The shed groaned with every onslaught of evening wind pummeling its wooden siding.

He wasn't a wuss, even if he acted like one. He could take pain. He'd been trained to endure it since he turned nine years old, and Gabriel decided he was old enough for corporal punishment.

But this was different.

To hurt himself with intent was a whole new experience he'd never thought he'd have to stomach.

Since learning about Eliot, he'd been spiraling. The voices grew louder each night.

Tonight, their dark song was exacerbated when Rowan came to sit with him on the couch and nestled against his side. She always fit against him so perfectly. They'd talked, and he'd almost forgotten his madness.

But his whispers were hard to ignore.

They'd become so oppressive in her presence that he swore he'd felt a wintry chill and a shiver of dark euphoria. Giving in to their twisted whims had become so tempting that he nearly did, and it terrified him.

Because they wanted him to lay his hand against Rowan's slim throat and force the truth from her by any means.

What truly happened with Azrael? Was his uncle a replacement for Eliot, too? How did she escape Shadow Peaks? Did the night they shared mean nothing to her?

But he couldn't do it, not even because hurting her was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

He was a coward, afraid of the answers.

Pain had always worsened the whispers, but after sparring with Kenneth, a terrible idea had formed in his mind. Every hit of those sticks gave him a warped excitement and ached his fangs, flirting with his vampire side, but his mind had been quiet.

He had been giving in to their whims without realizing it.

Before, the pain had been a senseless attempt to relive his childhood trauma. Now, it felt like he was feeding the dark aspects he tried to repress, and the voices were lulled into a slumber, sated.

When they returned, they were louder, nearly overwhelming. But if he let them in just a bit, he hoped he could keep them from taking over entirely.

That was why he sought out Lucas tonight. He wanted to ask the man to hurt him and quell the whispers. But then he'd been under Lucas's fond regard and knew he couldn't use the man like that.

Not again.

He'd messed up in the bedroom earlier this afternoon. The whispers had taken over. He'd been aware of every kiss and touch, but he'd been moving as a puppet to their dark whims, in a ravenous trance, desire overshadowing logic.

He'd have to tell Rowan what had happened. Even if they weren't officially together, she deserved honesty when he told her what they had was over.

In the rickety chair beside a wooden cabinet where guns hung on the walls, bathed in shadow, he sat with a sheathed dagger in his lap.

Covering his eyes with a palm, he could barely hold back the tears burning his gaze fiercely.

Rowan hadn't comprehended what kind of danger she was in. She knew about the whispers, but not the extent of how twisted they were. He had to let her go. Just like with Lucas, he couldn't tangle them up in the fucked threads of insanity he was being strangled by daily.

Madness was his future. It'd happened to his ancestors, his uncle, but he'd hoped, for a foolish moment, that love would be enough to keep him in the light.

Asha said it enough, and he'd begun to believe her.

'Do not mourn the siren,' the shadows in his mind sang. 'She's here to lead you astray. Become who you are meant to be, seize your power, and the world will kneel for you.'

Reid unsheathed the dagger, fingers trembling. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight, streaming through the window near the door, white rays dancing across the dusty planks.

'Our king,' the voices wailed. 'Your humanity is a weakness. They're holding you back—making you weak.'

"Ever think I want to be weak?" Reid hissed into the shadows he swore ebbed when he dared to stare into them long enough.

He raised the dagger, the cold steel kissing his palm. His heart was a rapid beat against his chest. 

His natural will to not cause himself harm caused him to hesitate.

'Yes,' the whispers sang hungrily.

Holding his breath, he sliced his palm deeply and held his hand out, away from his lap. Pain shook his arm. His blood was warm, slipping under the cuff of his jacket and down his fingers, trickling onto the floor.

A sated sensation fell over him.

They liked it?

So be it.

If it would protect Rowan and everyone else he loved, he'd gladly make himself bleed.

'Yes, turn away, turn to us,' the voices heralded.

Reid held his breath, lifted his shirt, and stuffed the fabric into his mouth. He brought the tip of the bloody dagger to his stomach and, with cold resolve, gave the shadows dragging him into madness what they were singing for.

He didn't think about how similar the feeling of assuaging these voices was to being lost in those drugs. If he did, some logic might rouse to wake him up.

And he wanted to stay asleep for a little longer.

"You're soaked."

Reid glanced down, as if he didn't know his clothing dripped with rainwater.

"Yeah." His voice was high.

A hand seized his chin and dragged his gaze up.

Blinking into Kenneth's green eyes, Reid was certain everything he hid was being laid bare. He didn't know what to say or do, guilt crushing him. This wasn't the first time he'd gazed at Kenneth's face and trembled. But that was over a year ago.

And back then, he'd been playing with drugs.

Not cutting himself up so he could shelter the precious fragments of broken sanity he had left.

Kenneth kept a firm hold of Reid's chin, his other hand carrying a beige cup that smelled of coffee. "What were you doing out there?"

"Uh...taking a walk."

Kenneth frowned. "In the rain?"

Heart beating a mile a minute, Reid shrugged, forcing a smile.

"Reid?" Oh no. Not that voice. The one that meant Kenneth would pinch him to tears if he wasn't forthcoming in the next ten seconds.

"I like the rain." 

Reid cursed inwardly at the suspicious narrowing of Kenneth's eyes. The man knew he despised the rain. His stomach churned with guilt. He didn't want to lie, but Kenneth wouldn't understand. 

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "I found a dry spot under a tree and hung out for a while. I needed some alone time."

"Why? Are you alright?"

His mind was quiet. He was more than okay. "Yeah. I just needed a few minutes to think about stuff."

"You're sure that you're okay?"

"Yeah," Reid assured, smiling.

"If you're sure," Kenneth grumbled, brushing away hair that had fallen onto Reid's forehead with the backs of his fingers. He had been this way since the back rub—soft.

Reid wished the tenderness was enough.

"We need to cut your hair," Kenneth said after a quiet moment.

Reid wanted to lean into the man's touch, to bask in its gentleness. But shame fluttered in his gut, making him tense. "Sure," he replied. Then, he added softly, "I was actually considering dyeing it."

"Really?" Kenneth stared.

"Yeah. I've been sick of..." He didn't finish, his throat closing up. He was sick of resembling Eliot, Azrael, and Gabriel. He wanted to look in a mirror again and not feel like vomiting.

"It's a good idea." Kenneth plucked at his hair, thinking.

Smiling widely, Reid enjoyed being touched with familiarity, even if it was cursory.

Kenneth took a sip of his coffee and then said, "It might make going out into the city easier. Your hair stands out. It's fucking white."

"It's blonde," Reid defended.

"White-blonde."

Reid sulked, but a grin quickly overtook him after Kenneth's bent finger chucked him under the chin playfully. "What colour should I dye it?" He perked up. "Pink?"

"Pink? No. Black."

Touching his hair, Reid frowned. "You think so?"

"Yeah. It'll look good."

The words made his face redden. The world must have shifted on its axis, and now everything was topsy-turvy. He was supposed to make Kenneth blush, not the other way around.

"Oh?" Reid teased. "You think black would look good? Is that a fetish I didn't know about? Now I have to do it."

"Shut up," Kenneth replied, rolling his eyes. "You could pull off any colour. Black will bring out your eyes, dork."

"Bring out my eyes?" Reid sighed wistfully. "Do you even realize how romantic you are?"

"Of course I do," Kenneth returned gruffly, holding back a grin. "Now, come here."

When Reid stepped closer, unsure, Kenneth gripped his chin again.

Taking his time, Kenneth looked over Reid's face, using his grip to tilt Reid's head back and forth. "You look healed enough to train again tomorrow." Greeeeat. He should've fallen a few times on the way back to the house. "Your face is red, though. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Squeaky. You're talking like you're ten years old." Kenneth grinned, and in the low lighting, it was sort of menacing. "Did you lose your balls?"

Reid laughed, the sound too desperate for humour. If only Kenneth knew what his poor body had been through tonight. The worst healed, but some of the more severe gashes concealed by his clothing remained. His shirt merely grazing them caused an intense sting.

On second thought. He would rather Kenneth never, ever know.

"Are you asking so I can show you?" Reid grinned at Kenneth's eye roll. Losing any mirth he'd been keeping quickly, he shrugged. "I'm feeling off. That's all."

"Off?" Kenneth frowned, worried. "Are you sick?"

"Can vampires get sick?"

"I don't know. Can they? You're the vampire."

Reid shrugged.

"You look..." Kenneth seemed at a loss for words.

"What?"

Kenneth smiled, and it lit up his green eyes. "Like you. Are the voices not bothering you as much? You seem...better."

Reid's eyes burned. "Yeah."

The exhale of relief Kenneth made leapt Reid's heart.

"Come on," Kenneth said, obviously choked up but trying to hide it, turning away. "We're going through some more books. You can help research." He scoffed at Reid's groan, glaring over his shoulder. "Stop complaining—you're not fucking weaseling your way out of helping again."

"So mean."

"Hey!" Kenneth lifted his cup threateningly. "Idiot. Take off your shoes."

"Oh...." Reid stopped. He winced at the moist spots he'd left on the pine flooring.

Backing up, he untied his boots and set them neatly beside Lucas's.

When he looked up, Kenneth was gone. He could hear a low conversation in the kitchen; a few people were still awake, which was usual lately.

Late nights of researching and planning were their new normal. Lucky for him. Because that meant Kenneth was exhausted. And that was the only reason the man didn't sniff out Reid's lies tonight.

He took a step down the hallway and then turned back around rashly. He moved his boots to the other end of the mat. It was ludicrous, but seeing their shoes separated had him breathing a little easier.

Friends.

He needed to be that for Lucas—a friend. Even if a selfish part of himself wanted Lucas possessively. He refused to take everything from the man—body, heart, and soul.

He couldn't let the whispers triumph, not in that, at least.

But that didn't mean he wasn't mourning the loss of what they'd had, the stolen moments that felt like a daydream.

One day, if he survived this curse and the war this winter, he might be fortunate enough to witness Lucas's handsome face light up with a genuine smile. The cloying fantasy of Lucas's bourbon eyes gleaming with happiness made the intense despair he was carrying worth every ache.