Bela's grimace matched Ethan's as she whispered out again and again, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Ethan let out a pained groan as his nose bridge produced an audible crunch, dulled only by the antiseptic-soaked rag that Bela pressed to his nose. The cloth muffled the pained, "motherfucker!" that Ethan hissed out.

He would have tried to tell her it was okay, but all his energy was focused on enduring the stabbing sensation rippling through his face.

"Oh, puppy…" Bela's voice was particularly soft even in the privacy and tranquility of her bedroom. They were seated by her desk, the surface of which had been hastily cleared of its usual clutter. It kept the disinfectant and first aid supplies within easy reach, allowing Bela to work as quickly as her skilled hands would let her.

It could be worse. As Ethan always told himself: it could be much, much worse. He could be not infected by super mold that let him heal in the blink of an eye, after all. Thank God for small miracles.

His moldy nature expedited the healing process as it always did, and his broken nose was reforming with each moment that passed. The searing pain gave way to a dull, distant ache, until little remained of the parting gift Cassandra had planted on his face. At least he still had all – or rather, most of his fingers.

Bela placed her free hand on Ethan's bare shoulder (his sweat-and-blood-soaked shirt had long since been discarded on the floor) to steady him – or perhaps to comfort him. She gave a soft squeeze, which sent goosebumps rippling across his skin.

The cloth was pulled free from his face, and he was met with Bela's concerned face, that signature worried furrow set into her brow.

"How's the damage, doc?" Ethan asked, and was pleased to find his voice mostly back to normal. Only the residual mucous and blood in his airways kept his voice a tad more nasally than usual.

Bela bit her lip for a beat, honey golden eyes running over his face.

In an attempt to defuse the worrying, Ethan asked, "I'm guessing my modeling days are over?"

Bela scoffed out a laugh, rolling her eyes before shooting back, "As if they ever started."

"I'd make a pretty good model for disinfectant. You can't deny that," Ethan said, flashing a lopsided, and slightly bloody grin.

All Ethan got in response was a fond shake of Bela's head. She set the bloodied rag down on her desk, trading it for a fresh piece of pristine cloth. The usual antiseptic was applied, and Bela urged him, "Hold still. I'll just clean your face."

Obediently, Ethan closed his eyes and allowed Bela to get to work. He kept one hand on his lap, and rested the other on the smooth surface of Bela's desk. The cut Cassandra had opened on his palm had been the first thing Bela addressed when they got to her room; the wound had already sealed over, leaving nothing but a faint pale line in its place.

The rest of his souvenirs from the fight with Cassandra were negligible, now that his nose was reset and – judging by Bela's reaction – neither crooked nor unsightly. Small cuts on his cheek, brow, and lips would be healed quickly thanks to the stellar duo of Bela's fussing and Ethan's moldy cells. Even the multiple shades of purple and blue on his torso would be gone in no time.

And like any of Ethan's fights with the Hound Wolves, he replayed the spar with Cassandra in his head over and over again. It was habit, by this point – drilled in by Chris. As a squad, they would debrief after every training session. It allowed them to dissect what had gone wrong, what had gone wonderfully, and what could be improved. It was how they kept growing as individual fighters, and as a single fighting unit.

Ethan didn't know how much growing he could do with Cassandra, but he knew there was value in analyzing his performance in their fight. He'd learned a lot about her martial prowess in their brief but brutal encounter. The hard-earned experience could save his life if Cassandra ever backed him into a corner – which he would not put past her. Their next encounter would undoubtedly be as brutal as the last.

Cassandra was a stand up fighter, excelling at striking. In a hand-to-hand bout, Cassandra could easily dominate a fight, and Ethan would be hard-pressed to keep pace with her. Even without relying on her bug powers, Cassandra was quick and strong, and was quite the force to be reckoned with.

The more the distance between them was closed, the more Ethan found that he had the upper hand. Initiating the clinch had been the correct call on his part, allowing him to easily overpower Cassandra and apply leverage in all the right places to keep her in control. She had appeared out of her element once Ethan secured the clinch, and it was mostly through mimicking his movements that Cassandra had used the grapple against him. Yet even then, her proficiency as a fighter dwindled the longer they stayed in close contact.

Then it went without saying that Cassandra had next to no experience on the ground. Throwing her and securing a dominant ground position was key to beating her in a fight, and Ethan would be sure to apply that in the next evening's spar. The sooner he took Cassandra to the floor, the less punches he was likely to take to the face, and the sooner he could pull her into a joint lock, or beat the living daylights out of her.

Ethan flexed his fingers – his hands feeling decidedly stiff and sore from the action they had seen that night, and all the walloping blows they had landed on Cassandra's face.

A silent sigh, quieter than the dead, slipped from Ethan's lips.

He'd never beaten anyone on the ground for as long and as brutally as he had Cassandra. Back on the mats with Hound Wolf Squad, Chris would have unleashed his inner referee and yanked Ethan off his partner if the ground and pound escalated and lasted that long.

Eyes still shut, Ethan could perfectly recall how Cassandra looked underneath him. Her once taunting face swollen as she flinched and winced every time his fists would raise into the air. Loose hair from her ponytail clinging to her flushed face. Blood trickling from her nose, and the cuts on her face that his gloves had opened up. Gone was her arrogance and self-assurance; only the fear in her eyes remained at the sight of his raging, nearly animalistic self.

Ethan hadn't been imagining it. In the heat of the moment, he'd barely had time to recognize it – his mind had skipped over any feelings other than pure, unadulterated rage. Cassandra's fear egged him on. It forced something inside of him to respond – empowering him to continue the onslaught and destroy his prey.

That wasn't him. It wasn't like him to lose himself like that.

Or at least, Ethan liked to think that it wasn't in his character to do that. He liked to think he was not the type of guy to see another person's fear and turn it into fuel for the flames. Ethan liked to think he was the gardener-in-a-time-of-war type, rather than the grimmer, more combative alternative. He didn't revel in bloodshed or enjoy seeing his foes crushed beneath him. Even when his foes were deranged bioweapons who, frankly, deserved it, Ethan never reveled in their demise.

It was all the bad blood with Cassandra that had awoken that dark passenger of his. For some time now, that anger had been latent and lying in wake – tamed by Ethan's peaceful days with Bela. Bloodying Cassandra's defiant face had brought all that suppressed rage back quicker than he could snap his fingers (and quicker than he could snap Cassandra's neck, if he threw her into that wall).

Even now, the hot flashes of rage lingered. It whispered and clawed into the back of Ethan's mind – demanding he march right back up to the armory and finish what he started.

Ethan tuned in to the sensation of Bela's gentle hands cleaning the blood from his face. She ever so dutifully pressed the cloth to his face, healing his bruises and cuts. Bela was the rock Ethan needed to cling onto amid the storm of his anger, threatening to return.

In the time it had taken Ethan and Bela to return to her bedroom, Ethan had already gone over the wall incident in his head ad infinitum. It was the first thing he'd fixated on, running the scenario over again and again. No matter how he looked at it, he could not bring himself to say there had been any other way to conclude the fight. At least, not in any way that spared Cassandra, himself, and even Bela.

He had spent too much time in his head, obsessively thinking of how quickly Cassandra's life could be snuffed out – and how good it would feel to put her down. Doing that had robbed him of the initiative to do anything else – like meet her charge with a push kick to center mass – which would probably result in both of them stumbling to the floor from the impact and the mismatched momentum. But of course, hindsight was always twenty-twenty. Ethan's brief, but time-consuming fixation on killing Cassandra took away the essential split seconds he needed.

Even the double leg takedown hadn't been a bad idea. It had just been a poorly executed one, due to his late timing. If he'd caught her early in the charge, she would have wound up back on the ground, where Ethan could have regained the upper hand.

All the other alternatives, Ethan had already run through his mind at a breakneck pace. All the throws and maneuvers he could have attempted at that frame in time would be ineffective, thanks to how late he'd be springing to action. One or both (most probably both) of them would have crashed through that wall, and that wasn't the outcome Ethan had been aiming for. The only acceptable turnout was the one that had occurred – with the wall intact and Cassandra alive.

Bela's presence had been one of the final deciding factors in sparing Cassandra's life. If she hadn't been there, little would have kept Ethan from succumbing to instinct and rage in the heat of the moment – consequences be damned. Even if she didn't know it, Bela guided Ethan to the ideal acceptable outcome.

It had cost him a broken nose, but in the bigger picture – with his nose back in pristine shape not fifteen minutes later – it wasn't much of a price to pay. Not when it bought him an extension to the current status quo.

Any message Ethan wished to send had been sent, anyway. He'd seen the trail of Cassandra's gaze, retracing the path of her charge. He'd seen that deliberately emotionless mask Cassandra wore, and that anxious tap of her pointer finger. Cassandra realized her major fuck up, and that he could have killed her then and there, but spared her. Whatever sense of accomplishment she'd had was undoubtedly stripped away the moment she put the pieces together. As long as Cassandra knew that Ethan had held her life in his hands but chosen mercy, then he was satisfied.

Maybe it would teach her to play nice as well, but Ethan wasn't going to hold his breath. He had an inkling that the path ahead was marked with more fisticuffs and more bruises. After tonight's brawl, he couldn't see Cassandra being anything other than pissed.

Fighting also seemed to be Cassandra's mode of blowing off steam. She had clearly enjoyed herself, despite that very brief, very mortal fear she'd felt when Ethan had been in the full mount. With any luck, the sparring would lead to Cassandra associating him with an emotion that wasn't bloodlust and rage, of which she had in abundance.

"All done," Bela chimed, breaking Ethan from his thoughts. "Good as new. Well… almost," She wiped Ethan's face a final time and smiled.

"Thank you," Ethan returned a quick smile before voicing his thoughts aloud, just as Bela pulled the cloth free from his face, "What's the deal with your sister, anyway?"

Bela leaned back in her chair across him. Her eyes avoided his as she began cleaning up the used first aid supplies. With a breath, she answered with a question of her own, "What do you mean?"

"She's…" Ethan stopped himself, since 'a sadistic psycho,' was on the tip of his tongue. He hedged on the more diplomatic, "You know what I mean. How'd she wind up like that?" A small pause, and Ethan steadied himself, willing his lingering anger to settle down. "People don't just wake up one day wanting to torture and kill people."

Bela's hands hovered over the bottle of antiseptic. The lump in her throat bobbed once, and she licked her lips. Under her breath, she muttered, "Sometimes they do."

Ethan frowned.

Daniela was plagued by a plethora of mental conditions and a lacking support system. Add her deadly powers and misguidance from her sisters, and Daniela's bloody streak was no mystery. Bela was – well, Ethan still had no clear picture of Bela from the earlier years. Both Daniela and Cassandra had alluded to Bela being quite different before she remembered her past life. Yet the details were nonexistent, and there were more questions than answers. All Ethan knew was that Bela had supposedly spilt more blood than Cassandra ever did – as unimaginable as that was to Ethan, knowing the Bela he knew today.

In any case, Ethan wasn't buying it. There had to be a more concrete reason to why Cassandra acted like she did.

Daniela had given him the SparkNotes of Cassandra's memories during their first day together. The middle sister apparently remembered little, and the little she did remember was, as Daniela put it, downright awful. Cassandra was haunted by nightmares of those days, and Bela, supposedly the bad influence at the time, had steered Cassandra to the path of bloodshed. Ethan could not fathom just how bad that influence must have been to create the Cassandra Ethan knew today.

Bela was doing her best to turn her back on the life of bloodshed, while Cassandra was embracing it. Bela's past was one of her anchors – one of the things keeping her on the straight and narrow. Cassandra's past was what pushed her deeper into the abyss, and nobody was casting her a lifeline to pull herself out of it.

The broad picture Daniela had painted for Ethan gave him room to speculate and ponder the details. But silently sitting before Ethan, diligently avoiding his gaze, was Bela – and she knew far, far more than she let on.

"Come on, Bela," Ethan spoke softly, "That's BS. Nobody just decides one day that they like torturing people." He ducked his head to meet Bela's eyes as he went on, "Nobody just decides that it's fun to see other people hurt. That sorta stuff builds up; it comes from somewhere, it compounds, and then that's when it gets ugly."

Even as Bela's frowning eyes locked onto Ethan's, she remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip.

Bela's silence spoke volumes. It was clear she did not want to talk about Cassandra's downward spiral, and whatever her involvement in it was. The lingering guilt Bela felt was undoubtedly tugging at her heartstrings even until now – Ethan understood that. Yet the role Bela played was crucial, and he had to know more. In this castle, information was worth more than any gun or ballistic vest; information was critical to his survival around the potentially volatile and highly dangerous Dimitrescu sisters.

"Dani didn't tell me much, but she did say that Cassandra remembers her life was," Ethan raised his fingers to form air quotes, "Downright awful." Lowering his hands, he tilted his head and asked, "I can kinda make some deductions based on that, but there's more to it, isn't there?" Ethan left Bela to fill in the gaps – to insert her role in the story that Daniela had alluded to.

The still air between them gave plenty of room for Ethan to speak, and attempt to defuse the tension. Ethan's voice remained soft as he began, "I know it's strange for me to say, but… I understand – or, I'm trying really hard to understand what you and your sisters are. What you've become, and…" Ethan paused to take a breath, "And what you have to do to survive. The blood, the iron, the protein – I know you three need it to survive. Maybe not everyone's willing to donate their blood to you, and sometimes they have to die so that you live. That's just… it's the nature of things." Ethan gripped his jeans tight for just a second, and sighed, "I get it. Doesn't mean I agree with it or condone it, but I get it."

The silence drew on, and Ethan leaned closer as he spoke, "What Cassandra did to me on my first day here wasn't a matter of survival, Bela. She didn't just drink my blood. She fucking tortured me. And look, sure – maybe Cassandra only remembers the awful stuff in her life. But you know what?" Ethan scooted closer in his seat, ducking his head to make sure he met Bela's downcast eyes. "Awful things happen to people every day, but they don't pick up a knife and start torturing people because of it – not everybody is like that. There's usually a reason people become sadistic killers, Bela."

Bela shifted in her seat and slung one leg over the other before crossing her arms. Shrugging, she asked back, "And what if it really is as simple as that? What if that's all there is to Cassandra, and she woke up on that operating table a monster?"

Ethan narrowed his eyes a fraction, studying Bela's defensive body language and her stony face. It was set into a neutral mask to rival Cassandra's poker face.

Cassandra who, according to Daniela, was not always a monster. Cassandra was someone who Daniela cherished, and clearly bonded with, until Cassandra had been swayed over and chosen violence and blood and death.

"Does that," Bela shrugged again – an uncharacteristically standoffish mannerism from her, "Does that mean she is a monster to you? Is she a monster because there is no discernable rhyme or reason to her violence?" Bela gulped, and her eyes flitted away when she asked, "Does that mean she is beyond help?"

It was Ethan's turn to lean back in his chair and draw in a deep breath. He scratched the rough stubble on his face as he put the words together.

Bela wasn't talking about Cassandra anymore – that much was certain. Ethan could only deduce that perhaps Bela was alluding to herself – and how she had woken up when her nightmare of a life began.

For Bela's sake, he did not bring up the rest of his conversation with Daniela, or the fact he was catching on. "If that's the case, all it means is I don't know enough about her. Just means I need to do my homework and keep digging." Ethan's thoughts went to Jack Baker and his kind, hopeful smile when he said, "Doesn't mean she's a monster. Doesn't mean she's beyond help."

Bela held his gaze the entire time now, hanging onto his words as he spoke.

"It isn't fair for me to call your sister a monster if I won't do that even to the Bakers." It wasn't something Ethan had really put a lot of thought into prior, but as the synapses in his brain fired off one after another, and thoughts became words – it occurred to him how much he meant it. "The Baker family and Eveline fucked me over four times as much as your sister ever did, and ever will, and I can't call them monsters, Bela. Not after everything I learned about 'em." A big breath, and Ethan sighed. "If I can't call them monsters, I can't do that to your sister, either."

At the time, in the heat of the moment – adrenaline pumping in his veins, gun smoke in the air, blood in his mouth and all over his clothes – of course Ethan thought they were monsters. But after reading all the loose notes scattered in the Baker Ranch, speaking with both Jack and Zoe Baker, and all the BSAA-sponsored therapy, Ethan's empathy had resurfaced. Energy he spent being angry and resentful towards the Bakers was spent understanding them instead. The same treatment could be applied to Cassandra.

It was a strange, crazy world Ethan inhabited. Just this morning, he considered Cassandra to be the biggest threat in this castle – especially since Lady Dimitrescu was rarely around; it was hard to see Cassandra as anything other than a monster. But after witnessing the cracks in Cassandra's emotionless mask, and putting together the loose pieces (and there were still so, so, many missing pieces), it was easier to let go of the anger. It was right to try and bury the rage and look at Cassandra as something more than a deranged psycho.

"Cassandra's not a monster," Ethan said it aloud, and he felt a tad lighter. Putting his thoughts out into the world made them corporeal – made them real, rather than just ideas. It made the puzzle of Cassandra's past a challenge to be overcome, rather than a chore to endure in the hopes of it keeping him alive in this castle. Ethan shrugged his shoulders and pondered, "She's probably just been through a lot."

Ethan left out the part where Cassandra probably had an Eveline of her own that steered her to commit violence. Now was not the time to confront Bela about that. Not when he didn't have all the pieces.

"Besides, if she was beyond help, she probably wouldn't have taken the fall for me over the mess in the cellar." Ethan instead steered the conversation towards another point he'd wanted to discuss. "You didn't tell me Cassandra volunteered herself for that." Ethan nodded towards Bela, "I thought it was your idea and she played along."

Bela huffed and shrugged once more. "The bottom line is that you are safe, and mother is not seeking retribution. Does the detail of Cassandra's involvement really matter?"

"Considering you owed her one, then kinda, yeah." Ethan softened his tone in the hopes of defusing Bela's mounting defensiveness. "What's the full story there? I'm not mad, I'm just…" Ethan reached over to place a hand on Bela's knee, giving her a squeeze. "Just curious."

Bela's frown mellowed the longer they maintained eye contact. Finally, she sighed, nodded, and admitted, "If you'll remember, I was quite tired when you asked about it. I did not think you would believe me if I said Cassandra voluntarily changed the narrative to take the blame. I was also not in the state of mind to discuss my breakdown, which led to Cassandra taking the blame for you."

"Breakdown?" Ethan repeated, his brows pitching together.

Another sigh, and Bela uncrossed her arms, setting one hand on top of Ethan's. She nervously played with his fingers and hurried the words out, clearly not wishing to dwell on it, "I thought I was going to lose you, so I spilled my heart out to Cassie about how awful I felt. She hardly said two words to me the entire time, and so it surprised me as well when she told mother that you were not to blame for the damage." She licked her lips and added, "I am sorry I did not relay the details properly the first time. I…"

"You were awake for like thirty hours straight, hungover, and covered in lycan guts." Ethan smiled and nodded. "You didn't wanna get into the nitty-gritty. I get it."

Bela showed her gratitude with a warm smile. She took Ethan's hand with both of hers, raising it up to her lips. She planted a kiss to the back of his hand before returning it to her lap. The familiar butterflies swirled in Ethan's stomach at the intimacy of the gesture, and the ease with which Bela had done it. She idly stroked his hand, her fingertips drawing unseen patterns on his skin without a care in the world.

Ethan pursed his lips for a second and chimed, "You're welcome to kiss other parts of me too, just so you know."

It elicited a giggle from Bela; it was impossible to miss the way her hungry eyes dipped to his lips for a second before shooting back up. The familiar adoration twinkled in Bela's amber eyes, and a playful quirk set into the corner of her smile – a look that wholly excited Ethan in ways he wasn't prepared to unpack.

No, who was he kidding? He was falling for Bela hard, and he wanted to feel her smile with his lips.

"That was a delightful kiss earlier," Bela admitted, but just as quickly added, "Even if you didn't think to ask me first."

"Sorry 'bout that." Ethan couldn't help but smile, cheeks already growing warm. Though truth be told, it was difficult being sorry for kissing her, since Ethan would gladly do it again in a heartbeat.

Bela let out a long hum, bringing one hand up to tap a finger to her chin, "How ever shall you make it up to me?"

Ethan eyed Bela's full, inviting lips. "I think I got a couple ideas."

Bela's giggle had the slightest sultry lilt to it. She gently bit down on her bottom lip – differently from that usual thoughtful habit of hers. This time, she smiled as she did so, in a look that was alluring enough to send Ethan's heart bouncing against his ribcage. Bela squeezed Ethan's hand – as if in anticipation – and he squeezed her back.

Ethan began leaning in, closing the distance between them. Bela's grip on his hand grew firm, and she started meeting him halfway – eyes starting to flutter shut.

Then, the flirtatious expression vanished, and Bela looked down at their entwined hands. She eased their fingers apart, only for her to feel for his damaged ring finger with a delicate touch. She glanced at Ethan once before releasing his hand and reaching for the other.

"Aaaand… what are you doing?" Ethan quirked a brow, the confusion audible in his voice.

"I – I was not so sure at first, but," Bela held Ethan's other hand, her fingers inspecting the mess the lycans had made of his poor digits. She examined the damaged tissue and what remained of the joints, narrowed eyes keen for the slightest details. "I could have sworn your fingers have felt differently against mine the past few days."

Bela ceased studying his amputated fingers in favor of locking onto his eyes. "They feel longer than I remember."

The statement had taken Ethan so off guard that he sputtered out a half-laugh, half-scoff and asked, "What? Bullshit." Ethan looked down at his hand, feeling the faintest glimmer of hope. "Seriously?"

Three firm knocks resounded against Bela's door, dashing away any reply she could hope to give him.

Ethan remained perfectly still, head craning away from the door and towards Bela. Under his breath, he whispered, "You expecting any –"

Bela pressed her hand to Ethan's lips, her eyes wide in alarm.

The knocks sounded against the door once more, this time joined by a rich, deep, feminine voice, laden with authority, "Bela dear, are you awake?"

Ethan paled as the realization sunk in.

There was little humor or teasing in Ethan's head this time around – no friendly jab of if he should hide under the covers, under the bed, or behind a lamppost.

"Bathroom," Bela whispered in a hush, eyes flitting towards the door in question, "Now."

Ethan knew better than to question Bela at a time like this. If her mother's hearing was anywhere as good as Bela's, then it would be prudent to keep his protests at a minimum.

Not that he really had any. He wasn't in the mood to be caught shirtless in Bela's room by a woman with claws longer than the average man's height. The big woman would turn him into a shish kebab if he even tried to explain himself.

As quietly as he could, Ethan stood from the chair by Bela's desk, cursing his luck as he went. He tiptoed across the open space and nearly jumped a foot into the air when the knocking came again, followed by Lady Dimitrescu's voice, "I see your lights on, darling. I'll only be a moment, I promise."

Sucking in another breath, Ethan resumed his slow creep to the bathroom. He only paused once he crossed the doorway and turned to Bela, who was in the process of standing up. The expression on her face said enough – don't make a single sound.

Heart pounding in his chest, Ethan slowly pulled the door shut, and remained dead quiet.


Bela spared the closed bathroom door one last look. When the light peeking under the door went out, and Ethan made no unnecessary noise, she looked away.

When her mother said that there was an emergency, and Miranda needed all hands on deck, Bela had assumed she would not be seeing her mother until the next morning. Such was usually the case when Miranda called impromptu meetings. It was highly unusual for her mother to be back so soon, and that went doubly for the sudden visit to Bela's bedroom. Bela could hardly even remember the last time her mother had paid her a visit down here (and part of that was due to how much the towering matriarch disliked stooping down the low stairways).

Contemplating and hypothesizing would yield no answers, and so Bela figured there was no point in delaying further. Drawing in a breath and sending a prayer to whomever listened, Bela reached for the door and opened it.

There Lady Dimitrescu stood, her dark furry winter jacket draped over her shoulders, and the ushanka resting in her hands. Both were slightly damp from the snow that had clung to the fabric and melted away. She gave her daughter a decidedly tired smile, punctuated by the bags under her eyes which her concealer for the day failed to hide.

"Hello, dear," came her simple greeting. "May I come in for a moment?"

Bela smiled back in spite of herself – and in spite of the knowledge that Ethan was hiding not fifteen feet away from them.

No way but forward.

"Of course, mother." Bela stood clear of the doorway, allowing her mother the space to stoop past the threshold and enter the room. Lady Dimitrescu straightened up and let out a weighty sigh as Bela closed the door. She watched her mother curiously as the latter shrugged off her coat, draping it over her long arms.

Lady Dimitrescu soon found a spot at the foot of Bela's bed, taking a seat there and placing her shed outerwear on her lap. For a moment, her mother appeared to be taking in the space, eyes running over the various furnishings in the room. Not much of it was new, save for perhaps some additional tools on her desk, and some books in her shelf.

And Ethan's discarded sweater and shirt on the floor.

Bela cursed internally and held her breath.

In the rush to hide Ethan, she had completely forgotten about his clothes.

"How are you, darling?" Lady Dimitrescu patted the spot next to her, "Come, sit with me."

Bela allowed herself to – partially – release the breath. "I am well, mother," She replied simply as she took a seat at the foot of the bed.

Lady Dimitrescu's small smile persisted, tired as it was. She wrapped a long arm around Bela's shoulders; her mother's gloved hand settled around Bela's upper arm, stroking the fabric of her dress.

Never keen on having the attention on herself, Bela spoke up, "I feel I ought to be asking you the same, mother. How are you? It must be exhausting being away from the castle all the time." Bela hoped she was not prying too much when she asked, "Was your trip fruitful, at least?"

Moment by moment, a furrow formed at Lady Dimitrescu's brow, even if she did her best to smile for Bela. Her mother let out a sigh and shook her head, eyes turning to the far wall of the room. "The man-things who oppose Mother Miranda are far more persistent than we could have expected. They continue to elude our grasp, and it is putting Mother Miranda on edge."

If all that Karl and Ethan had told Bela of Redfield were true, then it was no surprise. As uneasy as it made Bela, she had to acknowledge that the Lords of the Village were sorely unprepared to face Redfield and his men. They trained most of their lives to deal with threats such as what this valley presented. It was only the sheer number of lycans and Miranda's other minions which kept them at bay for now. It was only a matter of time until they came knocking on Castle Dimitrescu's front door, and Bela dreaded that day with every fiber of her being.

"Were they the cause of the emergency earlier?" Bela asked. It was rare that her mother spoke of work; Bela intended to learn all she could while her mother was in a talking mood – for her own curiosity, and for Ethan's sake.

Lady Dimitrescu hummed in the affirmative and nodded. "Though it turned out to be a false alarm – a blunder of that fool Heisenberg." She shook her head, lip curling in displeasure – as if it was befuddling how much of a fool Karl could be.

The name piqued Bela's interest further. "What did…" she had to consciously stop herself from using Karl's first name, "What did Heisenberg do?"

"He sounded an alarm to Mother Miranda, to tell her those wretches had been spotted at the dam." Lady Dimitrescu rolled her eyes, irritation plain to see on her features. "In turn, Mother Miranda summoned all the available lords."

The castle matriarch had left in quite the hurry during dinner. She had gone straight from the dining table to her carriage, without even finishing her glass of wine – a rarity for Bela's mother.

"It was not until I arrived at the lab when I received Mother Miranda's next message – saying that idiot Heisenberg was having technical problems, hence the erroneous report."

Bela gave her mother a sympathetic smile and asked, "Does that mean those men were not spotted after all?"

"Yes. Heisenberg's faulty equipment led him to jump to conclusions, and we jumped along as a result of it." There was a noticeable tension setting into Lady Dimitrescu's frame; the sneer set into her lip, and the arm she wrapped around Bela's shoulders tightened by a degree. "Honestly, I do not know why Mother Miranda bothers with that fool."

Bela kept her eyes downcast. An extra precaution, in case her mother suddenly developed the ability to read minds – and with it, saw the mechanized army 'that fool' Karl was producing.

She still hardly knew how things would unfold when Karl's army would march. Miranda may be Karl's main target, but there was no doubt in Bela's mind that Karl would not hesitate to put down anyone who got in his way. And that included her mother, who was devoted to Miranda to a fault. Bela could only hope that when that day would come, she could keep the entirety of the Dimitrescu House from that bloodshed.

"Enough about me, darling," Lady Dimitrescu sighed, and her tired smile resurfaced. She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear after it had escaped her bun. "Truly, how are you? It has been too long since I last sat with you and your sisters for anything other than a meal."

Cautiously, Bela smiled up at her mother's interest in her wellbeing. She was doing well, yes. That word did not begin to quantify how she felt after kissing the man she had developed inexplicably strong feelings for. But that was also something she wasn't about to broach with her mother. Not in a million years.

Lady Dimitrescu gave Bela's arm a pointed pat as she smiled a tad wider. "I noticed you've been cooking more. Tatyana says you oversee the kitchen preparations more often than not now."

Bela chewed on her lip for a beat, feeling oddly shy in that moment. She gave a timid nod and said, "Tatyana would be correct."

It was largely because of Ethan that she had been cooking so much. That strange desire to make sure he was well-fed and content was producing the byproduct of the rest of her family enjoying the same food.

Lady Dimitrescu tapped Bela on the cheek in a playful manner and added, "You've been smiling more." She tilted her head slightly to ensure she met her daughter's gaze. "Don't pretend like you haven't."

It got a soft giggle from Bela, and she shook her head slightly. "I have been in better spirits as of late."

"I'm glad. That smile looks absolutely darling on you." A kiss was pressed to the top of Bela's blonde head. "I worry about you sometimes, Bela."

Her mother did not need to elaborate on that further. Bela was perfectly aware of the raincloud that had hung over her head for years. It formed when the memories first came rushing back, and it had only darkened the more Bela struggled to reconcile this life with the last. She withdrew into herself to a degree. Conversation was difficult, and Bela felt like a stranger in her own body; even her family seemed like strangers to her as she was filled with these memories and feelings she could not believe were her own. While her relationship with Daniela had improved over the years, the opposite had occurred with Cassandra, and their mother was not amiss to Bela's distance either.

Heated discussions, never before seen in Castle Dimitrescu, began to arise ever since those memories came back. Debates of whether all the killing was necessary, and if Lady Dimitrescu's approach to running the castle and the servants was right – all these things Bela had never made a peep about in the earlier years.

"I'm feeling better now, mother." A pause, and Bela added softly, "More like myself."

Lady Dimitrescu's hawkish eyes watched Bela for a moment longer – as if trying to discern the hidden meaning behind her words. If her mother's intuition were any sharper, she would see Ethan's influence there. But alas, Bela was relieved to find her mother had not drawn that connection just yet. If she had, she made no show of it.

"Those better spirits of yours seem to be contagious. Even Daniela appears more… uplifted these days." Lady Dimitrescu appeared to choose her words deliberately, watching Bela for reactions. Her mother's feelings were genuine, and Bela did not question them for a moment – but she also did not blame her for being scrutinous. Bela was not exactly being forthcoming with the reason of her renewed mood and happiness. How could she? She would never understand the attachment Bela had for a man-thing.

Bela kept Ethan's involvement out of it for the moment. "I have been spending more time with Dani. I believe it does the both of us some good."

Her mother could believe for now that Daniela's own lifted spirits were her doing, and not largely Ethan's. It was a whole new can of worms to discuss how much of an impact Ethan had on their lives in the little time he had been here.

"Perhaps the two of you ought to spend more time with Cassandra as well, hm?" Lady Dimitrescu's tone was vaguely hopeful and suggestive as she offered Bela a smile.

Yet all Bela felt was her heart sinking.

Cassandra was the dreadful manifestation of every wrong Bela had ever committed. Bela didn't know how much bonding could possibly lift Cassandra's spirits out of the murderous haze Bela had locked her in.

Bela didn't know how much bonding Ethan would survive, for that matter. Tonight's fight was ruthless, bloody, and brutal, and Bela was already wincing to think of tomorrow's rematch.

With a slight grumble, Bela nodded. "We will. If Cassandra lets us, anyway."

"Your sister may not show it, but she adores you and Daniela," Lady Dimitrescu began, and a part of Bela questioned her mother's assessment, "She would appreciate the company, I'm sure."

There was no need to argue the matter. Cassandra may appreciate the company, yes – but of a Bela who was long gone; a Bela that would stay gone if Bela had any say in it. Drawing a breath, Bela simply conceded, "Perhaps you're right, mother,"

There was a pause as Lady Dimitrescu ran her hand up and down Bela's upper arm. When Bela glanced up at her mother, she found the latter's gaze fixed on the forgotten clothes on the floor, crumpled up in a sweaty heap.

Bela winced and shut her eyes tight.

"How is our guest, the man-thing?"

Bela kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. Her cheeks were already growing warm as is. She didn't need to meet her mother's gaze and loose her nerve on top of that.

"He wishes to be free from imprisonment, but that is not unexpected," Bela's tone remained as flat as possible; she envied Cassandra and her flawless poker face in that moment. "Aside from that he is… he has been mostly placated."

Her mother gave a thoughtful hum, eyes still fixed to the pile of clothes. A rare tone of sarcasm filled her voice, "You don't say."

"If you are wondering about the clothes," Bela took a breath, "Cassandra borrowed him earlier. She challenged him to a fistfight in the armory and, among other injuries, broke his nose. I brought him here to fix the damage."

The castle matriarch tore her eyes away from the clothes, focusing them instead on Bela. The blonde had no choice but to look up at her mother and hold her breath.

"Where is the man-thing now?"

Bela was forced to lie through her teeth, "In his cell." Her mother tilted her head by a degree, eyes boring into Bela, who quickly added, "Though if you wish to see him, I suggest tomorrow would be better." More lies slipped out in the attempt to dissuade her mother. "The path is unlit and some Moroaice still linger in the hallways. It is not a pleasant walk to reach Ethan's cell."

In her rush to get the words out, she'd slipped and used Ethan's name. Bela cursed to herself and could only hope that her mother had not picked up on that.

And that was if she believed everything else Bela had hurried out to begin with.

Bela was never a great liar, so she could only hope to the high heavens that her mother was buying it. Yet with each second that passed, and her mother continued staring into her eyes – well, Bela may be fucked.

In the end, Lady Dimitrescu gave a disinterested hum and said, "I have no desire to see the man-thing. I'm certain the wretch would have nothing of value to say anyway."

Bela held onto the hope that that was the end of this line of conversation.

Said hope was quickly dashed away when her mother noted, "You have been around the man-thing much the past weeks."

There was no fibbing her way out of that objective statement. Even if there was, the towering matriarch would see right through her pitiful attempts. Clearing her throat, Bela shrugged as she spoke, "He is surprisingly intelligent, and makes for a refreshing conversationalist."

The familiar scrutiny returned to her mother's gaze, and Bela couldn't help but tense under it. It was like being viewed under a microscope.

Lady Dimitrescu mused, "If Tatyana is to be believed, this is not the first time the man-thing has been in your quarters."

Bela's heart skipped a beat.

Of course Tatyana hadn't kept her mouth shut as instructed. She was loyal to the castle matriarch first and foremost. Bela had been a fool to think her silence could have been so easily gained without any additional coercion. Only Cassandra could hope to get such cooperation from Tatyana without so much as lifting a finger.

"His cell is damp and reeks of mold. It is no place for me to spend any time in," Bela made a pitiful deflect and hoped her mother would buy it, "I sometimes take him here to entertain me while I…" Bela glanced at her mother's dubious face, and then at her desk, "while I work."

"Entertain you?" Lady Dimitrescu asked, brows pitched up in disbelief.

Bela bit down on her lip for a second. "The man-thing's tongue can be entertaining."

Lady Dimitrescu's brows raised even higher; the corner of her eyelid twitched.

Bela paled. "His wit, I mean! H-he has very sharp wits, and it makes for amusing conversation!"

Her mother kept Bela pinned in place with her stare for a few seconds longer before she nodded. "Regardless of the amusement you find in the man-thing, please, do be careful, darling." Lady Dimitrescu's hand came up to run through Bela's hair, "You were my first huntress. I know you can take care of yourself, but do not let the man-thing's appearance fool you." She paused to ensure she had Bela's undivided attention. "He is dangerous, and would not hesitate to harm you or your sisters if the opportunity presented itself."

Bela remained silent as her mother stroked her hair and continued in warning, "At the end of the day, all the man-thing wants is to take his daughter and leave. Men like him are the type you should watch out for."

Gulping, Bela asked, "And what type is that, mother?"

"The patient ones. They are the most dangerous," Lady Dimitrescu cautioned. "They lie in wait, pretending to be harmless. They butter you up and pretend to be your friend. They wait for the perfect time to strike when your guard is down, and then they make you regret it." She looked away, eyes vacantly locked onto the flickering flames of the fireplace. "They make you regret ever trusting them."

Bela found herself largely unfazed by her mother's words. After all she had been through with Ethan, she could not, even for a split second, question the legitimacy of his actions and words. Those agonizingly long seconds by the dining room window may have proved her mother's point – Ethan was dangerous, there was no doubting it – but it was not as simple as that. Bela trusted Ethan with her life; he could have ended their entire family, starting with her, but he did no such thing.

If anything, her mother's spiel was enlightening of, perhaps, her own history with other men. It sounded as though she had been burned before. Maybe more than once.

"I'm sure you don't need me to talk your ear off about it. Just be careful, dear." Lady Dimitrescu shifted slightly to ensure she met Bela's gaze. "Even if you find him entertaining, Ethan Winters is neither a friend to this family, nor will he ever be. He knows it as well, and he will not hesitate to take advantage of your kindness."

Bela put on a smile, hoping it was enough for her mother. "I will keep that in mind. Thank you, mother."

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes lingered on Bela's face, studying her – as if looking for the cracks that would reveal her deep sympathy for Ethan, and the treason she had committed and was actively committing.

Bela only hoped her mother could not hear the rapid beat of her heart in her chest. In the end, her mother smiled that tired smile, and that was the end of it.

"I shall not keep you any longer. I'll visit your sisters if they're still awake." Lady Dimitrescu wrapped both arms around Bela, pressing another kiss to her hair. Bela returned the embrace as her mother went on, "It was wonderful speaking to you, darling."

"Likewise, mother." Bela snuggled the soft fabric of her mother's dress. It was comforting, in a way. Her mother's love was one of those things she did not question; it was as real as Ethan's affection for her. And while it boggled her mind to think of what would happen when Karl's army began to march, Bela could at least take solace in the fact her mother cared for her deeply.

If push came to shove, Bela did not know if her mother's loyalties to her own family or to Miranda were stronger. But Bela did know that her mother would be conflicted. The castle matriarch loved her children more than she hated Karl – and Bela liked to think that would translate to avoiding the bloodshed when it began. She preferred that to the bloodier, more probable alternative.

They could let Ethan slip out in the confusion that followed. Let him and Redfield take the fight to Miranda while Karl did the same of his own accord. Let them take the fight far away, while Bela's sisters and her mother were safe in the castle – far away from gunfire, the cold, and all the other dangers they brought. Far away from Miranda finally reaping the death she had sown.

Bela could personally hand Rose over to Ethan when the dust settled. She could deal with the blowback from her mother if it came down to it. Miranda wouldn't be able to boss them around and punish them anymore if Ethan and Redfield succeeded, anyway.

Maybe, just maybe, the Dimitrescu House could be spared from the chaos when it began.

Bela hugged her mother tighter, and in the privacy of her mind, hoped.

A/N: Hey hey, thanks so much for reading this chapter! If you liked what you read, do be sure to fave and follow before you go, and shoot me a review to let me know how you felt about this one.

Motivation and discipline alike slipped from my grasp the past couple of weeks, and IRL stuff compounded, resulting in this late chapter. I'm uploading this in a bit of a hurry, because if I don't do it now, it won't go up for a couple more days over a busy weekend. So, I'll have to get back to reviews I have not responded to in a day or two.

Not sure how much commentary I have to share over this one. I like Ethan's talk with Bela, and how defensive she gets, for reasons I'm sure are obvious. I hope you enjoyed the surprise Lady D appearance. Like I said, she takes the backseat in this story to give the daughters time to shine, but it's nice including her from time to time.

Quickly plugging my socials again, which you can find through my linktree here: linktr . ee / sylvesterm . I hosted a small Q&A podcast for the month of May, answering questions about B&W, and writing in general. My deep dive into my background as a writer is on there as a podcast episode too, if you're interested. I'm opening up Q&A submissions for June, so if you wanna send a question in, be sure to check out the socials!

Next chapter should go up on the weekend of the 12th, or the 19th, since this is another busy month for me. I'll catch you fellas in the inboxes in a few days. Until then, thank you again for all the support, and I'll catch you around soon. Stay safe out there.