Wrath stalked down the darkened street, measuring his breathing by the intervals of streetlamp illumination. Dark, dark, light. Dark, dark, light.

To be honest, it had been a long time since he had felt like this – like death. Darius's accident had affected all in the Brotherhood, but for him it had been the first time in probably a hundred years that he felt any emotion as powerful as this crippling sorrow. He nearly laughed at the irony. Feeling like death made him feel… almost alive. He told myself that was the reason why he was chasing after a lost cause, attempting to fight a losing battle… though deep down perhaps he just wanted to regain a connection to Darius.

Vaguely, Wrath registered the echoing laughter of two or three human males as he passed them in an alleyway, probably making a pass at a female. He smelled, rather than saw, the subtle wave of fear that marred their perverse pleasure as he glanced their way, though it mattered little anyway. He was so dry it was tempting to succumb to the hunt there and then, but tonight he had a greater task than interrupting the twisted joys of street thugs.

Tonight, Wrath was going to meet Darius's daughter.


Quickening her pace, Beth retraced familiar steps home, the rapid tap tap tap of her shoes giving away her anxiety even as she willed her face into nonchalance. She hadn't planned to stay quite so late at work, but the last call she'd picked up just wouldn't end… and now it sounded as though a couple of drunk guys had taken to following her home.

Beth swore under her breath, hoping she was wrong. Maybe they were just… taking the same route home? It was possible; she wasn't the only person living in the area, and maybe, you know, just maybe she was just being paranoid. Slowing slightly, she angled my head to get a better bearing on where the men were and got – nothing. No footsteps, no raucous joking, no jostling of fabric where they pushed each other around on the street.

Silently thanking her fairy godmother, she swallowed as a rush of relief flooded her body, warming her.

See? She chided herself. Just being silly.

Heavens knew, she was acting all sorts of strange lately.

That was Beth's last thought as something hurtled into her body, forcing her back into a concrete wall and squeezing the breath out of her lungs. Head reeling, she forced herself to bring her hands up, punching air, futilely trying to protect herself. The raucous laughter returned, mercilessly close to her face, and she fought back the urge to retch. Bile rose in her throat as panic re-entered her mind, chilling her to the bone. She lashed out at the man again and again, willing herself not to sob, but it felt as though none of the blows even registered.

Then the sick bastard must have struck her in the side of her face, and as her head snapped back she heard the sound of a jacket hitting the floor and a zipper being undone.

Unable to stop herself, Beth let out a scream.

Wrath pulled out the wrinkled slip of paper from his trouser pocket, checking again to see that he had the right address, though it had stuck in his memory since he had first glanced at it. Darius's familiar, almost calligraphic writing told him what he already knew; the daughter lived in this apartment building and he was minutes away from meeting her. Closing his eyes and sensing that no humans were near, Wrath steadied his breathing and prepared to dematerialize.

Heavens forbid he should take the elevator.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in front of a cast iron wrought grille, guarding an otherwise flimsy-looking door. Tentatively, he tested the iron with one hand. Locked. Not that it mattered. In a second the three locks holding the gate in place were undone, and so was the one click that opened the door to him. Wrath swung the grille open to let himself into the tiny home.

The first thing that hit him was the lingering scent of Darius's daughter. An understated sweetness, something floral... like –

Night-blooming roses, he thought. He hadn't seen that flower in probably a few hundred years, and yet here he was, breathing in the bouquet in mouthfuls. It was absolutely captivating, and he had to stop himself from closing his eyes and indulging completely in the fragrance.

That was when Wrath noticed that the daughter was not in the apartment. There was no movement in the flat, no lights turned on, and no breathing, save for his own. Which would not have been unusual had it not already been past one in the night.

In that beat of silence, Wrath heard a muted scream.

Elizabeth?

Wrath wheeled around, tracing the source of the sound. He had no reasons for the sudden spike in his heartbeats, the scarlet haze flooding his vision, or the fury that shook him from head to toe, leaving him trembling. Closing his eyes, he knew only one thing: he needed to make sure Elizabeth was safe.

In half a second, the apartment was completely empty.


Beth fought against her assailants, as hard as she could. Kicking when her legs were free, elbowing, squirming and struggling against the men to put space between their disgusting lips, slimy hands, prying eyes and her body, but nothing worked. She was too weak, too tired, and they were running on the thrill of adrenaline and lust.

Just as one of the men dipped his head and pressed his chapped lips to her neck, Beth thought she heard a very, very faint whooshing sound, and the click of a boot on the pavement. Or maybe it was just her going insane, her mind in overdrive at the sensations that made her squirm in the skin.

The next moment, the man's lips were gone, and so were his hands that had pressed flat against her thighs. As she felt the sudden rush of cool air against her skin, Beth almost wept in relief. Then all at once, as if the terror-filled haze in her mind at cleared to make way for other pains, she felt acutely the burn in her legs, the tightness in her temples and the tightening of her throat, like an invisible hand was squeezing her windpipe close.

Not again. Not now, she cried out, though nothing but a ragged breath escaped her lips.

Vaguely aware that she was sinking to her knees on the cold cement, the last thing Beth heard before an icy blankness took her was a man's voice calling her name.

Elizabeth!

Elizabeth…

Eliza-


For the second time in that night, Wrath stood at the foot of Elizabeth's apartment building. This time, though, he had her in his arms, and as the fragrance of her skin enveloped him, he silently thanked the Virgin that she was out cold.

The look on his face would probably have frightened the girl half to death.

Hell, Wrath did not even want to see his own face at that moment. Something was wrong with him - yes, the shock of Darius's death must have scrambled his wits beyond recognition. Because not once in the past few hundred years had a female even caused a stirring in his heart (or his groin), and yet here he was, basking in the perfume of a human's skin as if it were an aphrodisiac.

God, what is wrong with me? Wrath thought as he pushed the elevator button that would take them to Elizabeth's apartment. Darius had asked him to take care of his daughter, help her through her transition and find her a worthy hellren, and here he was thinking of sexing up the female just because she smelt like flowers.

Not just sex, Wrath realized with a bit of a shock. He was feeling not just the overwhelming urge to bury himself to the hilt inside of Elizabeth, but an undeniable, uncontrollable, irresistible desire to protect her, to care for her needs and to feed her from his hand.

Oh sweet Virgin, this is not happening.

Wrath halted the direction of his thoughts, knowing that he, of all people, was incapable of truly taking care of her, of taking her as shellan. Instead he focused on entering Elizabeth's apartment and getting her through the door without jostling her. He flipped the switch of the foyer light as he passed through, but save for an empty click, nothing happened. Shrugging, Wrath headed for the bedroom. It wasn't as if he needed light to navigate anyway.

As Wrath entered the tiny bedroom, eyeing the sparse furniture and bare walls, he felt yet again the sensation of something warm tickling his heart. Something about having Elizabeth in his arms, about carrying her into her bedroom and laying her gently down on the bed just felt so… right. It was as if he was waiting for this sensation for the longest time, but hadn't even known it himself.

And as he lowered her small frame onto the bed and smoothed her lovely auburn hair away from her face, Wrath felt a warmth growing somewhere lower in his body. Elizabeth was on a bed, and he was in her bedroom. It felt so easy, too easy, to just bend down and nuzzle her soft parted lips and kiss his way down her slender neck. One movement and he could be where he wanted to be – desired to be – deep within her… his cock twitched, goading him on.

For the third time in the night, Wrath forced himself to snap out of his reverie and focus on the task at hand. He could practically smell her transition nearing; he had four, maybe five days, to break the news to her and get her back to the Brotherhood compound before all hell broke loose under her skin.

So now was definitely not the time to be thinking with his cock.


Beth stirred, feeling the grandmother of all migraines grace her temples with its presence. God, she felt like death. Maybe she really was dying, she thought, recalling the increasing frequency of the trembling, the terrible headaches and the occasional fainting.

Wait, fainting?

With a start, Beth jolted upright and felt for her surroundings, then immediately relaxed. Familiar sheets, familiar smells. She was in her own bed, in her own home. But how had she gotten from prey-of-the-night to safe and sound? She couldn't have dragged herself back home in the midst of unconsciousness, right?

Just then, she heard a rustling in the far corner of the bedroom, like… fabric rubbing against the wallpaper. She stiffened and drew the duvet tighter around her body.

"Is - is someone there?"

Wrath stared back at Elizabeth, puzzled. She was looking right at his chest, eyes wide open with fear, but it did not seem as though she had registered his presence. It was not lack of light, either, for he had located one solitary lamp in the room that actually turned on, casting a soft glow around the two of them.

"Elizabeth," Wrath called softly, slowly. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

At the sound of his words, he caught the movement of her eyes as they flicked upwards, meeting his own in a blank, unblinking stare. Unfocused.

That was when it hit him.

Darius's daughter was blind.