Disclaimer: Just playing with the wonderful toys. Will turn the lights out when I go. All rights remain with Toby Whithouse, the writers of the series and the BBC.

Look at us both. Covered in other people's blood and talking about morality... but there's one difference between you and me: You had a choice

– John Mitchell, series 2, episode 8

Chapter 4. Akareirya

Nick began to shudder like quaking grass when the breeze picks up. Remembering...

Embalmed by flame. Then immolated by a ghost. Without even a by your leave or a warning. A stake right through his chest. Entry and exit. Its full thickness shattering his heart. It hurt. It fucking well hurt. Like nothing on earth.

And then the final ignominy. His body fading to grey and cracking; the horror of mental and physical disintegration. The inexorable return to dust. To anonymity. He could find no words to describe that feeling. Knowing that this was real. Was actually happening. And he'd thought that dying was bad the first time around.

Nick slumped against the wall, face cradled in his cupped palms, trying to still himself. To not let it overwhelm him. He could feel his body. The touch of his fingers on flesh – his solidity -but it didn't help him. He tried to breathe but it was raggy and brought with it the tears. They spilled down his cheeks as he fought back the sobs and berated himself that he mustn't give in to it. He knew that, if he did, he'd break down and howl. He might even cry for all eternity. And he's tired. So, so tired.

And the werewolf knows. Nick is sure that he knows everything... His spectacular. The orchestrated reveal. And how he died to end the War Child. Nick decides that he's not going to look at him. If he can hold himself, keep it together, maybe...just maybe... his jailer will go away.

xXx oOo xXx oOo

A quiet voice breaks into Nick's reverie as a hand appears on his shoulder. A slender, unblemished hand.

"Mr Cutler? Take this. It will help."

A goblet presses into his hand, filled with what looks like tea. He sniffs. Then tests it, cautiously sipping. It is tea. The only beverage guaranteed to cure all evils...not! He looks up at the man who is trying to help him. It's a nice gesture but it isn't blood. That's what he really needs now.

His companion is a vampire. That much is clear. With shoulder length straight hair, the colour of Rachel's, and eyes of the palest blue. They seemed familiar. He had seen them before but he couldn't place where and his brain still wasn't firing on all cylinders. But his rescuer seemed kind. And dignified. And the 3 werewolves stood together, off to the side.

Was the vampire the boss round here? And where was he? It looked like a country house from the middle ages, with high beamed roof and an open fire place. Though the library area, with glassed over bookcases from floor to ceiling, that looked impressive. And his host was smartly, if somewhat oddly, attired.

"Come, Mr Cutler."

The vampire took Nick's arm, assisting him to stand and led him to one of two large leather armchairs by a rug in the centre of the room.

"Please sit down. "

He indicated one of the chairs and Nick sank into it gratefully.

"I would like to call you Nick. And you may call me Akareirya."

Akareirya poured himself another cup of tea, refilling Nick's cup, before seating himself in the other chair and studying Nick intently. As Nick was usually the one assessing the clients, not the other way around, it did nothing to improve his uneasiness in his new surroundings.

"Oh, and before I forget," said Akareirya , rising and gesturing to the soldiers, "these people are my friends and my guard of honour. You met Richard. This is Alan and here is Steve. They will forgive you the formalities. It's clear that werewolves unnerve you. Not an uncommon response."

That was a relief. He wasn't going to offer to shake any of their hands.

"Richard," Akareirya addressed the lead wolf, "thank you for your services. Now is a good time for you and your men to take a break. I will call you if I have need of you."

The werewolf looked sick. Evidently not what he'd had in mind. But, chivvying along his compatriots, all 3 of them bowed and then left the room.

Nick felt an inkling of relief. Now it was just him... and Akareirya.