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Ste sprang. The ground flew up to meet him. It didn't hurt him. Nothing hurt him anymore. He was a monster now.

He could feel the man; his master, the one he wanted so badly, the one who chained him and rejected him. He could feel him getting angry, getting worried. He loved the man. The man was beautiful and so sexy and was hurting. He wanted the man to claim him, to control him, to love him back, to fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck.

The man did none of that. Ste's maker, Ste's master, Ste's God had sat back and watched him strain against the chains and the gag and fallen asleep and had bad dreams. Even when Ste saved him from the dream that was making him whimper and sob in his chair; he still hadn't taken Ste, hadn't claimed him. So Ste had nothing to think about except blood and the children.

Blood. Rich, sweet, tangy, glorious life. It flowed through the people around him. Not his master; his master was too powerful to have something so life threatening so easy to reach, nor did the light one his master had taken him from. But those around him (in these buildings, hurrying through these streets); blood pumped around their bodies, rich and warm, and so delicious. He could smell it everywhere; in houses, on the street, the whiff, the hint of it on everybody and everything - so tantalising and within reach. His master had fed him with a cup and a straw, making him love his master even more. The strange blond one before had given him a human, but taken it away before he was full. Ste didn't think he was ever going to be full. He wanted blood to flow through him like a river; to cover him, to coat him, to swallow him up until he was real again, until he could feel again. Blood was life, blood was human. He wanted blood.

But then there were the children. Little, bright, light children. Love and happiness. He wanted them too. It was a burning desire that had started when he'd found that little girl in the garden. He needed them. They were never quite gone from his head, from his vision. He wanted them so much his body ached. The children were life, his life. If he found the children he'd find his life.

"Cheryl!" Brendan shouted, "how could you let that happen? You had one job, one! To look after Steven!"

"I was looking after Ste! He said the chains were hurting him!"

"Of course he did, he was lying Chez! Why do you think I was keeping him chained up?!"

"Well, you over react all the time, Brendan!" she cried, defensively, "like with Daddy! When you wouldn't let him see Declan or Paddy, just because you didn't get on! I thought this Ste thing was the same!"

Brendan roared, grabbed a chair and threw it against a wall. Cheryl may be a hundred years old but she was as naïve as a child sometimes.

"I'm going to find him!" he said. "No one else leaves this room til I get back, got it?!"

He felt his maker's power work on Cheryl and Anne and they both folded their arms, ready to complain. He couldn't give a shit.

"But... Ste's alive?" gasped Myra.

Brendan grumbled. Anne answered for him.

"Newly made vampire. Brendan's been keeping him chained to his bed for a day or so. You know, for convenience." Anne winked.

"Not for..."

"Oh my God, it wasn't him who attacked the Roscoe kid was it?" gasped Nancy.

"How did you...?" started Brendan

"Well, it was obviously a new made vampire, wasn't it?" said the younger witch, rolling her eyes.

"Well..."

"So, was it him who attacked that other family as well?" asked Nancy with real concern this time. Maybe she had the same impression of the Roscoe kid as Brendan did.

"What other family?" said Brendan.

"A little girl, about six or something, was out in the garden, getting some holly to decorate the Christmas tree and this guy just appeared from no where and..."

And Brendan was gone. He didn't want to know that. And Steven would be tortured with grief when he came back to himself if he remembered doing that to a child.

He flew high above the village. What was he searching for? A flash of blond hair? A pool of blood? And then he froze in mid-air, feeling like ice was filling him as an awful memory assaulted his thoughts. There had been something else that filled his own mind when he was turned. He'd been chained by his master; not to protect him or anyone else, Brendan knew that. His master had chained him to torture him, used him and worse. His own desires had been used against him, his mind riddled with confusion; the need for blood, the need to kill, the need to die and only one thing had pushed through the needs and wants and desires: his children. The faces of Padraig and Declan, young and innocent and full of life and blood.

He'd obsessed over them for months. When he'd been unchained, it was the first place he'd run, stalking like a wild cat. His master had only been torturing him, had trapped him again within metres of his home, teased and played with him until he nearly lost his mind. When his bloodlust finally died, he'd promised himself he'd never go near the children again, never do to them what had been done to him. But he'd felt the pull, the urge for them.

He hoped Steven was still confused or lost, and would fall upon the first tramp or drunkard or whoever that happened to cross his path. Because he knew with certainty where Steven was aiming for.

He couldn't let that happen.

He could hear the little girl whispering. It was faint and if he was human he wouldn't have been able to hear it. But he could hear it and a little boy was crying. He stood outside of a familiar door, staring at it as if it held all the answers to the universe. Why was he here? Who was he? What was he? They were questions that kept swimming round in his head, but it seemed he could find no answer.

Memories were slowly starting to work their way back into his head. They were bright, too bright and they hurt. It was as if he was watching somebody else's life. He couldn't be this 'Ste' person. He was a monster now, monsters didn't start off as humans. It must be some kind of mistake. It had been easier when the only things on his mind were blood and sex. But there was something inside of him, desperately trying to fight its way to the surface. 'Ste' was fighting the monster in him, desperately grappling for control. But he didn't want 'Ste' to have control. He wanted to be a monster, he wanted blood, he wanted sex, he wanted the simple.

He ran his finger down the door, desperately trying to figure out why this place was so important to him. He raised a hand to it and knocked gently, not really expecting to get any response. After a moment he was surprised when the door swung open and a little girl stood in the doorway. If he still needed to breathe, he would have gasped. The small girl was so bright, beautiful and pure. She must be an angel. He reached out his hand to touch her, but found his hand blocked by some mysterious force.

"Daddy?" whispered the girl, her face lighting up so brightly in nearly burned him.

He looked down at her, lost for words. Was she his? The tug in his chest suggesting she was. She used to be his, when he was 'Ste'. She was Leah. 'Ste's' daughter.

"Lucas!" shouted the girl "Come quickly, Daddy's at the door!

The sound of bare feet on carpet alerted Ste to the presence of another child. This one was just as beautiful and special as the girl. They were both little drops on sunlight and 'Ste' loved them. This would not do, this could not happen. He was a monster, these children needed to be gone.

"Daddy!" said the little boy breathlessly.

Leah turned to her brother. "See I told you he'd be back. He definitely isn't a stupid angel like Mr Vampire said he was." she said in a knowing and grown-up voice. "Are you a good Vampire, Daddy? Or a bad vampire?"

"I don't know." said Ste quietly. He wanted to hold the children, hug them close. They were life. They were his when he was human. They needed to go...the monster would not let them live.

Leah looked at him with wise eyes. "I think you're a good vampire, Daddy."

"Leah." said a familiar woman's voice. "Who are you talking to?"

"Daddy!" shouted Leah.

"Don't be daft. Come away from that door." said the woman, her voice getting closer. She would be at the door at any moment.

He began to panic, unsure on what to do. He couldn't leave the light, the children. He didn't want to leave the children. But the woman would not accept him. She would turn him away, ask questions. He could kill her...but the 'Ste' inside of him wouldn't let him even entertain the thought. He'd have to flee...but he didn't want to. This wasn't fair, none of this was fair. He wanted blood, he wanted the man...he wanted to be human again, he wanted his children. He was a monster.

The woman reached the door; her blue eyes widened in shock. She let out a high pitched scream, unable to believe her eyes. The cup in her hand dropped to the floor with a crash, shattering into a million pieces. He felt as if some how the cup represented him and what he'd become: broken.

"Ste." she whispered, her big blue eyes filling with tears. "You're dead, I identified the body. This can't...this can't be real."

"Invite me in." said Ste, surprised at how strong his voice was.

The woman's eyes became clouded suddenly and a strange smile spread across her lips.

"Come in." she whispered.

Ste stepped through the door, looking around at the familiar place that used to be his home. It all needed to go, they all needed to go. The monster inside of him didn't want these distractions. The monster inside of him wanted to destroy and drink blood. Maybe he'd come to the right place for it. And the house was so full of life. He craved life. He craved the life-giving bood.

Leah let out a long sigh. "Where are your clothes Daddy?" she asked, looking at the bed sheet he'd wrapped around himself. "Lucas get Daddy a towel and his clothes. He smells and needs a shower."

The monster inside of Ste growled at the little girl's ignorance. She had fresh young blood. The 'Ste' inside of him felt a rush of warmth and love. The two seemed to be contradicting one another and fighting for dominance.

Leah slipped her little hand into his cold one. "Come on Daddy, I'll show you."

He stared at her. He was hungry. He was scared. He was tired. He was a monster.

As soon as Brendan landed in front of Steven's old flat, he knew that something was wrong. The door was wide open, swinging open and closed in the wind. The flat was deadly quiet too, almost as if there was no life inside. Brendan stepped through the door, trying to figure out if Steven was still there. The whole place stank of him; if he was gone, he hadn't been gone for long. He stepped over broken china, a sense of foreboding in his chest. Something wasn't right, something was very wrong.

As he reached the living room he stumbled over something, almost loosing his footing. As he looked down he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him: Lucas Hay was lying on the floor completely still, his neck was covered in bright red liquid. If Brendan was human, he would have thrown up instantly.

Brendan sank to his knees, his non-beating heart breaking into pieces. "Oh God Lucas, I'm so sorry." tears began to fall down his cheeks. Steven was never going to forgive himself for this, he had done something completely unforgivable. Brendan had created a monster, a monster he should destroy. It was obvious there was none of the Steven he loved left inside of him. He gently picked up the little boy as if he was glass, holding him to his chest. He didn't expect the boy's eyes to flutter open and an annoyed expression to appear on his face.

"Mr Vampire!" said Leah's voice from behind him. "You're ruining the game!"

"Game?" said Brendan faintly, he let go of Lucas and finally looked at him properly. What ever was on his neck was not blood.

"Yes." said Leah, sounding bored. "Lucas has just been eaten by Drac."

Brendan turned and noticed the small girl was sat at the table with a number of teddy monsters sat in chairs. She was pointing at a toy bat that was sat next to a bottle of ketchup. But this wasn't the thing that surprised him the most. The thing that surprised him the most was the fact Steven was sat calmly, if slightly confused, at the table with his daughter.

"Steven." said Brendan softly.

Steven finally looked at him. Instead of lust and hatred in his face there was...recognition. "Brendan?"

Brendan felt the heart in his chest begin to beat wildly for a few seconds, before it stilled again once more. Steven wasn't gone. His Steven was right there in front of him, sitting with his daughter. Steven's own children seemed to have saved him from the monster raging inside of him. His eyes were no longer red, but back to his own beautiful blue.

Mercy's mother was whining as usual.

Right now she wasn't whining at Mercedes per se, which was a blessed relief. No, right now she was actually whining on Mercedes' behalf; trying to persuade the witch and the most pathetic, tartiest vampires Mercy had ever had the misfortune of meeting that Mercy wasn't evil and that they shouldn't let the 'tashe kill her.

Mercy rolled her eyes. It was obvious who held the power here. He'd ordered his women to stay like they were dogs and run off in search of the miraculously not-dead Hay boy; who Mercy vaguely remembered as her cousin's ex and an annoying chav with no hint of any attractive qualities whatsoever as far as she could tell. Skinny, little, no-hoper runt.

She folded her arms and made a loud huffing noise. Not even her Mum turned to look at her. This was getting boring. There weren't even any easy to hypnotise men that could keep her interested. Her mum had forced her to leave Mal at home because she didn't want to upset frizzy Cheryl. Well, let the cow be upset, Mercy thought, Mercy hadn't done anything wrong. Mal wanted her and Cheryl couldn't hypnotise anyone. As far as Mercy was concerned, Cheryl was barely worthy of the name vampire.

"I'm hungry!" Mercy moaned, loudly.

"Deal with it, bitch!" snapped frizzy Cheryl the idiot, "because of you someone very dear to me nearly died!"

"Er, no, right!" countered Mercedes, indignant at the unfairness, "It was nothing to do with me!"

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut! Now some psycho is on the loose, trying to hurt my brother through the love of his life!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause it's all Mercy's fault!" cried Mercy, "I didn't kill anyone! And I don't need to! Malachy has been keeping me more than sated!"

It had the desired effect on frizzy Cheryl. Her face contorted with anger.

"You bitch!" she screamed, "We all know what power you have over poor Malachy!"

"Actually, I never hypnotised him once!" snapped Mercy. "He begged me to take him on! Anything to get away from you!"

"Mercedes!" her Mum snapped.

"I'll kill you!" screamed Cheryl as Mitzeee with too many es held her back.

Nancy let out a noise of disgust.

"We need her to find out about whoever's hurting these people!" insisted Mitzeee. "Then we can do whatever we want to her!"

"Oh yeah, 'cause that's gonna make me talk!" said Mercy.

"Let's go get you a nice cup of blood, Cheryl," said Mercy's Mum, kindly, "that'll calm you down in no time."

"Where's mine?" sneered Mercy.

"You get yours when you learn to behave yourself," her Mum told her, and Mercy made a face at the sanctimonious bitch as she led frizzy stupid Cheryl out to get some free blood and left her own daughter to starve.

Nancy and Mitzeee looked at each other, smiled shyly, and then looked away. Mercy let out a further noise of disgust at the pair of them.

Nancy glared at her, before turning back to Mitzeee with an eye roll. Mitzeee said, "So, haven't seen you much before."

Nancy shook her head, "I've been... out of the game for a while."

"Oh?" said Mitzeee.

"Yeah," supplied Mercy, "her husband had her locked in a nut house for being a mental witch!"

"Shut up!" snapped Mitzeee, "no one wants your input."

And the bitch (witch) put a silencing charm on her. That pissed her off no end.

Mitzeee smirked triumphantly, but then turned back to the witch.

"Was any of that true?" she asked.

Nancy gave her a cold, challenging look, "Well, if you replace the word 'nut house' with 'psychiatric hospital' then yes. Got a problem with that?"

Mitzeee grinned, "Defensive much?" she teased, and Nancy may have answered, but Mercedes couldn't give a damn. No one was looking at her, even if it was for just a split second. She had better places to be than facing death at the hands of a bunch of mentals. And she was a vampire. She could travel pretty fast.

She was out in the street before the witches could blink. She remembered Brendan ordering his fag hags to stay where they were, so she only had to go a hundred metres before she was confident they wouldn't be able to follow her, and witches were nothing like as fast. She considered going back to her mother's to grab Malachy, but decided it was a waste of time and energy. She'd find another willing donor to warm her bed and fill her up in minutes.

She saw a club. Maybe there would be someone in there to fill her up, even if it was just for tonight. She adjusted her skirt, threw her hair behind her shoulder, and strutted her best to the door.

A hand caught hers before she got there.

"Excuse me, Miss" said a polite, almost charming voice, "would you be... Mercedes?"

"Might be," she said, pulling her arm back and crossing them in front of her, "who's asking?"

The newcomer surveyed her, with a strangely sexless stare. It unnerved her a little.

"Sorry, Granddad," she said when he didn't answer straight away, "I don't do OAPs."

She made to storm back to the club but very suddenly hit a solid but invisible wall.

She didn't believe it at first; so tried to push forward, but it didn't give. "What the...?" she grumbled.

The old man smiled, "Sorry about that and please, excuse me interrupting your evening, but I'd like to ask you some questions."

Mercy made to attack him, but another wall had sprung up, just feet from the first and once again, completely invisible. She felt her way around it. It only bent back towards the first.

"Firstly," said the old man, "would you mind telling me about the little chat you've been having with Brendan Brady?"

"Let me out!" snapped Mercedes.

He shook his head, sadly, "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mercedes. You see, I need to know some things. They're very important to me and I'd really like your help in finding them out, if you'd be so kind. Will you help an old man in need, Mercedes?"

He looked like a melancholy Granddad, but Mercy wasn't fooled. This man was dangerous.

"You're..." she started.

"My questions first please Mercedes, I did ask first. What have you been up to with Brendan Brady?"

She folded her arms. There was no way out. She could only choose a side. If she chose Brendan's she would die. She chose to live.

"I was kidnapped by two mental witches," she said, deciding the fact one was her mother was not completely relevant to the situation.

"How awful for you," replied the man, with what seemed like genuine sympathy. "What did they want you to do?"

"They wanted me to tell Brendan what had been going on, who'd been targeting that chav he likes."

The corners of his lips twitched down, "So what did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell 'im nowt!" she snapped, indignantly.

The old man nodded, slowly. "Is that so? Nothing else... came up?"

"Yeah, course," she said, "I ain't got a death wish or something!"

The old man surveyed her like he was reading her from the inside as easily as he would a newspaper.

"So, he doesn't know any more now than he did before, Mercedes, is that what you're telling me?" Mercedes hesitated. He picked up on it and quirked an inquisitorial eyebrow. "What does he know then, Mercedes?"

She rolled her eyes, "Well, he thought it was some bloke called Cam who was hurting those people. I said it weren't, that's all."

His expression didn't change, but he put his head on one side. "And does he know who is behind it then, Mercedes?"

"No!" she snapped, "because I didn't tell him!"

She decided to let him think it was her decision to hold back that information.

The old man nodded again and ran a hand through a rough beard. "Good. Thank you, Mercedes, you've been very helpful."

He turned and walked away. Mercedes felt herself relax. He was leaving her alone, no punishment for talking to Brendan. She turned back towards the club. There was still plenty of time for a late snack.

She hit the wall again.

"Er, excuse me, mate, can you let me go now?" she said angrily at the old man's retreating form.

"Oh, sorry, that must have been a little misunderstanding," said the man, turning back. Mercedes folded her arms. Typical, so wrapped up in some stupid plot about the 'tashe he'd forgotten about her. "You see, I wasn't lying. I can't get you out of that trap."

"What?" Mercy demanded, angrily.

"Well, it was a witch what made that, wasn't it, Martha?"

He turned towards a strained looking red-head woman in her forties. She was staring at the ground, sadly.

"Martha here made that trap and only she can let you out of it."

Mercy sighed dramatically, "Then let me out, witch! We're done! I told him what he wanted to know!"

The witch looked at the old vampire's blank face. His expression stayed kindly, happy. "Oh, but she won't. Because if she does that, I'll kill her children. It seems to me you're in a bit of a pickle there Mercedes."

Mercedes overwhelming feeling wasn't fear – it was anger at the sheer unfairness.

"Let me out you old bastard!" she shouted.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be out soon Mercedes," he told her, kindly, "The trap only works on vampires."

Now he was really getting on Mercedes' nerves, "But I am a vampire, you idiot!"

"Well, only when the sun's down," he said, "In a few hours you'll be a pile of dust on the floor. Then you can go wherever the wind takes you, as they say."

"You what?" shouted Mercy, furiously.

He smiled but didn't reply. Then he turned to leave again.

"Oi!" Mercy shouted after him, "You get back 'ere! You let me out of 'ere, now!"

He didn't even turn back to her. Just kept walking. Mercy kept shouting after him.

"Wait!" the witch suddenly shouted. "Please… you said I wouldn't have to hurt anyone!"

The old vampire stopped and turned to look at the witch. "Please!" Martha repeated. "Please don't let her burn!"

The vampire looked the witch up and down, then back at Mercedes. Mercedes stopped shouting. Could this witch really have power over someone so dangerous?

The old vampire brushed his jacket down with a hand. "You're right, Martha, I'm being cruel, aren't I?"

Martha nodded, with huge relief. Mercy would have breathed deeply if she were human.

"Let the trap down, Martha," said the old vampire and Mercy saw the witch perform a simple hand wave and felt the air shift around her. She took a step forward.

She brushed her own dress down and tried to look dignified. She was incredibly annoyed. And had a handy stake up her skirt for moments like this.

"Big mistake!" she said, enthusiastically, then raced forward, stake at the ready.

But he was smiling at her. He caught her hand a whole foot from his chest in a rock solid grip. He twisted, forcing her to drop her stake.

"I'm over two-hundred years old, tramp. You think you can take me by surprise?"

Mercy's eyes widened.

"And this?" he said indicating her stake, "cheap piece of crap."

He gripped her head. Mercy felt fear for the first time, suddenly very aware of what was happening. "And it's not very efficient, is burning," the crazy old vampire continued, conversationally. "There's always a chance Brendan could find you before it was time."

He pulled her head from her shoulders. And Mercy knew no more.