THE BUILDING IS QUIET.

It's a stifling, overwhelming kind of silence that causes all instincts to flare, and every wafting sound that resounds from further within is a threat. The pipes overhead shake and groan.

His footsteps echo in his ears. His breathing is heavy behind the mask. His rifle is held with steady hands. The duffel is slung over his shoulder, slaps his lower back, and he tries to keep from moving too hastily because he's very aware that inside there are enough explosives to level the entire building.

In a few rooms down from the one he'd been kept in, he'd found a hole behind some shelving that broke through a wall. It's a shortcut to the tiled passages leading down that the creature must have been using to access the rest of the building quickly without the use of an elevator.

He passes dusty and forgotten rooms, pausing only to sporadically place explosives and following Wyatt's instructions to arm the devices. He knows that Alexander will be with Nikolaos. That creature wants to consume him. Nikolaos made it abundantly clear that he believes Kiernan is the key to curing his affliction. He does not doubt that Nikolaos will use Alexander to lure him deep into his lair, believing their lie about their companionship.

Once there, they will be at the creature's mercy.

And here he is, entering the trap willingly.

He throws open the door at the end of the corridor. He has his rifle at the ready and sweeps the barrel over the quiet room.

There's no light except for a small window above that's covered with a trash bag to block the natural light. His eyes adjust, and he takes in the metal tables and metal shelving. It looks to be a lab of some sort that's been used recently. Scientific equipment, which he has no experience knowing the uses for, covers nearly every surface.

There's copious amounts of blood without a source on the floor and dripping from a metal table.

He can smell the irony scent with an undertone of familiarity and knows, with cold dread, that it's Alexander's blood. This is where the man was tortured for the last week.

Alexander's still alive.

He has to be.

Kiernan refuses to entertain any other outcome.

He focuses, rifle pointed forward, and moves past the metal tables and towards a pair of double doors left ajar at the end of the lengthy room.

He clicks on the flashlight attached to the barrel of his gun.

There's scraping against the tile that has him stilling.

Then there's an animal growl from his left.

Heart beating wildly and chest rising slowly. He slants his gaze and sees a black, furry shape slinking around the metal table, emitting a low, menacing snarl.

He recalls Alexander's shaky voice: 'That's not a dog.'

Kiernan agrees, because dogs do not unhinge their jaws with rows and rows of sharp, saliva- and blood-covered teeth.

He slowly slips the duffel of explosives off his shoulder and lets it gently drop to the tiles.

The beast lunges, and at the same moment, Kiernan shifts his stance to swing his rifle with his finger poised on the trigger.

The gun firing is loud enough that he can hear nothing for a few seconds. He's thrown to the ground by the heavy, crushing weight of the animal hitting his chest.

He drops his gun in the tussle with a clatter and instinctively shoves his hand under the snapping jaw that tries for his face.

He can feel the beast's rippled muscles and deadly strength that make even him, in his prime, struggle to keep from having his throat ripped out.

A paw swipes at his chest, and claws cut his skin with searing agony that has him tensing.

The animal seizes the vulnerability.

The mask muffles his scream when jagged teeth clamp onto his shoulder. The pain is nearly blinding when the beast begins whipping its head back and forth.

He shoves his fingers into its red eyes, cutting his forearm on the unhinged jaw of teeth that are set on ripping out a chunk of his flesh. He shoves harder, feeling a give, and warmth spurts over his hand.

The beast howls in pain.

Kiernan nearly vomits from the burning pain in his shoulder.

Slinging out an arm, he grabs for the duffel. He sticks his bloody hand into the slightly open zipper and grabs the first thing his fingers graze.

He sees what he holds, and fuck passes through his mind.

He pulls the pin and stuffs the grenade into the beast's maw. Jagged teeth cut his hand. Bile rises in his throat, but past the pain, he forces the explosive down its throat.

The animal rears back, lifting off his chest with gagging chokes.

He scrambles for his rifle and doesn't have enough room to take a good shot, but he does anyway.

The bullet's firing is met with a muffled howl that reaches past the ringing in his ears.

The beast is thrown off of him.

He doesn't have time to feel relief that he's not being crushed because he's busy letting loose a raw, drawn-out noise of agony from the rifle's kickback hitting his wounded shoulder.

He scrambles to sit and scoots back hastily.

In passing, he shoves the duffel of explosives away, and it skids across the floor, sliding under a cabinet.

Was the grenade a dud? He fully expected to have his legs blown to bits, but he's staring at the intact animal, which is still choking and struggling to rise from where it's fallen onto its side.

He doesn't stop moving backward. His back hits the metal cabinetry, and he takes in ragged breaths. His shoulder is healing, but not fast enough to give him relief. The pain is bone-deep.

The beast rises and snarls, blood dripping from its maw and tapping against the tile.

Then, the animal explodes.

He instinctively flinches and covers his head with his arms, protecting himself from the burning heat licking at his skin. He's splattered with warm chunks of flesh and blood.

A sharp pain erupts in his right thigh.

He hisses through his teeth, looks down, sees the metal piece of shrapnel deep in his leg, and tugs it out.

He drops his arm and tosses the shrapnel, taking in gulping breaths as he waits for his healing to quell the worst of the pain.

There's debris scattered on the burnt, ashy tile. Sparks of a consuming flame remain, burning away fallen papers. The metal was from a nearby table that erupted.

The beast is in pieces.

He kicks what looks to be a furry hind leg away with a snarl.

There's a soft whooshing from above.

The pipes rattle.

"Of course," Kiernan grumbles.

The sprinklers above turn on.

Cold water cascades down. Dripping from his hair and numbing his skin. He forces himself to rise, his thigh aching. He glances at his shoulder. The injury is healing, but the savage bite is still deep and thick enough to cause a churning of nausea at the sight.

He grabs the duffel and zips it closed, hoping that its rough fabric is thick enough to not soak through. Then he moves to grab his rifle and hesitates.

Near the door he entered, his gaze locks on the thick glass dripping with cold water that reads, Break in case of emergency.

If Nikolaos won't fall from a mere bullet.

Then an axe hacking off his vile head will have to do.

He limps down dark corridors with the fire axe held tightly with bloody hands, soaked. The sprinklers stopped cascading freezing water. He can only see forward because of the red of the blinking emergency lights that have turned on. The silence is broken by the distant sound of an emergency alarm.

He reaches a set of metal doors. It's cold here on the lowest level. He's lost sense of how far he's travelled and feels like he's entered a hole in the earth that's home to nothing but darkness.

He can smell death. It sits heavy in the air.

He can also smell the familiar almond-scented staleness even through the mask's respirator. Inside is the source of the poison. And Alexander.

He turns the knob.

He holds the axe's handle firmly with both hands and shoulders the door open, feeling no fear, only vengeful rage.

It's a large square room of off-white tiling, shrouded sheet-covered furniture, barrels that he can smell the poison emitting from, and bodies in varying degrees of rot piled high against a wall to the left. At least a dozen.

He forgets the sight of the open chest cavities devoid of organs the moment he sees the man who's bound to a similar metal medical table that he'd suffered upstairs.

He limps to Alexander's side. The man's alive. His chest rises and falls. But he's in terrible condition. Dark, nearly black contusions and gashes. There's so much blood that it's difficult to see where Alexander's injured.

"Alexander," Kiernan whispers hoarsely, dropping the duffel to the floor.

He places the axe on the edge of the table, near Alexander's thigh, and works on undoing the strapping to the man's wrists and ankles. His heart hastens at Alexander's pained groan.

The relief Kiernan feels when his bleary brown eyes blink up at him with a spark of recognition is nearly overwhelming.

He unfastens both ankle straps.

Moving to the head of the table, Kiernan whispers, "I'm here, partner."

"You're hurt," Alexander rasps weakly.

Kiernan scoffs. "Me? I'll heal." He finishes untying the last wrist strap and whispers miserably, "You won't."

Alexander's human. That truth has never been more glaring. His dripping blood taps the tile beneath the table.

There's a scruff of shoes from behind him, blocking the way he entered. There's a pair of double doors to his left-too far for him to grab Alexander and run.

"Kiernan," Alexander rasps, struggling to sit up. "Go..." He gasps for breath. "I'm done for."

"I won't leave you," Kiernan growls, picking up the axe.

Kiernan turns and meets Nikolaos's dark smile with an apathetic gaze, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest.

Nikolaos laughs, and the sound resounds through the room. His presence throbs Kiernan's blood uncomfortably. The vampire within him recognizes the threat of this creature, and despite his resolve, he shivers with apprehension.

Kiernan tips his chin. "Just so you know, I blew up your dog."

"That is a shame," Nikolaos says, approaching at a languid pace. "It was a loyal animal." He tilts his head and stops, close enough for Kiernan to see the way the creature's red eyes grow brighter unnaturally. "How about a deal, vampire?"

Kiernan allows his glare to be his reply. His fingers flex on the axe's handle. He's primed to react, and he's shaking from the tenseness in his muscles.

"Give yourself to me," Nikolaos says darkly. "'I'll let your companion go free."

"No, you won't."

"No," Nikolaos admits. "But you would have died thinking I did, and that is merciful." He grins, his teeth bloody. "I'll make you watch while I kill him, and then when you're broken, I'll consume you."

Kiernan's hip hits the edge of the table, hastily putting space between him and the slowly advancing creature. "Tempting, but I'll have to pass."

Nikolaos laughs, his ravenous red eyes never wavering. They continue their dance with Kiernan backing up, the axe held tightly, and Nikolaos keeping a hunting pace.

He catches a hint of motion near Nikolaos's left leg. Alexander is on his knees, half-hidden by the table. He's shaking the duffel, spilling the explosives onto the ground, and arming them one by one with bloody fingers.

"Come on," Kiernan growls, keeping Nikolaos's attention solely on him. "You want me, then come on." He stops backing up and stands his ground. "I won't make this easy for you."

He has to admit to himself that Nikolaos rushing him is by far the most frightening sight he's ever encountered. Blood-red eyes devouring him and pinning him in place from their intensity alone and the dark presence that suddenly soars from stifling to suffocating in seconds.

Breaking past his breath-hitching reaction, his rage takes over, and he snarls, swinging the axe towards Nikolaos's torso.

He meets only air, the creature side-stepping the attack with ease.

Kiernan doesn't falter in his viciousness, swinging the bladed edge towards his left seconds before a clawed hand would have grasped his arm.

He misses again.

Claws descend. His side erupts with pain. His back. His chest. His thigh. His flank. And then he's in pain everywhere.

He's outmatched.

He can't land a hit.

He's sure that he's going to embed the axe into Nikolaos's shoulder, only to take a cruel kick to his stomach that has him staggering back.

His flank hits the edge of the table, and his legs nearly buckle. He grips the axe tighter and forces himself to straighten.

He's in intense pain, but he won't cower from the creature smirking at him from the middle of the room.

Nikolaos purrs, "When I take this world and build my kingdom with the bones of your brethren." He stalks closer. "I will worship you. My children will worship-" He stops, tilting his head and frowning at Kiernan's pained smile.

Then, the creature looks down and sees the explosive device with its blinking red light at his feet. Nikolaos snarls, "What is this?"

He never needed to hit the bastard. He just needed to buy time.

Kiernan doesn't hesitate, rushing forward, while Nikolaos glares down at the duct-taped explosive. He brings the axe down with all the strength he possesses, delving the blade into the curve of Nikolaos's shoulder and neck.

Black blood sprays across his mask.

Nikolaos howls a feral noise that will haunt his nightmares, unnaturally deep, pained, and angry.

He lets go of the axe's handle and runs to Alexander, who's struggling to rise with a hand gripping the metal table.

He yanks the man to stand, slinging Alexander's arm over his shoulder, and pulls him along, stumbling along. He hopes that Alexander armed enough explosives in time.

Looking over his shoulder, Nikolaos is struggling to remove the axe, his head nearly severed and his form twitching violently as it tries to heal itself but cannot.

They burst through the closed doors, stumbling down the corridor. He can smell a draft of violent wind and hear a distant howl from the raging storm.

There's an exit nearby.

"Shit!" Alexander groans. He's obviously in intense pain and fighting for breath, but they cannot slow.

Kiernan keeps Alexander moving, half-dragging him along as the man staggers to keep up with the fast pace.

Alexander whimpers, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Kiernan has to agree.

At the end of the corridor, he sees a pair of closed doors; the windows are blackened with paint. He gasps with relief and gasps again when he shoves them open, and bright sunlight blinds him for a few seconds.

He lets them both fall to the rain-battered asphalt.

Kiernan rips off his mask and tosses it to the side. He shoves Alexander onto his back and lays his palms on the man's bruised cheeks. "Stay awake."

"I'm trying," Alexander rasps.

"Try harder."

Alexander manages a weak smile, his teeth bloody. Then, his eyes flutter shut, and he falls unconscious.

Kiernan feels a wrenching in his gut that isn't from adrenaline or his brush with that living nightmare.

Footsteps approach from the other side of the building. Gianna turns the corner just as Kiernan shouts, "Blow it! Now!"

Gianna gives a hasty affirmation.

Kiernan can hear Wyatt answer excitedly but doesn't listen further, focused on Alexander's slowing heartbeat. He blinks past the falling rain, dripping from his hair, and slides his bloodied palm against Alexander's, gripping the man's limp fingers tightly.

He'd rather suffer Nikolaos's torture one hundred times over than have Alexander's waning heartbeats stop.

He won't let this happen.

He won't let Alexander die.

The building at his back shakes, and the ground trembles. He flinches. The windows shatter outward, and fragments speckle the ground. The fire from the explosion warms his back, but he doesn't care to look, shielding Alexander from danger with his body.

When the rumbling stops, there's a gentle graze of a touch across his upper back.

Gianna crouches beside him. "He's too far gone for medical." She stares at Alexander's unconscious form. "I could save him. I've done it before."

Kiernan whispers, "I'll do it."

Thunder booms in the distance.

Gianna looks at him sharply, her grey eyes wide. "No, shit." She looks shaken. "Really? You? You're sure?"

Kiernan wishes he could ask Alexander what he'd want, but he cannot. The man is on the edge of death.

He looks at Gianna, and whatever doubt he's keeping is gone when he says coolly, "Tell me what to do."

"You'll know," Gianna replies gently. Her fingers tender slide through his hair, before she rises.

Gianna speaks in a soft tone to her squad. Her words are muted by the falling rain and loud cracks of lightning in the dark sky overhead.

Then footsteps depart, and they're alone.

Kiernan follows his instincts.

They're telling him to cradle Alexander's head and cushion it in his lap. He rolls his shirt sleeve up to his elbow, then bites into his wrist, deep enough for warm blood to drip from his fingers.

He brings the wound to Alexander's slack mouth.

He's taken blood and shared his many times.

But he's never felt anything like this before.

Chokes of renewed life take Alexander's limp form.

Then, as a hand grasps Kiernan's forearm, the slack mouth is suddenly alive and taking hungrily. Relief shakes through him. Knowing that Alexander has given in to his blood and accepted him without resistance gives him more happiness than he thought his dead heart was capable of.

Soaring affection for this man that he'd contemplated killing mere days ago rises to flutter his heart. In moments, the consuming void that Kiernan has carried since Mercalli's death a century ago is filled.