The faint tapping of blood dripping from the steel of the blade is a muted melody he's heard many times before and basks in because it means the fight is over. He won. Never a doubt, but he likes to be reminded of his morality ever so often. The death-filled quiet falls over what was once a din of violent grunts, screams, and shouts. The last moments of a vampire that Kane had almost decapitated near the shelving that conceals the elevator are breathy groans and a soft whimper. Then it's silent.

After a steadying breath, Kane is on the move once again, his body fatigued from his early exertion of magic while trying to keep Reid from Gabriel's clutches, his people everywhere like cockroaches. Henrik had taken a grisly hit to his side that, even in wolf form, looked ghastly. He was alive the last time Kane saw him, hobbling to the safety of the elevator with vague directions to the parking lot, his daughter's arm keeping his furry form upright.

Kane's been left to clean up the last of the vampires coming at them with the tenacity only a cult could ignite, fighting to the death, even with fear in their eyes upon seeing their brethren cleaved. Lucas went, on Kane's order, to find Reid after a piquing of Kane's deepest instincts, one to which he's learned to listen, told him that the idiot was in trouble. Then Colby came rushing in, snot-nosed and sobbing. Reid's in trouble, is all she said.

Concern for Reid is the only thing on his mind. Kane makes it to the opening of the shelving's makeshift corridor leading towards the back of the storage room, but then a hand grabs the lapel of his open jacket, and he's shoved flush with a tower of wooden crates. Strength doesn't keep him pinned. The familiar brown eyes, glowing with power, have struck him witless.

Hannah looks more or less unharmed, except for a darkening bruise on her forehead. But, nevertheless, she seems off, and it rouses Kane's worry.

"Hannah—" Kane's quieted with a kiss.

Their lips meet harshly. There's an electric sensation that isn't all that pleasant that zaps up Kane's arms, ascends the nape of his neck, and settles in his mind, awakening every instinct he possesses to roar for him to fight. But he physically can't pull away from the kiss, which is heady and consuming.

A beat drums loudly in Kane's ears.

There's a hand grasping Kane's wrist, twisting, surprisingly strong. Their kiss deepens. The blade in his hand clatters to the floor. Feeling her shift, Kane's fingers shackle Hannah's wrist, a hand having snuck around her lower back. He holds tight against the struggling woman, keeping her elbow bent behind her.

The beat drums faster.

Magic is in his mind, slithering like a snake. It would never have worked if Kane wasn't weakened from overusing his own power. He keeps the kiss passionate despite his rising anger. To protect himself from Hannah's hand, which is not held and starts to burn where it's splayed against his chest, he shoves bodily against her so her back strikes the shelving hard enough for her to gasp.

The drumming in his ears is his heartbeat.

Kane clutches her soft cheeks and digs his fingers into her jawbone. He can't stop the kiss, but he can hurt her. The hand he's holding fast is struggling, trying for freedom, and Kane has an inkling of why. He can feel the weight of something held in her grasp—a weapon.

Hannah tries to fight his grip and jabs a knee between his legs, precariously close to his groin, but he judiciously shifts, foreseeing the low attack—her only recourse as she's left defenceless.

The kiss breaks when the pain becomes too much for her.

The spell shatters.

Kane clutches her face in such a way that the back of her head is shoved against the shelving at an angle. Staring into her glaring brown eyes, the drum in Kane's ears beats louder and louder. There's a familiarity in the coldness that regards him viciously that shivers in Kane's mind, a scratching of years past, awakening sensations of washed-away memories, as if he's stared into these eyes many times.

Kane hears himself say, "You're not Hannah."

Hannah's glare deepens. Her eyes glow brightly in a way Kane's never seen from her. She's a novice in the ways of magic, but she's wielding her power like a master.

"Who are you?"

Hannah snaps, "You kiss horribly, like a dying fish."

Kane's jaw twitches. He holds her chin a tad tighter. "Is she in there? You've taken her body?" Not her mind, please. Kane refuses to believe that Hannah is gone. No. He won't accept that. "Fucking tell me or—"

"Or?" Hannah purrs. She regards him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded. "You won't hurt her. That's why this is so perfect. I won't give her back until you're dead. Kill yourself; it'll make everything so much easier."

Kane can't deny the claim. He won't hurt her. "How do I know she's still in there?"

"She's quite smug that you figured me out." Hannah, but not her, winces as if in pain. "She's..." Her brows furrow, and her gaze grows distant. "Shut up." She isn't speaking to Kane. "Very mature, brat. I didn't—you know nothing of magic; it was necessary."

Kane growls, "What's she saying?"

Hannah's gaze sharpens. "Irritating words of an irritating girl that would do well to shut up."

That is definitely Hannah, and she's putting up a struggle. Kane feels a surge of pride for her refusal to give in. But seconds later, any good feelings are gone, and Kane's prickling with unease. "I have you subdued." The hand holding the gleaming knife struggles, but Kane keeps control easily. "You're beaten. What's your endgame? You think I'm going to give up and let you stab me because you'll promise to give Hannah her body afterwards? That's not going to happen." He snarls, "Give her back."

The entity taking Hannah's body laughs darkly.

Kane's unable to resist the magic barrage that hits his soul and his physical body hard enough to shove him backwards, right into the pile of headless bodies he's left strewn over the ground. Blood seeps into his trousers, and his palms slip on the slickness as he crawls to safety behind some shelving with heavy breaths.

The laughter persists, approaching, and the sound is almost as unnerving as Reid's deranged fits. Kane's hurting; that magic wasn't paltry.

Kane doesn't have any tactics to implore; Milton didn't train him on this.

The shelving bursts, splinters, and dangerous shards of wood and metal fly through the air. Pain erupts in his arm.

He's on his feet, and with gritted teeth, he tugs at the sharp piece of metal that sticks out of his bicep. He hesitates before throwing it, dripping with blood. He said he wouldn't hurt Hannah, but he could use this right now—throw it, end it all—he doesn't miss.

Cursing, he lets the metal slip from his grasp. No, he won't hurt her. There's got to be another way.

The arching gleam of a knife slashing towards him is familiar. Kane dodges. He halts another attempt at gouging his stomach with an alacritous slap of his hand, the weapon pushed aside at the last moment.

The entity taking over Hannah's body snarls and seems to lose composure every time Kane evades the swipes of the knife. They're deeper into the room now, close to the table, neither giving any quarter.

"Just die!" Hannah screeches. "You never die!"

Kane's hip smacks the edge of the table hard enough to shake the heavy piece of furniture. He ignores the pain and grasps Hannah's wrist with both hands; the knife between them shakes, the tip inches from stabbing Kane's rapidly beating heart.

Kane growls, "If you know, then stop fighting me."

Hannah's glaring eyes, for a fleeting second, lost some of their iciness. "Do you want that? To stop fighting?" The pressure on the knife lifts, but magic keeps it poised to delve through Kane's heaving chest. "We could stop. You have wants. Mortal wants. It wasn't always so. You think, you feel, and you're real. You can turn away. You want to keep the vampire safe, don't you? You want to have Hannah? Have her! Do it; use the gift you've been given. But leave me alone!"

There's a desperateness present in the words. Hopefulness. Kane is going to say, 'Fine, I don't care; just give Hannah back', but then his words aren't his own, and he hears himself whisper, "You need to be stopped." He feels this truth in his soul, a flame of vengeance flickering, telling him to stoke its wrath by ending this speaker. "I will stop you."

The pressure on the knife returns tenfold. The glow in Hannah's eyes is aiding, and the blade moves ever so subtly closer. "You're nothing! A nightmare! You always find me!" There's a throaty sob that morphs into a growl. "I want to be free of you!"

With a scream, Hannah's magic erupts in a flash of dark purple, breathtaking, and Kane is in awe seeing her tangible soul for the first time. It's a warm caress over his sweaty skin—comforting and intimate. The knife that missed his heart by inches is not so comforting; it's stabbed so deeply that every heaving breath pushes it even further inside.

On instinct, in pain so great that his body trembles, Kane grasps Hannah's waist, holding the clinching of her dress tightly.

Hannah is holding the hilt with both hands. "Die." Then, softer, "Just die."

Kane slumps against the edge of the table, and it's the only reason he remains standing. Blood escapes from his lips in a gurgle that he can't hold back. Past his chokes for life, his mind takes over, and he whispers reverently, "I know you."

Hannah's face withers. She still looks beautiful.

"I know you," Kane rasps.

The hands leave the knife quicker than if a fire had just melted the blade. Hannah's eyes are wretched; her lips are moving, but words never escape. She makes pained whimpering sounds and stumbles back, grasping at her hair.

Kane crumples, collapsing against the thick leg of the table, tired legs splayed, and makes no move to keep his blood inside. He's lost so much already.

Hannah falls to her knees. Then she looks at him, and her gaze shifts.

Kane knows this is Hannah. The real one. He outstretches a hand, and she crawls to him, sobbing and choking on tears. He sees it then—the necklace swaying against her chest. The stone inset of a weeping woman. He has the urge to smash it to pieces, but he's too weak from his coming death.

"I'm sorry," Hannah whispers, her shaking fingers flexing against his limp hand. "I tried—I couldn't fight him. I wasn't strong enough. I'm so sorry!"

Kane tries to say, 'It's okay', but his words escape as a shaking exhale.

"No," Hannah whimpers. She clutches at his face. "Keep your eyes open. Please, Kane. Please!"

No matter how hard he tries to obey, Kane can't; his eyes are heavy and his limbs are lead. He slips into the cold darkness with Hannah screaming his name.