Chapter 1 – New Beginnings

Blood. That's the first thing he becomes aware of. The metallic smell clings to the air, to his clothes…to his skin. Not again, he thinks. Please, no. Slowly, hesitantly, he opens his eyes. A bone-splitting ache bolts through his head. It's enough for him to shut his eyes again, but he doesn't…he can't. Gingerly, he sits up, head swivelling from side to side.

Ethan Chandler gets up on shaky legs. The sight that greets him sends his stomach roiling. Somehow, when he woke up, when that familiar metallic tint invaded his senses, he should have known what to expect. But not this, never this… Bodies lay strewn across the pub floor, mutilated, limbs missing. He stumbles forward, grips onto a splintered railing. Ethan catches sight of his reflection in a nearby windowpane. He balks, staggering backwards, into the bar. Any surviving glasses from the night before, crash to the floor as Ethan flails for purchase.

He spins around, seeks out a rusty, old sink and makes his way over to it. As he splashes the cold water over his face, he realises that he might be hyperventilating. Ethan's hands shoot out to grip at the sink rim. He gulps, desperately trying to fight the rising bile. He manages to take a few deep, albeit unsteady, breaths. In, out, in, out… In the back of his mind, somewhere deep and dark and almost untouched, Ethan knows he has to leave. Rid London of the menace that is him. This thing…this beast, it will never stop hungering for blood. And there is nothing he could ever do to stop it. But…if only leaving were that easy.

Ethan steps back from the sink and turns around to face the gruesome massacre that his alter ego surely must have passionately enjoyed. Cautiously, he steps over and around the torn bodies scattered all over. Heaving a deep breath in, Ethan opens the pub door. A blast of icy wind cuts through him. He shivers, hesitates. He casts a nervous look over his shoulder and finds the bodies of the bounty hunters. A deep scowl takes up residence on his face. Not all of these people deserved to die like this – except them, he thinks. Finally, Ethan steps into the white, wintery world of London, stuffing his hands far down his coat pockets. Head bowed, avoiding any and all eye contact, Ethan marches down the street.

With Brona, he might have had a reason to stay. He had someone to come back to every night, someone he could fight for. Yes, she was dying, but that never lessened his devotion in her. He loved her, but perhaps he loved Miss Ives even before Brona. It felt easier with Vanessa. He found something in her that he understood, that he could relate to…this thing that she can't control, this darkness that has burrowed itself deep into her soul – it plagues his life, too. And God, does he feel for her. Maybe since the day he met her, in that dingy pub, he's known. A connection born of a similar conflicting madness. And as much as he tries, he cannot help but gravitate towards her. Ethan's breath hitches as he comes to a sudden realisation.

The reason he never could leave, it wasn't because of Brona. It was because of Miss Ives. She's unknowingly and perhaps not of her own accord, managed to burrow deep into his heart. She's made herself a home there…and it would seem she intends to stay there.

Ethan looks up to find himself passing by a church, faith-goers leaving by the dozen. Ethan scoffs and shakes his head – faith. Just another thing he'll never fully come to terms with. And then, the faintest whiff of ink and parchment, intermingled with that smell of the other, raids his senses. Ethan comes to a dead stop, head shooting up. There, amongst the crowd leaving the church grounds, is one Vanessa Ives, her beautiful, pale face framed by a mass of wavy, black tresses. Ethan frowns at the sadness etched into her features. Before his mind can make sense of it, he is moving forward.

He catches her as she passes the black, wrought iron gate. Ethan reaches out for her wrist. Vanessa gasps and spins around.

"Miss Ives, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Ethan says. He bows his head as a couple passes by. He can feel their judging stares, burning holes into the back of his head.

"Oh, Mr Chandler," Vanessa smiles, releasing a small sigh. Ethan notices that her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's quite alright." Her gaze wanders down to the collar of his shirt. He follows her eyes and stares at the blood stain there. "Mr Chandler, is everything alright?" Vanessa whispers, stepping closer to a pale Ethan. How could he be so stupid? He thinks. Vanessa reaches out to touch at his coat sleeve, decorated with blood splatters. "Ethan?"

Ethan snaps his gaze up. "Uh…yeah," he nods dumbly. Ethan searches her pale, blue eyes and remembers something. With a smile, he shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, everythin's alright. Just…another one of them brawls," he laughs nervously. Vanessa stares at him a moment, gaze appraising him thoughtfully, before she smiles.

"I…I was hopin' to ask a favour. I need your help," Ethan starts, flicking his gaze around. He starts to realise that he might look like something similar to a trapped deer. "But, if you don't mind, maybe we could talk somewhere else?"

Vanessa follows the path of his nervous gaze and nods. "Of course, Mr Chandler," she says. Ethan breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that she understands. "Follow me, I have a carriage waiting."

Ethan nods. He sends a last look to the looming church over his shoulder, before moving on. Ethan glances at Vanessa's side profile and clears his throat. "You come here often?" he asks.

"No."

He watches her throat as she swallows, nodding his head. Vanessa slows her pace slightly and says, "I try."

Ethan frowns, confused. At his silence, Vanessa elaborates. "I try to attend church as often as I can. But…I highly doubt the good Lord has any favours for me." Vanessa looks at him a moment, her delicate brow creased. When she returns her gaze to the path ahead, Ethan says, "At least you try. That should stand for somethin', Miss Ives."

"Yes. I too, would like to think so."

After that, they walk on in silence. Vanessa couldn't fool him, though. Perhaps everyone else, but not him. He senses her hesitation, her fear. She's afraid of herself, he realises and Ethan feels a wave of empathy wash over him. Slowly, he moves closer to Vanessa until their shoulders brush with every step they take. This is all the comfort he can offer her. No, he corrects himself. This is the only comfort he can allow. When Vanessa's dainty hand brushes against his own, his thoughts wander. But, maybe…

No! He cannot permit these feelings to come to the forefront. Above everything else, he has to protect her. From herself, but more importantly, from himself. With that last thought firmly set in place, Ethan steps back slightly, breaking their contact. He feels the wall erecting itself; thick, tall, all-encompassing. And he is helpless to stop it.

He can't let anyone in. Not ever again.