Gaspard's arm is slumped across Samantha's stomach in a lazy hug and his head rests on her shoulder. They had fallen asleep talking about getting the pack together; they all need to know about Hannah and Samantha agreed that she needs to do some apologising.

There's a loud clatter of metal hitting the floor. Samantha stirs from her sleep, her eyes flickering open. Another clang brings her to full alertness.

"Gaspard," she whispers, nudging him.

"What?" he answers groggily, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Listen," Samantha replies.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Hush, listen!"

Another clatter confirms the presence of someone or something outside the house.

"Ugh, it's just the foxes," Gaspard mumbles, curling his arm around her more tightly, "Leave them be."

"Can't you hear that?" Samantha growls, "Those aren't just foxes. Not unless they suddenly learnt how to speak."

She removes his arm and kicks the duvet back. Gaspard groans as she swings her legs out of the bed and puts her slippers on.

"Sam, are you serious?" he grumbles.

"Yes, I'm serious," Samantha frowns, pulling on her dressing gown.

"Come back to bed, mon chéri," Gaspard gripes, blindly reaching out his hand, "I'm cold."

"Oh, please, your blood runs just as hot as mine does. I am not having anyone rooting through our bins and making a fucking mess!" Samantha exclaims quietly, "Especially not werefoxes."

"Fine, whatever," Gaspard sighs, turning over and pulling the duvet up again.

Quietly, Samantha treads down the stairs and peeks out of the front window. From here she can see clearly; a man and a woman, completely naked, rooting through the metal bins at the end of the veranda. She frowns and moves towards the door, being careful not to make a sound.

"There's, like, nothing in here," whispers the female werefox, "Could you have picked a more useless house to go to?"

"Well, I'm sorry, I didn't know that one of the bins was going to be full of paper, did I?" her male partner replies.

"Keep your voice down, you idiot!" she hisses, glaring at him before continuing her rummage through the waste, "I don't know about you, but I can smell that we have something in common with the people living here. Whether they're just shape-shifters or werewolves or whatever, they're not human and quite frankly, I don't really want to find out which of those it is."

"Oh, come off it," he laughs, "Werewolves in Chelmsford, ha! It would take a lot of skill to hide an entire wolf pack out here and, let's be honest, they're not exactly known for having brains over brawn."

"Well, that's just rude," Samantha says, "I think you'll find that we've got plenty of brains to go with our brawn."

Both of the intruders turn their head around to find a young woman standing there, arms folded and glaring at them with golden eyes. To a person who knows nothing of werewolves, Samantha, in her human form, wouldn't be seen as any kind of threat. But the werefoxes know better. No matter how unassuming, a werewolf is capable of being vicious and merciless; even without a pack to back them up.

"Shit," the female werefox utters, taking a step back.

"Get the FUCK out of my dustbins and get the fuck off of my property, YOU FLEA-BITTEN SKANKS!" Samantha yells.

The two werefoxes, eyes wide with fear, hastily shift and, faster than a flash of lightning, run out through the hedges.

Satisfied that her job of scaring off the pests is done, Samantha walks over to the torn rubbish bags and sighs. Mess is one of the few things she truly hates; along with liars and people who are so far up their own backsides, they're in danger of turning inside out. So, regardless of the slowly rising sun, she begins to clear up.

Once everything has been put back in its rightful place, Samantha returns to the house and drags herself upstairs. She finds Gaspard, fast asleep and sprawled across the bed, leaving absolutely no room for her. She considers shoving him off but decides it's too much effort for the sake of a few more hours sleep. Instead she goes back down the stairs and puts the kettle on.

XXXXXXXXXX

Bleary eyed and yawning, Rosie enters the kitchen; fully dressed and pulling her bag along behind her. She finds Samantha with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, looking tired.

"Morning," Samantha says, glancing up.

"Morning," Rosie peers over Samantha's shoulder, "Anything interesting in there?"

"Not sure if I would call it interesting but listen to this: 'Police in the Chelmsford area discovered the sun-scorched body of a vampire, bound with silver chains and duct-taped to a tree, earlier this week. The identity of the vampire has been revealed to be Terry Lloyd, a twenty six-year old man who disappeared from Braintree two years ago. No suspects have been brought in for questioning yet but the incident is believed to be connected with a string of similar acts of violence against vampires. The friends and family of the deceased are unwilling to give any comment on the situation."

"Burned alive? Nasty," Rosie grimaces.

"Yeah, these extremists are becoming a lot braver," Samantha sighs, "It's eventually going to get to a point where the vamps will start to retaliate and that's not going to be pretty. From first impressions, Elizabeth will have no problem sending out her minions."

"Seems as though that Nan Flanagan woman on the TV hasn't made much progress with convincing people that vampires aren't something to hate," Rosie says.

"She most certainly isn't. I blame the way she words things sometimes; her comebacks are easily twisted. Then again, regardless of how pure her intentions are, there are plenty of vampires that don't care for her peace-making and they make that very clear."

"Did I tell you we have an anti-fanger club at college? They run around defacing the posters that the EVL supporters club put up. They keep putting the letter I in between the V and the L."

"That's mature."

"I need to get going because I'm meeting Chris at the bus stop so I'll see you later."

"Bye."

"Bye, Sam," Rosie calls as she goes to leave the house, "Oh! Bye, Gaspard!"

Samantha looks up as Gaspard makes an appearance in the kitchen doorway. His hair is messy and unkempt and his blue eyes squint in the sunlight coming in through the window. He tilts his head a little to look at her and wonders why he is being glared at.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, thanks," he replies, "You?"

"No, no I didn't," she says, "Generally you don't get a good night's sleep when you come back find you don't even have enough bed space left to curl up in."

Gaspard sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, "I didn't do that on purpose."

"I don't care. I'm still annoyed with you."

"Ok, I'll let you get on with that because it's your own fault for running off to yell at werefoxes. In the meantime, I'm going to contact the pack and arrange meeting up later."

Gaspard walks over to the kitchen counter opposite to where Samantha is sitting and unplugs his mobile from its charger. She downs the rest of her coffee and watches him as he puts it to his ear and runs his hand through his hair, standing with his back towards her. The long scars running down from his shoulders are much more prominent than those on his face. Though his facial scars are noticeable, they aren't unsightly, but these are the kind where you can tell just how deep the wound was and shudder at the thought of how much it must have hurt. They used to unnerve and fascinate her when they first got together, but now she finds a strange form of comfort in running her fingers along the irregular skin.

By the time he gets off the phone, Samantha's irritation has almost faded away completely. He walks around until he is standing behind the high stool she is sitting on, leans down and wraps his arms around her waist.

"Are you still angry with me?" he asks, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Yep," she lies, continuing to read her newspaper.

"Oh no," he says, sarcastically, "I don't know how I'm going to deal with that. It'll be a struggle but I think I'll live."

"Nice to know you feel bad," Samantha huffs, "So, what's the plan?"

"We're meeting up with the others this evening so we can all get up to date with our information and apologies; more specifically your apologies. Then, seeing as Ian is working tonight, we've decided to put a pack run on hold and go to the pub instead."

"Are you having a laugh?"

"No, I'm not. You can't avoid Loup-Garou forever because of what happened. I won't let you."

"We don't even know if Ian will accept my apology yet!"

"You know he will so stop making excuses. I can either tell you as your boyfriend or order you as your Alpha. It's your choice. Either way we're going."

"I hate you."

"I love you, too. So which is it going to be?"

"Fine, I'll go."

"Thank you," Gaspard smiles, placing a kiss on his girlfriend's shoulder, "Now, is there anything I can do to convince you to forgive me for kicking you out of bed?"

"Let me think," Samantha replies, pushing the stool away to stand up, "Um, yes, I think I'm going to go back to bed and…"

"And you want me to keep you company?"

"Actually, I want you to take this list and go to Sainsbury's. We're running out of food," Samantha grins as she holds out a piece of lined paper.

Gaspard frowns as he takes the paper from her and studies her neat handwriting. This isn't quite the answer he had been hoping for. He raises an eyebrow at Samantha as she shuffles out of the kitchen, leaving him alone. He promises himself that he will get her back for this.

XXXXXXXXXX

It is just ahead of opening time for Crucifix. Elizabeth lies across the sofa in Chloe's office with her feet up. Sarah sits on the arm, looking bored as she rests her elbow on her crossed leg and props her head up on the palm of her hand. An equally disinterested George stands next to his vampire sister.

"There's been a lot of talk about you recently, Elizabeth," Chloe says, not looking up from painting her long fingernails.

"And why's that?" Elizabeth asks.

"Some vampires are speculating; they think you're losing your touch," Chloe replies, "Handing over a new-born to the werewolves to do as they please with her? That didn't go unnoticed."

"I'd imagine it didn't," Elizabeth smirks, "And what do you make of it?"

"Well, I know you handed her over in an attempt to find Nancy but feel I should know you better than that by now," Chloe smiles, "I think there's more to it. I don't believe you would just let her go for the sake of avoiding an argument with a gang of mutts."

"My dear, sweet Chloe, you've never been so right!" Elizabeth cries, sitting up, "I have far bigger plans for this girl."

"Mind letting me in on those plans?"

"She's doing so much more than just acting as a one-man hunting party. I have left her in the midst of a world that we, as vampires, know barely anything about. I sent someone out to locate where she's being kept and I felt like a child at Christmas when I found out that she's living with the Alpha himself!"

"How is that anything like Christmas? Finding out that your granddaughter is being held prisoner by one of the strongest werewolves we've ever come across. Surely that's a bad thing."

"Not a prisoner, no. They're treating her as if she were one of their own; they're feeding her with Tru Blood, they're training her, they've given her a makeshift cubby. Give it another week and she'll practically be family!"

"Sorry, I'm still not following."

"They'll trust her, Chloe. Don't you see? They'll continue to teach her and make her a part of their lives. She'll gain knowledge about them that we could only ever dream of having; weaknesses beyond what we already know. Now, all we need to do is await the perfect time to offer her a place among her own kind."

"Do you think she will take you up on that?"

"Eventually, she will begin to crave the company of her own kind. She may make friends with the werewolves but, like a human can become tired having only the company of their pet dog, there is going to be a point where is just isn't enough anymore."

"So, if you get her back, then what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take this county over. Once I have the information I need, I'll drive out every single werewolf. I have no care for the other supernatural beings. Shape-shifters, wiccans and the like have never caused a problem for us, but the wolves, they have always gotten in the way."

"We would be able to go wherever we please without fear of being killed for trespassing."

"That's exactly it! No boundaries."

"I hate to rain on your parade," Sarah speaks up, "But, what if she doesn't take the offer? She's being treated differently to how we would be so she's not going to feel the same hatred. She's never tasted human blood so she's not going to know what she's missing out on. These dogs are pretty much raising her so isn't there a chance of her seeing us as a different kind?"

"Yeah and what if the werewolves catch on to what you're planning?" George asks.

"Those are very good questions," Elizabeth agrees, "But, with age comes experience and, after 800 years, I am very experienced. I know every trick in the book about persuasion, I may as well have written the book myself. As for the werewolves, I let Gaspard's bitch take your sister on the assumption that she was something to keep and I neither wanted her back nor would allow them to try and give her back to me. I would be a fool to think of these wolves as nothing but a bunch of boneheaded cretins but no matter how suspicious they are of me, when the time is right, they won't know what hit them."