Larten lay in bed with Darren, the two topping and tailing since Wester and Arra were in Larten's own room. Together.

The notion was still sickening. It hurt Larten deep in the darkest chambers of his heart. The feeling of her lips against his were tantalizing like poison which had seeped into his veins. He was addicted and he needed a fix now. It was Destiny, he knew it. Destiny wanted him to backstab his Brother and claim Arra as his own. In his mind he felt the burning need to grab the dagger under his pillow and stake the only Brother he'd truly known since Vur.

Vur!

The ghostly image of a dead child haunted his vision in the dark. Water pouring from the nostrils of a lifeless child, eyes rolled back so much that merely white could be seen under lazy drooping lids. So cold was the child's face that a shudder ran up Larten's spine in memory. Such cruelty for one so young to endure…

Again, Larten felt that overwhelming gush of pure hatred. Blackness of the soul, his overly religious mother would later tell the family's Father when she next attended confession. As he laid in bed now, that anger was back and it was directing him to take Wester's life.

Do it…

It was a niggling voice lingering at the back of his mind. It was so familiar but Larten couldn't place a face to it but he was almost glad of it; it's evil longing for blood was terrifying.

The dagger, Larten, it's your Destiny…

"Gods," he groaned, rolling over in bed and taking the sheets with him.

"You're tossing and turning again," Darren growled angrily, kicking Larten's backside, "Stop stealing the sheets."

"Sorry,"

Darren sat up and looked over at Larten, squinting through the dim light through the curtains, "What's going on? You got stomach cramps or something?"

"Nothin', Darren. Nothing," Larten grumbled, rolling over to look up at his partner.

He's more than your partner…

Fucking voice!

Darren looked deep into Larten's eyes, the eyes of his mentor but also his best friend. Slowly, he climbed up to Larten's side of the bed and lay beside him more intimately. With a soft sigh, he squeezed his mentor's cold hand, "Tell me. We're friends, right?"

"We're brothers," Larten corrected swiftly, lips curling up into a small smile.

"Brothers," Darren nodded with a wide smile, "And brothers have no secrets."

"Aye, they do, Darren," Larten sighed softly before looking up at his dear friend, "How did you become a vampire? And I mean really. I feel as though you and I have met before…in a previous life perhaps."

"Perhaps," Darren agreed with an obviously sheepish smile, "Gavner was a member of a travelling freak show, the greatest circus I have ever seen," he lied. From day one Gavner Purl was Darren's alibi. Larten didn't know him and might never if Darren had successfully altered Larten's future.

"Like the Cirque Du Freak?" Larten asked with a knowing smile, "I often dream of that place. Seba took me several times. In fact, I met Wester there actually during my stay."

"Very like the Cirque," Darren responded with a nervous cough. It was good information to retain; Larten knew of the Cirque. "Gavner was a performer with a massive spider which took my interest…I stole it and, after it bit my friend, had to trade my humanity for an antidote. She was a venomous cur of a devil but I would trade my soul to play with her one more night," Darren laughed, smiling as he remembered having to care for the creature that had been a key part of his life.

"That's horrific," Larten exclaimed, "What sort of monster would do that to a child! Blooding children was outlawed."

"He never told me that until he was beheaded by a general. I've been wondering alone since. Then I bumped into you and Wester," Darren continued to lie, unable to hide a smirk when Larten's face wrinkled up in disgust at the story.

"I could never take on an apprentice. Never. I do not like the idea of someone dealing with my dirty laundry," Larten laughed, shivering playfully as the two enjoyed the joke.

"What about you?" Darren smiled hopefully, "How did you become a creature of the night?"

"Seba found me," Larten shrugged before adding bluntly, "I murdered my boss when I worked at a factory as a boy…I was chased by a lynch mob and headed for a graveyard. He'd killed my cousin, and I am not a man to let my loved ones go un-avenged."

That struck Darren oddly, a fearful shiver running down his spine at the notion of his mentor being so bloodthirsty for revenge. What was it he had said to Darren the night of his death? Don't let hate rule his senses. Don't overtly seek revenge and ruin his life? This was a man who knew from experience the affect revenge had on one's life.

"What was that?" Larten hissed, hand grabbing his dagger.

Darren frowned and did the same, standing slowly. He heard nothing, but the door was open that was for sure; he could smell the outside clearly. Larten pulled up his trousers and Darren decided to do the same, eyes trained to the door as he threw on his shirt also, mimicking Larten who was now in his blazer jacket.

"Vampire hunters?" Darren whispered, his stomach reeling in anticipation. He hoped Arra and Wester were awake but he doubted it. Guns were the biggest killer to the vampire race now in this era of war. Even if Larten and Darren weren't intending on enlisting for the German Army, they would soon have to leave to prevent themselves being forcefully enlisted. Neither could deal with war again. The sunburn was the worst, the mud and lack of blood ranked a joint second and third. Shell Shock. Trenchfoot. Genuine fear.

There were so many reasons why Darren intended to never be an active member of war again.

"It is too quiet…" Larten whispered softly, creeping forward ever so slowly with his dagger hand itching in anticipation. Whoever was outside would be a goner, Darren knew how lethal Mr Crepsley had been with a knife and he was incredibly conservative. Larten was pure uncontrollable anger and speed who cared not for technique like the future him did.

"If they fire guns, Darren then I'm on this floor in seconds," Larten nearly whimpered. The trenches had taken a lot out of Larten and now even the threat of a loud bang was enough to send him into a weeping ball of vulnerability.

In mere seconds the door was kicked open by heavy leather black boots, pistols shoved right into Larten's face, cutting his intended attack short. Darren briefly skimmed over the uniform and recognized the men as Gestapo, wicked cruel men. He was kicked down to the ground, not fighting back against stupid humans with guns; even vampires had limits which Darren wasn't willing to test.

"Jude!" one man roared into Larten's face and Darren could do nothing but watch as Larten attempted to communicate with the man in German. Fear gripped Darren badly and he looked as though he were about to throw up but these men merely sneered harder at him.

At that moment, Wester marched into the room and pointed at Larten and Darren, yelling out in German as he addressed the humans, though Darren somehow knew what he was saying;

"That's them, Sir. That's the Jew dogs I told you off; the leaches of our beloved Fatherland."