THE RAIN HAS BEGUN AGAIN, lightly tapping on the glass of the window and even the shingles of the roof when he really focuses. The house is chilly, but he's sweating from literally fleeing for his—he wants to say life, but he thinks he'd have lost a lot more if Hannah hadn't come out of that room and waylaid the beast with her feminine wiles.

He pointedly does not focus on the sounds that are taking place in the room at the end of the upstairs hallway, where he lingers, red-faced and dizzy. He's not interested in hearing Kenneth grunt ferally while he ruins poor Hannah's hope of ever walking straight again.

She's a good sister. Reid will need to repay her greatly for her sacrifice.

Normally, Kenneth's mean when he's drinking. He's never touchy or laughy. Reid's suspecting that the man's been possessed by a horny monster that they'll inevitably have to slay to free his trapped soul, or whatever.

He's never felt more molested in his life, and Lucas literally grabbed a handful and didn't let go until he begged.

Near the end, Kenneth was dragging him to the bedroom to 'lock him up' and Reid still doesn't know what that was going to entail because the man kept slipping back to dramatizing his weird version of a conquering king, and Reid was the peasant who was going to be tormented.

That fondling hand was mighty suspicious, and Reid had lots of ideas that weren't going to end well for him once they got to that bedroom.

Then sweet Hannah emerged from her room like an angel sent from heaven after hearing the kerfuffle. If he wasn't so relieved, Reid might feel irritated that he was dropped—literally, he ended up flat on his back with only the carpet runner to cushion his fall—the moment Kenneth caught sight of Hannah in her silky, dancing monkey pyjamas.

But, despite the weirdness, Reid's flushed cheeks tingle with a wide smile, and his stomach hurts from how hard he was laughing. He hasn't heard Kenneth have fun in a long time. Maybe the man should drink more often. Hannah mellowed him out in a way Reid never could.

Reid doesn't know if he likes the change or not. Time will tell.

He's certainly feeling all sorts of things.

He's leaning his upper back against the wall of the dimly lit upstairs hallway when a door to his left creaks open.

Lamplight spills through the crack and gives a glimpse of the room Milton used to utilize as an office. The sofa has been pulled out to become a cot that Ash has been using since earlier this evening, when she'd claimed to be tired before the rain had stopped and they'd decided on Kenneth's behest to attempt drunken sparring.

There's not enough time to sneak away without making it obvious. Reid accepts his fate by giving her an amicable smile. She sent him to that buffet. She might have even known that Azrael would be waiting there. Reid has a pang of guilt that overshadows his wariness.

Memories of that motel room settle as a tingle over his lips in the ghost of a rough kiss. Asha has tasted that same mouth; it's beyond uncomfortable to be holding her gaze while knowing he wielded that knife of betrayal.

"Prince," Asha greets softly. She leans a shoulder against the wall not far away. An oil painting of white mountain peaks on a snowy winter night hangs between them.

She's beautiful in an unsettling way that has him on edge, and even more so when she tilts her head and her brown, slanted eyes stare deep into his and rend his every musing with a mere glance.

Reid swallows, his mouth dry. "Did you know?"

Asha frowns and averts her gaze to her fingertip, which traces the grooves of the painting's intricate frame. "Did I know? The buffet? No. I did not. The fireflies don't sing for me anymore. Sometimes. I look. I did yesterday. I knew you must find them—your future." She looks at him then, her brown eyes intense. "You had to fail."

"I..." Reid doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how her gifts work, but he does know that he failed to fight Azrael when he had a chance. He froze.

If not for Kenneth, Reid would probably be Azrael's prisoner, and Rowan would be recaptured and forced to suffer the very torture she'd been escaping.

He's so weak, it's making him sick to his stomach.

"Did I know?" Asha asks curiously. She moves nearer, slowly. "You're an ocean. A future." She stops when they're close enough that Reid can smell the subtle rosey scent clinging to her clothing. "You can."

"I can?" Reid whispers.

Asha smiles sadly and rises onto her tiptoes. Her fingertips graze his cheek, and he knows touching her is dangerous. Milton's warnings were clear: death and loss of sanity.

He doesn't know why he feels unbelievably sad when Asha presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss that is jarringly intimate in the precious seconds of contact before she pulls away.

There's no molten heat, but the brush of their lips feels as if they're sharing something miserable.

Once her touch leaves him and he can breathe again, Reid rasps, "You know about..." He's a coward who can't even finish the damn admission.

"I've known for a long time," Asha says softly. "He cares for you."

"He shouldn't."

Asha smiles. "He does. He will. You're his dream."

Reid's stomach clenches achingly. "I'm bad for him." He says it so softly that the faint pattering of the rain against the window at the end of the hallway almost muffles his voice. "There's no reason for... He loves you. He said he does."

"It's not the same," Asha says.

"I'll stay away."

"No," Asha breathes. "You won't."

Reid wants to say, 'he will', but he knows it would be a lie. He doesn't have an urge to rush to Lucas's side. Not like with Rowan, whenever the woman is in his vicinity, he's overtaken by her scent, and her nutty presence beckons him like a moth to a flame.

But Lucas feels good.

The way he looks at Reid, sees the pathetic mess he is, and is willing to fight to touch him, risking a thrashing to be together. Lucas's kisses hurt and his touch leaves aches that Reid's not sure how he feels about, but the taste of consuming affection Lucas suffocates him with is addicting.

After a stretch of silence, Reid whispers, "Why don't you choose to stop having visions?"

Asha gives him a pretty smile. "A taste of something sweet, even knowing it's unreachable, never to be mine. I wanted that. I dreamt of it when I was in that cold room. Just like he dreams of you." She doesn't touch him, but her gaze flickering over his face feels like fingertips dancing over his skin.

Reid whispers, "I'm sorry." He doesn't know exactly what he's apologizing for—maybe everything.

Asha's lips quiver. "Don't be. Fate is cruel. I've had my dream. It's time to wake up."

"I changed my fate. Didn't I? You can change yours."

"Not unless I'm willing to ruin what he's fought for," Asha whispers before turning and walking back to the office door that's been left ajar, spilling orange lamplight.

With slender fingers curled around the brass knob, she looks over her shoulder, catching Reid staring after her. "Sacrifice, take power, but don't lose your way in the dark. You can be better than them. If you chose love."

Reid has no idea what she's talking about. "I'll...try."

Asha gives him a lingering glance that holds an intense sadness that makes him unsettled, and then she's gone. The door clicks shut, and the orange light underneath, spilling out and over the planks, darkens a moment later.

There's no time to ponder the strange interaction and the fact that Asha just kissed him because the door in front of him clicks open.

The shadows cling, but he can distinctly see a pop of red peeking through. Then, a soft voice whispers, "Reid?"

With his heart beating rapidly, Reid tries to remain calm, even though he knows. They all know what's been happening to Rowan while she was tortured by Azrael's sadistic hand—an entire month for her, and for him, a mere day.

Reid says, "Were you trying to sleep? Sorry, we were being loud, weren't we?"

Rowan opens the door fully. She's wearing a matching sleepwear set—dark blue pants and a long-sleeved shirt with tiny clouds.

She looks breathtakingly adorable, but the initial stutter of Reid's heart is quelled when his gaze slips over her pretty face, with her tied back hair that shows her intense bruising to its fullest.

"In the light, you look..."

Reid resists the urge to vomit. He's on the cusp of hyperventilating; his chest is tightening, and his breath is burning. He manages a warm smile that softens Rowan's tense demeanour and whispers breathily, "It's me."

Rowan exhales shakily. "I know."

She lets her fingers slip from the knob of the door. Behind her, Reid catches a glimpse of a bottle of bourbon with a red label. A more expensive brand than the one Kenneth and Lucas had been indulging in.

It's unopened.

"Did he—"

"You're all he talked about," Rowan says grimly.

That's not what Reid was going to ask.

He moves away from the wall, nearing her slowly, careful not to make her feel as if she's blocked in by keeping the staircase in view.

He stops when he can reach out and graze the significant chip of wood that makes a groove in the door jamb with his fingertips. This close, Rowan smells of floral shampoo. She doesn't flinch at his nearness, which he's relieved for, but her green eyes narrow suspiciously.

"What did he say about me?" Reid doesn't know why he's taken to talking breathily, like some killer on the other end of a phone line taunting their victim, but it feels easier if they whisper in hushed tones.

Rowan bites at her bottom lip, causing the split in the pink skin to turn red with irritation. "He thinks he owns you." Her breath is coming quickly, and Reid regrets asking. "He thinks he owns everyone, but especially you. Let me say, he was mad, lividly, when you evaded him at the motel and the auction. I..."

She clutches at her shirt, over her stomach, and hunches like she did in the parlor. "After I saw you, I had a lead. There's a house; the Bureau was all over it like flies a few years ago, and I caught a rumour that there have been vampires in masks frequenting the place. I messed up. They got the jump on me."

She sniffs, her eyes watering.

Reid risks reaching out and grazing his fingertips over the back of her shaking hand. Her breath catches, but she doesn't react adversely to the touch, so he slowly curls his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse against his palm is rapid. "I won't let him have you."

He means it with every fibre of his being. Her dramatics, her nutty behaviour, her horrid drawings, and her beautiful smile that dimples her lightly freckled cheeks adorably. All of it is his, and he's not going to let Azrael take her.

Rowan's breath hitches. She moves closer, subtly. "He has hundreds of vampires."

"And?" Reid shifts slightly closer; he can imagine how she feels pressed flush against him. She'd feel perfect. "We have Kenneth. Give him a sword, and he'll be back before dinner."

Rowan's shoulders slump. She says weepily, "You haven't seen Shadow Peaks."

"When I do, it'll be on fire."

Whatever expression Reid is making causes Rowan to flinch away. His fingers slip from her soft skin, and she stares at him, halfway across the bedroom, taking heavy breaths. "You look..."

Reid thinks he might just take that bottle of bourbon and break his sobriety if she finishes that thought. He parts his lips to offer her food or coffee—anything to quiet her—but then Rowan whispers, "You're a vampire."

"Last night," Reid says tightly. "It was...natural."

He feels weird saying such, but it's true and necessary to point out because he wasn't turned from his humanity; it was his biology working against him, which has been inevitable since he first opened his eyes as an infant.

Rowan's back to clutching at the fabric of her shirt with shaking fingers. "I'm sorry."

From those two words, a blanketing weight settles over his shoulders, and he has to fight to stay upright. His knees are close to buckling, and he wonders if a vampire can have low blood sugar dizziness because that is what this feels like.

He smiles, leaning his shoulder on the jamb for support, and says, "I'm fine. It all turned out...fine. It could have been a lot worse."

Rowan gives him a cute look that he interprets as disbelief. "Fine?" She softens her tone and whispers, "Reid. You're not fine."

Deciding to shift the uncomfortable conversation with a whim of sadistic inspiration, Reid bends closer and whispers conspiratorially, "Have you ever wanted to interrogate Gabriel Kimberk's top man?"

Rowan's green eyes sparkle. "Kiernan Moreno? He's downstairs, right?" Her pink lips tug into a wide smile that Reid can't help returning with a tingle to his cheeks. "Do you think he'll let me question him?"

"He's my dog," Reid says smugly. His smile darkens. "He doesn't have a choice."