Warm sunlight. How she missed it. Irene gazed at her bedroom ceiling, striped with vibrant rays which invaded through the blinds. The effect enveloped her in a tickling sense of nostalgia. She wondered what time it was and tried to look at her alarm clock, but to her confusion she could not move. She could not even turn her eyes away. Panic flooded her nerves, the sunbeams on the ceiling burning into her eyes. It was bright. Too bright. It hurt but she could not avert her gaze.

Darkness. Irene awoke, heaving, and sweaty. Where am I? Vague recollection of the Cozee Coffee shop drifted to mind. Her fingers tingled, her heart raced. 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. Something was pinning her. She 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. Shadows passed across the thin stream of light. Feet? People speaking. Wait. She recognized one of those voices. Dad? 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 for help. All she could manage was a weak whimper. "Da... Dad..."

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, stunned. All she could see was the exit. But she wasn't facing it anymore. 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 the door never appeared any nearer. She screamed.

Irene's eyes opened to the dim lit room. She was exhausted. Reality by then had become so mixed up that she could not tell if she was 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 truly wake up again, forced into a never-ending cycle of false starts. 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, feeling moist air in her ear.

"Irene... Irene..." whispered someone or something.

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! Wha- 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 door to the ensuite. 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? What was that sinister presence? Was it Cyrus? Was he doing something to me in my sleep? Another vampire? What is going on?

As Irene washed her hands, she looked up at her reflection. To her surprise, she saw blood smears on her sleeves. She furrowed her eyebrows. After turning off the tap 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 in his reflection. Yet another debunked piece of popular vampire lore. 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 felt compassion.

Cyrus saw her via 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. She was not taking any 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.

Irene crossed her arms. "Why don't you just lick yourself like the dog you are?"

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..." he grumbled, although he his grin lingered. "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 did you see?"

"Your eyes were slightly open... but darting around and... you were... twitching... and making odd... noises in your throat." Cyrus 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 could have... a more mundane explanation," he said in broken speech between grunts. "Sometimes... stress... just..." the wounded vampire gave a unilateral shrug, "...does stuff to people."

Irene stood up, a shirt folded over her arm. "Do you have bandages somewhere? You are bleeding everywhere, 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 those 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?"

"Can't lick myself. Doesn't work that way."

"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 rose 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."

Something in Cyrus's expression looked unguarded and open, almost confused. A chill ran down Irene's spine. Is he fading? Will he go into another frenzy if I don't do something soon? She 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 she hurried to get a blood pack. Except... there were none left. The lone human broke into a run to get back to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

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," he griped, sounding more like himself again.

"What did you guys do?"

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?" 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."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"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? Should I fetch one of them? Irene shook her head, dismayed at her own thoughts. She promised she would not bring another person to their doom again; what happened with Robin could not be repeated.

Irene glared at Cyrus and his pleading eyes. "...Fine." She approached the vampire, pulling her hair off of her neck. Instead, he took hold of her hand. "A wrist will... be better."

"Why...?"

Cyrus touched her neck, a jabbing pain radiating out from disturbed bruises. "Who did that?"

Irene hesitated; unsure of the ramifications of ratting out Kendrick. She did not know the social dynamics at play here. But it was time to stop hiding the truth when people hurt her. "Kendrick."

Cyrus nodded. "Ah... I see." He didn't ask further. Instead he brought her wrist to his lips. He looked up at her, pausing. "Brace yourself. This will hurt."

It amazed Irene how quickly the smaller scratches on Cyrus vanished. She held her wrist, which had already been licked closed, 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 patted his stomach appreciatively. Irene frowned and looked away. "Come, it's a compliment."

"Kendrick said you'd end up feeding on me."

"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?"

"I was gonna say k-"

"But it does! It hurts!" Irene tightened the grip she had on her wrist.

"But then I kiss it better!"

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

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

"Medicine is at least beneficial. What do I get out of you biting me?" Irene argued. She wasn't sure why she was bothering. Cyrus was going to do what Cyrus was going to do. Perhaps it was pure boredom at this point.

"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 rubbed 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." Cyrus clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Still, I told him to keep you safe, not to turn you into a giraffe."

"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 didn't want to know what we vampires got up to?" Cyrus stretched and grunted, resting his hands on his knees. He did not seem at all alarmed or ashamed that she knew.

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."

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

"Wrong?"

"Yes!" Irene barely contained her voice from shrieking.

"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 sigh of relief which followed.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Oh Irene, I know you aren't that naive." Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Why did you bring me that drunken man?" Irene went silent. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. "Exactly." Cyrus steepled his fingers. "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've been told these things are wrong, but not experienced what it's like to have it done to you? Maybe..." She drew her eyebrows together. "...the moral ground is the only battlefield I know."

"Darling, you really should choose your battlefields more carefully." 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." Irene crossed her arms. "Not a chance." She shook her head. "Not in hell. Even if you became a saint."

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. 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 hurt people, sometimes so deeply they 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 took in a deep breath, scowling at him. "You're judgmental, proud, and full of anger. That anger is the glue that holds you together, and I think if you learn how to channel it, you could do amazing things. But you are stumped by empty morals that you don't explore fully. You 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. She had to steady herself as if she'd taken a physical blow. Her gaze lifted, glare fixed and dreadful. "I know I'm not perfect."

"Neither am I," Cyrus responded flippantly.

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

"Do you?"

"Yes! And I won't have you trying to make me feel ashamed, when I know I am... I'm a better person than you," Irene said, fighting the hot tears that were threatening to burst like a broken dam.

"You are, Irene. Did I say otherwise?" Cyrus shook his head. "I get you've got your morals. They're healthy to have when you're young. But you need to put your values 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. 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?"

He smirked. "My morals? Ha! I said there's nothing wrong with having them, but it doesn't mean I want any. They complicate things." Cyrus rubbed the side of his head. "I just go with what feels good. Or avoid what feels uncomfortable."

Irene rolled her eyes. "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." He squinted, picking a piece of lint off of the blanket and flicking it to the side.

"You did," Irene said, a queasy feeling in her stomach.

"Well... some of the things that 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. If I go soft it won't be because of your preaching."

"And what do you expect to gain by telling me this? I'm not easily going to forget the things you've done to me." 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.

"What's wrong with being honest? Besides, you're a wonderful foil. You're serious, I'm silly. You're moral, I'm immoral. You're angry, I'm jovial. You're a prude, and I'm a sex wizard. It's fun! And I needed some fun after the torments I've endured."

"Tch, if you're being so honest, why not tell me the real reason I'm still alive?" Irene watched Cyrus carefully, daring him to spin more of his lies.

The saucy vampire 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." He leaned forward, eyebrows lifted. "It's as if people can't have multiple, equally valid reasons for doing anything."

Irene studied Cyrus for a moment or two, ears hot with a sense of feeling called out. She had been preparing a diatribe against him for his ulterior motive, whatever it may be. She chewed on her lower lip, but then finally nodded, urging him to continue.

"That whole blood chalice thing I said didn't existt?" Cyrus lifted a hand. "I was lying. If you were to step out there and take a look at the other vampires' wounds, you will see their wounds have not healed nearly as fast as mine. And they already gobbled up all our blood reserves."

Irene glanced at the door, then at Cyrus. He unraveled 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 reluctantly got up and approached the door. She didn't even need to take a step out of the bedroom to see what she needed to see. 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. Horrified, she shut the door.

Irene could scarcely assemble all the ways in which being a mortal with healing blood was a sick cosmic joke. She looked over to Cyrus, who was by then standing with his arms crossed. 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 was defective, or if the tales were wrong. Then it turns out you just are wired differently."

"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. But once I get my revenge on Gabriel, 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 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 their leader and biting her. Especially if they were injured. But staying in the room with Cyrus made her skin crawl. 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 to distract herself.

At least vampires don't snore.