This is so depressing, and probably also would have been a better fit in the Larten Crepsley section so I might move it at some point. This takes place in the middle of Brothers to the Death. The song is Lies - Marina & the Diamonds. Enjoy!

You're never gonna love me, so what's the use?
What's the point in playing a game you're gonna lose?
What's the point in saying you love me like a friend?
What's the point in saying it's never gonna end?

The war was almost over. Everything outside in the streets looked like pure disaster, but there was a sense of joy in the air too. Arra never had particularly studied humans – not since she had been one, anyway – and often she thought them petty, useless and irritating. Watching them come together in the face of the tragedy reminded her of the clan. They were brave, strong, noble humans in London in 1945, and she made a note that night to pay their kind a little more respect in any future dealings she had with them.

Larten, too, listened to their chatter from below ground with a kind of admiration. There was sadness in his eyes though, too, just like there was every other night. It was as if everything about humans and their lives stung and upset him, and for that reason she had suggested time and time again finding somewhere without so many to contend with. Every time, he had turned her down, no matter how she reasoned with him, pleaded with him or tried to order him. Every moment he spent surrounded by the humans from all sides looked like a knife in his back – he was more sullen and withdrawn than ever in the cities – but he couldn't stay away. It was as though he thought watching and listening to them was as close as he was ever likely to come again to his old love and his old life.

Regardless of the way the cities drew him in, perhaps reminding him of a better time in his life (though she could never be sure, and he would never tell), whenever they had any sort of lead on the whereabouts of a Vampaneze they followed that instead, even if that took them into some of the darkest, most awful corners of the globe. It had been four years now since they'd left the Mountain together, and five Vampaneze dead at Larten's hands – hardly an impressive total considering how doggedly he'd pushed on and how endlessly he searched for their kind. None had known anything of any use except poor Holly-Jane; and the revelation that Randel was probably long gone was of no comfort at all. It had almost been a relief to hear it, for a few moments – I'd be very surprised if he turned up alive, she'd said, and yet here they were still, nursing Larten's wounds from his latest useless duel and living underneath the city like rats.

Arra understood his reasoning, but she couldn't sympathize with him the way he probably would have liked. She could see that he was obsessed with completing this impossible quest, even at the cost of his own life, and she could see that without some sort of revenge the death of his human love would haunt him forever – but it was still a difficult thing to accept. She regretted pushing and coercing him into becoming mates and she thought about leaving often, but was too proud to bear the disgrace. Others of their kind would have disapproved if she'd ended their contract early only because she had no interest in chasing her mate's foe.

Besides all that, of course, she loved him.

It was painful and pitiful to think back now – I don't care if you don't love me, she'd said, years ago – and to realize that she'd been tempting fate all along. She had admired him even when they'd first met, and had been fascinated by him since. At the time, it really hadn't mattered to her whether he might ever love her, not when she hadn't even really known the meaning of the word, but it was more important now than she'd ever imagined it might be. It wasn't his fault – she had known where she stood from the start – but that made it no less painful to experience.

"This feels worse, not better," Larten complained as he examined his wounds. The harsh slash he'd taken to his stomach was the worst of them all, and really the only reason he was taking the time out to rest. Arra had stitched him back together for the most part, but she was no nurse and the whole experience had been difficult and messy.

"I would have been better off doing the stitches myself," he joked, clasping a hand over his stomach in agony. "Your attempts are pitiful!"

Arra rolled her eyes. She had resisted rushing to his side as soon as she realized he was awake like she had on other days. Her attachment to the bitter General was embarrassing enough without him figuring it out as well, but she shifted over to be next to him now anyway, smirking.

"You can do them yourself in future," she replied archly, quirking an eyebrow at his ingratitude. "If you'd prefer it I can unpick them all now, one by one, and you can start again from scratch…"

He flinched and yelped when she swooped down on him as if to begin that process, rolling into a ball to get away from her. Sometimes, even after these years, Arra suspected that he still didn't know when she was joking. In jest, to punish him for his comments, she gently jabbed at his sides as if trying to go for his wound. For a few brief moments, he pleaded for mercy jokingly and laughed while she teased him.

When she stopped, he turned his head to look at her – and he was genuinely smiling. He reached an arm up away from his stomach, proving that he wasn't really scared of her, and placed a hand on her shoulder affectionately, a friendly gesture. It was more affection than she was accustomed to from him most nights though, so she leaned down to kiss him.

He allowed it for a moment. He didn't engage with it or even accept it; he simply permitted it, like a duty. Then brushed her away again, and rolled back over onto his side. His rejection was a sharp pain every single time, even though she always knew it was coming. She shifted back again.

"Stop complaining, then," she hissed, crossly, before drawing a stale piece of bread and a small bottle of blood out from inside one of their bags. She waited, hand outstretched, to pass them over, but he remained with his back turned, legs curled to his chest. She sighed heavily.

"What's wrong?" Arra asked, like she did every time.

"It is nothing," Larten replied, rolling over to stare at the ceiling above them, just like he did every time.

She had known him long enough now to conclude that he wouldn't be ready to speak at least for another hour now, perhaps more. His eyes were glazed, almost, and they had that look again – something unidentifiable, maybe grief or guilt. Arra could connect the dots well enough. Every time that Larten forgot about his mission, his past and Alicia , even for a single second, he hated himself for it. Arra wasn't foolish, not enough to be somehow jealous of a memory, but watching him torment himself was difficult, and listening to the way he occasionally whispered her name in his sleep was impossible.

She wasn't in the mood to wait for him to speak again tonight. It was insensitive, probably, but Arra never had been the caring, coddling type.

"It's time you dropped all of this," she said abruptly, keeping the emotion well out of her voice; that was perhaps the most useful thing Mika had ever taught her. Undeterred when he didn't bother to turn his head and look at her, she knelt next to him again.

"You won't be able to challenge anyone and win for another month, maybe more," she reminded him truthfully, and he flinched visibly at the idea of waiting that long. It was like he itched for the next challenge, the next step in coming closer to Randel Chayne, even though it was clear that Randel no longer existed, at least in this realm. "And you won't be able to find Randel, Larten, because Randel's dead."

He did look at her after that, furiously. He looked like he wanted to shout or scream or strike her, but he never moved or even made a sound – he just lay quietly and stared at her, with fire burning in his dark eyes.

"You've done your best," she continued, noting his apparent disgust at her comments. "But there's nothing else you can do. Randel's soul will not find Paradise – you can rest assured that he will have his punishment, even if you are not the one to deliver it."

He waited a few moments to establish that she was finished, his hands trembling.

"Randel may not be dead," he corrected in a pained croak, as if that mattered. What was important was the fact that he was chasing a Vampaneze who was either dead or didn't want to be found, and so the likelihood was that he never would find him, even if Randel did still miraculously exist. It was unpleasant to cause her mate distress by telling the truth, but he was so delusional and obsessive that it was unavoidable.

"Even if he's not," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "What is the use of locating him? From all you've said, it doesn't sound like Alicia would want to be avenged – and even if you could have your revenge, it could never bring her back again."

When he stared at her strangely, she realized that it was probably the first time she'd ever said the name of the woman who'd almost been his wife. She knew it, from years of listening to it repeated over and over again, but until now she'd never said it out loud. He frowned at her, as though he disapproved. It was as if the reality of Arra, his mate, discussing the woman he'd always loved like she was something to be forgotten and something to be let go of that disturbed him. Don't say her name again his eyes hinted defensively.

"Randel needs to be caught," he explained, gripping tight onto his morals and his excuses. "He is a ruthless murderer. It is not just for –"

He choked on her name, but persisted.

"It is not just for Alicia," he finished. "It is also because Randel is cruel. It is to save everyone he might harm."

Arra sighed. "No, it isn't," she commented, as calmly as she was able. "It's because you loved her and she died. It's because you're terribly, horribly bitter over it all still, and you can't accept that it's time to try and forget. You don't think you've got anything else left apart from your ridiculous quest, but you have. You have other things to live for."

Her words had run away with her, but it was so hard to keep it all in when there was so much she wanted to say. There was more to his life than the ghost of the woman he loved, and it was terrible to watch him waste it all to mourn her; he could be a Prince, one night, he was well-loved by his friends, and there was another woman who loved him right next to him. His guilt over Alicia's death was ruining him, and it was ruining everything else he still had left.

This time, it was impossible to keep his temper in check, and he slapped her hand away from his arm. He dragged himself up despite the way it must have hurt him, and she gasped and glanced down, frightened that he might have ruined his stitches. He hadn't, but she thought he probably wouldn't have cared even if he had.

"I will not forget," he barked, leaning in so close to her that her ears whistled at the volume. "I would not forget, even if I was able to."

Arra was about to apologize, about to pretend to acknowledge all the things she'd said that she didn't mean, but he pushed her – not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock her off balance – in his desperation to have her away from him. He feared his own anger, she knew, but it wasn't just that. This time he was so disgusted with her that he couldn't look at her any longer. There was nothing she could say, so she just sat there, knocked onto her right leg, and stared at the ground.

"If you are tired of the ridiculous quest," he continued, voice trembling from anger and from sadness. "You are welcome to venture out alone. I will not tell anyone, I give you my word."

Now that she was presented with the real opportunity, the idea of leaving didn't even vaguely appeal to her. Who else would tend to him when he was injured like this next time?

"I'm sorry," she bit out through clenched teeth and jaw, though she didn't mean it.

"I am sorry for snapping at you," he said, pressing his eyes shut like he was trying to block out memories. Snapping was a dashing understatement, but now wasn't the time to tell him that. "You do not understand, though. I loved her. I will not abandon her. You are free to do as you please, but I will not deviate from my task."

I love you, Arra thought bitterly. I wouldn't abandon you, either. He was staring up at the ceiling again with a kind of grim determination and the same guilty eyes, but this time she knew better than to try and draw him into conversation. Instead she rolled onto her back as well, as far away as she might get from him in their limited space, bit back tears and wondered about the cruel game of love and what purpose it served.