Warm sunlight. How she missed it. Irene gazed at her bedroom ceiling, striped with sunlight which invaded through the blinds. The effect enveloped her in a tickling sense of nostalgia, especially since it had been ages since she had blinds in her room. Irene wondered what time it was and attempted to see the time on her alarm clock, but to her confusion she could not move. She could not even turn her eyes away from that one view of the ceiling. A freezing panic flooded her nerves, the lines of the ceiling burning into her eyes. It was bright. Too bright. It hurt but she could not look away.

Darkness. Irene awoke, heaving, and sweaty. Where am I? That's right, she was in the bedroom above the coffee shop. She had no idea what time it was. Her fingers tingled, her heart raced. She listened for signs of anyone being back. Silence. Irene was still tired, and wanted to roll over to get back to sleep. She felt an odd nausea in her stomach whenever she tried to move. But she could not. What was pinning her? Irene tried to lift her arms, but they would not budge. Again, a pang of nausea caused her to wretch. She felt a presence in the room with her. She tried to ask who was there, but she had no voice.

Irene awoke again. She was cold with perspiration. There was just the slightest bit of light coming in from under the door. She squinted, holding her breath despite her racing heart, trying to listen. She saw shadows. Feet? There were voices. Wait. She recognized one of those voices. Father? What is he doing here? How did he find me? Irene tried to stand, but again, she could not move. She tried to call out to her father, to beg him to come help her. All she could manage was a weak whimper. "Fa... Da... Dad... come... help..." but her voice wasn't strong enough.

Irene pushed with all of her might to get away from the bed. She felt herself stumble out, purged from the embrace of slimy sheets. She laid on the floor for a moment. All she could see was the door. But she wasn't facing the door anymore. Why was she still seeing it? She moved her head, moved her eyes, but all she saw was the light-framed door. She crawled blind across the floor towards it, except she wasn't sure if she was getting any closer, as it never appeared any closer. Irene screamed.

Irene's eyes opened to the dim lit room. She was exhausted. Reality by then had become so mixed up that Irene could not tell if she were truly awake or not. She was afraid to try and move. But she needed to go to the bathroom, badly. Reluctantly, she tried to sit up, but to no avail. The panic came flooding back. She squirmed and writhed, trying so hard to get up, trying so hard to break free from this never ending cycle. She began to despair that she'd never wake up again. Am I dead? Irene didn't believe in an afterlife, so surely not. She felt a heavy pressure, as if an invisible entity were pushing her down. She heard heavy breathing, almost feeling breath in her ear. "Irene... Irene..." She felt pain in her lower abdomen, and it traveled with alarming speed up and down. She needed to get out of this bed! Her bladder felt as though it was going to burst. If she were dead, she wouldn't need to relieve herself. It must be a nightmare. Wake up. WAKE UP!

Irene screamed as she lurched into a sitting position. Immediately, she felt hands on her shoulder. She screamed again and flailed out, feeling contact with something. Someone.

"Irene! What, hey calm down!" Hands gripped her shoulders more firmly and she struggled in the dark.

"Let go! LET GO!" Irene was able to finally use her voice. Her gut was in pain and there was too much pressure and panic.

"Calm down!"

"I HAVE TO PEE!"

That was effective. Cyrus's grip vanished and Irene hopped out of bed and hastily stumbled in the dark until she felt her hand on the wooden sliding door to the en suite. She went inside, slid the door shut and turned on the light. The brightness seared her eyes and she squinted as she fumbled her way to the toilet. There she sat and sobbed. She'd had nightmares before, but never anything like that. After a few minutes she heard a soft tapping on the door.

"GO AWAY!" Irene screamed. I can't even use the bathroom in peace. Not that there was anything peaceful about the thoughts going through her mind. Was that just a nightmare? Or was it something more? Was it connected to the voices I heard? Who or what is doing this to me?

As Irene washed her hands, she looked up at her reflection. To her surprise, she saw blood smears on the shoulders of her top. Irene furrowed her eyebrows. After washing her hands she hesitantly slid the bathroom door open to see if Cyrus was still out there.

The light was on in the bedroom, and Cyrus was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, in front of a full length mirror. He had his shirt off and one arm raised so he could see the dorsal aspect of his upper arm in the mirror. Another piece of vampire lore that wasn't true; he had a reflection. There was a long bloody streak running down his arm, and that was not the only wound he had. There were blisters and red and black scores across his back, a deep gash in his gut, and smaller nicks and scratches scattered about his flesh.

If it had been anyone but Cyrus, Irene may have winced and felt compassion. Instead, she felt nothing. She didn't even feel queasy at the sight of such grievous wounds.

Cyrus saw her reflection in the mirror and stared at it. For a moment, their reflections locked gazes. Irene quickly looked away. She didn't know if his powers to mesmerize could work through mirrors, or if like the gorgons, it nullified the curse. However, she did not wish to take chances.

"This isn't going to heal in time without help..." Cyrus muttered, wincing as he dropped his arm. Lines etched his face, detailing it with pain as he tried to get to his feet. He made it halfway then he went down again. It reminded her of when they had first met.

"Why don't you just lick yourself like the dog you are," Irene asked, crossing her arms. Cyrus chuckled, but then cut himself short, as a hand went to his abdominal wound.

"It's unkind... to make me laugh... in my current state..." Cyrus growled, although he grinned. "Come here, Irene."

"No."

"Okay... don't. Are you... okay? You gave me... a scare, I thought you... were... were having a seizure or something," Cyrus pressed down on the wound, wincing.

Irene folded her arms, thumbs reaching up and pressing against the sides of her elbows. "...What... was I doing?"

"Your eyes were slightly open... but darting around and... you were... twitching... and making odd... noises in your throat." Cyrus responded as he shifted and tried to make himself more comfortable. "Your heart... racing."

"Cyrus..." Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose as she grabbed a clean shirt from her duffel bag. "...I think someone is doing something to my mind."

There was a protracted silence. Irene glanced up from her bag to Cyrus. He had moved over to the wall beside the mirror and was leaning against it, holding his side. "It's possible. But... it might not be... intentional." Cyrus said in broken speech between grunts. "Sometimes... vampires... just..." Cyrus gave a unilateral shrug, "...have effects on people."

Irene stood up, a shirt folded over her arm. "Do you have bandages somewhere? No sense bleeding all over your floor. You are making a mess, and if I am going to stay here, I don't want to clean up more than I need to."

Cyrus laughed, then coughed. "Box, under the desk... but..."

"But...?"

"...Nevermind."

Irene decided not to change until she'd done something about Cyrus's wounds. She grabbed the box, popping the lid and peering in. Sure enough there were rolled up bandages and other medical supplies. Considering the rate he healed, she was surprised he kept such things on hand. She walked over and knelt beside him, getting another flash of the first time they met.

Without any tape, Irene had to wrap the bandages around Cyrus's torso and arm to get the worst cuts covered. She packed them with extra gauze over the wound, and then looked at the burns on his back. "Can you not heal yourself?"

"I can't lick myself. Doesn't work that way," Cyrus explained.

"Then how did your wounds heal before?" Irene asked as she began daubing some of the smaller cuts to clean them up.

"Vampires heal fast. Drinking blood... heals faster."

"Should I get you a blood pack from the fridge?" Irene asked, rising to her feet. A hand was suddenly in hers and she looked down at Cyrus. He looked up at her, his grip unusually gentle. It put her in mind of a child grabbing onto a parent's hand before crossing the street.

"No... I mean... yes," Cyrus said. Something in his expression looked unguarded and open, almost confused. A chill ran down Irene's spine. It reminded her of when he demanded blood, and she brought him the drunken man. Sickness stirred in Irene's gut at the haunting recollection. Irene let go of his hand, but his arm remained in the air a moment, and he watched her go with wide eyes.

Irene saw bloody smears and tracks out in the hall. There was a vampire lying on the couch, sipping a blood pack and nursing a head wound. Another laid on the floor, while a second vampire was stuffing his entrails back into his abdomen and stitching him up. Irene's hand went to her mouth as she tried not to gag. They looked at her hungrily and Irene hurried to get a blood pack. Except... there were none left. Once Irene saw there were not any to spare, she nearly broke into a run to get back to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Cyrus was sitting with his knees up. Irene, put a hand to her stomach, feeling the butterflies swirling around. She took in some deep breaths and walked back over to Cyrus and knelt down. "I'm sorry... there aren't any blood packs left."

Cyrus looked her over, and then shrugged a little. "Ungrateful... greedy... ah well, snooze, you lose," Cyrus said, sounding more like himself again.

"What did you guys DO?" Irene asked. Cyrus lifted up a bloody hand, a single finger extended.

"Later, Breaches... later..." His hand fell and his head lolled to the side tiredly. "Help me, Irene..."

"What more can I do?" Irene asked. As much as she found Cyrus distasteful, it was him between her and the other vampires. If he fell, no one would protect her.

"Let me feed..."

Irene shook her head. "No." Irene's mind went to the people in the cellar. Were they still alive, or did a bunch of ravenous vampires, eager to heal, drink them dry? Could she fetch one of them?

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No. She promised she would not bring another person to their doom again. She would not do what she did to Robin ever again. She looked back at Cyrus. "...Fine." Irene moved closer to Cyrus. She began to move her hair out of the way, but instead he took hold of one of her hands. "A wrist will... be better."

"Why...?" Irene asked. Cyrus looked at her. He touched her neck, and she winced.

"Who did that?" he asked. Irene wasn't sure whether to tell him she was poking around, and Kendrick taught her a lesson. But it was time to stop hiding the truth when people hurt her.

"Kendrick," Irene responded. Cyrus just nodded and brought her wrist to his lips. He looked up at her, hesitating a moment.

"Brace yourself. This will hurt."

----------------------------------------

It amazed Irene how quickly the smaller scratches on Cyrus vanished. She held her wrist, which was no longer feeling sore after Cyrus had licked the wound, but it still felt strange. Stiff. Yet, limp. They were both sitting on the bed, Cyrus cross legged, and Irene with her back against a stack of pillows.

"Aaaaaaaaah, that's much better! You really are a treat, breaches," Cyrus said, patting his stomach appreciatively. Irene frowned and looked away. "Come, it's a compliment."

"Kendrick said you'd end up feeding on me," Irene said, somewhat irritated.

"It's kind of an obvious guess. I'm a vampire. You're full of blood. Of course I am going to feed on you. That is, when it won't..."

"Hurt me? But it does! It hurts!" Irene said, tightening the grip she had on her wrist.

"But then I kiss it better!"

"That doesn't make it any less dreadful! You can't slap a puppy, then feed it a treat, and call that a net average!" Irene grumbled.

"No, but I can give a child a lollipop after giving them an injection," Cyrus countered.

"Your biting me isn't helping me, though, it is only helping you! Giving a child medicine helps the child," Irene argued. She wasn't sure why she was arguing. Cyrus was going to do what Cyrus was going to do. Still, she could not help but try and carve out some boundaries.

"Hmm. Fair point. So. Kendrick. He hurt you. Want to talk about it?" Cyrus asked, toying with the bandaging on his arm. He winced a little - clearly that cut had not quite healed yet.

"Not really. Ask him for his side of the story," Irene said, rubbing her neck. It was still sore, and she could feel a knot forming right behind her sternocleidomastoid.

"Then I will, but you might not like what he has to say. Still, I told him to keep you safe, not to turn you into a giraffe." Cyrus clicked his tongue.

"Cyrus... I know about the people in the basement. And the drugs," Irene said, grasping a handful of the top blanket to twist in her hands.

"Hmm... I thought you said you don't poke around?" Cyrus stretched and grunted, resting his hands on his knees. He did not seem at all alarmed or ashamed that she knew.

"Well..." Irene stuttered. She paused. "I..." Irene's eyebrows drew close together. "That's not the point! It's human trafficking!"

"Uh... yeah! Obviously!" Cyrus retorted with a snort. "The drugs keep them compliant. They aren't happy, but they are docile."

"It's... it's..."

"Wrong?"

"Yes!"

"I know," Cyrus reached back, pressing two fingers along the back of his shoulder, testing if the burn there was still hurting. Evidently not by the relief which followed the anticipation of pain in his face.

"Then why do you do it?" Irene asked.

"Oh Irene, I know you aren't that naive. Why did you bring me that drunken man?"

Irene went silent. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. Irene was not going to answer that.

"Exactly." Cyrus rolled his shoulders back. "Irene... do you honestly believe I do these things because I don't know any better?"

Irene shook her head, shoulders rising and falling with a large, full-bodied sigh. "I don't know. Maybe you heard these things are wrong on paper, but never really experienced how wrong they are. Maybe..." Irene drew her eyebrows together. "Maybe I'm just so scared, Cyrus, but because I don't have the physical strength to fight you, I try to fight you on the moral ground."

"Well... you don't have the strength there, either. The endurance maybe, but not the strength." Cyrus scratched the back of his neck, letting out a hiss of a sigh. "You aren't the first girl to try to redeem me. But you are the first girl to continuously reject me while trying. That's new. If I were to turn over a new leaf, would you..."

"No. Not a chance. Not in hell. Even if you became a saint." Irene said flatly. Cyrus laughed, slapping his thigh.

"Damn, woman, that's why I love you."

"You don't though. What you have is lust."

"Okay, well, whatever it is, you amuse me and I want to be near you. I won't argue semantics here." Cyrus moved a bit closer to Irene, and she shifted away, perching precariously on the edge of the bed. "I do know the things I do are wrong. They hurt people, not just physically. I leave scars that can't be seen. It doesn't fill me with pride. I just..."

"Don't care?" Irene filled in.

"Most of the time, no. I don't. But..." Cyrus's forehead creased as he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and putting his legs out straight. "I started to."

"Let me guess, since you met me?" Irene asked sarcastically. "And suddenly, you want to be a better person because of my inner beauty."

Cyrus let out a few unsavoury syllables before laughing. "Not at all! You aren't beautiful on the inside Irene. You're self righteous, angry, sarcastic, and proud. Yet, I do see that you want to ease the suffering in others, when you are forced to look at it, that is. Your anger is the glue that holds you together, and I think if you learn how to channel that anger, you could do amazing things. But you are stumped by empty morals that you don't explore fully, just accept them as right and wrong and condemn everyone around you when they don't comply."

Irene balled her fists. Having her morality called out by a murdering, thieving, lying, rapist stung somewhere deep, just under her ribs. It was a physical pain and Irene had to steady herself. She lifted her gaze, glare fixed and dreadful. But why was she angry? If it wasn't true she could just shrug it off. Irene looked away. "I know I'm not perfect."

"Neither am I," Cyrus responded, "I know, I know, hard to believe I admitted that. But there it is. I'm not perfect."

Irene frowned deeper. It seemed her imperfection was understandable. Human. But Cyrus was a monster. A monster she had nursed. Irene looked longingly at the door. A monster whose protection she was forced to rely upon. "But I at least try!"

"Do you?" Cyrus asked.

"Yes! And I won't have you trying to make me feel ashamed, when I know I am... I'm better than you," Irene said, fighting the tears that were threatening to come. She felt that heat behind her eyes and steeled herself.

"You are, Irene. I never said you weren't." Cyrus shook his head. "Never was my intention to shame you for having morals, breaches. It's good to have them, especially when you are young. But you need to put them all on trial once in a while and figure out which ones are truly yours. And then do it again later in life."

Irene looked over at Cyrus, lifting an eyebrow. It made her nervous whenever he became serious and philosophical. It usually preceded something bad happening. When he was joking around, she wanted him to be serious. And when he was serious, she was nervous until he joked. No matter what, he made her tense. "And what are your morals, Cyrus?"

Cyrus smirked. "My morals... ha ha ha. I said there's nothing wrong with having your own morals, but it doesn't mean I want them. They complicate things." Cyrus rubbed the side of his head. "I just go with what feels good or right. Or avoid what feels wrong."

"...So hedonism."

"Damn straight." Cyrus brought up his knees and leaned forward. "I know I've hinted at the sorts of things Gabriel and his gang got up to." Cyrus squinted, picking a piece of lint off of the blanket and flicking it to the side.

"Yes..." Irene said, a queasy feeling in her stomach.

"Well... some of the things I did to try and stay in Gabriel's good graces... felt wrong, but his respect felt good. But at some point, the bad feelings outweighed the good ones." Cyrus gave that carefree shrug Irene knew him for. "Oversimplifying, yes, but I am changing. Slowly. And it started before I met you. You just happened to come across me in my awkward transition phase. Poor you!"

"...Why do you tell me these things? Why are you trying to convince me that you can change? Why do you even keep me around?" Irene was growing impatient with trying to figure out what all of this was for, and why she was at the center of it all.

"I've told you over and over. I like you. You're a fun foil. You're serious, I'm silly, you're moral, I'm amoral, you're angry, I'm jovial, you're thoughtful, I'm impetuous, you're a prude, and I'm a sex addict. It's fun! And I needed some fun after the torments I've endured."

"I'm not convinced. I sense there's another reason you aren't telling me," Irene said, watching Cyrus carefully. He shrugged and smirked and carried on in a perfectly Cyrus fashion.

"Okay, fine, I will tell you my other reason if you try not to do the whole 'Aha I knew you were lying about liking me because it's really this other reason' thing. It does get rather old. It's as if people can't have multiple, equally valid reasons for doing anything," Irene studied Cyrus for a moment or two, feeling eerily called out. The moment he said 'fine' she was getting ready to pounce on him for the real reason. And then he preempted her. Irene chewed on her lower lip, but then finally nodded to Cyrus, to urge him to go on. "That whole blood chalice thing I said didn't exist that Gabriel was going on about? I was lying. If you were to step out there and take a look at the other vampires' wounds, who gobbled up all my spare blood packs, you will see their wounds have not healed nearly as fast as mine."

Irene glanced at the door. She then glanced at Cyrus. He began to unravel the bandages on his arm, revealing just a thin pink line where the cut was. "But... I thought healing that fast was normal for you..."

"Go on, step out there, take a look," Cyrus urged her. Irene hesitated, but then finally padded across the floor, hesitating at the door. Irene did not want to go far from the safety of the bedroom. She didn't need to. The three wounded vampires were dozing in the living area, despite the insufficient amount of furniture. Their wounds had scabbed over and looked like they had a healthy start, but they were still there. Irene dashed back into the bedroom, closing the door.

What did this mean? That her blood could heal vampires? What sort of sick cosmic joke was that? Irene looked over to Cyrus, who was by then standing and crossing his arms. And did he ever look smug, even for him. Smug, possessive, greedy. He was proud of his trophy.

"Of course, if you don't want everyone trying to get a piece of you, you'll keep this to yourself," Cyrus warned.

"That's why you stopped Gabriel from biting me. You didn't want him to discover he was right!" It all made sense now. What had seemed like an uncharacteristically heroic rescue was Cyrus just protecting his commodities. Yet he never lied about that. He called her an investment. He called her 'the goods'. But what Irene wanted to know was...

"How long did you know!?"

"Well, obviously, the first time I bit you. I could taste it. It was a shock, the power I felt. Especially since I'd given up looking for any such rarity." Cyrus fanned himself. "But Blood Chalices are supposed to be weak to vampire influences, so that they are easy to control. It took me off guard when you kept breaking out of my gaze. I began to question whether I just imagined it, or if the tales were wrong. Then it turns out you just are wired differently. I'm not sure if that's because of your unique blood, or if it's a coincidence, though."

"So what does this mean for me?" Heart thumping, Irene was unsure if she'd be ready for the answer.

"Eh... it means you are the ace up my sleeve against Gabriel." Cyrus gave Irene a side glance. "Pun intended." Cyrus cleared his throat. "But once I get my revenge, it depends on whether the other vampires decide to try and finish me off as well. In which case, as long as I feel I am in danger, I will keep you close. When I feel safe, well, then... then..." Cyrus winced, pressing his lips together as if really struggling with something. "Then... then... I'll leave you to... pick up the pieces of your life and carry on."

"I don't believe you'll ever let me go," Irene said quietly.

"I don't know if I believe it either. I'd like to think I love you enough to let you go, but I am not sure, when the time comes, that I will."

Irene was quiet. She crossed her arms and looked away. It always felt like he was teasing her, that he was dirtying the word then he spoke of loving her. It was lust. Lust on multiple levels. Lust for power. Lust for forbidden fruit. But for the first time, she almost believed him. Almost. But it didn't change her feelings for him, which remained contempt. "You don't love me. You barely know me."

"Oh but I feel I know you quite well. But... maybe you are right. Maybe I'm in love with an idea of you. Ah well." Cyrus stretched his arms and walked over to the bed, falling onto it.

"I suppose... all that's left is for me to wait for you to defeat Gabriel. But I hate the idea of waiting."

"Charged up on your blood... it shouldn't be long," Cyrus said with a broad grin. "Anyway, it IS daytime and I am getting sleepy. Chances are the vampires out there will be stuck here for the day as well."

Irene groaned. She was trapped. With the revelation that her blood was a precious commodity to vampires, she was even more afraid of the others defying Cyrus and biting her. Especially if they were injured. But staying in the room would be awkward with Cyrus there. After trying to think of a way around it, it seemed the only thing for Irene to do was to take out a book and read. She'd have to spend the day cooped up until Cyrus left and she could sleep. So Irene sat on the floor, with her back to the bed, while Cyrus got his rest.

At least vampires don't snore.