We'd made it to the bed after round three and ruined the sheets. By the end, Charlotte nearly carved her name into my shoulders and licked the blood from her lips from the bites near my neck. I was riddled with teeth marks and scratches.

But so was she.

We laid beside each other, hands clasped within the others, eyes lost in the moonlight reflected on the ceiling. The voices of people echoed outside, carried upon the wind that blew through the cold night. I reminded Charlotte that we needed to go to them, to end this, but she refused to move.

I partially agreed. As much as I wanted to fulfill my revenge, I didn't want to leave her side. A part of me felt as though it were a dream, one I didn't want to wake from. I'd spent fifteen years lost in nightmares. This was my escape.

"When I left, I thought I could easily forget you," I started to say.

Charlotte rolled and tried to cover my mouth with her hands, but I shook my head. I took her hand in mine and faced her, moving the dark strands that fell over her face. Her lips parted to talk. I took my turn to cover her mouth with my hand. "Let me talk," I said, "please."

"Okay," she breathed.

"I drank, I smoked; I did everything in my power to drown out our memories, but I only managed to push them into dreams. Not only could I not escape you during the day,  our past plagued me at night."

Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed, and I traced the line around her bottom lip.

"Love, I didn't want to leave you, but you only seemed in pain at my side. Just know, my life has been a living Hell without you. And before you start to explain yours, I'm aware of the Hell you're in. It's why I need us to move, get out of this bed, and end this."

Her eyes opened with their bright, golden glow. She touched the scratch she left beside my ear, still tender and red. The warmth of her fingers dulled the ache. "Is it wrong that I'm afraid more than this Hell will end?"

I traced my tongue along my bottom lip. "You say that, but why? I'm here aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Then, Charlotte, nothing will go wrong. I've dealt with worse"

"But this," Charlotte touched the side of my temple, gently pressing down on the bone, "I know it's worse than it ever was. It's only a matter of time before I lose you."

"Charlotte."

"No," she kissed me, tears in her eyes, "you forget you lost three hundred years of your life. Your family is here, and you knew nothing of them. Now, you lose days while you walk. So, please, let me stay here like this."

Shaking my head, I pulled away from her hands. I couldn't look down at her sad, brown eyes. Instead, I looked down at my hands. Yes, I'd forgotten, but that wasn't the case. I remembered the men and women I killed; I remembered the weapons I yielded. Perhaps, Nathan was wrong; my brain wasn't deteriorating within an old injury. It could have been psychological, my conscious trapping itself in a pocket of my mind to mask my own internal pain. Like a victim of violence, splitting my consciousness in two: one being my reality, and the other, my dreams.

"You won't lose me," I said again as I moved off the bed and slipped on my clothes. "I promise."

"You've made me lots of promises," Charlotte muttered under her breath as she lifted the blankets to cover her breasts.

I pulled my head through the hole of my shirt and watched her, watched her frown deepen and the lines around her eyes moisten. I was prepared to apologize because it was all I knew to do, but down below, there was a crash and a scream. Both my eyes and Charlotte's popped open wide. Outside the window, the quiet voices rose in volume.

Someone yelled, "What is Abby doing!"

Clothes," I ordered, shoving my feet into my shoes. "Now."

"Right."

I was out the door and down the hall before Charlotte slammed it shut to follow suit. Nimble and fast as ever, it took her seconds to catch up to me, and together we ran down the stairs of the manor. In the stairwells, as well as the halls, we pushed through the crowd of curious believers and Evergreens alike. Their murmurs were all the same:

"What had he done to deserve that?"

I side-stepped in between two men and grabbed Charlotte's hand so as to not lose her. One of them answered the question that lingered in the air. "Sinned beyond salvation."

Sinned? Who sinned? Who did she kill?

"Is this tonight's blessing?" I asked Charlotte as we quickly made our way through the maze-like halls that led to the 'chapel.'

"No," she said, "we don't outright kill. They'd die from the blood, but not by our hands."

"Then, why?" I looked back at her as I motioned at the people who wouldn't move. "What are they saying?"

Another scream flew through the air, and this time, I knew its owner. The cry belonged to Rosie, and I had no more time for questions.

I looked at Charlotte once before pushing past three men who cursed my name. I yelled back at them to fuck off before I rushed through the archway that led into the chapel. The candles brightened the shadowed room, allowing my eyes to easily scan over the pews. The seats were empty, except for a few curious onlookers. I followed their eyes.

Ahead, in the center and beneath the statue of Lucifer, were Rosie and Victor. Victor yelled at four men to grab towels and water, while Rosie sobbed, seated weakly on the floor with someone in her arms. It wasn't until I started to run forward that I saw why she sat and who she held:

"Nathan!" I yelled, using the edges of the pews to propel me forward.

Rosie turned, peering at me with bloodshot and tear-filled eyes. She cradled Nathan's head in her lap. His chest was cut open, blood staining his white shirt red. His fingers trembled as he struggled to hold my daughter's hand, and when he looked at me, I saw hollowness in his brown eyes.

I dropped beside them, and Charlotte dropped beside me. "What happened? Why did Abigail do this?"

"She knows, Monty," Rosie squeezed her eyes shut, dropping tears onto Nathan's face. "She knows about him. Said he couldn't come to the blessing because he was cursed."

"What? Know what?" I looked up at Victor, who covered his mouth in disbelief. "And you? Where were you?"

"Me?" he questioned, taken aback. "What about you? I left you in that garden hours ago! He came here looking for you!"

"Me?" I looked down at Nathan and grabbed his shaking hand. He sputtered blood, smiling weakly as he looked up at me. "Don't," I warned, shaking my head. "Don't move. Don't speak. They're getting someone."

"No, I'll get someone," Victor hissed as he pulled his blood-stained sweater off his head. "Abby's put her mark on him. They won't listen to just me."

I watched as he rushed down the aisle between the pews, pushing past the spectators. He yelled at three more people to break the crowd, but no one listened, but he had no time to argue with them. Nathan would bleed out in a matter of minutes.

"It's cool," Nathan groaned, looking down at his chest. "I'm going to die."

Charlotte moved the hair from his face and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. She didn't say a word as she moved his head from Rosie's lap onto hers and gently shushed his pained breaths.

"You're not going to die," I said. "You've got a long time before that happens."

Rosie cried harder than she did before. She wiped Nathan's blood from her hands and onto her dress. It smeared with streaks of red and black. Specs stained her bare legs. "No, Monty," she choked, looking up at me with glowing eyes. "She said he isn't allowed to live."

"Merde," I hissed. "Nate, you have all the goddamn right to live, you hear me?"

"It doesn't matter," Nathan hissed, "I was dying anyway."

I sat back on my legs. Three candles blew out around us, drawing out Lucifer's looming shadow. I searched my friend's face for the joke but couldn't find it in his expression. All I saw was pain and truth. "You aren't dying, Nate, hear me?"

"That's the thing," Rosie grabbed my hand as Charlotte shifted Nathan to lay on the floor, "he's sick."

"No," I pointed at my chest, "I'm sick. You're mother's sick. Nathan? He's fine."

"No," she whispered, "he isn't."

"Lamont." His wet hand touched my knee, pulling my gaze back onto his face. His words were quieter than whispers. "Cancer. H-Had it for years."

I sucked in my breath and held it.

His weight loss, lack of appetite, tired eyes, and minimal energy—all symptoms of an incurable disease? I'd simply thought he didn't eat enough or slept too little. How could I have not noticed he was sick?

"You're going to be alright, Nathan," Charlotte said, smiling weakly at him as she touched the wound on his chest. "Victor went for help."

Nathan shook his head, closing his eyes. "Don't waste time on me. We're here for a reason."

"I won't lose you in the process," I snapped, pushing myself up to stand.

He snorted, and blood spilled from his lips again. With the corner of her shirt, Charlotte wiped it clean. Nathan looked up at her with a weak smile before looking at me. "Never thought you'd be scared to lose me, Lamont. I thought I'd be more scared to not have you."

"Nathan."

"I hoped one day, your disease would be my cure. Instead w-with you, I found more than that." He sucked in a breath as I kneeled beside him. "I know you don't care, or feel the same way, b-but know that I—"

I covered his mouth before he could say the words. I knew what he wanted to say, but I wouldn't let him use it as a goodbye. As I told Rosie before, I didn't care who the man loved or not; he'd helped me with so much throughout the years. The least I could do is try and save his life.

"Lamont?"

"Monty?"

I walked over to the statue, examining its sides. The statues upstairs had weapons on them, but this one didn't. It was bare and 'pure,' and completely useless to me. I glanced down at my wrists, at the blue veins that bumped my cursed blood. From what I knew—what we all knew—was simple: a person who came in contact with my blood or fluids would either live or die. Nathan, with the gash on his chest and the puddle of blood around my feet, was dying.

I could still give him a chance.

"Monty!"

With my teeth, I broke through the skin below my wrist, ripping open a wound wide enough to have blood spill down my arm.

"Lamont, what are you doing?"

I lifted Nathan's head from the floor and pressed his lips to my skin. He was reluctant at first, but once the blood touched his lips, he knew had no choice. "Drink," I told him, closing my eyes. "Drink until it burns."

"Monty, you're—"

"Saving him," I said as an ache spread up my arm. "Either he lives or dies, but at least with my blood, I know life is a possibility."

"What if he doesn't?" Charlotte asked, pulling Nathan back onto her lap when he choked on my blood. "What if he doesn't wake after this?"

On Lucifer's shoulder was a towel, a white one. I whipped it off the detestable statue and wrapped it tight around my hand and wrist. "At least I give him a chance," I said, flexing my fingers. "You hear me, Nathan? I'm giving you a chance. You better live, damn it."

He didn't say a word—he simply looked at me. His eyes scanned mine before he squeezed his shut. A groan escaped him, and behind me, I heard men yell.

"Charlotte, Rosie," I looked down at them both, "stay with him. Don't leave him here alone."

"But, what about Abby?" Rosie stood as I turned around, cutting through the pews to leave the chapel.

"I'll handle her!" I shouted back at them, looking back as Nathan cried out in pain. "Just don't let him die!"