It was an uncomfortable feeling, being the only person in my party who did not wish to stay with the Falco Family. Sylvia remained distant and aloof as we trudged. I positioned myself between her and Barnabas, wanting so badly to speak to her that my mind was nearly exploding when we reached their home. My conscience jabbed me, told me that we would have been better off if one of the wolves had invited us to their den for the night. All that I could do, it seemed was ensure that we keep to our own respective corner as we warmed ourselves at their hearth.

Their farmhouse was handsome and beautifully kept. This further roused my suspicions about them. No woman was present- no wife, no maid, no daughters. Just Silas and his son, living in a home so spotless that it hardly seemed lived in at all. Looking around the place, however, it was difficult to believe that they were farmers. I had never seen furnishings or décor quite like theirs before. Everything was dark and admittedly, beautiful, like relics stolen from a wicked sorcerer's tower or a gothic cathedral of old. General Ballard seemed seduced by the deep burgundy curtains and the strategically placed statuettes of crying saints and martyrs. The occasional animal skull or bone was worked into the landscape, but you had to hunt for them; much like the single taxidermized wolf head which hung watchfully amidst a perfectly spaced line of stormy colored paintings in thick, jewel frames.

Candles were lit, sustenance was brought out from the kitchen and the men chortled stupidly over tea while Barnabas watched me wrap Sylvia's arm with a fresh bit of cloth. Neither of us ate or drank, we simply sat side by side and calmed Sebastian, who was not taking well to the cold, clean environment. At least I had him on my side!

I thought at first that Sylvia was ill, that she had lost more blood than I thought she had or that the wolf's fangs had transferred some fast-acting illness to her bloodstream. It wasn't until I offered to hold the baby that I realized what was truly wrong with her. She was still internalizing the moment that she left our son behind to fight the wolves at my side. I could almost see the scene playing over in her eyes as I tried to pull him away. Sylvia held him tighter, so tight that she seemed to temporarily forget his fragility.

"Darling," I smoothed my hands over the muscles in her arms and they started to relax. "Sebastian is safe. We are all safe." Those words were so challenging to say, especially under our young host's hateful gaze. "My wife is not well," I announced to Silas and the reclining General. "She must lie down at once."

This caught General Ballard's attention- though he might have grumbled at the thought of having to part with his steaming cup of Earl Grey. He stood and headed past the neatly strewn maze of ebony furniture to check on his daughter. "Silly?" He asked, crouching in front of us. Sylvia had placed her cheek against Sebastian's chest. The darling baby, so unaware of his mother's despair, twisted his fingers throughout her golden hair and waved its ends around, playfully. "What ever is the matter, you ridiculous girl!?"

"She is shaken up from earlier, Sir," I said, "we both are."

"You and your wife are welcome to stay in our guest room," Silas called, unmoving, in his claw-footed armchair. "Of course, Barnabas has a fireplace in his room. If you don't mind how nocturnal of a creature the boy is!"

"The guest room would be lovely!" I managed to slip that in before any protests could arise. Seeing how unaware Sylvia had become, she might have asked for the heated room! But I was determined to stay by her side all night and, after our stay in the drafty church, knew that I could keep her warm without any trouble at all. After asking for directions, I guided her to the cool, deep featherbed in the guest room that, like everything else in the house, was fresh and new. It was welcoming in the sense that it was alarmingly plain, no skulls were present. Just a few pretty candelabras atop a glistening windowside writing desk. I felt that I might be able to become comfortable there for a while. "There you are, my darlings," I smoothed the thick blanket over them and tried my very best to warm the cold cotton. "Now you are safe and sound."

Neither Sylvia nor Sebastian seemed content. They both looked around the unfamiliar, dark room that was lighted only by a shallow pool of moonlight from the uncovered window. "Boris," she muttered, taking my hand in hers, "did you make decisions at Bunker Hill like I did today? Did you follow any courses blindly that might have brought death to your men, but didn't?" I had to look away. I wanted to be honest with my wife always, but to tell her about the platoon that I was responsible for and had so gravely compromised would only worsen her fragile state of mind. "What if we had lost our baby? It would have been my fault."

"Sylvia, there is no outcome in which we would have lost Sebastian. You would have found a way to save him, even if the rest of the pack found and attacked us. You always manage to surprise me. Every day, it seems, I learn something wonderful and new. Hidden talents, darling quirks, deep secrets and courage, my God, Sylvia! What courage you have! If only you could see yourself through my eyes."

A gentle smile started to appear on her beautiful face, "Use my own words against me, why don't you?" She nearly chuckled and I could see that my wife was not so far away, after all. She calmed down once we were situated and alone but grew wary when I walked over to the door and checked for a lock. No such mechanism was present. Nothing that the heavy desk in the corner could not fix! I dragged it across the floor without delay. "Boris? What the devil?"

I only stopped once the door was completely covered and headed back to our comfortable albeit … well, uncomfortable… bed. "No locks. When one lives alone, they learn to require locks. Which reminds me, when I leave for Boston or New York or wherever in the hell I am called to, remember to lock the door at night."

Her eyes might have been glazed and pained, but her sharp intelligence hadn't left them. "You are bluffing, my dear." I moved onto my side, closing around her like a protective wall directly across from the desk and door. She allowed me to slip my arm beneath her head, a means of support that she preferred over even the loveliest pillow. "Snuggles won't help you, Sweetheart. This is ridiculous! What if you or I need to use the outhouse in the middle of the night? Hm?"

"The outhouse!" I covered my mouth, mockingly. "Yet, another surprise, Mrs. Bordon! I always believed you to be more of a chamber pot girl!" Sylvia's perfectly groomed eyebrow slanted into one of her infamously clever arches and I knew at once that she had me cornered. I inched forward and whispered in her ear with upmost discretion, "I find Silas Falco's son to be… terrifying." To my surprise, she erupted with laughter and very nearly started rolling around on her back! "I'm happy to amuse you, Darling, but-"

"-Barnabas?!" I shushed her, but to no avail. She continued in full-volume, "You could squash that unwashed, pubescent ball of angst like a bug with your baby toe, Boris Babcock Bordon!"

"Did you see the way that he was looking at you?!"

"Oh, if that sets you off, you should consider it a blessing that you were never in the same room as Banastre Tarleton and I! We invited him over for dinner once, and when Papa wasn't looking, he would move his eyes from sister to sister and lick his lips like a damned hungry mongrel! I had to excuse myself, but nearly vomited there at the table! If you find Master Falco's behavior distasteful, just imagine how Tarleton acted at his age!"

I sunk my lips into her hair, inhaling the soft, smoky fragrance that our campfire had infused it with. She always smelled so sweet, naturally, without any help from masking florals. The smell of her flesh brought back to earth and relaxed me. I lusted for her often. Hungered, even. But when I wished to consume her, I also wished to be consumed by her. A mutual exchange of love was what we gave to one another. Anger, obsession, the urge to tear her from limb to limb and drink her hot, sweet blood was so animalistic that it only ever occurred to me as a passing thought when we journeyed to the summit of our passion. Once that climb had reached its close, it was only us. Panting and clutching, soaring high above our own mortality. That tiny wink of destructiveness would come and go and though it helped me to dive deeper and hold her tighter, it was only a small part of our lovemaking and a faint star in the endless firmament of our love. That was the only time when such a thought could be projected upon Sylvia. By me. By no other man.

Carried away by this thought, I remained where I was. Breathing her in. Graciously appreciating her presence as I revisited my momentarily demonic urges in our otherwise heavenly unions. "Do you trust me?"

"Only on Tuesdays." Yet again, she grounded me. Only this time, it was with her humor. I laughed, and she laughed, too. "Of course, I trust you."

"Then let us resort to chamber pots tonight and press your father so that we might leave for our home in New Jersey early tomorrow." I glanced over. Her bandaged wrist and fingers were softly massaging our sleeping child's back. "Deal?"

Her hand stopped where it was, and she gave me an adorably calculating look. "Chamber pots it is."

We shook on it, nuzzled even closer than before and slept contently until dawn, knowing that we were safe in one another's arms. Sebastian woke up crying shortly after daybreak. This most likely spurred from the noisiness of the kitchen with which we shared a wall. I heard that the General and Silas were engaged in friendly banter and hunted for clues in their conversation to help me better understand why that unlikely pair took so well to one another.

Shushing Sebastian was usually easy. The sound of my voice was amusing to him, so I would either hum, recite or simply ramble and watch as his large blue eyes banished their earlier tears and sparkled with fascination at every sound that I produced. I changed and swaddled him, then moved over to the window to let him look outside. Sebastian loved windows. Almost as much as I loved watching as he took in the great big world around him. Slowly but surely, his shyness was shifting into curiosity. It was in that quiet fearlessness that he drifted slightly from being my double and displayed what I loved best about his mother.

It was light enough outside to see the wagon that Barnabas had dragged in and spent the night repairing. His craftsmanship appeared to surpass even his father's praise, but I couldn't bring myself to trust it. Barnabas appeared to be hard at work and I watched him, just as intensely as he had watched me tend to Sylvia's arm. When he sensed my presence and looked up, I backed away from the window quickly enough to remain unseen.

This brought me to a far more pleasant view of my Sylvia who had remained undisturbed. Her breaths were slow and heavy. Yet, that was the only weight that she carried. Between the soft coverage of the blanket and the featherbed, she seemed to float. Light and airy as a snowflake or a particle of down. I knelt and touched my lips to hers and waited as her breath warmed my body and soul. I was locked in a season of Sylvia's own creation, comfortable as mid-summer and glorious as springtime. In her sweet, intoxicating breath, I found the taste and fragrance of every kiss we had ever shared. I would gladly trade every atmosphere on the globe from the crystalline air, high above the tallest mountain's timberline to the spicy breezes that dance freely across distant exotic shorelines; if only to inhale and exhale Sylvia and have her by my only life force. She didn't know that I was there, she couldn't feel the rupturing of love in my chest as I innocently claimed her silent mouth and retreated to behold her full visage.

"Was Sebastian hungry earlier?" She mumbled, not even half awake.

"No. Just a touch restless, but he is much better now. You sleep."

She adjusted herself with a tiny sway and as she turned the side of her long, fair neck came into view. "I'm hungry."

I laughed quietly. When we were living in the church, she took her daily meal in the morning and I was often the one to bring it to her along with the means for washing. "Judging by what I am hearing and smelling from the next room over, I'd guess old Silas is frying up sausages and bacon. Which would you prefer?"

"Not porridge."

I repeated her request with a cheerful nod. I will surely die a happy man if I never see a bowl of porridge again! Or have to listen to clogging. "Not porridge it is!" As I started to move, I noticed that she had grabbed onto the end of my shirt. "Sylvia? Mrs. Bordon?" Nothing. Only a light snore and a moan as I started to unlatch her fingers. "I cannot go shirtless."

"You should always be shirtless!" Her hand dropped like a weight and I assumed that the dream she had only barely abandoned, requested her presence once more. "Leave Sebastian and I will try to feed him," and it was so. I handed the sleepy-eyed child to her and caught an identical expression from his mother. "Thank you, Boris," she whispered as she cradled him.

I glanced out the window before leaving the room and Barnabas appeared to still be occupied with his task. That did not halt the overwhelming anxiety that I felt as I pushed the desk away and left Sylvia and Sebastian alone. My eyes went immediately to the wolf head which hung several feet down the hallway. Its eyes and the eyes of the neighboring portraits seemed to follow my every move as I walked into the kitchen.

"Good news, Boris, m'Boy!" The General sang, holding a long, greasy strip of bacon beneath his chin. "Our wagon is as good as new! Tell that daughter of mine not to dawdle! That means no screeching on that blasted violin or taking more time than necessary to make herself presentable. We are leaving for New Jersey after breakfast!"

While General Ballard was lost in his rapturous monologue, Silas prepared a platter (yes, a platter) of meat for Sylvia and I. "I hope you and the Misses are a carnivorous bunch! We slaughter every Monday, so this is nice and fresh," he proclaimed, "why, both of 'em were up on all fours only yesterday!"

I missed porridge already.

"Oh, and Boris," General Ballard called after me as I turned with the impossibly large stack of food that I no intention of consuming, "before we leave, Silas would like for you to have a word with Barnabas. The boy is a bit…" he twirled his hands, midair, searching for the correct term. I had several on the tip of my tongue that he was free to use! "A bit… astray. If he could hear your story, about how profoundly serving in the King's Army has changed your life… perhaps?"

I gave a quick shrug before nodding in agreement. If anything, speaking with Barnabas would prevent him from bothering my wife and child between then and the time that we were to leave. "I would be happy to speak with Master Falco, Sir."

Once they were out of earshot, I started to rehearse what I would say. It would take a while to pluck out all of the threats that I had lined up in my mind. Perhaps a meditative bite or two of hot food and a quick conversation with my wife would assist me in constructing a heartfelt invitation. After all, Barnabas could kill a rebel just by looking at him! I weighed my options. Any request that the General had for me, I would gladly follow through with. What if I had misjudged Barnabas? With my mind churning, I opened the door to the room that held my comfort, my solace.

Sylvia's eyes were closed in light sleep, her slender thumb made spirals across Sebastian's back as he fed. It was my favorite sight in all the world. Their innocence, their vulnerability, their complete dependence on one another for contentment and life was the very essence of my joy. I slipped our ridiculous breakfast on the desk and went to hold them, for just a while, but I was stopped by a dark figure looming in my periphery. I don't know how, I don't know when, but Barnabas had crept into the room while I was away and was watching them.

A/N: No, the Falcos aren't vampires. Yes, they are weird and a tiny bit random, but they are also important. Just remember, as the saying from Twin Peaks goes, "the owls are not what they seem." *cackle and cue lightning flash*