Maty sipped the drink in her hand. "See?" Her voice echoed in the depths of the prison. She sounded desperate. "An ordinary A-neg. Completely safe." She offered the goblet with an outstretched arm. The glass flew from her fingers and smashed across the wall in a red splatter.

"Get out of my sight," Amleth hissed.

"Please. You must eat something. Master will punish me."

"Good!" Amleth laughed. "Now get lost. Go back to your kennel to join the other hell-bitch." He shoved her. Maty stumbled, then rushed forward to shove him back, and they locked together in a struggle. She flailed and clawed while Amleth wrestled to contain her wild limbs. He caught an arm and twisted it.

"Ow!" Maty screeched. "I'm not your enemy!"

Amleth jerked the younger vampiress toward him. "Oh, but you lie," he seethed, inches from her face. "You knew Thea was here. You knew Roman was feeding her to me. You knew, Maty - and you helped." He gave her a violent shake.

"Is it my fault that you can't sense your own kin?"

He recoiled backward on himself like a cornered snake. "What would you know about kin, you makerless, forgotten child? Your grandsire never acknowledged you. You are an insult to our line. Godric will destroy you when he learns of you."

"Godric?" Maty blinked in confusion, then in astonishment. "Spoken like the bastard vampire you are. You don't even remember who your real maker is! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Amleth managed to restrain himself - only just. In his present state, a single slap from him might actually kill her. "How dare you speak to your elder in such a fashion." He trembled with anger. "You weak, insignificant drip of blood. I ought to drain you dry."

Maty jutted her chin out. "Try it. Good lot it would do you. Look at the state of you."

The truth of her words seared him. His condition was pitiful. Power had surged through his limbs after being force-fed Thea's blood. Power - and violent disgust. The burst of strength was short-lived. The rapid healing ripped through his body, devouring more energy than he had ingested. It left him weaker than ever, with only the hollow, sickening feeling of having every cell in his body violated. A silent, one-sided bond sat heavy beneath his ribs like a dead fetus. He wanted to carve it out.

If and when Thea chose to open the connection, her age and strength in their bloodline would overwhelm any shields he might use to block her influence. He would become her puppet. Who knew what she would make him do. They would try to feed more of her to him again, that much was certain. He wouldn't let them - couldn't let them - no matter how bad the pain got. He was determined.

"Get out," he spat at Maty. "Before the exit isn't an option."

She hesitated. Amleth took a single step forward, fists balled at his side, and her face crumpled in disappointment. "Please, uncle. I don't want to fight with you. You're my only hope."

He stared stonily. He had been a fool to let himself grow comfortable with her. The idea of her had been a balm, a miracle in the dark. When would he learn? Being loved by his bloodkin was a poisoned dream. The only fruit it bore was betrayal. "You have until the count of three," he told her.

"Dark Fox. Amleth. Please." A fat tear rolled down her cheek. "Listen to me. I beg you."

"Two," he counted. "One and a half."

"Master will get his way. We'll both pay. Please."

"One."

"Wait-"

In a whirl of black, Amleth spun her around and sent her flying out of the cell with a nasty push. She landed hard on her knees, scraping them raw on the uneven stone. Gathering herself slowly, Maty left him, sniffling and limping, and favoring the arm he had wrenched. He stared numbly at the wet stains she had left on the ground until the slam of the dungeon gate sent a wash of relief over him. The effort to be rid of her had exhausted him.

Nauseated and disoriented, Amleth shuffled into the side chamber of his squalid room and collapsed into the chipped enamel tub with a thud. He turned the faucet with a big toe, and water poured over him, cold and hard, until his clothes began to float. He closed his eyes and let the muted sounds of the waterworld surround him.

Deep down, he knew that a hunger strike was a stupid tactic. It smacked of desperation - a pathetic last resort of someone with nothing else to lose. He wasn't actually certain that his position was so dire. He wasn't sure about anything except that he was completely messed up and he couldn't think straight and he didn't have the wherewithal to charm his way out of this one. It didn't matter. He was too far along now on this path to quit. He was old, however. It would be a long death, he reckoned, and an ugly death at that.

He fantasized that Godric would come to kill him. If he would just come and see how pathetic he was, Godric might give in to the urge to rip him open, navel to chops, and claw out the dregs of Thea's blood with his nails. Amleth would die seeing disgust reflected in Godric's eyes, die with his blood on Godric's lips - the way it should have always been. The way it had been. If only.

He had not even been worth murdering, in the end.

Godric would never come. So Amleth refused to drink and he weakened and he waited.

~OOO~

Maty never returned. Whether Roman had punished her or killed her or was simply changing tactics, Amleth couldn't care less. Another servant left jars of warm blood outside his door each evening and retrieved them again before sunrise, spoilt and untouched. Amleth grew weaker and weaker, as if his insides were eating him alive. He deteriorated very rapidly. Shockingly so. One night he dragged himself beneath his bed, determined to die. He was dying. He could taste death again on the back of his palate.

The sickness sank deep into him and he wondered if there would be anything left to find. It sank so far down that the aching disappeared completely, and he dissolved along with it. There was no more sight or sound or taste, no more thirst, no concern. With the disembodied looseness of a dream, he knew he was passing on. The revelation struck him as unimportant. Someone was holding his spark, keeping it safe. Strange words washed over him, telling him to stop struggling, telling him to let go.

So he did.

~OOO~

Amleth woke to the stroke of luxurious sheets on his skin. He was…not dead. Worse. He was nude and chained to a wall in a richly appointed bed. Heavy jacquard curtains were tied back on their rails. Roman glanced up from a washstand in the corner and hummed. "Good. You're awake." He disappeared behind a screen to dress.

Panic pricked white behind Amleth's eyes. He did not need to breathe in to know. This was real. He was in Roman's bed. This was Roman's chamber. And he had woken to the man wearing nothing but his dressing gown.

Roman stepped back out in a dark olive suit and sat down beside him. He gently grasped Amleth's face and pulled down his lower eyelids with clinical fingertips. He told him to look up, then down, then to the side. "Open," he said, and peered inside his mouth and down his throat.

Amleth tried to speak. He could barely catch enough air. The bond in his chest was crushingly heavy.

Roman released his cheeks. "You've had a series of seizures." Amleth managed to laugh. "And you're a fool," he added. He collected a pair of cufflinks left on the nightstand and rose. "You will eat nightly or you will be force fed again. Do not waste my time further with this business."

Amleth moved slightly and his chains rattled. "The hardware seems a bit over the top. Or do you just like the way it looks on me?"

Roman finished buttoning his cuffs. "You injured yourself during one of your episodes. We can't have that happen again, can we?"

Amleth did not remember. He couldn't recall anything after dining with Roman and being tricked into drinking Thea's blood. There had been something else. An argument, or a dream about arguing? His head was pounding. Amleth frowned. "Can Maty come visit with me while you're gone?"

Roman's face softened into curiosity, and for a moment the elder seemed like he might agree. "No," he said flatly, and left.

Amleth tried to think of a plan, but he found, to his dismay, that he couldn't focus. His children. The warm fizzing tie to his children grounded him. Always present. Easy to remember through the lurching waves of his migraine. When Roman returned many hours later, he tried to bargain for them. "Thea is here. You've got Maty and now me. That's most of the Tarquinii. Why not bring my children too?" It sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

"Would you like that?" Roman asked.

"Wouldn't you?" He was unsure of what he was actually after.

"This stronghold cannot easily support so many young vampires."

Amleth bit his lips. They must be in an isolated location or a low-traffic area where meals would be difficult to come by or very conspicuous to bring in. "There's always Tru Blood," he joked, and flashed a grin. Roman let out a reluctant snort. "I'm glad I amuse you, Counselor. Imagine how much more fun we would have with my fledglings. They're being held prisoner. Have you tried negotiating for them?"

"What do you think?"

The question sobered him. Godric had his children, almost certainly, and Godric did not negotiate. One either accepted his terms or accepted the consequences of rejecting them. Whatever deal he made with Roman obviously had not included Constantine and Eva. It was absurd to even ask.

Amleth could not fathom how that discussion between mortal enemies must have gone. Harder still to comprehend the scale of blinding, god-like hatred Godric must have for Amleth if he was willing to work with his arch nemesis. Tears welled up and stung his lashes. Godric believed he deserved Roman. Maybe he did. He had failed to protect Rosalyn from something as stupid as a bomb. The thought that he caused her anguish sickened him. Roman was what Godric wanted for him. He was Godric's parting gift.

"I should think it is the other way round," Roman replied. "You are a gift to me."

Confusion closed in around him. Had he spoken aloud? The elder was examining him again. He wore a different shirt now. Had it been hours? Or days? "What is happening to me?"

Roman paused. "Your condition is worrisome. It's hellish to regrow this much tissue." Cool fingers circled and dug into Amleth's flesh, lulling him back into downtime. "We don't know what the organs do in the undead. Clearly, it is tiring to repair them."

"You're a villain," Amleth protested weakly. He found his eyes closing. Roman's calm words washed over him, their meaning lost to the rhythm of his massaging. Everything hurt, outside and in. He tried to remember something important about still being in danger. The thought slipped away before he could catch it. Eva. Constantine. Save them.

When he roused, Roman was in yet another outfit. Amleth had the strangest feeling. He was drowsy. He hadn't felt drowsy…ever. Not as a vampire. "I'm not healing," he said, feeling ridiculous for stating the obvious.

"I'm calling a doctor."

Dread rippled through him. "What for?"

Roman peered at him queerly. "Has anyone ever cared for you properly when you needed it?"

No, Amleth's heart answered, and he felt the desolation sink deep into his chest. He swallowed down the urge to cry again.

"Let me help you, Amleth." His name rolled off Roman's tongue with a lovely lilt of the old country. "You have been on your own so often. Left to your own devices. It is exhausting."

Yes, Amleth wanted to say. He was so very tired.

"Relax," the silken voice guided. "I won't abandon you. I told you that I would protect you."

He let the urge to sleep take over. The rest felt so good. A glass pressed to his lips. "Just a little." Amleth sipped. It was very, very good blood. Roman withdrew the glass; he did not make him finish the entire meal. "I'll leave that here for you should you want it." He gestured to the round nightstand with its flickering oil lamp.

"I should burn this place to the ground," Amleth muttered. He wasn't certain he had actually spoken.

~OOO~

Someone was talking too loudly. Be quiet, he wanted to say. Shaking brought him to half-consciousness. A sting in his arm shot his eyes wide open and Amleth woke to the sight of a short-statured doctor injecting him with what felt like acid.

"Gods!" he shrieked and he tried to jerk away.

"Restraints," the doctor demanded, and the chains on Amleth's arms cranked up.

He was wild. "Roman!" Amleth yelled, terrified and enraged.

"Dr. Koenig is running some tests. We'll know more soon."

"Who is this? Roman! I can't use just any doctor!" he said, panic thick in his voice. The physician wouldn't know what he was treating. Amleth's hybrid fae-vampire blood was one of a kind. He struggled even more. "Get Dr. Ludwig!"

A firm hand on his shoulder grounded him. "Dr. Koenig knows, child. Save your energy."

From the corner of his eye, Amleth saw the doctor squirt what appeared to be his own blood onto a glass slide and sniff it. He added droplets from a small brown jar, watching for a reaction. He tried another liquid on the sample. Finally, the slide fizzled and bubbled. Dr. Koenig gave a worried look at Roman and shook his head.

"What is your recommendation?" Roman asked.

Koenig waddled back and forth in front of the bedstead. His crooked mouth gaped, then closed, then opened again as he searched for a remedy. "If the bloodsucker elder sister cannot fix him, then there's nothing more I can do."

"I did not pay you to be told that you have no cure."

"Try a Fae physician," the doctor replied curtly, and snapped his medical bag shut. He gave a little salute and prepared to pop away.

"Wait!" Amleth cried. "Tell Ludwig I'm being held here against my will."

The doctor cocked his head. "That would violate patient confidentiality. Goodbye," he said, and disappeared with a stomp.

"Fucking wanker gnome!" Amleth sank back into the bed.

"Repulsive creatures, aren't they? But he won't share your genetic condition with anyone either. It was a calculated risk."

"We could always call him back and kill him."

The corner of Roman's mouth curled in amusement. "We could. It would be in poor taste."

"Yech. Very." Amleth gagged at the idea of eating one.

After a beat, Roman let out a sigh. He scraped a chair over to his bedside and steepled his fingers over his chin. "I am at a loss for what to do to aid you."

"Let me go? I'll take my chances."

Roman let a beat pass between them. "Dr. Ludwig tried to treat you, you know. She failed. It wounds me that you don't see the lengths I've taken to help you. I revived you."

Amleth narrowed his eyes into hateful slits. "With Thea's blood. I would rather have died."

"I noticed." Thinking for a long moment, he came to a decision. "Would you like to see what it cost her?"

A thrill shot down his spine. "Do I get pants?" Amleth asked.

~OOO~

He had to lean on Roman for support to walk. The elder's arm curled around his shoulders and eased the pain in his legs. They shuffled through corridors, down steps, passed door and after door. The masonry changed repeatedly: Greek, Byzantine, Ottoman, Greek again. At one point, he could have sworn he saw Neolithic stones holding up an archway. Turkey, Bulgaria, Greece - it was impossible to pinpoint their location. "Honestly, where the hell are we?"

"Nearly there. Do you need a rest?" Amleth growled and soldiered on. He had not found anything to use as a weapon. No wooden chair legs or sharp edges that could be filed. No matter. He had himself, and he would have his vengeance on Thea.

At last they came to a steel door. Roman sorted through his massive keyset until he found the right key. The hinges groaned under the weight of the metal as it swung open. Amleth struggled to see. Roman lit a small lamp from his torch and set it on a ledge inside. The low flickering light illuminated a space almost identical to the small room Amleth himself had been occupying. There was a bed, and heavy chains strung above it which ran down to an unmoving lump.

Amleth didn't hesitate. He lunged. Fast enough to slip from Roman's grasp, a flurry of teeth and claws. His feet screeched to a halt as he descended on the figure. "What is this?" he hissed. Not his wretched sister. It was a monstrous thing. Sunken flesh stuck to bones. Grey skin sagged in folds.

Roman dragged him away from the bed. Straining to reach the body, Amleth managed to jam a nail into it. The thing did not move. A stinking pus oozed from the bloodless cut. It was a corpse. Yet it was not dead.

The mass of curls on the head, the perfume, the rings hanging loose around the finger bones. These were unmistakable. The tugging sensation in his chest did not lie either - this was his sibling. He had felt her dull presence growing as he had neared the place.

"This is Thea's penance," Roman explained. "She failed to rescue your children. The least she could do is save you."

Amleth spat at her. "I abjure you. I revile you. May a thousand dogs defile your corpse."

Roman did not react. "She can likely still hear, if she chooses to listen." The room suddenly felt sweltering. Amleth struggled to escape the room. Roman's iron grasp loosened and he stumbled out, gasping for fresher air. "Not the reunion you had hoped for?"

"Feed her," Amleth ordered. "Fatten her back up. Get her going again."

"Her blood can't heal you, Amleth. No matter the amount. I've already drained her dry three times over."

"Feed her!" Amleth cried. His yell bounced echoes down the underground corridor. "Just wake her. I have time."

Roman's hand settled on his shoulder, then he cupped his jaw in sympathy. "Dear boy, you don't have time. You're suffering from catastrophic silver poisoning. The dose you received in the bombing was fatal."

~OOO~

Amleth cried then. Crumpled on himself and wept as he had not wept since his maker had been murdered. So many tears for so many losses. For his children. For his failed revenge. For Eric. For all the love he had for Godric which had gone unrequited. For tender Rosalyn who would never love him. He wept for himself too, because no one else would. Not the family he had been born into and not the family he had chosen for himself.

Roman carried Amleth back in his arms. Slid him under the covers. Placed a damp washcloth in his hands for his tears. Combed his hair. When his hiccupping sobs had subsided, he spoke. Quietly, with unnerving calm. "There may be one last option we might consider. It is extremely risky."

Amleth's better sense and filter were gone. "Oh here it is. Tell me I'm going to die then offer me the option that's been in your back pocket this entire time. I'll pretend I was born yesterday, shall I?"

"You did not need me to tell you your condition is terminal. I suspect you've known it yourself for some time." Roman cleared his throat. "I have every reason to think this last effort will fail."

Amleth hummed, amused to hear what was coming. "I do so love a terrible plan." Roman leaned closer. "Oh, yes. Yes. Please confide in me. This is my favorite part. Lull me into your confidence."

The ancient sat back in annoyance, gathered his hands, and made to leave. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "The next visitor I bring here is an assassin who specializes in your kind. You may wish to hold your tongue."

~OOO~

Time blurred again in strange blips of consciousness. A frightened servant brought wine cups full of blood. He left them so far out of reach that Amleth could barely close his fingers around the stem to pull them near. He drank what he was given, freely, if not dutifully. And he grew anxious.

Roman's riddles tumbled inside his addled brain. Vampire assassins were a dime a dozen. Did he mean that he was bringing someone whose specialty was killing Sheriffs? That expertise cost a pretty penny - but it was hardly uncommon. Amleth could think of two dozen reliable assassins off the top of his head. What use would that person be to him, anyway? Killers didn't heal, unless this person dealt in both - like a witch. The thought gave him goosebumps. Or did Roman mean to bring someone who murdered Tarquinii? Given the clan's numbers, it seemed rather too niche to be profitable. Nothing made sense. He wished Eric were here to talk it through with him. He muddled and worried, until that muddled worry became boredom.

He found himself taunting the silent bond with Thea in his chest. At first he swore at her and detailed all the violent ways he planned to kill her. Then, he got creative. "Hey Ragface. You're a mummy who missed her own funeral. Might say you missed the bandage wagon!"

Eventually, he ran out of lousy puns, and simply flooded the tie with a stream of thought. He asked Thea all the questions he had carried around since the murders. Why? Why did she do it? Whatever had Tarquin done to her to deserve the true death? Their maker had been preoccupied with Council business, true. He was often distracted, or away, or was sending them away to do his dirty work. It was hard being his child, Amleth conceded. Tarquin had been a very hard man to love at times. But they'd had each other. Her siblings were dedicated to one other. Why kill Arun and Sibyl? What had they done?!

Amleth ruminated, and wept a little more, and felt loneliness gnaw at him. Thea had been cruel to him from the beginning - and sneaky. She hurt him in the shadows, when their Master and Arun weren't there to see. She bullied Amleth and manipulated him and found ways to make Tarquin blame him for her disruptions. His maker had been oblivious of her abuses at best, dismissive of them at worst.

Amleth hadn't fared much with his other sire. Godric's attention was the opposite of his Master's. Too attentive. The scrutiny was relentless, unforgiving, viciously demanding - and always, always in Eric's favor, even when the blond bastard was in the wrong. Everyone paid for Eric's fuckups. Amleth had been exiled so many times by Godric he had lost count. That he had finally been abjured seemed inevitable.

Roman was right. There was never anyone around to take care of him when he needed it. Amleth had spent half his life running messages between Tarquin and Godric - or getting passed back and forth between them like a child of divorce. Always in transit, nowhere truly at home.

He was an unloved child, and unwanted at that. Unwanted twice over.

~OOO~

Roman spoke his name softly. He wanted him to wake up. Fingers cupped the back of his head, lifting it. "...won't help unless you convince him," Amleth heard him saying. "You must wake up."

The pain in his muscles and joints was excruciating. A cool palm caressed his forehead, then brushed back his hair. Amleth managed to open his eyes. Roman's face filled his vision. He appeared relieved. When he stood, Amleth saw there was a man with him. A tall, willowy man with a thick iron collar around his neck and matching iron manacles. "Hello, Mixie Pixie," he said meanly.

Amleth's fangs shot down. The man was Fae. Full-blooded Fae - and on this side of the veil. His scent was well-masked, but the timbre of his voice and the sheen of his skin was a dead giveaway. "What the hell are you doing with that in here," Amleth demanded to know.

Roman pushed the hesitant fairy toward the bed. "Mind your manners, Amleth. This is Neave Setant."

The name curdled in Amleth's gut. The Setants were Water Fae. If Prince Niall were to learn that vampires were cavorting with his clan's enemies, the treaty between the two magical species would be off. Bringing this creature here was total madness; Roman was risking another inter-species war. Risking it…to save him. The thought humbled him enough to find his composure. "Charmed, I'm sure," Amleth said. "Roman, you keep the most interesting company."

"Neave here has a proposition for you. I suggest you listen to him and consider it carefully."

Neave curled a lip. "I don't like the look of him."

"I never suggested that you would," Roman responded. "I am only surprised he felt strong enough to drop fang at you. Consider it a compliment. He is making an effort." Roman reached up and double-checked the tautness of Amleth's chains. Satisfied, he nodded to the fairy.

"Go on. Scram." Neave shooed him. "That was the agreement."

Roman gave a long appraising look at the fairy before turning a skeptical eye on Amleth. "He's useless with the irons on, of course."

"Of course." Amleth gave a watery smile. He didn't need to be told that fairies' magic was incapacitated by iron.

"Do call out if he misbehaves. I prefer to handle his discipline myself." He shot another cool look at Neave and the fairy visibly cowered.

Alone, Neave crept to Amleth's bedside. The lamplight on the table revealed webs of silvery scars mottling his skin. Vampire bites - a great many of them. Amleth furrowed his brow. "What the –"

Certain that Roman was out of earshot, Neave leaned forward. "What year is it?" he asked frantically.

"What?"

"The year! What year are they saying it is?" Amleth told him. A look of astonishment lit across his features. "Much longer than I reckoned," the fairy muttered to himself. "I hadn't realized…"

"How long have you been here?" Amleth asked.

"Here? No. Not here. Here and there. Wherever Roman puts me. Can't keep track. Always underground, you see. Terrible conditions for a fairy. Just terrible." Neave rambled, the glint of madness plain in his speech. He abruptly stopped talking, and listened. Then he sniffed at the air. "You're not a halfsie Mixie. More like a sixthteenthsie. An itsy bitsy Mixie Pixie."

Amleth groaned. "Oh, gods. You're one of those lunatic blood purists."

When a great plague struck the Fae in the 1700s, the Water Fae blamed it on interbreeding with humans. They killed human-fae hybrids to "purify" their bloodlines and started all manner of conflicts with vampires. Prince Niall closed the portals to Faerie in order to preserve the Fae-Vampire Treaty. Niall knew the truth - human iron smelting from industrialization was killing off his kind. A thought occurred to Amleth. Full-blooded fairies didn't live in this world. Hadn't, for centuries. "Surely you haven't been Roman's prisoner since the Ferrum Plague."

Neave smiled madly, showing off two rows of vicious pointed teeth. "You are never getting out of here."

"So I've been told. You wanted to run something by me?"

"I never killed a Mixie like you."

"And you never will," Amleth scoffed. "There are no vampire-fairy hybrids but me."

The idea agitated him. Neave rocked in his seat. "A rare kill. Rare kill indeed. A unique notch you'd be on my knife."

"What can I do for you, Neave? If you hadn't noticed, I'm rather busy dying."

Neave dropped his voice to a whisper. "Kill the Brigant prince. You lure Niall out, we turn him to fairy dust, and I will heal you."

"What? Why on earth would you do that?"

"For Prince Breandan. Breandan takes the throne. Water Fae rule supreme."

Amleth squinted. He hadn't even known Niall's nutcase brother Breandan Brigant was still alive. And he had allied himself with the Water clan? Fairy bullshit was truly stunning. "Roman wants Breandan to rule Faerie," Amleth confirmed, then added, "Why exactly?"

Neave flashed a silvery arm beneath the lamp, showing off hundreds of bites. "No more Tru Blood. No more mainstreaming. A new supply for loyal fangers only. Fresh fairies. Sky Fae enemies for the feast! How do you think he gets his powers?"

"What powers?" Amleth asked, dropping his voice low.

"From me? The usual," Neave replied, annoyed that the vampire did not know. "Strength, flight, better resistance to the sun. No telepathy - need a Sky Fae for that. Or fire. He has the demon for that one. Nasty way to get it."

Amleth blinked several times, stunned. Roman could fly from drinking fairy blood. He could wield the dreaded fire gift from his enslaved demon.

"You want to say yes. Say yes. Kill Niall. Save us both."

"I…can do that," Amleth found himself saying. "I'll do that for you. We're kin, no? But…" He managed to prop himself up on one elbow. "Nah. I don't buy it. You're not Water Fae. I think you're a Wormwood at best. Maybe a Trunktoad."

"A Trunk…A Trunktoad!" Neave said in outrage. "I'll have you know I'm the grandson ten times over of the Great Sea Queen herself!"

"Oh ho ho, the mythical sea queen. Yeah right."

Amleth laughed heartily at him, and mocked him, and flung more insults at him. Enraged, Neave scraped back the chair and it clattered to the ground. "You stupid, ragged, half-dead, silversucking, dingdonged, skally-wagged son of a rat-lover! Mixie scum, you are!"

"Prove me wrong, frog-licker," Amleth goaded.

Neave leapt onto the bed to throttle him, hands aimed straight at Amleth's neck. Amleth did not waste a second. Like a Venus fly trap, he snapped his arms and legs shut over the fairy and sunk his teeth in as far as they would go right behind the creature's ear. Neave screamed bloody murder and Amleth sucked with every last ounce of his strength. He gorged, the bed shaking violently as he struggled. He drained the man as fast as he could, gulping down gouts of blood without ever swallowing.

By the time Roman shot through the door, slamming it to pieces on its hinges, Amleth felt the fairy's spark come walloping out through his neck and down into his mouth.

Amleth ate it whole.

A/N: Thoughts? Theories? Leave a note in the box below. Thanks for reading! xx, M