With eyes still fixed to the door, Ethan eventually asked, "… What sphere?"

"Lady Bela found the ball not long ago and took it to me. I informed her that it was a key to this very replica, which at the time, was in the possession of one of my associates," The Duke happily explained before taking a puff of his cigar.

"So that sphere, ball – whatever – that's enough to unlock the crystal?" Ethan looked at the castle replica and the hardy steel enclosure at the bottom.

The jolly man gave a short laugh. "It is… part of the unlocking process, as you and Lady Bela shall soon find out."

Ethan wasn't sure what to make of that, but it was good enough of an answer for now. With little else to do while waiting for Bela's return, Ethan went over his pile of purchases to make sure he didn't forget anything.

With a glance at the Duke, Ethan took his chance while Bela was gone, "Y'know… I won't tell her if you do sell me some lockpicks and explosives. Just saying."

The Duke chuckled but shook his head. He offered a sympathetic smile as he explained, "It would be my pleasure to provide you with what you desire, Mr. Winters. Unfortunately, your access to my… regular stock is currently prohibited."

Well, it was worth a shot.

Ethan shrugged dispassionately and resumed looking through his stack of clothes. He hadn't really expected the Duke's cooperation in that regard.

He glimpsed at the door once – painfully aware that it was unlocked and ready to be used as an exit. If the hefty merchant wasn't going to sell him clandestine (or unreasonably explosive) tools, then he was just as unlikely to approve of Ethan running for the hills.

Though with how immobile the Duke was, the biggest threat he posed was rolling over onto Ethan to pin him down. The most he'd probably do was warn Ethan to stay put and wait for Bela. That was the smart move, anyhow. Making a break for it would just piss Bela off, and probably attract unwanted attention. Ethan had gone over twenty-four hours now without losing additional fingers. He preferred to keep that streak going.

The Duke stirred Ethan from his thoughts, ever the salesman. "Until then, I would be happy to provide you with other services and products – just say the word! Is there anything you need to improve your stay here? Have your accommodations been to your liking?"

Ethan gave the man a flat look. "Accommodations? I have a mattress on the floor in a fucking dungeon. What do you think?"

The man laughed, gesturing with his cigar as he spoke. "Better than the alternative, is it not? Meat hooks are certainly less comfortable than your cell."

"How do you know what the alternative was?" Ethan narrowed his eyes even further in suspicion.

"You are an important man, Ethan." The Duke smiled. "It is part of my first-class customer policy to remain abreast of your adventures."

Ethan scoffed. "Adventure is a nice way to word being locked in a dungeon."

"Hmm," The Duke had a knowing glimmer in his eyes. "But the battle of wits which you engage Lady Bela in is certainly an adventure, is it not? A warzone of words – vying for supremacy in a tense stalemate – each of you looking to shatter the other's walls. Truly exciting, I think."

"What – is Bela telling you all about my time in the cage?"

The Duke grinned and gave a non-answer. "I like to keep up to date with my customers."

"Yeah?" Ethan squinted. "If you're so up to date, then why don't you tell me a little about what's going on around here? Other than being a five-star keg of blood, why am I locked up here?"

The heavyset man took a long inhale of his cigar before resting his hand across his belly. The puff came out slowly and deliberately. Finally, he began, "Things were set in motion the day of your capture, Mr. Winters. By all accounts, these things should have remained in motion – accelerated even."

The Duke gently tapped his cigar over the ash tray on his desk. "Instead, the pieces on the board have halted. They lie in wait – observing, planning – much like yourself."

If the man got any more cryptic and enigmatic, Ethan was going to make him eat that cigar.

"Why?" Ethan asked; the frustration was leaking out into his voice. "Why are they waiting?"

"Because other players have entered the fray, my friend." The Duke chuckled to himself. "Those who would see Mother Miranda reduced to ashes. The cruel ruler of this village has never backed down from a fight, but now – more is at stake than ever before."

Ethan's mind was spinning.

Other players – those must be the stragglers Bela mentioned. If they were resisting the lycans, then they fit the Duke's vague descriptions.

But who were they? Surely some randos with guns couldn't put up that much of a resistance for long. The village below was the perfect example of what happened when you tried to resist the mutated wolfmen.

Chris and his band of clowns? The BSAA? They certainly had the firepower and means to put up a fight. But what business did they have fighting this Mother Miranda –

Right. That was literally his job. If there was some moldy heart to this whole mess, then it made sense if Chris and his team were on the ground combating Miranda. It still didn't explain why the fuck he emptied a magazine into Mia and kidnapped Rose. It didn't explain why a tactical nuke hadn't glassed the entire region yet.

"More is at stake…" Ethan repeated to himself before asking, "What changed? Is it because Rose is here in the castle?"

The knowing smile the Duke flashed was telling. He went on, "Let me ask you something, Ethan."

"…Go on."

"Imagine you are running a marathon. You have been several paces behind the leading runner throughout the entire course. Eventually, after much effort, you finally take the lead, and the finish line is in sight. Would it not be tempting to sprint the rest of the way? Finish the race before anyone else can catch up?"

With a shrug, Ethan nodded, "Yeah. I guess so."

"Now, what if there was a man in the audience pointing a fifty-caliber Barrett M82A1 anti-material rifle at the finish line?"

"That's…" Ethan grimaced. He'd seen the destructive capability of those rifles over the course of training with Chris. "That's not how marathons work."

The Duke laughed heartily and shook his head, "Bear with me, Ethan! What if? Would you continue sprinting to the finish line?"

Ethan shook his head. "No. I don't really want my head to explode."

"But you are so close to the finish line, Ethan!" The Duke leaned forward in emphasis. "You want to win this race more than anything in your entire life."

With some exasperation, Ethan shrugged again, "I guess I'll keep going, but be conscious of the sniper?"

"You slow your pace – yes? You have worked so hard to become the leading runner, and you do not wish to lose that position." The Duke took a drag of his cigar before continuing, "Maybe you try to distract the sniper from where you are. Maybe you will even delay yourself so that you cross the finish line with a split-second to spare – maybe so that you do not present a clear target. The sniper may even shoot at the man running a mere inch behind you if you do so."

Ethan licked his lips and pointed out, "A fifty-cal round is gonna fuck up the other runner and me, though."

The Duke dismissed his objection with a wave of the hand. "That is beside the point. Do you understand now, Ethan?"

Ethan's hands came up to rub at his face for a moment, processing the analogy. With a breath, he recollected, "This Mother Miranda person was supposed to do something…" He grunted, "Something involving Rose? Now that Rose is here, Miranda is… slowing down because…" Ethan squinted with uncertainty, but went on in the face of the Duke's nodding, "Because if she does whatever it is she wants to do right away, she might get her head blown off?"

"And that brings us to the present day, Mr. Winters." The Duke rolled the cigar between his fingers. "The long game. You are not the only one biding your time and plotting. The race has become a marathon." The heavyset merchant laughed, and added, "Or perhaps, in your parlance, the first-person shooter has become a strategy game. From Counter-Strike to 4D Chess."

Ethan narrowed his eyes further at the Duke's odd choice of words – but he couldn't deny that it was appropriate. There was some clarity shed on his current predicament – and a little comfort to be derived from the fact that he wasn't the only one taking things slow. If Miranda was moving slowly, that meant – or at least, Ethan hoped – Rose was safe for a while longer. As long as those stragglers, or Chris, continued posing a threat, things would remain in stasis. It was now Ethan's job to be in an optimal position to grab Rose and get out the moment things kicked off, and they went from 4D Chess and back to Counter-Strike.

There were still some unknowns, though.

"What the fuck does Miranda want with Rose? Why aren't these… other players coming in guns blazing?" Ethan asked.

The Duke regarded Ethan briefly. He smiled, almost sympathetically, and then glanced pointedly at the door.

On cue, the door swung open, and sharp heels clicked into the room.

"Apologies for the delay." Bela tossed the ball in the air for show. "Did you two enjoy your alone time?"

There was the slightest worry that ran down Ethan's spine – that the Duke would maybe rat him out. Surely discussing the finer points of Miranda's grand scheme would be frowned upon.

"But of course, Lady Bela. Mr. Winters was just telling me about how hospitable you have been!" The Duke grinned wide, and alleviated any shred of worry Ethan had. The remnants of suspicion fizzled away. The hefty merchant clearly knew much – too much, one might say – but he seemed solid.

"Yeah," Ethan latched onto the Duke's setup. "After all the shit the past couple of days, that coffee really hit the spot."

Bela smiled in earnest as she approached the castle replica. "I'm glad to hear that."

Curiously, Ethan joined Bela by the scale model. There was a slot over the crimson skull's compartment that looked like it would fit the ball. A glance at the Duke revealed him to be watching them with anticipation.

"Stick it in there, I guess," Ethan said.

Bela set the ball down in the slot. When nothing happened, she pressed down on it, and the slot depressed by half an inch. Bela hummed in consideration and pressed down fully.

The slot sunk before turning on an axis, dropping the ball off into the unseen bottom of the castle. There was the sound of gears crunching and machinery turning within the model. After several seconds of clicking and spinning, the ball dropped from the central tower.

Ethan and Bela exchanged looks of confusion.

The Duke laughed, hands clapping together jovially. "Don't you just love a good puzzle?"

"Jesus Christ," Ethan muttered. "It's never that simple, is it?"

Bela giggled softly, but eagerly accepted the task at hand. "Okay, so the ball is in the central tower. Perhaps we must guide it somewhere."

Ethan scanned the model for anything that stood out. After a moment, he found it. Amid the detailed stonework, the reddish-brown roof tiles, and the lush courtyards – there was an outlier. A simple red flag was planted atop one tower. It seemed like a good indicator, and so Ethan pointed it out, "There."

Bela experimentally placed a hand on the tower closest to her. With a nudge, she tilted the model, allowing the ball to roll over to the next tower. It fell down one level with a metallic thud. She looked up at Ethan. "It is on your side now."

Ethan huffed. "This is ridiculous. Can't we just – I dunno – pick the fucking ball up?"

To prove his point, Ethan grabbed the ball and tugged up, only to find it fixed in place on the castle battlements. There must have been some sort of magnetic pull keeping the ball from coming free.

"What the fuck?"

Ethan switched hands – using his right this time, which had more fingers to grip the ball with. When it didn't budge, he wrapped his entire hand around the ball and pulled. The entire model skidded slightly towards Ethan with the force he put into the tug. Bela grabbed hold of the castle with both hands, looking at Ethan with wide, amused eyes. When Ethan yanked once more with no effect, Bela sputtered out a laugh, "Ethan!"

The Duke joined in on the laughter, chiding him, "I believe brute force will not work on this one, Mr. Winters."

Ethan threw his hands up in exasperation, allowing the ball to roll along the ramparts. "Fine! Let's play the stupid game."

"It's your move," Bela said with a bite of her lip – all she could do to keep her laughter down.

"Yeah, yeah…" Ethan mumbled and held the scale model. He tilted it to guide the ball around a corner, sending it rolling down and towards the front of the façade.

More gears announced their presence with metallic clanking. The bridges at the front of the castle raised up and lowered down in sections.

Ethan scoffed. "This thing is a toy, Bela. It's not a scale model, it's a fucking toy."

"Don't be such a troglodyte, Ethan." She shot back in a nearly scolding manner, but smiled just the same, "Have some fun!"

Rolling his eyes, Ethan played along. He held the castle with both hands, working with Bela to guide the ball across the bridge without it falling off. With little coordination, they got it back on the battlements, and Bela rolled it towards the back side of the castle. The courtyard had several gaping holes which the ball could easily –

There was a muted thunk as the ball sunk into one of the holes.

"A valiant attempt," The Duke remarked.

Ethan and Bela's gazes met as the mechanical clinking indicated the ball was being routed back to the top of the tower.

"That one was your fault." Ethan shrugged.

Bela scoffed. "Only because you are being so unsupportive."

"What – you want me to cheer you on? Isn't my stupid sweater enough encouragement for you?" Ethan was equal parts exasperated and amused by how seriously Bela took the puzzle. He continued, goaded on by the grin Bela was biting back. "Huh? My smart and hot Romanian girlfriend? I'm like a fucking cheerleader with this damn thing on."

Bela's cheeks were a light pink as she laughed. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips in the attempts to keep it in. In between laughs, she exclaimed, "Just focus on the game!"

Ethan was biting back his own amusement when he muttered, "Yeah, yeah."

The boll rolled down to the neighboring tower, down to the ramparts, and around to the bridge. Together, Ethan and Bela guided it across the shifting platforms.

"Take it slow," Ethan instructed, now that the ball was rolling into the courtyard.

Bela nodded. Her tattooed forehead creased in concentration. They pushed and pulled gently, tilting the model this way and that to guide the ball. Bela stilled at one point, inhaling sharply through her teeth. Ethan did the same, just as the ball narrowly avoided falling into the courtyard pits.

They exchanged glances, nodding slightly to one another in acknowledgement of the close call. Together, they tilted the model forward, guiding the ball along the wall of the courtyard and towards the final tower.

And just because it was fun to ruffle Bela's feathers, Ethan violently shook the entire model a final time. The ball wriggled dangerously close to the central pits. Bela held the castle steady with wide, alarmed eyes. The laughter was still in her voice when she scolded him, "Ethan!"

"Just making sure you're paying attention."

It earned him a halfhearted glare as the ball finally rolled on over to its destination.

The smallest bell imaginable tolled from within the scale model. Numerous windows lit up in victory. Small, celebratory sparks came off from the tops of each tower. With a final click, the metal enclosure came unlocked. The crimson crystal skull within was beautiful, if not rather macabre. It twinkled in the lamplight, and Ethan had to wonder how much such a crystal was worth.

"Good job, tapeworm."

This time, Bela raised her fist up. Ethan indulged her, bumping his fist into her own.

"See, little one?" Bela picked up the crystal, "This is what we can achieve when you aren't always being a sourpuss."

"Hey, fuck off." Ethan grunted in reply, eliciting another giggle from Bela.

Bela approached the Duke with the crimson skull in hand. The merchant clapped his hands in soft applause, "Ah! What a lovely show of teamwork! Bravo! Brava!"

"I trust this will knock the total bill down by quite a bit?" Bela asked with a charming smile.

"Certainly, Lady Bela. It accounted for much of the replica's cost, after all." The Duke set his cigar down to pick up a pad of paper and a pen. "Now, allow me to take a moment to tally up your bill."

Ethan joined Bela in front of the Duke's table as he prepared their total bill. Much faster than anticipated, the heavyset merchant scribbled a figure down on the paper, underlined it twice, then set it down for Bela to read.

It was quite a lot, Ethan realized. For the amount of clothing Ethan was taking, and Bela's own purchases, it did add up. The price didn't faze Bela, who simply reached into a dress pocket to procure a wad of bills. She counted it once, twice, and then handed payment over. The Duke accepted the bills and stored them in his strongbox on the table. Finally, he shook Bela's hand with a firm grip.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you and the family, Lady Bela."

"The pleasure is ours, Duke." Bela smiled.

Turning to Ethan, the Duke began packing the clothes, journaling supplies, and toiletries into a paper bag, which was stamped with The Duke's Emporium. The mug was safely tucked into a small box and placed at the top of the pile within the bag.

Ethan shook the Duke's much larger – slightly sweatier – hand as well. "Thanks, Duke."

"You're welcome, my friend." The Duke flashed his award-winning smile. "If you ever need anything else, you know where to find me."

Before long, the pair was out of the salesroom and back in the Hall of the Four, carrying their respective hauls in their hands. Ethan once again had half a mind to ask to look around some more. The urge to do so was less pressing this time around. That was thanks to the Duke's cryptic yet reassuring message, and Bela's own remark that more trips outside his cell were a possibility.

It was odd to be placing so much stock in either of their words. The former was a larger-than-life merchant who seemingly had a perfectly curated stock of goods, and knew far, far too much about the happenings in the village. The latter was a bloodsucking bug-woman who treated him far better than any captor probably should. He shouldn't in his right mind be placing so much trust in them and their words.

It was a long couple of days – years, even – since Ethan had truly been in his right mind, so perhaps he was excused. His questionable company was better than what he could hope for. It was better than the alternative, as the Duke had said.

Ethan could take this one day at a time. It was much easier that way. Thanks to the Duke, he had a better understanding of what was going on in this godforsaken place. There were still so many unknowns – what did Miranda want with Rose? How did Mia's murder and Chris' involvement tie into this? Was Chris the reason Miranda was stalling, and Rose was still unharmed?

He was nowhere near the proverbial finish line yet. In spite of that, Ethan felt oddly content. He had a plan. He was healthy – three missing fingers and all. There were people to interact with that didn't want him dead.

Things could be frustrating, but at least they weren't as bleak.

He may just have a real shot of getting Rose and getting out of here.

A solid force slammed into Ethan's back, sending him staggering forward, forcing him to tighten his grip on his paper bag of belongings.

"Jesus Christ!"

Strong legs crossed over his waist, and lithe arms wrapped around his neck.

"Miss me?" The voice of Daniela Dimitrescu came in his ear, heavy, warm, and almost damp.

"Holy shit," Ethan breathed out before steeling himself and snarling, "Get the fuck off of me!"

Bela watched the scene unfold with her lips pressed into a thin, unamused line.

"But you're so big and strong." A hand roamed across Ethan's chest, making his skin crawl. "I quite like it up here."

"Yeah – well I don't!" Ethan craned his head side to side in the attempt to look at his attacker. "Get the fuck off my back!"

If Bela's hands weren't preoccupied carrying her box and the bundle of books, this was probably the part she would have rubbed her face in exasperation.

Ethan looked at her for help, the silent plea on his alarmed face

"Come now, sister. Give the man-thing a break." Bela's voice held authority to it. "I told you that you may feed from him when he is well."

Daniela's scoff was hot against his ear. Ethan suppressed an unpleasant shiver at the sensation.

"If the man is so unwell, then how is he able to hold me so easily?" To prove her point, Daniela adjusted her position – practically climbing him until her legs crossed high over his midsection, and her hands set on either of his shoulders. "See! Look how strong he is!"

Ethan was in hell. He'd died and gone to hell.

"Son of a bitch," Ethan grumbled, gently dropping his paper bag to the ground so his hands were free. "Look – you can either get off or I'm making you regret this."

"Try me," Was Daniela's haughty reply.

Accepting the challenge, Ethan gave his back to the ground in an attempt to crash Daniela onto the marble floor. He realized the error of his ways when her weight dissipated into a swarm of buzzing flies.

Ethan collided with the floor hard. His arms splayed out on either side to slam into the ground to help disperse the impact of the fall. The breath was knocked out of him either way, but at least he didn't knock himself out.

He had just propped himself up on one elbow by the time Daniela reformed on top of him – mounting him. She appeared a little differently than she had during their last encounter. Daniela tucked a few unruly strands of red hair behind her ear, pushing her hood down in the process. It gave Ethan a look at the – somewhat messy – undercut on the left side of her head.

With a giggle, Daniela bit her lip – free of dried blood, compared to the last time he'd seen her. "I think I quite like the view from up here too."

"Daniela…" Bela's voice carried a warning in it. The click of heels came to a stop to their side, standing over them.

This time, Daniela pouted. "But Bela! You've had him for so long!"

"We have been through this, dear." Bela sighed – a calm, collected mannerism, which sounded like it was well-rehearsed when it came to Daniela. "He has been in my care because of the damage Cassandra did to him. That is why I have not permitted feeding until he recovered."

"But he has clearly recovered by now!" Daniela protested. "He's so healthy, look at him!"

Daniela's hands clamped onto Ethan's cheeks, turning his head back and forth in demonstration. He smacked her hands away and snarled, "Hey – keep your fucking hands off me!"

"So feisty too! Mm!" Daniela bit down on her lip in a manner that was – to say the least – alarming.

Ethan's eyes went back and forth between Daniela and Bela. Glaring daggers at the former, and pleading wordlessly with the latter.

Another sigh – longer this time – and Bela admitted, "I suppose the man has recovered from the worst of his injuries."

"What?!" Ethan glowered at Bela, before turning his attention to Daniela. "No – no you're not getting a fucking bite out of me!"

The torture he'd endured on his first day here was still more than fresh in his mind. Both his arms had enough scars to show for it. The idea was to play nice with Bela. That didn't extend to her sisters – not when they were crazier than all the moldy Bakers put together.

Ethan's breathing was growing shallow as the distress was settling into his very bones. He wriggled from beneath Daniela as his heart pounded in his chest. He kept his elbows tucked in, and his hands close to his face, ready to protect himself if necessary.

"Daniela." The stature in Bela's voice was unmistakable – enough to get the younger sibling to pause and look up at Bela. "Remember what I told you."

The redhead's eyes all but rolled into the back of her head. She sighed; her hands raised in a dainty gesture of peace. "Play nice, I know."

With less force, and less uncomfortable rubbing, Daniela set her hands on Ethan's chest, causing him to tense further. He breathed heavily, glaring up at her, switching it up to glare at Bela every so often.

Ethan knew that he couldn't fault Bela too much. This was her family. They came first before him. After all – what was he to Bela?

The laughs and the banter they shared – that didn't change the facts.

She caged him up. She drank his blood. She manipulated him into lowering his guard.

He was always going to be blood-cattle first, and whatever he was to Bela second.

So, Ethan braced himself. There was little good that would come from jabbing Daniela in the nose while he was in this compromising position. His puny man-fists weren't going to do jack shit against her.

The best thing he could do was sit tight and get this over with as quickly as possible. The sooner he was free from Daniela's grip, the better.

Ethan's discomfort was apparently plain as day, because Daniela soon remarked, "You're very tense, man-thing."

"Gee," Ethan bared his teeth; his voice dripped with sarcasm, "I wonder why the fuck that is?"

The pout returned to Daniela's features, and she asked in a nearly offended tone, "After all the time you spent locked up with Bela, aren't you glad to spend some time with me for a change?"

"Why the fuck would I?" Ethan answered back.

Daniela frowned. The confusion on her face was genuine – which was, in turn, confusing to Ethan. Daniela's eyes went up to her sister, who was setting her belongings down on the floor, next to Ethan's. Then her gaze traveled back to Ethan, regarding him in serious thought.

"Huh." The sound Daniela produced wasn't questioning. It was baffled in nature – as if coming to a revelation that should not add up.

Daniela's confused pause was bewildering enough in its own right to stop Ethan from squirming beneath her. His heart skipped a beat once more when two hands landed on his shoulders – Bela's hands.

The blonde sister had come to kneel with them.

It felt double-edged.

She held him down – her hands were firm and strong, keeping him still for Daniela's feeding.

Yet she held him gently – her thumbs rubbed soothing strokes against the fabric of his sweater. The familiarity of the gesture was comforting – enough to help slow the panicked beat of his heart.

The sense of gratitude he felt towards Bela left him as confused and conflicted as Daniela was. Daniela who, again, was looking back and forth between them, as if trying to read their minds, or seeing some invisible tether that connected them.

"Okay," Daniela said simply, in a tone that sounded as if she'd made her mind up over something.

Ethan asked with a frown, "Okay what?"

"Okay, as in I see what is going on now."

His frown deepened with confusion. "What?"

"It is a shame." Daniela tsked once, then looked at Bela. "You are lucky I love you, sister."

Bela's own eyebrows pitched together in bewilderment. "What on earth are you talking about, Daniela?"

"Hm," Daniela hummed. "Say no more, Bela."

Before either of them could react, Daniela grabbed Ethan's hand, and her teeth found his wrist.

Ethan took in a sharp hiss as his skin broke from the messy bite. His body gave an involuntary jolt from the sudden pain. The site of the wound grew warm as blood seeped out, and warmer still as Daniela's mouth closed around it.

Ethan's free right hand reflexively curled into a fist. His baser instincts were firing off.

Plant feet firmly on the floor. Buck up and to the side with the hips. Drive a fist into her ribs and head. Roll over to the side. Establish dominance on the ground.

He didn't need the hand Daniela was gnawing on. All he needed were his legs on the ground and his trembling fist. He was perfectly capable of turning the tables on the blood-sucking witch. He'd been trained for this.

Bela's hand closed around his fist as it hovered up and ready to strike. The warmth of her skin against his was a grounding feeling, disrupting his frazzled thoughts. It reminded him of her other hand on his shoulder, anchoring him down, not just to the floor but to – fuck, well – his very wits, really. His limbic system's fight or flight responses were suppressed.

Ethan wasn't alone here, getting his blood drank dry until he was as hollow and lost as the Moroaice. This wasn't like the other day when Daniela and Cassandra had free reign to torment him.

Bela was here, and Ethan was safe.

It was contradictory in every sense of the word.

But in Bela's hands, Ethan knew he was safe.

Bela would stand up to Daniela if she went too far. If for no other reason other than maintaining the quality of his blood as her personal, premium keg of blood. Whatever logic Bela wanted to spin to justify it – Ethan didn't care. All that mattered was that Ethan knew without a shred of doubt that Bela would have his back. He wasn't dying on her watch. She'd gone through far too much trouble keeping him alive just to allow him to bleed to death now.

She locked him up, but kept him comfortable.

She drank his blood, but never hurt him.

She manipulated him into lowering his guard, but lowered hers as well.

Ethan's eyes, previously shut in the effort to bite back the pain, slowly opened. He was met with kind amber eyes, and a soft frown. Bela's full lips pressed into a displeased line, but briefly quirked when their gazes met.

He was vaguely aware of Bela's hand on his shoulder sliding on over to his neck. Her fingertips found his pulse and stayed there – monitoring his condition. Yet Ethan could hardly focus on that. He was preoccupied looking up at Bela.

The light from the chandelier cast an ethereal glow around Bela's blonde head of hair.

Like a goddamn halo.

His own personal angel of mercy in this shithole.

Ethan's fist unclenched. The slack in his previously tense hand caused a few of Bela's fingers to slip in between his. She made to pull back, only for Ethan to curl his fingers in between hers. She followed his lead, adjusting her fingers to hold his hand properly. Slowly, Bela led their conjoined hands over his head and onto her lap.

His vision had yet to begin spinning, but Ethan was growing lightheaded. His delirious thoughts of thinking of Bela as an angel were similarly another likely sign of the blood loss.

Neither of these were bad enough to make Ethan miss the movement of Bela's lips, and her voice, softer than a whisper.

"It's okay," Bela murmured. "You're okay."

He believed it.

(Probably still the blood loss talking.)

Ethan's head lolled to one side, to turn his gaze away from Bela to look at Daniela. If Ethan and Bela were in a world of their own, Daniela was in one as well with his hand. She produced quiet moans and purrs which bordered on lewd as she sucked the blood from his numb wrist, practically pressing her body against his arm. Their silent exchange had gone unwitnessed by Daniela.

He focused on those little anchor points to stay conscious and lucid. The fingertips to his neck were firm and attentive; Bela would know in an instant if his blood levels reached a dangerous level. Bela's thumb ran its soothing strokes over his knuckles. Her fingers remained firmly entangled with his own; no amount of heave and tug would undo them. They kept him in the present, hardy enough to prevent the tide of his blood loss from sweeping his consciousness away.

Eventually – much sooner than Ethan had expected – Bela spoke up.

"That's enough."

Authority was in her voice. Big sister Bela was here.

Daniela's eyes snapped open and flitted towards her sister. Even with her mouth sealed over Ethan's wrist, he could make out the pout on her features. She truly was the youngest sibling.

"Sister." The warning was issued, and the redhead soon heeded it.

Her lips came free from the wound, and she gave it a parting lick as it continued to trickle blood. Daniela had some expressive eyes. Ethan could tell she wanted to say more, but she held back with a bite of her bottom lip.

Bela released Ethan. His hand felt distinctly cold where hers had been moments ago.

She pulled a folded white handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to Ethan's bleeding wrist. Bela's voice came as a clear instruction. "Keep pressure on that."

Obediently, Ethan firmly held the cloth in place. He peeled himself off the floor, partially assisted by Bela. Midway, Daniela's lips smacked against his forehead in a brief, sloppy kiss. It undoubtedly left a bloodstain on his forehead.

Ethan cringed, muttering out a quiet, "What the fuck?"

"Thank you for the drink, man-thing. You are just the tastiest." Daniela removed herself from her mount atop Ethan. "I would have preferred a much longer drink, but…" There was a side-eyed glare at Bela, "Well – there is always next time."

Truth be told, Ethan felt… fine. Very mild delirium and wooziness aside, he was okay. Sort of like a blood donation that had gone on for too long. He wasn't about to roll back down like a limp noodle and pass out. If his symptoms were anything to go by, Bela had drunk much, much more blood from him during their feedings.

Bela had stopped Daniela's feeding early.

There was much to unpack there, Ethan was sure. But his brain was just fuzzy enough to struggle with untangling that mess.

That went double for how much comfort and security he felt in Bela's figurative and literal hands.

"Up you go." Arms came up from beneath Ethan's own, wrapping him up in preparation for –

Bela grunted softly, and Ethan was heaved upright into standing. His clumsy legs floundered before he found his footing. When they were sure he wouldn't topple over, Bela released him. Ethan kept pressure on his wrist, watching Daniela approach Bela.

"Thank you as well for finally," Daniela rolled the word out, "Allowing me to see your guest."

Bela's smile was decidedly warmer now that the ordeal was over without much incident. "No problem at all, sister."

The redhead wrapped her arms around Bela in a big hug, prompting a soft, "Oh!" from the latter. Bela chuckled fondly and returned the embrace. She only grimaced slightly when Daniela planted a loud, bloody kiss to her cheek.

"Come now." Bela rubbed Daniela's slender back in broad strokes. "Off you go, sweetheart."

The term of endearment Bela used on her sister was, Ethan could admit, cute.

(Probably still the blood loss talking.)

Daniela pulled back. Her mischievous eyes went between Ethan and Bela before culminating in a wink. "Try not to have too much fun down in the dungeons."

"Jesus Christ," Ethan muttered.

"Go on – scram," Bela gently nudged her sister off. With a light slap to Daniela's rear, the redhead dissipated into a cloud of flies. They swirled in the air before finding their way up the stairs to the great hall. They travelled further upward still, until disappearing from sight on the second floor.

With Daniela gone, and Ethan's blood mostly intact, he found himself muttering aloud, "Your sister's a real charming one, huh?"

Bela shook her head fondly as she picked their belongings up from the floor. She played a bit of a balancing act – Ethan's hefty paper bag in one hand, and her box and stack of books in the other. He was too preoccupied stopping his wrist from bleeding out to be able to carry anything.

"She went easy on you," Bela spoke rather matter-of-factly.

Ethan began leading the way back towards the kitchens. "Because you told her to… play nice, was it?"

There was a healthy pause before Bela replied, "Yes. A precaution that paid off, wouldn't you say?"

Ethan looked at the fine fabric he pressed to his wrist. The white was steadily turning red with each second that passed. Soon, the whole handkerchief would be as red as the finely embroidered Letter B that adorned it.

All in all, Ethan was acutely aware of how things could have gone far, far worse.

He thought aloud, "Better her than your other nutty sister, I guess."

They crossed the threshold into the dining room as Bela replied, a hint of frustration in her voice, "Truth be told, I have been struggling to read Cassandra these past few days."

Ethan adjusted his grip on the cloth, taking care not to drip blood everywhere. "Is she being more insane than usual?"

"On the contrary, she has been quiet." The concern in Bela's voice was setting Ethan on edge. "When Cassandra is quiet, she is planning."

"Planning how to string me up and bleed me dry?"

They'd just entered the kitchen when Ethan oh-so-casually asked the question. The three servants in the room – Zoria among them, Ethan noted – all turned to him. He didn't need to see through their veils to pick up on the alarm on their expressions. Their shoulders tensed, and they leaned away from him and Bela as they entered the room.

That probably wasn't the best thing to say upon entering a room full of other normal people.

Clearing his throat, Ethan continued walking. With Bela trailing close behind him, she whispered, "For your sake, let's hope not."

Ethan felt there was an unspoken follow up of, "But yes, probably."

He'd just have to cross that bridge when he got there, he supposed. There was no use stewing in his anxiety over when and where Cassandra planned to strike. Best he could do was keep Bela close by (or rather, stick close to Bela) in the hopes of mitigating the damage Cassandra would cause. Just as Bela had done today with Daniela.

If Ethan had needed to climb down some stairs in the immediate aftermath of his feedings with Bela, he would've bruised his knees and concussed his head on the fall. During the two times Bela drank from him, his legs had buckled nearly instantaneously. Now, Ethan simply had to take the steps one at a time, taking caution not to agitate his mild nausea. With how rapidly his moldy cells fixed up his injuries, Ethan probably just needed water and a meal, and he'd be back in top shape.

They arrived at the dungeon's landing. Before Ethan could take the turn down the winding passages, Bela stepped towards her door. "Give me a moment."

Curiously, Ethan watched Bela set his paper bag down by her door. She slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her immediately – as if making sure he wouldn't get so much as a glance inside. There was the sound of movement – probably clearing space on a table or another to make room for her box and the stack of books. The door cracked open not long after, and Bela picked his bag of belongings back up.

Through the light, barely-there haze that clouded his senses, Ethan continued focusing on the path to his cell. The turns grew predictable. The bright light granted by the torches and sconces led the way. They walked in silence and reached Ethan's cell before long. The time it took to walk from Bela's room all the way to his cell felt shorter than the last time. Ethan chalked it up to his newfound familiarity with the dungeon corridors, and the lack of Moroaice-induced anxiety.

The meal tray from earlier had been taken away. In its place was a small wooden bucket of water, as per their earlier conversation. Ethan assumed Bela had passed the instructions off to the servants when she went off to retrieve the castle puzzle's ball.

Ethan didn't stall in front of the cell door today. He went straight for his unmade bed – a rather welcome and cozy sight after the brief run-in with Daniela. While he sunk down on the mattress and made to lean on the wall, Bela set his paper bag down, then walked to the side of the cell. She picked up the bottle of disinfectant and the clean rag resting atop his chest of confiscated belongings.

Before long, Bela stood over him to ask, "May I?"

Neither of them pointed out that he was more than capable of applying first aid himself.

"Sure."

It was an oddity in itself – how easily he subjected himself to her, how willing he was to allow Bela to view, handle, and treat his wound. He just as easily allowed her to join him on the mattress, sitting close to his left side.

Ethan found it was less of a headache to not question things too much.

Bela gently lifted the cloth from the jagged gash on his wrist, which continued to ooze with bright crimson. She eyed his blood for a moment longer; golden eyes glinted with a subdued hunger. The deep rise and fall of her chest betrayed her calm, collected façade.

The disinfectant hovered over his wrist, but didn't tilt over to douse the wound.

Her throat bobbed with a gulp.

Her dark lips parted, as if preparing to ask him to relax for her so she could take a sip of her own.

Ethan wouldn't blame her if that's where this was going. It was like jumping into shark-infested waters with an open wound. If Bela wanted to pick up where her sister had left off, it would only be in her nature.

At least Bela's feedings never hurt. It would be over before he knew it, and he'd just wake up a little past noon.

Then, Bela cleared her throat, and warned him, "This may sting."

His fingers gave an involuntary twitch as the tear on his wrist prickled with heat. The handkerchief was reintroduced to his skin by Bela's firm hand. In mere seconds, Ethan felt the pain go from hot and stinging to dull and distant. When Bela pulled the cloth back, it revealed his mended flesh. A faint scar joined the other pale, reddish marking from his last run-in with Daniela.

Ethan made to pull back, but Bela's hold on his wrist persisted. She rolled his bloodstained sleeve back by a few inches. In that meticulous manner of hers, Bela began cleaning any remnants of blood from the site of the former wound.

"I'm kinda surprised you didn't ask for a bite of your own." Ethan voiced his thoughts. With how hard Bela eyeballed his wrist, it felt like a valid thing to bring up.

The corner of Bela's lips quirked briefly. With eyes fixed to her cleanup job, she answered, "I would rather that you restore your blood reserves first."

"I didn't lose much to begin with." Ethan, with the slightest fog clouding his judgment, felt it was important to press the issue. "You made sure of that."

Bela had a beat on his pulse the entire time. There was no way she was unaware of how little blood he'd lost. Little, at least, compared to her own feedings with him.

She stopped scrubbing away at Ethan's now clean wrist. Her eyes were guarded. She kept her smile tight and flat, concealing whatever thoughts swirled around in her head. "I'm not hungry."

It clearly wasn't that simple. Her hesitation before disinfecting his hand, and that glint in her eye as she did so – that told him the opposite. It begged the question of why it is she ultimately decided not to feed on him. Ethan's curiosity hungered as much as Bela did – and it demanded to be sated.

The problem was that sating his curiosity just may wind up with him getting his blood drank for asking too many questions. It was never wise to look a gift horse in the mouth – or in this case, Bela's conscious decision not to suck his blood dry.

Whatever reasons Bela had would elude him for now. It didn't look like anything Bela was keen on discussing. She deftly changed the topic, pinching the fabric of his bloody sleeve between her forefinger and thumb. "You should change your sweater."

It was as good excuse as any to finally get out of the damned Hot Romanian GF sweater.

"Yeah. I'll put something else on after you leave."

The corner of Bela's lips creased with a sly smile. "Afraid of showing a little skin around me?"

Ethan wore a grimace in spite of the slightest shiver that prickled along his skin – which was surely the doing of the blood loss and the dungeon's chilly atmosphere. He made it a point to scoff aloud and turn it back to her. "Yeah, you'd fucking like that wouldn't you, you creep?"

Bela placed a hand to her chest, brows pressed together in an appalled manner, even if her wide grin said otherwise. "Like watching you change? What makes you think I would enjoy the sight of your soft man-body?"

"Soft?" Ethan narrowed his eyes at Bela, sending her into a fit of giggles. "I'm not soft."

Bela pressed her knuckles against her lips to stifle her laughter. Her dubious eyes wordlessly expressed her disagreement.

Ethan originally intended to vehemently argue with her – he'd done his fair share of working out. The combative training under Chris, and the desire to never again be out-cardio'd by mold monsters were enough motivation to stay in shape. It was just a cold winter, and keeping his body fat down wasn't his usual priority this time of year.

Regardless, Ethan was growing aware of how to push Bela's buttons. Reacting to her jabs would only dig his grave deeper. Being proactive was key.

"Yeah – you would know, wouldn't you? I'm sure you copped a feel while I was passed out and you put me in these new clothes."

Bela's wide eyes and aghast scoff were satisfying beyond words. She craned her head away for a beat in the effort to regain some composure. She licked her lips and spoke with a faint pink tint to her cheeks. "No – do not flatter yourself. Never in a million years – no."

She huffed in annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. It was all she could do in the face of the shit-eating grin Ethan wore at the sight of her flustered self.

"I am done here." Bela puffed, taking the time to scrub off the blood Daniela had smooched onto her cheek. "You are annoying beyond words." She tossed the rag at his face and got up to her feet.

Ethan watched her cross the space with amusement still on his features. He wiped the smeared blood and lipstick off of his forehead as he asked, seriously this time, "Hey, when are we getting out next?"

Bela paused by the doorway and turned to face him. "Maybe tomorrow." She frowned slightly, shifting her weight to lean against the cell bars. "I did not anticipate Daniela's appearance today. If she could catch us off guard, then Cassandra could do the same with her eyes closed. The more time you spend out of the dungeon, the likelier it is Cassandra will accost us."

There was that temptation once again to point out her declaration from days ago – that she was not his protector; she wasn't here to protect him from her sisters. Then here she was today ensuring Daniela's feeding did minimal damage, and planning their movements to avoid a visit from Cassandra.

And who was he to her, really? Did blood-cattle really get such special treatment, all in the name of maintaining the high quality of his blood?

Pushing Bela for answers would likely lead to an argument that was far less lighthearted than their current banter. Rather than dwell on Bela's more protective nature, he asked, "What's on the agenda? Got any more doors that need fixing?"

Bela smiled. "Not quite. I do not have anything particular in mind. Just a walk to, as you say, stretch your legs."

The opportunity to get a hang of the castle layout was always a welcome one. It certainly beat ruminating in his cell.

"Sounds good."

It felt like that was the end of that – the cue for Bela to be on her way and for him to, well, continue lazing about, biding his time, and scribbling on his journal. Instead, Bela hovered by the doorway, hands clasped and fingers rubbing together. She wanted to say something else, but looked to be still searching for the words. Rather than tell her to spit it out, Ethan stood up to retrieve his new belongings from the Duke.

Ethan didn't exactly have any shelves to store his things. The only furnishings he had in the cell were the mattress and the chamber pot. He had no way to efficiently Marie Kondo his stuff. The spare journal and writing implements went to his bed, close to his pillow. The paper bag was neatly folded and laid on the floor as a mat where he stacked his clothes. The mug was better off with Bela, since his supply of coffee would come from her.

He approached Bela, mug in hand. Her eyes were flighty for a beat – an almost coy mannerism. "Mother is out and tending to business today. Daniela is likely sated and taking a catnap in her library. Cassandra is… probably plotting in her room."

Ethan shrugged but nodded. "Okay, go on."

"Would you care for my company over lunch?"

Had that been what Bela was getting tongue-tied over? It was amusing in a way. Not exactly haha funny, but more of in an ironic way. She'd watched over Ethan for multiple meals now, and shared some post-breakfast coffee with him. Only now did she make it a point to ask him if he even wanted her around.

There was also a certain nonchalance to be making plans with Bela. It was a casualness that they should not have been able to afford in any sane world. Bela was his captor. He was her prisoner. It made no sense to be making lunch plans with her. It made even less sense that he was looking forward to the prospect.

He had lost his mind, after all. Ethan had already established that. Bela might have lost a bit of her own mind as well.

"Yeah." It was easy to answer her.

Bela smiled. "Wonderful." She cleared her throat and took the mug from Ethan. She sounded like she was consciously toning her enthusiasm down when she added, "Good. Okay. I will see you then."

Ethan watched Bela peel off in a swarm of buzzing flies once she locked the door.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to smash those follow and fave buttons if you haven't yet, and drop a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter. It's always an absolute joy reading your thoughts.

This was another really fun one to write, with the Duke's cryptic revelations, playing around with Bela, and Daniela popping her head back into the story. That won't be the last we see of her by a long shot.

I tried to use the Duke's omniscience here to shed a little light on the grand scheme of things, while still keeping him enigmatic enough to keep the juicy stuff ripe for speculation. Hope you guys liked that.

Dani's also so entertaining to have in a scene. She's such a disruptor to things, and I feel she's the biggest softy for family. I can't wait to share her future appearances with you guys, along with Cassandra and Lady D's.

I think that's all I got for now. Tune into Ethan's further descent into Bela-induced madness next week. I'll catch you all then. Take care and have a lovely week ahead!