Hugo burst free of the closet, red-faced and gasping for breath.

The door hit the wall with a slam as condemning as a gunshot. It was too loud. His shoulders tensed, but he couldn't look back. If there was someone, anyone, behind him, he would freeze. He didn't know why he was running in the first place. It wasn't like he expected to get out of the church alive, not when they all knew he was a traitor.

Stupid, he chanted in time with each stride. So stupid!

And yet, for whatever reason, luck was on his side. The place was dead. There was absolutely no one in sight. A few rolled up sleeping bags leftover from the lock-in were the only things standing between him and the exit.

Sweat dripped down his back as he neared the threshold, and he hesitated to push his way outside. He didn't believe it could be so easy.

It couldn't. The second he stopped moving was the second the front door was forced open from the other side. There wasn't enough time to back off. Whoever wanted in the church was running every bit as fast as he had been, probably faster, and knocked right into him. The collision was rough on his new bruises. He cursed Gabe and his calloused fists.

The man plowed through without so much as pausing. "Watch it!" he snapped, glancing over his shoulder just long enough for Hugo to recognize him.

It was Luke McDonald.

Hugo met Luke the day he went to the Fellowship and swore off vampires for good. He came in to talk to Reverend Newlin while Hugo was being instructed on how to repent his sins, to open his heart to His Light. When the prayers were over, the Reverend introduced them. Luke shook his hand, told him the right things were the hardest, and promised the guys at the Fellowship would have his back from there on out. No matter what.

"Luke, wait!"

He turned at the sound of his name, giving Hugo a chance to catch up with him. His brow was down, mouth open. He didn't seem to have any idea who he was.

"It - it's me, Hugo."

At that, Luke started to walk away again.

"Hugo Ayres," he rushed to clarify, grabbing at his arm. "Please help me."

"The only one who needs my help is Steve. You run on back to your vampire pals and tell 'em this ain't over."

"What? I can't! You don't understand!"

He tore out of Hugo's grip and stormed off. "Get lost, banger!"

Sookie was right: the Fellowship didn't care.

Hugo turned around and kicked a sleeping bag. He sprinted out of the church and down the street. He ran for his life, but it didn't change anything. They didn't care about him and probably never had. They were using him just as much as Isabel was, and, when lines were drawn, it was clear they had no problem tossing him back to the vampires. Or killing him themselves.

Every business in sight was closed, and there wasn't much traffic. It must have been late. He was thankful for the illusion of safety, that if anyone came after him, he should see them coming. Not too thankful, though, because he knew an illusion was all it was. He was sure the vampires knew he double-crossed them by now, and that meant he would never be truly safe again.

It didn't matter where he went. It didn't matter how much time passed. They were everywhere, and, to them, time was irrelevant.

He veered off the main road, leaning against the side of a building to rest. He needed to calm down so he could think, but that was easier said than done when it seemed he had nothing in the world but enemies.

Hurriedly considering his options, he felt what he thought was sweat trickle down his forehead and swiped at it with his arm. He cringed, wondering if Sookie got beat up as badly as he did. Whatever happened must have finally been enough to get Bill's attention because, when he came to, she was gone, and Gabe's neck was broken.

Now wasn't the time to worry about her. He had to get moving. He'd already lingered too long, but there wasn't anywhere he would be welcome. He'd fallen out of touch with all of his regular acquaintances in favor of his relationship with Isabel. He hadn't heard from his parents or either of his brothers in almost a year.

It was stupid, so stupid, but the only place he could think to go was home.

Hugo staggered lifelessly into his apartment, limping his way over to the couch and collapsing without even the strength to turn on a light. He needed sleep, but the moment his back hit the cushions, he couldn't get his mind off the irritation of his shirt sticking to his skin. It was soaked through. He was burning up and dirty, and all he was willing to do about it was stare at the propellers of the fan on the end table and wait for them to start spinning by themselves. He only felt more uncomfortable the longer he waited.

With a groan, he rolled onto his side, turning toward the large window across the room. His lips parted, and then he swallowed.

He wasn't alone.

She was standing in front of the moonlit glass, an outline cloaked in black, as if someone had torn her from the picture and left behind a hole specific to her every detail. Her back was to him. Everything perfectly straight. Perfectly still. Perfect.

He didn't try to get away. He was only surprised that she was the one to come for him. Did they order her to do it? Did she volunteer? She knew the way to the apartment; she was there almost as often as he was. Her clothes were hanging in his bedroom, for Christ's sake.

She had to know he was watching her, that he knew she was there. Even though he had no idea how long she had been standing around before he noticed, her blood made it so she could always feel him. He used to think it was amazing. Now, he wanted to cut himself open and force her out. It wasn't fair when she would never let him know her that way, no matter how much he begged or pleaded with her for it. She pissed him off, drove him crazy, in the best... the most extreme sense possible. He didn't think there was another woman out there who could get to him like she could.

As he laid there, and she continued to do nothing, he started to wonder if he was wrong. What evidence did he have that she came to kill him? The last time he saw her, she didn't have a clue he was with the Fellowship. Maybe no one got to her yet.

Getting up from the couch was like taking a mini vacation to hell. The pain was so sharp, he could die without help from anyone. He hobbled closer to her, offering a neutral, "Hi."

She released a breath.

It wasn't loud enough to be a sigh, but it was noticeable enough to make him question how long she'd been holding it. He watched her shoulders relax and wondered what that meant.

"You're bleeding, Hugo."

She didn't turn until after she said it, he noted, a bitter taste in his mouth. She didn't even need to look to know.

His attitude changed when she saw the extent of his injuries and reached out to rub a mark on his chin, the first concern he'd been shown all night. It was nice and gentle, but it still hurt. When he winced, she hummed as if he just did something particularly interesting, and the sound, which always seemed intensely erotic in bed, made him uneasy.

"What has the Fellowship done to you?" She lifted her hands to the collar of his shirt, smoothing it. "Was there torture?"

"Torture?" He threw the word back as quickly as he would recoil from a hot stove. "N - no, no organized torture, anyway. They just locked me up, so when their sergeant wanted to fight, he knew where to find me. A fangbanger's an ideal punching bag in their book."

"I don't understand how they knew you enjoyed the company of vampires at all."

"Well, the Fellowship has a lot of supporters. I guess someone I knew must have told them about me."

"Really. Who?"

"I don't know. Probably someone I couldn't get acquitted." He laughed because she was fastening the buttons that had come undone on his shirt, and the feel of her cold fingers inching toward his throat was anything but funny. "The only ones I talked to really were the Newlins."

"I felt your fear."

"Uh, yeah, they kept us in the basement the whole time. It was a tight squeeze."

"I can imagine. You were terrified, but not for long."

He had to look away, his eyes latching onto the couch, wishing he'd never left it. For the first time, the bloodstains on the armrest seemed like part of a crime scene. He remembered her fangs like twin daggers in his jugular, sucking the life out of him swallow by careful swallow, and how quickly she bit into her own arm when she thought she might have taken too much. Her blood soaked into the furniture too. It would be good, hard evidence in court, if his case ever made it to trial. A year of defending vampires had taught him how skilled they were at covering their own tracks.

"I would have come for you, if I felt it necessary, but as soon as I would consider it... It was almost as though you feared my coming even more than being trapped." She finished with his shirt and flattened her palms against his chest. "What could possibly make you feel that way?"

Under her hands, his pulse was skyrocketing. He could barely hear over the thudding in his ears. "I - "

She nudged the tender spot on his chin until he faced her. At first, he thought she was going to glamour him, but he only got more nervous when he looked in her eyes. "All I ask is for your honesty. I have shared everything with you. I would think I have earned at least so much."

She sounded sincere. After all of the fights they'd had about her turning him, she had the nerve to act like she'd never heard a single argument, like he had no reason to resent her at all. His mortality meant that little to her. He'd get old and sick and die, and she was okay with it.

He grabbed her by the wrists and ripped her hands off of him. The twisted feeling in his gut warning him to be cautious was overpowered by every time he asked for her forever only to be ignored. "You haven't shared anything with me! You won't!"

She shook her head from side to side, denying it. "How could you do this?"

"You like having all the power." He jabbed a finger at her. "You don't want me to be your equal."

"I have done nothing but care for you."

"No, you just like the taste of my blood! That's all you've ever cared about!"

The answering blow to his face was so hard and fast, it disoriented him. He staggered back a few steps before he lost his footing completely and tumbled to the floor. An immediate, searing pain shot down the side of his neck. That he could feel it at all was proof she hadn't hit him with anywhere near the level of strength she was capable of. He didn't hear the familiar sound of her fangs emerging, but they were in plain view when he risked a look up at her. He only coaxed them from her in passion previously, and the sight of their points protruding over her bottom lip never failed to excite him, but the threat was real now.

Everything took a backseat to self-preservation. "Please, please, don't kill me."

She flew at him, seizing the shirt she'd only just straightened and pulling him up. Her gaze darted from his crumpled legs to his hairline, quick and furious, like she could hardly stand to look. "We could have lost our sheriff because of you! I should beat you to a pulp and suck you bloodless!"

The thought was so horrifying, his feet wobbled under him when he tried to set them in place. He gulped back the irony mixture of blood and spit flooding his mouth with an uncontrollable whimper. "Isabel, please! It's you and me! You can't kill me!"

To his shock, her grip on him loosened and fell away. He struggled to regain his balance, watching as she turned toward the window.

"You're right."

He heaved a very long, very shaky sigh. The relief was blinding and left him groping frantically for some part of her to hold, to kiss. If he could just show how much he -

"It is not my place to sentence you. I will bring you to Godric."

His stomach dropped. "Godric?"

She took hold of his arm and half-dragged him to the door. He was so bashed up, so petrified, it made him clumsy. He knocked over a vase that had been a housewarming gift from his neighbor on the way out, and his last memory of home was the instant it dropped on the tile and shattered.

"Here is the one who betrayed us." Isabel released the collar of Hugo's shirt and thrust him to the floor, leaving him at the mercy of everyone in Godric's nest.

The rug seared the heels of his hands when he tried to catch his fall. Slowly, he lifted his head, needing to see how many vampires were attending his sentencing. He recognized more faces than he wanted to admit—past clients, what little remained of his current clients. They gave him a wide berth, but it was obvious they couldn't wait to see him hang.

A wave of relief washed over him when he realized the sheriff was absent. Hugo could count the number of times he'd seen Godric in person on one hand, and he'd hoped every time would be the last. The guy gave him the creeps, to put it mildly.

"Hell, you didn't drain the little shit yet?"

Hugo tensed at the familiar drawl, bowing his head and glancing toward Isabel's shoes. Godric's absence didn't seem like such a great thing if it put his life in the hands of Stan Davis. His stomach was in knots waiting for her answer.

"That is not my decision to make, Stan, and you know it. Where is Godric?"

"He wandered off with his progeny," Stan sneered. "Didn't say when or if he'd be comin' back. Even if he did, he'd probably just give this one a goddamn slap on the wrist and send him on his way. Fuckin' pacifist."

At that, the other vampires in the room began to grumble. Even Hugo knew Stan's opinion of their sheriff wasn't a popular one.

"If you disapprove of his policies, you can tell him so to his face," Isabel said tersely. "I would love to see how he responds to your criticism."

"And in the meantime we're just supposed to let this traitor hang around and enjoy the party? I'll take care of him myself."

A strong blast of wind blew papers off an empty chair in front of where Hugo was kneeling. He heard the fleshy click of fangs. He saw a shape, black and blurred, shooting at his face. He felt the brush of cold fingers against his forehead -

Suddenly a second blast of wind came at him from the side, grazing his face like a slap on the cheek.

The fingers were gone. Stan stumbled into the wall across the room with a thump, coming into focus again.

Isabel was now standing in front of him. She placed her hands on her hips and addressed Stan. "You will do no such thing."

Stan snorted. "You can't be serious. He was with the Fellowship, Isabel."

"Yes, the same Fellowship that had Godric. It is not my place to deal with him, and it certainly isn't yours. We will hold him here until the sheriff is available." She pulled Hugo up by the shirt collar, not seeming to notice the choking sound he made when he teetered onto his feet.

His heart only beat faster the more distance Isabel put between them and the others. It was dawning on him now what had almost happened a moment before, how close Stan had been to killing him. Unlike with Isabel, he had absolutely no chance of being able to change his mind. He remembered the cold brush against his forehead and shuddered.

Isabel's hand came down hard on his back. "Breathe, you pathetic excuse for a man. Breathe."

"Oh, God," he gasped. "Oh, God."

She walked faster, dragging him along. She stopped at a door Hugo had never seen before, far from the familiar comforts of her own room. She opened it and shoved him inside, her disgust obvious. "You will wait here."

He looked around, taking in the dark green walls and singular lamp. He sat on a bed pushed into the shadows of a corner. The mattress barely gave at all, but he was grateful for it. He tried to catch Isabel's eye, but she stared determinedly at a spot just above his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Why did you save me? I—I know I don't deserve it."

She turned away and shut him in the little room.