Arthur Ketch never had much of a childhood. Raised at Kendrick's, love was not something he had ever craved. Neither was a family, something he had firmly believed to be a weakness. He had his lovers and pets in the past. They had always satisfied his needs, however base they were, but he was becoming all too aware that he needed more for his very survival.

He was reaching an age where although his mind and skills were still as sharp as ever, the old men would be looking for signs that his body was slowing down. If he were lucky, he'd be put to pasture. If he wasn't….he'd like to postpone his trip to Hell as long as possible.

What he needed was a legacy. People like Lady Toni Bevell, who had procreated, would be seen as allies in the future. They would still have use, to keep the younger generation of British Men of Letters in line. People like Ketch would be loose ties to be dealt with.

The appeal of his name living on after his tenure naturally held appeal. He had cultivated his name into something to be feared and revered. Everyone knew Mr. Ketch. He was the one who was called to clean up after those who had failed. Exacting and precise. Professional and detached. Everything the Men of Letters expected from its operatives.

It was his attention to detail that had gotten him into his current circumstances. If Doctor Hess hadn't wanted him to exterminate all the victims in that vampire den he had found, she should have been more specific than just "take care of them."

Now he found himself exiled to the former colonies in search of legacies from the extinct American Men of Letters. After those Winchesters had made such a name for themselves, the old men had believed finding the rest of descendants and bringing them into the fold was a necessity.

For months, he had tracked, assessed, and reported on several prospects each more disappointing than the first. Then he found her.

Her grandfather had been a high ranking member of the Men of Letters before the organization was wiped out by Abaddon. She'd obviously inherited his intelligence though she squandered it on a ridiculous education to become, of all things, a librarian. If she only knew what her true destiny should have been.

He had found her in a city library, where she oversaw the workings of the traditional library as well as the many public programs made available through the week to anyone wishing to participate. Thursdays were his favorite. On Thursdays she donned a plastic princess crown, leading children through crafts and reading stories to them. Her patience with the urchins confused and impressed him.

In fact, she was kind and considerate to everyone she interacted with throughout her day. The wait staff at lunch. Her grocer. Her landlady. How she could enjoy such tedium was beyond him. Someone of her intelligence and beauty should have no need for anything more than common courtesy for the peasants around her, but she didn't seem to view them for what they really were. She was highly unsuited for life as a Woman of Letters. But perfectly suited for his needs.

With her as the mother of his children, his legacies would attain a higher stature with pure pedigree. He would attain importance Toni never would with her half breed boy. It might even put him in line to be an old man one day.

He felt he was finally ready for a wife, not just for breeding purposes, but for all the things a wife provides a husband. Support, comfort, domesticity, sex, and dare he say it, love. He acknowledged that a small part of him wondered what it would be like to be loved. To have someone look forward to seeing him rather than dreading it.

Entering the library, he made his way along the shelves, listening to her lilting voice and the giggles of a score of engaged children. Pretending to peruse the self-help section, he watched, the corner of his mouth twitching at her animation and general ridiculousness.

When her duties as Princess Story Time were finished, he waited for her to finish her farewells and take her place behind the circulation desk. Taking his book, he strode across the ratty old carpet and placed the book in front of her.

"I'm afraid, I haven't a library card as of yet. Is it difficult to obtain?" he asked. He knew his British accent had a way of wetting the panties of American women.

"No, sir. It's pretty easy. All you need is some id and to sign up using the computer over there. I can get you a guest login."

He pulled out his wallet and handed her his fake American identification he recently made.

Reading the card before making a photocopy, she said, "Oh, we live in the same area. I think I'm about a block away from you."

Half a block. He smiled. "Small world. Perhaps, we'll run into each other since we're practically neighbors."

A faint pink spread over her cheeks as she tucked some hair behind her ear.

There it is. He knew he could tempt her as easily as the others. The accent never failed.

"Here you go. Let me get you the login info, and you can check out 'If I'm So Wonderful, Why am I Still Single.'" She choked back a giggle as she turned her attention to pen and paper.

Bloody self-help section. Note to self, pay attention to the titles next time.

Watching her write the information needed, he took his time in admiring her. She really was exquisite. Not flashy the way most American women were, all make up, eyebrows, and eyelashes. She wore minimal makeup, her hair was straight and flowed down her back. Her clothing, conservative and modest, hugged her curves in the most appealing way. Give her a blazer and a fascinator, perhaps a boater, and she would look very British indeed.

A few minutes later he found himself standing in front of her once more. She clicked a few buttons on her computer and in a minute, scanned a small piece of plastic before handing him a freshly printed library card.

"Here you go, Mr. Smith." She scanned his book and returned it to him. "This is due in 2 weeks on the 25th."

"Thank you, Miss Kensley." Noting her look of shock, he pointed to her badge she wore on Thursday decorated with stickers by children with presumably stickier fingers.

She laughed, tugging the hideous tag off her cardigan. "It was made with love, and they did spell it correctly, so that's something. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Not exactly, unless you'd like to save me the time of reading this and have dinner with me?" he asked, grinning at her look of surprise.

"I'm not sure….with all the time you've spent in the self-help section, you might be a lost cause. I should probably wait until you've actually read something."

Beautiful and witty. "Maybe I need an outside opinion. Your observations may prove of great importance in my journey of self-discovery."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be of much help." She leaned forward and whispered, "I have the same problem."

"Well, we should commiserate together. Over a bottle of wine and perhaps an overly large steak that seem so popular in the states."

She laughed. "That's a sweet offer, but no. Perhaps, I will see you around the neighborhood though. Have a nice day, Mr. Smith."

"Arthur."

"Have a nice day, Arthur."

Beautiful, witty, and sharp. What was life without a little challenge? Arthur Ketch was a man who got things done. Got what he wanted. And, oh, how he wanted her. He would mold her into the perfect wife and mother. Ensuring his lineage and survival.

Arthur had "bumped" into her a few times after their introduction at the green grocer, bus stop, and of course, the library. After his most charming banter, she continually refused his advances. Refused him. Him!

She didn't know what she was turning down, but by God, he would show her. She would regret it. Everything would have been so much easier for her. Now she would need to learn her place. It had been a week, since he had last seen her. His thoughts had not strayed, and his resolve only strengthened.

She had known, somehow, not to trust him. Admirable, really, but now he had been forced to deal with this using less customary courting conventions. He had limited time remaining on this mission. He had planned on using it for wooing and a whirlwind escapade and elopement across the pond, but now he had been forced to arrange everything clandestinely.

It was ridiculously easy. A few greased hands, a few forgeries. Nothing he hadn't done a thousand times. He didn't even have to worry about anyone missing her. Her family was all dead. Her social life relegated to a handful of posts on social media every now and then. He had a letter of resignation ready to send to her boss and a letter of lease termination with money for the landlady. No one would realize what had become of her.

Waiting for nightfall, he watched her busy herself around her apartment. Cleaning this, cooking that. Settling on the couch to eat dinner and watch the telly. How could she prefer her mundane rituals to the excitement of a first date? To him?

At a quarter to midnight, her lights finally went out. He needed to move quickly. Their flight was in the morning. He picked the lock and let himself in. He moved silently through the rooms until he found her sleeping peacefully in her bed. Taking a syringe out of his pocket, he pulled the lid off, and pushed the needle into her neck, securing her cooperation. He went out to the street to retrieve a trunk he had in his van.

For the next few hours, he packed the items he knew she would value. Most of her clothes and tacky little knick knacks ended up in a dumpster in the alley. He'd leave a note for the landlady to sell everything else and keep the proceeds.

He loaded the van. He climbed the stairs once more to retrieve her. Wrapping her in her blankets, he carried her gently as a groom would his bride relishing the feel of her weight in his arms. One very long plane ride and she would well and truly be his.

Kensley's eyes fought to open. Sluggish and heavy, she turned her body in her bed, slipping on the satin sheets. Panic started to infiltrate the fog that weighed down her brain as she slowly realized she didn't own satin sheets.

Using all her strength, she sat up and took in her surroundings. She sat on a king size bed in bedroom the size of her entire apartment. The walls were covered in a blue and cream damask wallpaper. A stone fireplace with a beautiful white mantle was on the wall opposite her surrounded by elegant couches with side tables and coffee table in between. Two large bay windows framed with heavy curtains were on her right each with a cushioned window seat. Painting and mirrors hung on the walls. A small secretary desk with books in the cabinet sat in a corner. Two doors were to left.

She stumbled to the door closest to her. Pushing the door open, she blinked as the she tried to focus on a white marble bathroom. Leaning against the wall, she walked to the other door. Locked.

Tears blurred her vision further as she slid down the wall. Crawling, she pulled her way to the window seat. She climbed onto the cushion and saw a neat lawn and beyond that trees. The windows wouldn't budge and even if they did, how would she climb down in her current condition? She pulled her knees into the cotton nightgown she wore and hugged them tightly.

Before she could start to try to make sense of her situation, the locked door clicked and swung open. Drawing herself behind the curtain she watched a man enter carrying a tray. Closing the door behind him with his foot, he crossed to the sitting area setting the tray on the coffee table. He turned toward the empty bed. His eyes quickly searched the room until they locked in on her in her hiding place, a smile spread across his face.

"Ah. There you are. Good morning, Mrs. Ketch."