cornered a small seraphim girl. Her eyes wide and scared, she eyed the knife in front of her face and swallowed while tears streamed down her face. He could smell her fire and her eyes widened even further as she caught a whiff of him.

Seraphim were his enemies, but she was only a girl and mortals threatened her. Mortals that weren't allowed to know about things like 'fiery wings'.

"Let the girl go," he said calmly as he came up to the men. The one holding the knife turned to him.

"Oh, what have we here? A hero?" His friend cackled.

"I am not going to tell you again," Mist grated.

"No, no please," the girls said through sobs. "Don't leave me, I'll show you. I'll show you my wings, just don't let him come closer."

Mist scowled. The girl was more afraid of him than of the humans? Smart child. But it was irrelevant, he'd made a decision and he would see it through. He always did. He grinned as the first man parted from the group, coming at him with a puny little knife. The man swiped the blade at him, Mist dodged it with ease and gripped the back of the man's head. He turned and smashed the head against the nearest wall. He heard the crushing of bone and stone beneath his fingers. As he let go of him the man slumped down in a lifeless heap.

The other men gasped and stared at him. The one holding the girl flung her back and she hit the wall with her back, making a stricken sound as the wind got knocked from her lungs.

Then they came at him. He kicked the first one to reach him in the chest sending him flying into the next. They both toppled to the ground. Ducking the swipe of a knife he caught the arm wielding it, it took little pressure to break it. The man let go of the knife and screamed, until Mist pulled him against his chest and snapped his neck.

The next one crawled over to the knife on the ground and got up. Mist snagged the hand holding it and turned it on the man. A sickening sound erupted as the blade pierced the skin of his neck. Mist drew it across, opening a gaping wound that leaked pulsing blood. 

Mist growled at the last man, the one that had threatened the girl. He snatched him from the ground and pulled him to his face by his neck.

"I told you to let her go. Why do people never listen?"  He flung him, head first, against the wall at his side. 

He hadn't even broken a sweat. Then again, humans didn't really pose a challenge for him. He walked to the girl and softly picked her up from the ground. She was still wheezing for air and the fear in her eyes was heartbreaking. Or would have been, had he cared for such a thing.

"Are you hurt?" He asked her.

She shook her head frantically and gulped in a breath. "Will you kill me now?"

"No. I don't see why I should bother."

"B- But you kill my kind. Are you not Mistrael the searphim slayer?" She shook beneath his touch.

They had a title for him? He hadn't known, and he didn't really care. But if it meant they would be wary of him? He shrugged inwardly. He could live with that. The less of these idiots that came after him the better.

"I am."

"Then it is true. You kill my kind for sport," she whimpered.

He growled and shook her frail body. "I kill them because they hunt me and because they killed my family."

"Y- You killed my cousin. You killed Nathan."

Mist stepped back and let go of her. The guilt that came with that accusation was bitter. "Leave now, little seraphim. Run home to your parents."

She gathered her filthy dress in her tiny fists and ran, before she headed from the alley she cast him a last fearful glance.

Mist cursed. The girl had been the queen. It made sense that he wouldn't make the connection. The frightened little girl from that night had nothing in common with the cold and calculating queen that had visited him earlier. How she had gone from that girl to the conniving woman she was now, he had no idea. But then, that night lay almost two hundred years in the past. 

He sighed and gathered strength to pull at his binds once more. He needed to get the hell out of here. If she found Daphne to get to him, there was no telling what they would do to her. And he simply couldn't and wouldn't allow her to get hurt because of him.   

A/N Hello. So I know this is a little different but I do hope you like it. What was it like, glancing in Mist's head for a change? Want more from his point of view? Or less? Please comment and tell me what you think.

BTW am I not a little busy bee?:) I baffle myself with my own productiveness. I'm hoping writers block won't come in the near future.