My arms trembled and my pulse raged, color gone from my face. A man had been inside my home—doing what? Waiting? Searching? A thief? A robber? My intuition said his presence here had a far more malignant purpose than stealing petty cash. My thoughts winged every which way and ultimately came to a single conclusion: the cult. The cult we hunted. They knew I was alive.

I clutched the door's frame for support and my nails dug into the wood.

Darius returned several minutes later, marching into view again with empty hands and a prominent scowl. He crossed the porch and shoved me from the doorway as he slammed the door shut behind himself.

"It was the cult," I breathed as I clasped his arm. The leather of his jacket's sleeve was hot to the touch. "It had to have been the cult. Oh God, Darius—they know I'm alive. They're going to tell Balth—! Envy!"

"You don't know it was them," he said. He smacked the light switch and the floor lamp flickered on, revealing an untidy living room. The man hadn't trashed the place, but he had gone through my things, had pawed through my possessions searching for something. "Even if it was, they wouldn't go to him."

"What—what are you talking about?! Of course they will!" My grip tightened and I shook the creature's arm. Darius' red stare landed on my own. He couldn't be this obtuse. If the cult knew one of their sacrifices was alive, why wouldn't they report my existence to Balthier? It wasn't logical. "He's going to know I'm alive and he's going to kill me—!"

Darius pulled his arm out of my reach, sneering. "Idiot. If that man was from your cult, they would not tell Envy. Doing so would be akin to telling the Sin he has been working for free, taking their orders and their directions and tolerating their high-handed existence for nothing." He pushed the couch into its typical position and straightened the blanket folded over its back. "Yes, he would come after you—after me—but he would destroy the cult first. If it's their desire to suffer a messy, agonizing end just to spite you, then we can begin to worry."

His answer was feasible, though my anxiety couldn't be completely swayed. Perhaps it wouldn't be rational for the cultists to tell Balthier I continued to breathe—but, I could hardly expect a group of serial killing madmen to be rational. "So what then? If they know who I am and where I live, should we—move?" I didn't want to move. This was my home, as little as I appreciated it. The madness of the otherworld was supposed to dissolve inside these walls; this was my haven, my place of recuperation, a sanctuary to regroup shattered thoughts and wounded hearts. The cult had desecrated that illusion of sanctity, had driven home the fact that I wasn't safe from them. I wasn't safe anywhere.

"No. The situation presents an interesting opportunity. Let's hope your cult does try to find you here again. It will save me the footwork." Darius laughed mirthlessly.

"But what if you're not here?" I demanded as I stepped closer to the Sin, annoyed by his sardonic amusement. Tara's cat kept himself at my feet, hampering my movements. "What if you're not here, Darius? What if they send two men? Three? With guns? What in the Hell am I supposed to do then?!"

"Your lack of faith in my capability is astounding."

"Well, that one just ran out the goddamn door!" I threw an arm toward said door as my voice edged into hysterics. "If that man had been armed, I would've been dead before I knew what had happened—before you knew what had happened, because you were too busy messing around with that harpy of a woman!" I smacked his chest and my hand met unyielding muscle and bone. His collar was ripped, and there was blood drying on his jacket and shirt. "Oh, yes! Yes, let's have them come here! Let's have them come here so I can be killed by your utter incompetency—!"

The Sin gave no warning before pinning me to the wall, my breath escaping in a startled gasp as my body was caged by Darius' larger form. Violence sparked between us, radiating from the eldritch creature in waves as it burned wherever his frame made contact with mine. His knee was between my legs, one hand curled about my throat as the other pinned my left wrist above us. I used my free hand to shove between our bodies and push, but Darius was immovable. He dipped his head closer toward my neck, his breath scalding against the vulnerable flesh as his nose lightly traced from shoulder, to jugular, and higher still.

As I breathed and my heart raced with fear, I inadvertently took his scent into my lungs. He smelt like fire, like water. Like the rocks dreaming at the bottom of a cold, dark abyss, crushed by a million leagues of salt and pressure. It should have smelled awful, that bitter, smoky scent clinging to his clothes and skin, but it didn't. He smelt of the earth, of all the primordial bits and pieces people never consider, the rock and bone and sulfur that twisted our world into being before things green and wild could grow. Saule had said it was impossible to capture energy, that no one could bottle lightning. I think she lied. I could taste the shock of peril on my tongue, could feel it jar through my very being.

I think someone bottled lightning when they made Darius.

"Listen to me, you mewling human," he hissed as the sharp edge of his teeth skated the rim of my ear. "You've said your piece, now you will listen. You do not insult me. You do not question my competency. I have existed through inconceivable eons—have survived through the most trying of tortures and tests. You have no right to question my capabilities. If your cult returns here, I said I would stop them and you will believe in my word. You have no right to doubt it."

"I have every right!" I choked when his hand tightened and his teeth snapped together much too close to the sensitive skin of my ear. "It's—my—life—!"

Darius drew back. We stared at one another, the intensity of his scarlet glare catching my breath. "No, Sara Gaspard, it's my life. You are all that stands between me and the event horizon of utter degradation. One step further along the road of starvation and I will lose everything that I am. Do you think I will allow some stupid cultists with guns and bloody aspirations to take that from me? To ruin my life?"

Darius withdrew and the pressure of his touch retreated to allow for a modicum of space between us. I rubbed my neck where the memory of his oppressive heat remained and refused to drop his gaze. "No," I said, choosing my words with care. "No, I think you are just selfish enough to move worlds if it means you get to keep on living."

"So long as we understand each other." The Sin smirked, the fire leaving his eyes in trickling increments. Blackness swirled between his coal-colored lashes. "By the way...." He dipped a hand into the front pocket of his jeans to retrieve the receipt I had left for him that morning. "Saule Ozlin and her coven exist on my sufferance alone, Sara."

I eyed the receipt and swallowed my first retort, if only for Saule's sake. I'd promised her Darius wouldn't seek her out again, and I meant to keep that promise. "S-so was it helpful?"

"It remains to be seen." Darius tucked the paper away again, crossing his arms. "It was the address for one vampire, undoubtedly one of the den's fetchers the coven has been observing. If I mask my presence and follow him, the leech should eventually lead me to the main den."

"So potentially helpful." I sighed, as I kneaded my arms to discharge the lingering static. My gamble to ask the witch for information had paid off. Darius tsked under his breath, sitting on the proffered edge of the couch's back as he looked toward the books knocked from the mantel. The frame that had once held the picture of my sister and I was broken on the hearth, the picture missing.

"Potentially." The Sin picked at his soiled shirt, sniffing. I wondered whose blood covered it. His own? Amoroth's? "Sara."

I jerked my eyes away from his chest, straightening. "What?"

"Amoroth's going to have you under her thumb from now on."

"So I gathered." I mimicked his standoffish posture. "Can you do anything about that?"

His brow rose. "Do? Why, this is potentially the best outcome for both of us. Amoroth thinks I'm killing her employees and intends to keep you close to deter my activities. In doing so, however, she's made you an employee. The woman is hell-bent on protecting her interests, and that includes her underlings."

My brow remained furrowed with confusion—then my mouth popped open, surprised. "I'm indirectly under her protection now, aren't I?"

"Exactly." Darius snorted at the irony. "So while you are at work and Amoroth hovers with her misguided ideas, I will be free to follow leeches through the underbelly of this filthy city and locate the den."

"But...there is someone out there killing Klau employees," I reminded him as I frowned. "Being a Klau employee puts me on their radar as well."

"I am not worried. Once Amoroth stops chasing dead-ends, she will find her culprit and dispose of them. The woman is an idiot, but not useless." Darius exhaled and meandered into the kitchen, flicking the overhead light on as he went. I'd restocked after visiting Saule the day before and had prepared several plates for the Sin to avoid having him destroy my cupboards. He retrieved one now, prodding the plastic wrap with a puzzled expression.

"Take the plastic off and put the plate in the microwave," I intoned as I moved to slouch on the breakfast bar. I didn't want to be any closer to Amoroth than I had to be, but perhaps Darius was correct. Being under the Sin of Lust's reluctant guard during the day would be better than being alone while Darius worked on our contract. I felt so small, so weak—so vulnerable. I wouldn't let the cult take me by surprise again, but what to do? What could I do?

Darius put the plate in the microwave as I directed, dropping the torn plastic wrap on the floor without thought. He stared at the metallic box for a minute, obviously unsure of what to do next. I was about to tell him, when the Sin audibly sniffed and sucked in a short breath. His hand rose, then hesitated. He sucked in another breath and held it—then pressed 'time cook,' 'two minutes,' and 'start' with remarkable, practiced ease.

The whole scene was...odd. Did he learn how to operate the microwave by—what? Smelling it?

I covered my face with my hands as I shook my head.

"Sara."

"What now?" I said, voice muffled.

Darius watched his food revolve behind the tinted glass, his fingers braced on the counter's edge. "If you are threatened, even while in Amoroth's domain...." His words were quiet, more thoughtful than they had been when he was threatening me. "Allow yourself to be afraid. Allow your fear to take you. I will...sense it. I will come."

I peeked through my fingers, my lips pursed. Darius ignored me as he stared at his meal.

I would never understand him, and perhaps the Sin was simply beyond my comprehension. The man didn't care for me in the slightest, but he would protect my life, attain my sister's vengeance, and defy the ultimate monster of his own kind all in the name of survival. The image he presented didn't mesh, didn't allow for clear focus. After existing so wretchedly for so many long, crushing years, one would expect the ennui of time to have chipped away at Darius' will to survive—but, if anything, time had only exacerbated Darius' hunger for life.

Darius existed in a strange paradox of thoughts and ideas. He wanted to live but had provoked Balthier in the past. His pride made him do stupid things, say stupid things. He was laconic, irritable, and visibly jaded by the world—but the Sin still clung to life with the vigor of the young, and he would continue to hold on, even it was by the ragged ends of his fingertips.

But he would risk his life for my contract. He would walk that thin line above oblivion, thumbing his nose at Balthier and Amoroth, sneering into the void as if daring it to reach for him. Perhaps he really was half-mad.

The Sin walked into a room and commanded attention—not because of his appearance or his power or because of what he was. No, he commanded attention because he was a whirlwind of conflict, a hurricane of unknown potential, of limitless possibilities, and utterly terrifying unpredictability.

I didn't understand Darius. Trying to understand was exhausting.

"À la débandade," I muttered as I leaned off the bar. I picked up Tara's cat and held the sullen feline in my arms.

"What?" Darius asked, glancing in my direction. The microwave dinged.

"À la débandade," I repeated louder, tossing the phrase over my shoulder as I careened toward my bedroom. "Like a stampede, Darius."

I shut myself in my room, and unbeknownst to me the Sin removed his plate from the microwave and grumbled under his breath. "A stampede?" he mumbled, eyes narrowing. "I don't think I'll ever understand that woman."