He wasn't lying when he told her he didn't really need to sleep, yet it felt like the few hours he had allowed himself slipped by too quickly. The thick fatigue it left behind coated him, dampening his senses. The sun would be coming up soon, and even in the bowels of the factory he could all but smell it – though that wasn't a gift he had. Not like Miranda, who was so connected to the earth and soil. The earth he would bury her in. Right next to that daughter of hers who she would afford no fucking peace. None of them would have peace until Miranda was dust.

From the dark monitor room, Karl swayed in his chair as he waited, annoyed, for the proximity alarm to signal Alcina's arrival. She still hadn't called, but that would be so like her. He breathed a sigh, pushing the image of Mirandas broken and bloody body out of his mind and replaced it with one that didn't give him such a fleeting, empty sense of pleasure. He wanted to think of the woman he left in his bed.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the sight of long, unbound raven hair pooling on his chest and the feel of fingers grasping his shoulders and neck. Of those silver scars that peppered her back and that soft, soft skin everywhere. He wasn't used to such softness. He was surrounded by things that were hard and cold and sharp. The unrelenting metal, the corpses, the 'relationships' with his siblings.

Soft, but underneath so solid. She even left a few bruises on him. Or she would have, had his muscles and skin not been able to repair the damage before she came so hard that last time, she passed out in his arms. That round had knocked him out cold too, nearly literally as she slammed him into the floor after their little power struggle had pulled them from the bed.

Maybe he should have been more careful with her, she wasn't like him, after all.

Next time.

Despite the marathon that left him so drained, he found himself desperately hard at the memory. Karl palmed himself at the thought of pushing back from the monitor and stalking to his room. He imagined how he had left her, how good she looked wrapped in only his sheets as he crept from her that morning, asleep in the bed that Alcina had given him so many years ago.

Alcina.

That's one way to get rid of a hard-on.

She would be here soon, he told himself with a touch too much hopefulness for his liking. He would have to tell her about his conversation with Alcina...the details about the mystery prisoner and the likelihood that he had survived Miranda only to be cut into chunks and strewn all over the Dimitrescu's doorstep. He'd also have to manage Alcina around the girl, though for some reason he was more confident about that. And Ethan. That fucker was a real wild card. If only he'd gotten to him first.

He switched the monitors on as he sipped on the bitter instant coffee and waited.

xx

The dawn came and went; but Alcina didn't call. The phone had been quiet throughout the night. He sat alone at the monitors; the proximity alarms had all been silent. She hadn't come. It was a bad sign. He had tried to call her, but the phone rang unanswered.

Could Ethan have gotten to her? Did something happen on her way to the factory?

He considered trying Sal again, but he had no idea what that dull sniveling imp would do with the information...if Ethan hadn't gone back to finish the job.

Karl eyed the small iron ball he kept as a decoration on his desk, older than him and stamped with his family's crest. He lazily lifted it and let it float before him, pushing it into a slow rotation. A habit he had when he got fidgety. It spun slowly, the dull surface barely reflecting the harsh lights above him.

For all he knew, Miranda was on her way to knock his door down herself. He shifted at the uncomfortable feeling of control slipping away. What if Miranda had gotten to Alcina and she and Ethan were skipping down the road to the front gates of his factory? And what about the girl in his bed, still blissfully unaware that the plans had probably gone sideways. He wanted to keep her safe. He needed to keep her-"

The iron ball slammed to his desk.

Keep her.

He caught himself. What was he thinking? It's not like he was a stranger to bringing women to bed...but not his bed. And never like...that. It was so close to the end, after all these long years, after all the shit he'd seen, all the shit he'd done. He knew he was treading into dark territory.

No, not dark. Light. Too light. For too long he leaned into the dark and the anger and loathing until the nature of it became his own. This was brighter. Uncomfortable. Distracting. He quickly squashed his thoughts, shoved them down as he pulled open the rusty metal drawer to root for something stronger than shitty coffee.

As if on cue, the ring glinted on his finger. The ring was new, cast from something old. He wasn't sure why he did it, why he took those tags and melted them down to create it. It didn't mean anything in particular to him, and he didn't care for jewelry. He could have easily just returned the necklace to her. But something drew him to the foundry that first night she spent in the factory, in his bed. He had just been antsy, he told himself, and needed something to do with his hands before he put them in places he would regret.

Because now he was forced to think about tomorrow. Not the after that involved getting their heads crushed in or ripped off their shoulders, or having their hearts torn out, which was Miranda's personal favorite, that psychotic bitch. Even scarier...was if she didn't do those things.

It's not that life after Miranda hadn't crossed his mind; it did. But it wasn't a real life, just one where he replaced Miranda. Admittedly his mind was quite busy with plans of war and revenge and maybe even a grab for power; but how could he know Miranda had planned to kill every last one of those idiot villagers who he intended to rule. To eliminate the "family". He told himself he didn't care about that last one, but he had to admit he felt surprisingly somber after Sal told him about Donna. Miranda could have given her the word and she would have plunged a knife through her own heart – that was how devoted that fool was. Meak. Insane. Loyal. Kind.

A small echo in his mind: Weak. She was weak. Body and mind. The monster in him whispered these harsh, cold, true words.

It was just as well; he would be a shitty god anyway, and at least Donna was free. The iron balls rotation on the desk picked up into a spin as the pads of his thumbs ran along his temples.

Plan B.

If Alcina was dead, it would be up to him and Celia. And they would lead the Soldats and maybe even Sturm to Miranda and rip her apart before she could finish what she started. Maybe try to put that kid back together. Possibly the Duke could help, that crackpot always seemed to know exactly what was going on. And if they had time, maybe they could even save Ethan.

Listen to me. A real hero.

He lay there for a moment, the back of the cheap desk chair groaning as he pushed back into it. Maybe. He knew, he wasn't a nice man. Wasn't the hero of this dark fairy tale. His hands were stained with the gore and entrails of the corpses he rummaged through for his own ends. The dried blood forever wedged under his fingernails. He didn't hand out happy endings.

But maybe he could take one.

The sound at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, causing him to involuntarily flex his powers. The monitors and bulbs overhead flickered at the intrusion. Only a split second, but noticeable.

Wearing his shirt, he could make out the outline of her body even in the haze of the dim factory. Her hair was free and messy, spilling over her shoulders and cascading down to her chest. "Hi. Uh, sorry." She smiled softly as she took another step into the room and pointed at the lamps, as if to apologize for the interruption. But it wasn't an interruption, these thoughts made flesh. "Thought I would find you here."

He let his legs fall and twisted the chair around as he shoved down his urge to grab her and pull her down into his lap. "I was just about to get you. Bad news, Princess." He hardened his face as he motioned for her to sit next to him. "We may have some trouble. Alcina should have called by now. Or at very least just shown up."

Celia followed his gaze to the chair next to him but made no move for it. "Do you think something happened?"

Karl didn't want to interpret that action, and he slid his hands together before she could see his fingers twitching. "I don't know, but I don't have a good feeling."

"Why?"

"Last night...I spoke to Moreau. I think...I think Donna is dead. Ethan went after him. He tried to kill Moreau but somehow that slippery bastard got away. And he told me that he saw Donna's flask. That she was probably dead. He got both their flasks."

"Ethan? Our Ethan? Why would he do that? How..."

"Miranda. The bitch isn't known for getting her hands too dirty. It was a setup. She planted the flasks with us and sent Ethan out to kill us and collect them so she can do whatever the fuck she's planning to do while Ethan does the dirty work."

"But...Ethan's just...a man. He doesn't stand a chance against Alcina in that house with those things. I barely made it out of there." She rolled her bad shoulder.

"Yeah. About that. He ain't what he seems. The guy...listen the guy isn't human. Well, he…he's already dead."

She didn't seem shocked at the idea, but her features twisted slightly. "What?"

"He has been for a while now. He was infected with the mold before he had that kid. I think he's like Miranda now. She told us that's the reason she targeted Rose. She's always been so obsessed with finding that perfect vessel to jam her kid into. She even tried having me...make them." The memory irked him. "Either way, she thinks Rose is special and honestly, she's probably right. But I fucked up. I should have ground him into a moldy pulp when you saw me in that tunnel. Instead, I hand delivered him right to her." He had been such a fool. "And if I know Miranda, she's probably done something to...enhance him."

"Enhance?"

He pulled open his shirt, revealing his scar.

"Enhance."

Realization dawned on her as she moved to lean on the counter next to him. "That's how he was able to hurt the others."

"Bad to worse, sweetheart. You think Alcina and I are pretty tough? Hell, we're still relatively registering on the human scale. Flesh. This guy..."

He watched her eyes widen, saw the understanding. "Oh, God...he's already dead...and if Miranda gave him one of those things..."

"Bingo. She pulled the ripcord and set him loose with his sights on the flasks. On us." They were in for a world of shit.

"Does Alcina know everything?" Her eyes stayed on the pink line bisecting his chest.

"Most of it. She already knew about Ethan, but she got some information from some outsider locked up in her basement. Apparently from Miranda."

That got her attention. "Who?"

"Listen, I don't know," he lied, "but I tried to get her to come here before Ethan got to her. She wouldn't. I don't know what she's up to, but I'm starting to put the pieces together." And then the words tumbled out before he could stop them. "It might be...it might be someone you came here with."

Celia's face didn't change. She didn't even blink. Not the reaction he had expected.

"So now Ethan has two flasks." An obvious change of subject.

"And so do we." From behind the desk, he pulled a large, silver case up by a black handle and gently placed it on the counter. "And we're going to give them to Ethan."

"Are you crazy?"

"Only she can put that kid back together. So we draw Ethan out for as long as possible. We know she's going to do it at the ceremony site, so once we're ready with the soldats and" he paused, knowing it may already be too late. "-and Alcina, we follow them there, wait for her to poof that kid back into one piece, then we take her out. And probably Ethan too."

Celia didn't protest, but her face told him she wasn't convinced, either. So he continued, "I've been thinking about that. Killing him is going to be a bitch though if we even can. Our best chance is to take out his cadou first assuming he has one, then go for the body. If we can fuck it up enough, we may have a shot."

Celia played with the buttons on her shirt, and even despite their serious conversation he half expected her to pull it off. She surprised him by saying, "We should go to her. Alcina."

Through his own unreadable mask, his words were direct. "She might already be dead."

"Only one way to find out. I'll get dressed and we can-" He grabbed her suddenly, pulling her body close to him and running his hands up those thighs that not so long ago were pressed around his head. He barked out a laugh when his fingers grazed the fabric of her strapless leg holster hidden beneath the bulk of his shirt.

She gave him a sly look. "You never know what you might run into in these creepy hallways."

xx

His hand lingered at the blade strapped to her thigh, and she pushed down the urge to lean into his touch to see where else he would drag his fingers. "We should leave now, she may need us, need help."

It wasn't that she really wanted to help that insane hulking beast of a woman that nearly tore her apart at the castle. If she was being honest, a selfish part of her hoped that those women in that house of horrors were put down like dogs. But the look in Karl's eyes told her it was the right thing to do, especially after what he shared with her the night before, and he wouldn't knowingly put her in danger. But if she was being very honest - they probably needed Alcina's power. Even with the soldats and Sturm and his incredible powers, they were no match for Miranda and Ethan together.

His eyes drifted closed as she ran her hands through his hair, pulling up sections until she had enough to tie it up for him with a proper hair tie from around her wrist, not one of those ratty rubber bands. She pressed against his exposed chest, gently easing his back into the chair. "Now we're ready. Let's go." But his hands stayed wrapped around her thighs, lightly digging in his fingertips.

"Is that really what you want to do?" He was staring up at her now with that look that sent a throbbing pressure through her chest and into her stomach and lower still. Memories of the night before, of him teasing and tempting and taking her came rushing back and stoked the fire in her blood. But there was too much going on. Too much to consider, given the information flying at her. Her thoughts were ricocheting between the outline of the hard cock in his pants and the idea that someone...some else was in the village.

Who was it? Another outsider. Karl said the van Chris and the others were in had basically exploded, and she had been a witness to the blank, glazed stare of her partner as he lay twisted in the snow. There was no chance it was him, and a good one whomever it was had nothing to do with her. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She just wanted to end this nightmare. Either way, any expectations she had would be wasted until she put her eyes on this supposed survivor.

But...what would that mean? Don't think about it now.

"Yeah. We should go."

"OK." He sighed and pulled himself out of the chair hefting the suitcase with him. "Got any room in that bag of yours?"

She nodded, and turned to leave the room to get ready when his hand grabbed her wrist. He smirked at her, "Are you sure you're ready to get dressed?" His voice dripped with seduction, and something else.

"Tempting, but we should probably get moving." She lied. But he didn't let her wrist go, and the sharp, silver lining of his eyes had her heart racing. He must have realized it too, and in that split second the lazy, soft expression turned feral and he pulled her into him hard, crashing his lips to hers. He easily lifted her, dropping her to the counter as he leaned in between her legs. Celia didn't protest, she knew they were probably both thinking it.

This might be the last time.

But the feel of his mouth on hers felt too good, too real in that moment to think about it being only a memory. His kiss turned soft, softer than the night before. The harsh industrial lights in the ceiling blinked then cut completely, and so far away from the sun it plunged them into darkness save the glow of the monitors. And his eyes.

His hands moved quickly; the soft leather of his gloves had her throbbing as they slid up along the fabric of the shirt separating him from her skin. Two hands traced up and down her neck, down to her collar bone then back to the shirt until he was tearing it off her, shredding it in the process leaving her naked save for the thick band around her thigh that tucked away her weapons. She needed him to touch her, to feel how wet she was, to ease that building pressure.

He pulled her forward again, his fingertips digging into her ass as she tugged at his pants, pulling until she realized they were secured with a leather belt.

"A belt, really?" What a pain. She pulled it off him and tossed it to the floor.

"Hey, I was gonna use that!" His smile was genuine as he tugged at his gloves. She was half tempted to order him to keep them on.

Next time.

She smirked and continued, pulling his shirt over his head, letting her hands fall back to his muscled chest. Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him there lightly, lingering along that silvery pink ridge in the center.

What horrors he must have seen.

He must have seen it in her eyes, and he didn't close his as he lifted her chin to investigate his face. She waited for him to speak, but the only thing that escaped his lips were those ragged, deep breaths. Instead of asking, she leaned forward, pressing herself into him and sealing their bodies together. He did speak, then "God, I love the feel of your skin."

Her hands moved to his pants, and the zip of metal cut over the rustling of clothing and again his rough hands were everywhere, her thighs, her breasts, her lips. This time, neither pushed for control as he gently slipped her off the counter and she let him spin her, one hand on the small of her back and the other hooked to her hip. From behind her, his arms moved around her bare stomach, around her ribs and suddenly he was clinging to her, embracing her as if they were moments away from being ripped apart. His hands found her breasts and then, his mouth was on her again. Celia's fingers gripped the edges of the counter and through her back, she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. She tried not to think about how perfectly they moved together, how they fit together. How this shouldn't be the last time.

His lips found the top of her shoulder, the curve of her neck and then the side of her face, his teeth grazing her ear to whisper something as he slid into her. His words were so soft that she could have believed they were her own thoughts if his breath hadn't hit her ear in the form of them. A quiet, simple observation. His mouth moved down her spine, kissing her neck, her back, and finally her shoulder right above the marred flesh that was still struggling to heal, and his lips stayed there.