He can hear muffled conversation wafting from his bedroom.

When he opens the door, the handle slamming against the hole that's already in the drywall from years ago, Hannah is standing near the window, fingering the blinds while smiling. Kane's loud entry cuts her off mid-sentence, pink lips parted and chocolate brown eyes looking his way affectionately.

Reid's sitting with a leg dangling over the edge of the bed. Taking in Kane's haunted expression, Reid asks worriedly, "What happened?"

The idiot looks pale, and Kane feels like a piece of shit. They've been through so much in the last forty-eight hours, and barreling in here looking ready for a fight isn't what the moron needs. Reid needs to relax and feel safe.

"Everything's fine," Kane says, giving Reid a reassuring smile that makes the idiot look even more worried.

He walks towards Hannah with intent, and she gives him a curious look but doesn't back up or try to flee where others might. He can't help but look menacing when he's in battle mode. There's no feeling of offness surrounding her that he now attributes to that demon; he'd felt it at the motel last night when Reid was dying; it's gone.

But still, Kane has to know.

Reaching out, Kane refuses to acknowledge the shake in his fingers as his fingertips slip beneath the collar of Hannah's sleep shirt. It's loose but tight enough to hide a necklace beneath.

Nothing but soft skin.

Inhaling in relief, Kane lays his palm against the curve of her throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. He understands why she's staring at him in horror because it's obvious what he'd been looking for: the necklace that they'd tossed into the water last night.

"Fuck," he says gruffly. "I thought..." He laughs faintly. "It doesn't matter. Punch me if you want; I was being an ass."

From the bed, Reid chuckles. "He does like you, Hannah. That was almost an apology."

Not sparing the idiot a glance, Kane's entire attention is on the slight quiver that's overtaken Hannah's pouty lips. She's upset. He fucked up, shit.

Taking hold of the back of her thighs, he effortlessly lifts her into his arms, smirking at her squeak of surprise and scrambling fingers to grip his shirt to gain purchase as he walks her to the bed. His chest warms when he catches a glimpse of a smile beneath the curtain of her messy brown hair.

"Don't squash me!" Reid rises from the bed seconds before Hannah's tossed onto the messy sheets, the mattress creaking. He gasps at Kane's hearty kick to his shin, shoving him towards the door.

Reid dares to huff, like he's been put out by the fact that Kane wants to utilize his space.

Taking hold of the handle of the open door, Reid falls against the wood and bemoans dramatically, "I knew it was only a matter of time before you both forgot about me."

The impressive force behind the pillow Hannah throws at Reid makes the warmth Kane feels for her spark hotter. If he gave her a sword and sent her against their enemies, she could do major damage with pure fury alone.

The noise that Reid lets out when the pillow hits him square in the face is funny enough that Kane can't hold back his laughter.

Once Kane catches his breath, he says, "You can stay, but I'm going to have sex with Hannah."

Hannah's smiling gently up at him with pink cheeks. She breathes, "You are?"

"I was thinking about it," Kane rasps. He's doing more than thinking; he's aching to lose himself between her thighs.

And he slips between them now, feeling the slight tremble that's overtaken her legs as he steals the tiny gasp she gives him with a soft press of his lips.

He takes a gentle hold of her jaw, deepening the slide of their lips, his calloused fingers catching on her soft skin.

Then, the bedroom door slams shut.

Kane grins against Hannah's pliant mouth. Finally, he's beaten the idiot at his own game. But when he pulls away from the kiss, his amusement fades. Hannah's frowning at him, and Kane's left wondering where he went wrong again.

"Did you, um, think I had the necklace?"

Nodding, Kane settles his weight on a forearm beside her head, careful not to lean on her hair. His wayward fingers gently graze her flushed cheek. "I wasn't thinking. I know you wouldn't lie to me. You told me everything on that beach. I shouldn't have doubted you."

He swallows when she blinks up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "Hannah?"

Hannah looks stricken. She's breathing faster. This isn't unfamiliar; Reid often has emotions that Kane can't wade through, like a still ocean that can shift to a storm of waves that threaten to drown without warning.

Kane's painfully familiar with the times Reid feels guilt; he retreats, not speaking, and his blue eyes fall distant. Kane learned quickly that the only way to get through to the idiot is to punish him—with work, ignoring him, sometimes attacking verbally, being precise, not the way they usually bicker.

It's terrible, but Kane's learned that if left alone while in such a state, Reid will hate himself until he's ruined. He needs to break, and then Kane helps put the pieces back together with the gentleness the idiot craves.

But, fuck, those pills hurt more than Kane ever dared. He won't let Hannah fall into darkness. Not if he can stop it. Not this time.

But he doesn't know what she needs.

Shifting to lie on his back in the crumpled sheets, he pulls at Hannah's wrist, and she follows his guide to sit astride his hips. He knows Hannah feels guilt. Immense. He can see it in her gaze as she looks down at him with watery eyes and frowning pink lips.

It was only last night that she rid herself of that demon, and it'll take time for her to heal. Kane so tactlessly reminded her, making her think of the necklace. She thought she was in love with that bastard.

Kane wishes he found her earlier, years ago, before darkness had its claws around her throat. He'd have protected her from the hell she'd endured without him.

He'll protect her now.

There's a subtle hitch to her breath when Kane slides his palms beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping her hips firmly. He holds her gaze. "How can I help you?" He feels like he asks that question on repeat. Maybe one day he'll have the answers without having to ask like a fool.

Reaching back, Hannah's fingers skim Kane's inner thigh. He's sweating. Holding his gaze while drawing the small zipper of his jeans down, Hannah says shakily, "Let me help you for once."

"Hannah," he whispers hoarsely, concern an aching knot in his chest.

Kane puts up minimal effort to help her pull his jeans down his legs, shifting when needed. He watches her expression closely—the way her teeth worry her bottom lip, the cute way her face is pinched with determination as she lifts herself onto her knees, wiggling her hips as she draws her shorts down her soft legs.

He doesn't remark on the quiver of her mouth, pressing his thumb gently against her lips to halt the self-abuse.

"Stop that," he chastises softly.

She's hiding something. The obviousness is so blatant, her brown gaze pleading silently, that Kane knows she doesn't want to keep whatever it is. She's begging for his help.

He has her on her back without thinking the act through. Between her spread legs, he lays a kiss against her flushed cheek, then the other, taking his time, indulging in the scent and taste of her.

She's breathing heavily when he whispers against her ear, "I'm here."

Breath catching, Hannah's heels spur his back. When he looks into her eyes, fire meets him, and he obeys the flame.

They fall into each other like none of the horrors of the past twenty-four hours happened. He holds her close, firmly, not to still her withering but to feel the rise and fall of her chest against his and know that for this moment, she's safe in his arms, and he's protecting her from the horrors of the world out for their blood.

She's his, and he's hers.

And she's perfect with her soft skin and her gentle hands. He takes his time learning every warm place that hitches her breath.

He thinks, perhaps, all the deaths he's suffered have taken their toll, and maybe Hannah's bringing him back to life.

He feels alive.

As he loses himself, letting go, his fingers bruise when she arches for more touch. And when he finds the place that draws the sweetest moans from her panting lips, Kane doesn't stop until she's crying tears, not from whatever is hurting her within but from the pleasure that he gives her no recourse but to take.

They lay together in silence afterward. Fingers entangled, Kane holds her soft hand against his chest; somewhere among their passions, he'd taken off his shirt, and he's aware that his door is unlocked and he's naked, but he can't find it in himself to care all that much. He's happy, and fuck, he's going to enjoy it, however fleetingly it remains.

Then, soft hair tickles Kane's bare shoulder, and Hannah whispers, "The necklace is in my closet."

The lid of the oaken box sits open on the sheets of what once was Milton's bed. Within is a thin chain, coiled, and in the middle is the familiar stone pendant of a weeping woman. Hannah lingers near the footboard, and anxiety wafts from her in waves.

Kane can't deny he's pissed. He's so angry that his fingers are shaking. Not at her; whatever is playing games with them has him in a fury.

Either Valrus has a contingency on the necklace so it returns to the wearer, or something else—maybe the same thing keeping Kane alive—has them tangled up in its strings and they're mere puppets for its whim.

Kane hums thoughtfully. "Want to paint?"

Hannah breathes, "What?"

Kane makes a show of looking around the room. Dark shades, oak furniture, Milton's touch everywhere. "You like purple, right? I always see you wearing it. We could paint. I'd help you. Reid would probably screw it up, but we can put him to work. Or, you can stay in my room. I don't mind. Whatever. I like having you close."

He frowns at Hannah's pale face.

She grips the edge of the footboard as if his words have thrown her off balance. "Aren't you listening?" Hannah gasps. "I tried flushing him down the toilet last night. He was on the bathroom floor an hour later."

Nodding, Kane shuts the lid of the box, careful not to touch the necklace. The off feeling returns to prickle the nape of his neck whenever he looks at the damn thing.

He tucks the box under his arm and gives Hannah a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of it."

"How?" Hannah asks in a small voice.

Kane takes a gentle hold of her arm, pulling her close, and the kiss he presses on her lips is indulgently gentle. Awakening his magic, he looks into her eyes and grins. Ever so slowly, her pink lips tug at the corners, giving him a reluctant smile.

"Trust me. Have coffee. I've got this," he whispers softly, kissing the tip of her cute nose. Before she can protest, as her frowning lips tell him she's about to attempt, his magic washes over him, and then he displaces.

The world falls away, his ears pop, and his stomach swoops.

Standing in the foyer of the quiet shop, his eyes try to adjust to the clinging darkness as he flips the switch of the light beside the entry door with its closed blinds and tiny hanging copper bell. Once this shit is taken care of with Azrael, Kane's got to pour more energy into this place if he wants to keep it afloat. Milton's heart would break if the shop closed for good.

He passes the pine counter with the register and stool tucked beneath. Atop is a closed binder with the shop's records, never having been put away since the last time Kane was here, pouring over the negative numbers.

He walks down the creaky set of steps that'll take him further into the shop, and he walks through the narrow book stacks with tombs and then past metal shelving with various spell components until he finds what he's looking for, sitting inauspiciously on the topmost shelf in a shadowed corner.

A box, not like the oaken one nestled beneath his bicep. This is polished black wood. Did a mage who dabbled in forbidden magic spill their blood to make the very box he holds in his hands? He doesn't know. But what he does know is that it's within; anything put inside is dampened.

That means there's no magic in its confines.

Milton only used it once, to shove a sprite inside when it had started gnawing at humans in a forest near a busy highway. With its jagged teeth, it managed to rip off an ear before its carnage was stopped. They'd let it go after a few weeks. Solitary confinement can do wonders, even for a feral little shit.

Kane hated that thing; he'd have put it in a cup of water if Milton didn't have a heart of gold. It'd pissed on him! He's never wanted to squash something more in his life. It swore too.

Reid thought the sprite was delightful. Kane thinks that if he'd allowed it, Reid would have kept it as a pet to cause havoc on his whim, which probably would have broken more than a few laws. Vampires owning magical creatures as slaves is probably a big no in the Bureau's eyes.

Walking back to the foyer, Kane moves the binder off to the side for him to go through later, when a war isn't at his back, before placing both boxes on the counter side by side: one black, one glossy oak.

He moves to open both lids but hesitates, rethinking doing so weaponless.

Mulling around the shop for a minute or so, he finds the sword he keeps hidden in the sliver of space between the wall and the back of some shelving holding glass baubles.

With the comforting weight of a cold hilt in his hand, he faces the boxes once again.

Flipping open both lids, he debates using the tip of the sword to hook the chain and pass the necklace into the safety of the dampener.

Fuck that. He's not a coward. He'll touch the damn thing, and that will be that.

Fingers stilling before they meet the stone of the weeping woman, Kane swallows. He can't deny he's unsettled. He doesn't know of his past, and despite his innate hatred for this mage masquerading as a demon, it's undeniable that they're connected. Sensing the bastard is one thing, but potentially seeing him in the flesh is different, and Kane's more than apprehensive.

Especially after everything Hannah told him, Kane might lose his head; more so than normal, this bastard manipulated her for four years. The rage Kane has to shove down is so overwhelming that it dries his mouth.

He really needs a strong drink.

Holding the hilt of the blade tightly, he snatches the necklace, and he's surprised to find the pendant is warm.

He stares at the stone, trying to understand why the necklace feels almost too hot to handle. Magic is at work somehow, but Kane's never seen anything like it before. The chain clinks as Kane mulls on how Hannah's worn it for four years when it leaves a fierce ache on his skin.

Kane narrows his eyes, sensing a presence. His gaze strays over the nearby bookcases. "You're hiding?"

Silence, and then: "Of course I am," says a voice with a sickly soft accent beneath an annoyed timbre.

Valrus.