Hopefully this chapter will explain a little more about the backstory between Alec and Ashleigh's father. In case I don't post before hand, Merry Christmas to all!


He fell. Skidding on the icy path as he tried to run, tried to get there before anything could happen. He felt his boots hit the slick patch of ice, hidden just beneath the frozen crystals of the snow, his centre of balance thrown off completely as one foot moved in one direction, the other in its polar opposite. He managed to bite back a small cry as he fell forward, hands out to protect himself, hitting the ground with a thud that made the guards turn and stare at him.

For a moment, Alec lay there, feeling the snow melting against the warmth of his cheek, soothing the damaged skin there. He was surrounded by the crisp white light reflecting in the snow, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, never to move again, relishing the coldness, the chill against his skin softly caressing like a lover's touch.

Laughter made him lift his head, and he scowled at the two guards who pointed and laughed at his clumsiness. His face flushed, bringing a raw jab of pain to the right hand side of his face as the blood tore through the scarred skin there. He scrambled to his feet, pulling the scarf up higher around his face so that they could not see, and he hated himself for this vanity, the same vanity that made him alternate between seeking out a mirror and hiding from them. One moment he wanted to see, to witness, to confirm what a monster he had become, the next he would smash the glass with a fist, or upon the ground, hating it for showing nothing but the truth.

The right hand side of his face had been burnt away because of James. He had felt the skin bubble and burst, felt the blood almost boil as it slipped down his cheek. He had been burnt on his chest as well, the thin material of his shirt offering no protection from the flames. He had passed out, only rousing when he had felt hands gripping at his shoulders, dragging him away, causing him to scream when they touched raw flesh.

His men had saved him only to abandon him. And then, one night, as Alec had slept fitfully in a bed that seemed like a hospital bed, he had come. And Alec had almost wept to see a familiar face, one he recognised and knew, and one whom he almost loved.

Alec had muttered fitfully that he wanted to die. That he could not bear to live how he was, how he had become. It had been the sickness speaking, the fever caused by infection, infection that was treated by the constant drip of antibiotics into his veins. He was shackled to the bed by the very medicine that was healing him.

Not death, the man had advised. Not your death.

Revenge, Alec had breathed the word, the word that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness. James. Kill James.

Somewhere deep inside him a voice protested. Not James. James was his brother, his comrade, his friend.

James betrayed you. Three minutes, not six. He made you into this monster.

The voice had spoken rationally, almost sweetly, convincing, coaxing, persuading. And then the ultimate promise.

'I will help you.'

Would he help? What could this bearded man do that Alec could not?

I can support you. Give you men. Help me and in return I shall give you power.

So he had dragged Alec from his bed. Made him start again. Help me and I shall help you. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours harder.

Alec hadn't seen it then. He had been flattered by the older man's assistance. And Le Loup was a valuable ally to have.

He hadn't seen that Le Loup wanted to control Alec Trevelyan. That Alec Trevelyan was a rival, one who could break Le Loup. And in helping him, Le Loup ensured his rival's loyalty.

Le Loup, Pierre Merkalov, was a dangerous man. His men were loyal to the death. They were his pack, his wolves, and Le Loup was the Alpha Male. The men who were the bravest, the most daring, the most brutal and lethal killers wore a ring, given to them by their leader. A gold ring, a signet ring, but with no Latin motto or family crest. Just the simple etching of a wolf's head, a few lines creating the almost beautiful image.

Pierre Merkalov guided Alec through his recovery. Now as the hair began to grow back on his head, as his eyebrow regained its shape, Alec Trevelyan waited. He waited for the moment when he would have to prove his loyalty to Le Loup.

The other men, the Wolves, watched and waited too. They had seen the way that Merkalov treated this interloper. They knew his reputation as an English spy, as a Cossack, as a traitor. They laughed at his burnt skin, and turned their backs when he approached. Alec hated them. He knew he shouldn't, that he should feel nothing but scorn for them, but he heard their mocking and he despised them for it.

He knew Merkalov was almost training him to take over. That if the unthinkable would happen to Le Loup, Alec would take over as the alpha male.

It was a heavy thought. Alec knew the only way to command their respect would be to put the fear of God into them. He had already proved his strength once, half killing a man with his bare hands who had challenged him. The man had been taller, stronger, but Alec fought hard and cleanly, and had quickly outwitted him. Once Alec had broken the man's collar bone with a single hard jab, the fool had retreated to lick his wounds, and the men no longer laughed in his face.

Just behind his back.

He could cope with that. He would fight them all if he had to. Alec could wait. He could bide his time for as long as it took. But he would have their damned respect!

So he raised his chin, and stalked past them and as he did so one turned and spat at his feet.

'English spy.'

Alec turned, before either of the other men could react he grabbed the man who had spoken by his collar and rammed him hard against the nearest wall, his arm across the man's throat. Hatred flared in the man's dark eyes, but sensibly he held his tongue.

'What did you say?' Alec asked quietly.

'English spy,' the man answered stubbornly.

'And why would you say that?' Alec asked, almost reasonably.

'Because,' the man played his trump card, 'we captured one this morning. Le Loup has him now. In the courtyard.'

Slowly Alec released the man, releasing his grip. He felt stunned, as if he had just received a blow to the head, and he struggled to make sense of the information he had just heard.

The courtyard. It was where Le Loup ordered punishments.

And executions.

Turning, Alec ran.

He arrived gasping for breath, the cold biting into his lungs with every inhalation. He slithered to a stop as he caught a glimpse of a figure being held by two men, his arms behind his back, half kneeling in the snow, his head pulled back by the hair.

Dark hair.

Alec knew that hair.

'James,' he breathed, and the word was a promise. Alec had waited for revenge, and revenge had come to him.

Le Loup looked round at the new arrival, and the bear like man, even more so in the heavy coat and fur lined hat, smiled at Alec, his protégée.

'We have been waiting for you,' he said in his gruff, strangely accented voice.

'I'm here now,' Alec smiled cruelly.

Silently, Le Loup, Merkalov, held out the pistol, and Alec's fingers reached out for it without even realising he was doing it. The metal felt alive to touch, cold and lethal, he adjusted his grip on the weapon, feeling the weight of it, the power of such a simple object.

As the men parted for him, opening a pathway through the crowd gathered to watch this sport, he dragged his eyes up from the gun, from the snow between his feet, and saw truly, for the first time, the man he was about to kill.

A horror rose within him, causing him to stop and stare, and he staggered slightly.

James? The thought rose in his head, and already he knew he was wrong, that this was wrong, that the man was wrong.

James?

The spy had been beaten, his handsome face bruised and blood stained. Dark hair, soaked by the snow, fell over his face.

Somewhere in the distance, Alec heard Merkalov's laughter and knew that this would be his test. His moment to prove his loyalty.

The pistol suddenly became a leaden weight in his hand, his numb fingers didn't seem to have the strength to hold it any longer. More than at any other moment in his life he wanted to run. To throw the gun to the ground, to turn tail and to run as far away from this place as he could.

He stood firm, knowing that to take even a single step backwards would be to show cowardice.

The man holding the left arm of the spy tightened his grip brutally, and the spy tried to hold back his cry of agony. Alec saw now that the arm was broken, and badly. It didn't matter.

He could hear the spy's jagged breathing, the repetitive whistling as the air tore through gritted teeth. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't speak, he could only process one thought.

It wasn't James.

He turned his head to Merkalov, who nodded his approval. 'The honour is to be yours.'

At these words, deliberately spoken in English, even though Alec knew the man spoke Russian fluently, the spy looked up, and his eyes widened in amazement and horror.

David.

David Kain was the spy they had captured. Alec knew there had been a raid on the facility earlier. That the walls had been penetrated by two spies. Where the other one was, Alec didn't know, he could only presume that the man had been shot in the chaos. Now the captured man was to be paraded in front of the men, his end to be here in the courtyard, a public execution.

It was a matter of pride. This was no ordinary English spy. This was one of the elite. A 00. A Licence to Kill. 009. One of the best spies in England.

And one of Alec's friends.

David Kain was a good man. A true man. Loyal to his country. A widower, loyal to the memory of his wife, Emma. Loyal to his daughter, Ashleigh. A man of principle and a man of honour.

David lifted his head slowly, pain etched across his features. His dark brown eyes were haunted, he had the look of a man who knew his final moments had arrived. And they were fixed upon Alec.

They widened in surprise, and his mouth fell open slightly. He spoke, hoarsely. 'You?'

Alec couldn't reply. He watched as David's eyes traced the length of Alec's body, coming to rest on the weapon still held in Alec's right hand.

There was no pleading in his eyes. He wouldn't beg for his life. David would die as he had done everything else in his life, with simple dignity and pride. An English spy was taught never to show fear, never to crack under torture, and never to admit defeat even in the face of Death.

David pressed his lips together firmly, jerking his head down once, a reluctant nod. Acceptance of his situation. He watched Alec warily, disbelief clear on his face, and also, to Alec's shame; disappointment.

He knew. David knew Alec had defected. He knew that Alec's death had been an elaborate set up. David always had been able to think quickly.

Alec heard movement behind him, Merkalov stepped into view. His face was filled with impatience, and he made an equally impatient gesture with his hands. Get on with it. The message was clear.

The two men holding David forced him forward until he was kneeling in the snow. There was a ripple of talk from the crowd, as if they realised that this was more than just an execution, power was at play here in this courtyard. One of the guards tied David's hands behind his back, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. The men stepped back, it seemed the entire crowd had retreated.

It was just Alec and David, once friends, still friends in Alec's eyes, and now he would have to kill him. His mouth was dry, he felt clumsy, sure that when he raised the pistol, his hands would be shaking.

'I'm sorry,' the words sounded feeble to his ears.

David stared at him, accusation clear in those dark eyes. 'So am I,' he said scornfully.

With careful steps, Alec moved behind David, raising the gun, pressing it against the back of the bowed head. He couldn't bear to look into David's face.

Blood on the snow. Blood seeping from the dark hair, trickling into endless whiteness. It crept towards him, diluting as it traced a path through the frost to pool around his feet…

He stepped back, but still it came, so much blood, too much surely, rising, covering the toes of his boots, higher, rising, he tried to escape but still it came…

He was going to drown in his friend's blood, it would taste sickly sweet in his throat, clogging up his airway, choking him…

He started to scream as it reached his knees

Alec jerked awake, drenched in his own sweat. For a horrifying moment he thought it was blood, he slid a hand across his damp chest, checking, fearful that his hand would be stained red.

'Hey,' a voice said softly in the almost darkness, and he turned towards the figure sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist, grateful to her for being there. He wanted nothing more than to hold his wife, to feel her body against his, to undress her slowly, to forget the terrible dream as he slipped inside her, to take away the pain that he always felt.

David, her father, had died because of him. The one confession he could never make to her.

She was wearing something smooth and cool, satin beneath his hands, he traced them upwards, over her breasts, feeling the different texture of lace, following the line of thin straps, pushing one off her slim shoulder, kissing the skin there, trailing kisses downwards to the swell of her breast.

She stopped him, pulling his head upwards, his mouth to hers, and Alec contented himself with cupping her breast instead as she kissed him firmly. He felt peace wash over him, her presence soothing as ever, and somewhere in the back of his mind, as he always thought when he was with her, he was glad that she was in his life.

She was kissing him harder now, forcefully, leaning over him, and it hit him with a sudden truth.

She tasted different. The breast in his hand was too big, the flesh spilt over his fingers, and he struggled to contain it within his palm.

He reached for her shoulders, pushing her away, and in the darkness, he heard laughter, bitter laughter. He fumbled with the lamp, trying to push away the wandering female hands, and he knew before the switch was hit who it would be.

Jasmin Van Dien smiled darkly at him. She was dressed in cream satin, trimmed with black lace that barely covered her enviable body. Over the top, but not covering much was an open robe. Alec glared at her, slumping back on the pillows, aware that he was bare-chested and that his scars were clearly visible. Jasmin glanced at them, then away, a common enough gesture Alec had discovered from previous lovers. If they didn't look at them, they weren't there. Not Ashleigh. Ashleigh had traced every inch of them, accepting them as part of him, never shying away, never denying them.

'What do you want?' he asked bluntly.

'To see you,' she smiled again, but it didn't reach her green eyes. She was watching him in the same way as cat watched a mouse, toying with him.

'Really?' sarcasm was evident in his voice.

'I heard you moaning in your sleep. I was concerned.'

Alec snorted derisively. 'Of course you were. And you just happened to kiss me while you were at it.'

'You weren't complaining.'

'I thought you were my wife.'

'Of course you did.' She flicked her hair back with a gesture of supreme arrogance. 'So what were you dreaming about? What nightmares were you having?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I dreamt I was in bed with you.'

'And that's a nightmare is it?' she narrowed her eyes.

'To me, yes. You turned into a black widow spider.'

'Is that the best you can do?'

'I can do so much better than you.'

For a moment he thought she was going to slap him, her hand actually lifted off her lap for the briefest second. 'Pierre wants to see you.'

'I'll see him in the morning.'

'Now.'

'I'll see him when I want to see him.' Alec rolled over, dragging the sheet up over his shoulders. He felt the bed roll slightly as Jasmin stood.

She turned as she reached the door, one hand on the handle. 'I thought she meant something to you.'

'Who?' Alec turned to look at her over his shoulder. She stood in the half light, her legs long and smooth looking, and Alec felt a jab of desire for the bitch.

'Your daughter. He'll kill her without a second thought, you do realise that don't you?'

'Of course I do.'

He thought she would say something else, but she didn't. She simply opened the door, stepped into the corridor and was gone.

Alec sighed, kicking the sheets away from his legs, moving into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The memory of the dream was still upon him, and he leant forward, burying his head in his hands.

Later, after they had dragged away David's body, Merkalov had found Alec. He had been alone, a bottle of vodka and a chipped mug the testament to the despair he was feeling and how he was planning to block it out. He had refused to speak, refused to say anything to Merkalov, just stared at him in cold fury.

'For you,' Merkalov had said simply, and there had been the heavy clunk of metal on wood. Alec had leant forward, picking up the small gold object that had been tossed onto the table. A signet ring with a stylised wolf's head.

He was Le Loup's man. And he had vowed at that moment that he would never be under his control. He would rise up and destroy Pierre Merkalov.

The bear like hand had clamped down upon Alec's shoulder. 'You're the closest thing I have to a son,' Merkalov had said simply. 'There is still time for revenge, and I will help you in any way that I can.'

Alec had stared at the older man, and had felt pure hatred course through his veins.

It had taken less than a year to build up a group of men loyal to Alec rather than to Le Loup. Merkalov's brutality was well known, and some were only too willing to follow a new leader, a seemingly stronger leader. Alec promised them the world, and he had nearly delivered it to them. He had become Janus, and he had walked away from Pierre Merkalov, and had become so strong that Le Loup had never dared to threaten him.

Until now.

Merkalov had waited until the time was right to strike. He had given years for Alec to lull himself into a false sense of security, and then struck quickly and viciously.

He had Alec's daughter. And he also had the power to tear Alec's marriage apart. He carried Alec's deepest secret, the secret that he had promised himself that Ashleigh would never find out.

That he had been responsible for her father's death.

And so Alec obeyed Merkalov, he stood, dressing quickly, and he would go to him as ordered.

From the shadows in the corner of the room, he could feel David's eyes upon him, still watching, still accusing.

He would never escape them.