Every inch of her body ached. It was a dull but constant ache. Kate had been pacing the room until she was sure she was gouging a trench in the floor. Even though the bracelets were gone, she could still feel the burning and irritation. Without her other hand, she raked her wrist across any and every surface to get the itch, tearing open the skin until her blood dripped off her fingers.

How long had it been since Cyrille left? Hours? Days? Fuck, he could have left her there for weeks for all she knew.

Looking out the window didn't help, because of course, it didn't. Why did he even have windows in this place if there was nothing but pitch-black darkness outside? There was nothing but the abyssal black inside too! The walls were black, the floor was black, the ceiling was black. Even the fucking toilet was black. Was there anything in this realm that wasn't black?

She had to get out of there. The memories were already beginning to tug at the edges of her mind. Taunting her. Promising her far worse than any physical pain the withdrawal would give her.

The sound of the door handle turning caught her attention. Kate whirled around and bolted for the door, keeping low and slipped under Cyrille's arm. "Katalin," he called after her, irritation drenching his voice. "Come back. There's nowhere for you to go."

She lost her footing on the stairs and rolled down the latter half, smacking her head hard on the step. Despite the world spinning wildly, she scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the closest door. It just led to another black room, but there was yet another door. Before she could reach this one, the towering form of an archangel came out of the wall and blocked her way, its fiery red eyes looking down at her. "Get out of my way!" she commanded. It didn't budge, and a rage that could only come from her mother rose in her chest. "Move!"

Cyrille's arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and dragged her away and back up the stairs, ignoring her screaming and kicking. In a moment, she was back in the room with the door closed and Cyrille blocking her way. She shoved her sweat-soaked hair from her face and pulled at the roots to focus her mind. "Okay, Cyrille," she sucked in a breath, desperately trying to calm herself down. "I get it. I get it! I have to get clean. You made you're point loud and clear. I'm done with the venom."

"I'm happy to hear that, Katalin," he said without smiling. "Your cooperation makes this easier."

She stepped closer and slipped her shaking hand up his shirt to rest on his hard chest. "Come on," she whispered as seductively as she could. "I'll be good. I'll cooperate. You can end this now."

"No, I can't."

"Didn't you enjoy feeding me last time?" she gave him a hooded gaze and bit her lip.

"Of course, I did."

"Then feed me again... please... just... just give me enough strength to tell you my name."

A pained expression crossed his face. He reached after her hand, gripping her wrist tightly and pulling it away. "No."

"Bastard!" she screamed and ripped her hand out of his grip. "Isn't this what you want? Me begging for you? Well, here you go, Cyrille! Please feed me! Do whatever the fuck you want to me! Whatever fetish you've got, I'm in! You want me to take it up the ass? I'll bend over right now, just give me something and make it stop!"

"Oh, my dear Katalin," he stepped up to her, raised his hands, and cupped her face. With the slightest touch, her eyes fluttered, and her breathing hitched. "I want you begging. I want you on your knees, begging me to show you what that pretty little mouth should be used for."

Kate bit her lip and tried to lower herself, but Cyrille held her still. "Please..." she whimpered.

"Not yet," he stroked her hollow cheeks with his thumbs. "Not now. Not like this. I want you begging when you are clear-eyed and sober. I want you to be yourself when you beg for me."

Hatred flooded her eyes, and she shoved away from him. "Tabarnak, you're a fucking dumbass," she snarled. "Don't you fucking get it? There is no other me! This is the 'real' me! Whatever you're looking for doesn't exist!"

"You're starving yourself. You're refusing your base nature. Anything is better than that."

"Do you really think any of that is going to change if I'm sober? Do you really think I'm going to wake up, see the light and start killing people so I can get at their souls? That's not who I am!"

"You don't need to kill to feed."

"Yes, I do. Oh, and fucking gods, Cyrille, I will kill."

"Didn't you hear a damn thing your Templar friend said? Succubi don't-"

"Pureblood succubi don't need to kill! I take after my father, but there is enough of my mother in me that when I start... I can't fucking stop."

Kate stormed away and resumed her pacing. He hadn't been expecting that little snippet into her heritage. Mixed bloods among demons were extremely rare and just as powerful. Another glimpse into why he struggled to resist her. It did not explain why he was suddenly so furious that she lied to him about her breed.

Cyrille took a deep, calming breath. He couldn't get angry with her. Not when the venom was doing more of the talking. The withdrawal was messing with her emotions, heightening them to extremes. In a few more weeks, she would be okay. Hungry, yes. She would be hungrier than she had ever been before. But her system would be clear of the drug.

"Can you tell me what your mother was?" he tried to sound as patient as possible. "Depending on her breed, you still might not need to kill."

Her pacing paused, and sadness flashed across her features. Then, it was gone, and she glared at him again. "Tell you what," she snapped. "How about you take me home, I'll tell you all about my mother, and we can pretend none of this ever happened."

"I'll take you home when you're clean, and I can trust you."

"Then I guess you'll never know." She smirked as if to say, 'what now?'

He just shrugged. "I guess not."

That infuriated her. Despite the distinct lack of a magical signature, her eyes flared. Kate bent down, grabbed the leg of the bedside table, and hurled the entire thing at him with incredible speed and strength. He barely ducked out of the way before it exploded against the wall. "Go fuck yourself!"

~

It was ripping Aarón apart to leave Danika at that fucking hotel. He should be up there with her. He should be holding and comforting her.

He hadn't done enough for her in the catacombs. He should have tried to explain to her that Cyrille had a thing for her little demon friend. Kate was going to be okay. He wanted to respect her wish for space... but after everything that just happened with Cyrille...

He'd never seen the High Sin so furious. He'd never seen him exude anything more than bored amusement. Even Celeste, who was usually the calmer, more rational of the two, had been blinded with rage when they learned what she was. He had no choice but to get her out of there as soon as possible.

Instead of going back to the packhouse, where he would undoubtedly have Jean or one of the other alphas waiting to ream him out for fucking a vampire over the perfectly eligible omegas, Aarón turned down the road that would take him to Tentation. He needed answers.

Celeste was standing at the bar, looking over several papers, when he arrived. It was strange to see the club so empty. His eyes were immediately drawn to the vast dancefloor where he first laid eyes on Danika. She had been wild and all smiles that night. "You'd better be alone," the succubus growled without looking up.

"She's not here," he assured her. "I just dropped her off."

"Good. You should let her know that this club is off-limits to her. We see her here, and she's fair game."

Aarón fought back his instinct to snap at her and settled into one of the stools. "What is the Templar Order?" he asked soberly.

She finally looked up from the business reports. Those sharp yellow eyes were fierce and unforgiving. "Why don't you ask your girl?"

"I'm trying to understand, Celeste. Work with me, here."

She huffed and slammed the book closed. "It's a bad sign when the werewolf with a vendetta is acting reasonable," she grumbled. "I just know the ending. Cyrille would be the better one to get the whole thing from."

"I don't think Cyrille wants to see my face right now."

There was a laugh in the corner, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Raphaël in a lounging couch looking over his own papers. "Cyrille doesn't want anything to do with anyone except that little succubus," he said without looking up. "Never seen him of all people get his panties in a twist over a girl."

"Watch it, vamp," Celeste hissed. "That's one of my sisters you're talking about."

"Yeah? And how many of your 'sisters' has he fucked over the years we have known each other? I've never seen you get your panties in a twist over a girl."

"Kate's different."

"How?"

She didn't answer. Her mouth twisted around unspoken words before she pressed her lips together in a tight line. "I can't explain it. But Cyrille and I aren't the only ones. Since her first visit here, every demon that's come across her remembers her. It's like we're drawn to her."

Raphaël just chuckled again and looked back down at his papers. Aarón's phone blared in his pocket. One look at it told him it was yet another call from Darius. He turned it to silent. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to him yet. Certainly not the truth; that his bartender gave up her freedom in a demon deal. The old lycan was oddly protective of the girl. Maybe whatever was affecting Cyrille and Celeste was working on him too.

"So," he pressed gently. "Who are the Templars?"

"It's like she said back in the catacombs. They're weapons. Born into the order, they train their entire lives to do one thing. Kill. Specifically, kill Ancient breeds. Those blades we took from her were forged in the holy fires of Jerusalem. One silver, one iron, imbued with veil magic to kill pretty much anything except the dragonkin and maybe the elves. That includes werewolves and vampires." She shot a glare at Raphaël, and he ignored her.

"Why not elves or dragonkin?" Aarón asked. "The dragonkin and elves are more Ancient than any other breed."

"They're weapons, not tools. No one in their right mind targets the dragonkin in case they piss off a dragon, which is impossible to kill, period. And the elves have enough of their shit together that if you attack one, they will come down on you with the full force of this world's magic. I'll give the bastards that much. They know how to pick their battles."

"Makes you wonder what a vampire with Templar training could do given a chance," Raphaël muttered more to himself than to either of the others. "I got to see what she did to those lycans before the demon got loose. She charged right in and didn't waste a single movement. The exact opposite of the evade and strike tactic that Constantine's military teaches."

"Templars specialize in close combat," Celeste spat. "Goes back to the days where gun powder was only available for canons, or not at all."

"You still haven't really explained what they are. What is the Order?"

"They're an army. Before they called themselves Templars, they were a ragtag, outsider group of humans from various religions who believed in the supernatural. This was thousands of years before the transition. They sought out Ancient under the vague notion of scholarly pursuit. They wanted to learn about us. Not just demons, but about every breed.

"If our own demonic history is to be believed, we were one of the many who contributed to their knowledge. We were a fringe group in this world as well. We could relate. Greed, Wrath, and Lust were desperate to show this world that we just wanted the right to exist as every other breed. Vampires drink human blood, werewolves eat human flesh, dragons have wiped out entire civilizations with a swipe of a tail, and yet we are cast as evil for needing to live off souls.

"Reading between the lines of our texts and the 'official' Counsel version, things went downhill when the scholars were exposed to one of our more... unsavory abilities. If I had to guess, they probably met Envy."

An indescribable chill rapidly cooled the room. Aarón looked between Celeste, who looked sick for just mentioning the Sin, and Raphaël, who'd gone unnaturally still. "That's one of Cyrille's brothers, isn't he?"

"They," Celeste corrected quietly.

"What?"

"Demons don't adhere to this world's traditional identity of gender. In the veil, we are genderless. We are less than nothing. A semi-physical cloud of magic with a barely functional consciousness. It isn't until we return to this side and obtain a body of our own that we take on pronouns. Many still don't. The archangels, for example, are identical down to their very aura. I don't even know how they reproduce."

"That sounds... complicated."

"Look," Raphaël laughed over his shoulder. "Just assume that every demon you meet, whether they have tits the size of watermelons or a cock like a python, is without gender. Refer to them as they and them until they tell you otherwise. Easy, right?"

"But... You are obviously a female. And Cyrille is so clearly a male..."

"Yeah, this time around." She rolled her eyes. "My essence has always been wrapped up in a female form because it's what I prefer. Cyrille has been a male as long as you have known him. He made one hell of a pirate queen before he took up his current form."

"Oh, I have to hear this story!" Raphaël got up from the couch and joined the other two at the bar.

"Later, please. What does Envy have to do with your issues with the Templars?"

There was that chill again, and Celeste actually shivered. "Don't say their name so loud. It's bad luck." Aarón glanced at Raphaël, who looked just as confused. She sighed softly. "You two don't get it. You've both seen Cyrille do some crazy shit but trust me, none of it compares to anything he's truly capable of. The Sins are our gods. They created us. Most demons on either side of the veil have never even seen one of The Seven. I'm one of the few demons in history to have seen them all side-by-side.

"Some of them, Cyrille, Wrath, Lust, and Pride, love us as their creations. They truly made us with the care it takes to build a sentient being. The strongest demons you'll ever meet are from one of those four. Sloth was too lazy to make more than one or two attempts, and Gluttony only created wild flesh-eaters as a way to hunt for them. Envy," she trembled. "They're the only one who can't hold a physical form. All the stories you hear about possession and souled creatures being forced to bend to the wills of a demon come from them and their creations. Only the djinn have physical forms, and they are hardly trustworthy.

"Whatever those first Templars saw, it scared them. And when humans get scared, they get violent. So they turned on all Ancients, not just demons. They didn't pick up the title until Catholicism got popular, but they were well known across the world. Violent killers with a dogged determination to wipe anything supernatural off this earth. They didn't care how many humans they had to kill in the crossfire.

"That's how we met. It was the second or third century... my parents were exorcised in one of the raids. They were about to do it to me too when Greed arrived. It was... incredible. One of my gods wept over my parents' bodies. Two demons they would never meet and never would have met if it weren't for the war. I've been by their side ever since. First, in that form, then the pirate queen, and now as Cyrille. That city in the catacombs, I helped build it. Cyrille and Pride were terrified it was going to get worse.

"They were right. The crusades were as much a human versus human war as it was a human versus Ancient war. Kate is actually a great example of what that time was like for us. We had to hide what we were. We couldn't risk forming family groups. Younglings starved themselves, taking a soul only when they thought they could get away alive.

"We begged the Counsel to intervene. They were killing more than just demons. Thousands of shifters and humans were killed whether or not they had any knowledge of our kind. This was a good three or four hundred years before the official transition, so the discussion always came to whether it was worth exposing ourselves to an official human governing body."

"I've heard this one before," Aarón muttered sourly. "I'm going to take a wild guess and assume they never came to a decision."

"Good doggo," she agreed with a bitter smirk at his growling. "Everyone has their breaking points. Cyrille, Wrath, and Pride reached theirs. They'd seen too many die. They were done waiting for a peaceful solution. Cyrille and Wrath marched an army across Damascus and killed every Templar they could find. Pride took his troops to Rome. They did not stop until the Pope publicly disavowed the Templar Order and signed an agreement with the Counsel.

"Your vampire's very existence is a direct violation of that agreement. The acknowledgment of her training gives us the right to declare war against the Vatican. Fortunately for them, it is simply easier to kill any Templar that pops up. Unfortunately for us, they're like cockroaches. Every time we think we got the last one, another fucking breeder shits out a clutch of eggs destined to hunt innocents."

A phone rang in the distance rang, and Celeste left the two males to go find it. "They're being too hard on her," Aarón hissed to Raphaël. "Danika had no control over her birth. She couldn't have chosen any other path."

Raphaël barked out a laugh. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Different situation."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. But, if you don't mind, I'd like a chance to talk to the girl. See what she's really made of. I'd like to see if she can teach us anything about evading the military-trained vampires we're going to run into with Constantine's army."

"I'll talk to her."

Celeste came back around the corner. "Darius is pissed at you." She nodded at Aarón. "He is not happy about losing his bartender. He also said something about getting your ass back to the packhouse and, his words here, put a pup in those two omegas. Oh, and your sister needs to get her head on straight and take a mate of her own."

The lycan let out an exasperated sigh, and Raphaël snickered. "Your uncle is really concerned with your mating habits."

"It seems everyone is," he growled back and glared at Celeste. "I don't see what the big deal is. No one's stopping him from taking another mate."

"Yeah," Celeste snorted. "Except the very foundation of magic."

They looked at her. "What are you talking about?" Aarón said slowly. "He's a sigma as well. He carries the blood of the first lycan. He is just as capable..."

He stopped when Celeste burst out laughing. She had to grip the counter to stop from crumpling to the ground. "You don't know!" she giggled hysterically. "This is... Holy shit, I can't believe he never told you!"

"Told me what?!"

"He's cursed, you stupid dog," she slumped against the counter again, her shoulders shaking with mirth. "His soulmate died. He can't take another mate. I thought you would have figured at least that much when you saw how little effect Kate has on him."

"I don't-"

"She's a starving succubus. Every one of those dumb Parisian wolves is guaranteed to have drooled over her since she started working for him. All except one. His soul is broken. There's nothing there for her to feed on. Honestly, I'm quite impressed. Most people don't live a full year after they lose their soulmates. How long has Darius been carrying that raisin of a soul?"

Aarón had stopped listening halfway through as the switch finally flipped and the light turned on in his head. Soulmate. That... that explained everything. Could she be...? Why else would he be so protective of her? Why else was he jumping through hoops to understand her heritage and forgive her for it? If she really was ... he couldn't lose her.

He glanced at Celeste, who was watching him with a knowing smirk on her face.

Fuck.

~