And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Atë by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war

-Julius Caesar, III.i.285-89

He knew his mouth itched before he could open his eyes, an immovable, woolly sensation he knew all too well. His body felt heavy yet raw, and his muscles ached down to the bone.

Ethan knew instantly what had happened; he had been down this road too many times before. It would take some time for his body to answer to his mind. Instead of attempting to regain complete consciousness, he focused his energy on remember how he had gotten to this point. He knew the beast had taken control – that much was evident – and he never could remember what happened once he began to attack. It was what had occurred before that was the blur he needed to unravel.

He knew he had married Vanessa; that memory was etched deep within his mind, and he would cherish the image of the light shining off her hair as they stood at the altar until the day he died. And he knew they had made it back to the mansion, but the details thereafter were indistinct. It was as if his memories were a pool from which he had to fish out images and string them together into some form of coherence. He could see himself carrying Vanessa into his bedroom; her wedding dress slipping from her shoulders to the floor; her pressed so completely against him, her hair a curtain around both their heads.

More and more flashes of memory merged into a true recollection until finally Ethan could play back the night before in its entirety. And he did, over and over again until he found he didn't want to stop. There would be consequences for his giving up control to the monster within him; there always were. It was childish and more than a little irresponsible, but Ethan could not bring himself to face whatever he had done when he could live in the memory of the first perfect two hours of his marriage.

He was still unbearably warm, though, to the point that if he was conscious he knew he would be shaking. Ethan could feel his control slipping, his body beginning to rouse itself from its post-transformative stupor. He didn't want to respond to it, to awake and have to answer to himself.

But then something smooth and cool ran along his face, then again, spreading to several points on his skin. He knew this feeling, recognized this touch. His ears registered sporadic sounds, but he couldn't make out what they were. The delicate feeling returned to his face, and all at once Ethan's eyes flew open and his hand reached out, grabbing something soft and silky.

Vanessa was hovering over him, her eyes astonishingly blue and clear. Her hands were on his face, tracing comforting patterns into his flushed skin. His hand had encircled her upper arm, wrinkling her robe.

When he jerked awake her hands had fallen down to his bare chest. Instinct attempted to sit him up before he was conscious of his body doing so, but she gently pushed him back into the cushions.

"Lie back," she murmured. "Not so fast."

"Whasgoinon?" he slurred, his eyes darting around, trying to discern where he was.

"It's alright," she whispered soothingly, her fingers rubbing circles into his skin. "You're alright. We all are."

He let her hands guide him back down, his eyes finally focusing on her. She was sitting beside his reclining form; he could feel her thigh against his ribs. He caught one of her wrists in his larger hand. "You're okay?" he mumbled.

"Yes," she smiled, sliding her free hand up his heated skin to clasp at his neck momentarily before brushing over his face again, moving his hair out of his eyes. "Good morning."

His fuzzy vision began to clear, and he realized he was lying on one of the leather sofas in the parlour, a woolen blanket strewn over his half-naked body. The fire blazed exceptionally high on the hearth. "Or very nearly that," she quietly amended.

Ethan fixed his eyes on her face, a soft smile playing on her lips and her eyes bright with something like triumph. She had pulled her hair half up so that it still cascaded over her shoulder and down her right arm, stopping just above his clinging hand. He swept his eyes over her in a quick appraisal. She still wore the black robe she had donned in his guest room, which though mused was still intact. Her skin was glowing, from the heat of the fire or her obvious emotion Ethan could not say. In fact, the only real evidence she bore of surviving an attack was a clean and shallow scrape on her left cheekbone.

He tried to raise his hand to inspect her injury, but his fine motor skills had yet to fully return and his missed, instead bringing his hand to curve around the nape of her neck.

"Did I hurt you?" The ache from the night before blossomed once more in his stomach, the sickening fear that he had caused her pain.

But her lips still smiled and her eyes were bright. She took his face more determinedly between her hands. "No. Oh Ethan, no. Just the opposite."

One hand skimmed across his temple as she ran her fingers through his parted hair. "You saved me. You saved us all."

He stared up at her silently for a long moment, searching her expression for any evidence of her placating him. But Vanessa looked at him so fondly, so lovingly that he knew she was not protecting him from his own monstrosity. He loosened his grip on her arm, allowing his hand to move down to gently entrap her elbow. "What happened?"

Her brow furrowed slightly. "You remember nothing?"

"Not after I...changed. I never do."

Ethan knew he should have prepared her for what he was going to become. If he were half the man she seemed convinced he was he would have told her the extent of his affliction long before asking her to marry him. It was one thing to know that he changed into something violent, that he was this Wolf of God; it was another thing entirely to know that her husband could shift his body into that of a deformed wolf with or without his consent. Vanessa should have known that he had no power to control the beast within him once it took over, that he could not predict what it would do any more than he could remember it afterward.

He had been ashamed. Needlessly, he knew, but he had lived all his life with the fear not only of the wolf but what it could do to those he loved. Vanessa had once told him she would accept him regardless of what he was, and he knew in the moment that she had she would someday know and see him at his worst, but selfishly he wanted her to continue to see him as a kind man, a man who would never put her in harm's way. And after bearing witness to her own demons, he hadn't wanted to burden her with any more darkness.

But from the soft expression of love on her face and the tenderness of her fingers stoking the outer shell of his ear, Ethan knew he had been wrong to doubt any part of her.

"I was right, before," she said softly, her fingers never ceasing their soothing ministrations. "The nightcomers came for you, not me. They made it clear you were their target from the start; you were the only one they truly attacked."

Her eyes dropped from his face to his chest, watching its steady rise and fall. He applied the barest pressure to her neck until she glanced back at his eyes. Ethan thought the hesitation might be out of fear, but the crease of her brow and the resoluteness of her gaze conveyed only concern. He had regained almost full control of his fingers and used then to knead gently, encouragingly into her skin.

"What did I do, Vanessa?" he asked lowly.

She smoothed over his moustache with her thumb before opening her mouth to speak. "There were three of them, as there have been each time before, each as wretched as the next. They blew past the door as you were...shifting, shall I say? As you were shifting. Sembene looked once it was all over, and it appears they entered first through my bedroom, though I am unsure as to how."

A growl rumbled up from deep within Ethan's chest. "You're not sleeping in there again."

Vanessa's eyes changed, not to outrage or indignation but to a certain playfulness. She shifted to lean more completely over him, her hair dangling between them. "Why would I?"

The primal part of Ethan that still retained a weakening control over him begged for her, demanded he seize her and pull her to him and finish all the desperate passions he had longed to reach with her the night before. But Vanessa straightened slightly, her visage sobering, and he gulped, wresting control back from the beast. He inclined his head to indicate that she continue.

"They came for you. Unequivocally. They spared me a parting glance and that was all. You lunged for them as soon as they broke through the door."

"What did I look like?" he wondered aloud.

She palmed his cheek lightly, her brow furrowing. "Yourself, but more. You stayed upright like a man, and your features remained entirely your own, but different. Your face was more similar to a hound's, and your eyes...changed. Your hair grew until it was like fur. Your hands were different, more like talons than fingers." She ran the pads of her fingers over his mouth. "You had fangs – no, not fangs, but your teeth were those of a carnivore."

His hands shook even as he held fast to her skin. "Were you afraid?"

Vanessa blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears. "No. I have and will always feel nothing but safe with you. Even as the wolf you made no semblance of a move to hurt me. You defended me, Ethan. You forced the nightcomers away from me as a hound herds sheep. They did not once touch me."

She reached behind her to gingerly lift his hand from around her neck and mold his palm to her injured cheek, her hand still cupping his. "This was my own folly. I leapt out of the way and threw myself into the banister. I had thought, perhaps, the verbis diablo might come forth from me and force them out as it has before, but there was no need.

"Whatever the nightcomers expected you to be, they obviously underestimated you. Ethan, the terror in their eyes when they saw you as the wolf...They attacked you still, but more reservedly than I have ever seen.

"You chased them from the guest room and into the hall; the other men were waiting. It seems that they are not perturbed by guns, but knives are dangerous to them. Regardless, they were most afraid of your claws. You leapt at them as they did you. It does not seem that they were able to do you any harm, but you can rip their flesh. All three were wounded in some capacity; Sembene afforded them a few gashes with his machete as well.

"Two escaped the mansion; it is likely they are regrouping with their master. I know not what they will do next, but I doubt they will risk an outright attack again any time soon."

"And the third?" Ethan asked. "What of the third nightcomer?"

Vanessa turned her head to press her lips reverently to his calloused palm. "You killed her, Ethan," she murmured into his skin before leaning her cheek back into his hand, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. "You killed her. Or you did at least as far as one of those atrocities can be killed. You ripped her chest open and she bled out onto the marble. Dr. Frankenstein has been examining the body ever since."

"And what did I do after it was dead? Did I attack anyone else?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, no one. The two escaped while you were dispatching the third. Once you were satisfied she was dead you howled and collapsed. You did not move once after that; Sir Malcolm and Sembene carried you here after your body was as it normally is. I washed away the blood and grime from the nightcomers, but you still slept on. I assumed you would wake when you were ready."

Her fingers gripped at his skin. "Do not try to blame yourself for things you have not done, Ethan. I won't have it. The only thing you did this night was stay true to the vows you made me."

He had to look away from her, guilt bubbling up from the pit of his stomach like bile, despite her protestations. His eyes followed his hand as it glided down from her elbow to grip her hipbone through her robe. Only then could he meet her gaze.

"I should have done something much sooner," he admitted gruffly. "I knew I was hesitating, that I wasn't doing all I could to protect you, and I'm sorry. I could have saved you weeks of torment had I only been able to let go of my pride and my shame."

Vanessa shook her head again, her fingers tight in his hair as she leaned over him once more. "I know what it is to fear the things that live inside us, that hurt us. Never apologize to me for that. I hold nothing against you and I never will."

"I didn't want you to think of me as a monster."

The tears returned unbidden to her eyes, making Ethan's heart clench. She stroked her fingers along the curve of his cheek, sliding them down until she cradled his chin in the bed of her fingers. "You are no monster, Ethan Chandler. You are beautiful. You are more than a man, but you are anything but a monster. You are my protector."

She nudged closer to him, the hand at her hip spasming at her words. With the light of the fire glowing behind her she looked nothing short of salvation. "Perhaps that is why you carry this weight, why you of all men were chosen. Perhaps you were always meant to keep me safe."

"Like fate?" he croaked.

She paused for half a moment, stroking the underside of his jaw before she answered. "I still don't know, but I believe I'm open to the possibility."

There were no more words Ethan could say, no thoughts or actions which could convey the emotions raging through him as he stared up into her overflowing eyes. He had never dared to hope someone could say such things to him and believe them so sincerely, least of all her. All the things he wished to tell her before they were wed – words of love and longing and inevitability – caught in his throat. So in one sweeping movement he sat up, the blanket falling away, and pulled her fully onto his lap. His right hand buried itself in her thick curls while the other wrapped all the way around her back to clutch her opposite hip, holding her to him. One of her arms snaked around him, wedging itself firmly between the leather of the upholstery and the burning skin of his back. Her left hand flattened over the bare skin of his chest.

Vanessa leaned heavily against him, her legs coming up to twist over his knees beneath her robe. For once, she was warm against him. He raked the tip of his nose over her forehead, pressing kisses along her hairline, hoping those small tokens of his feelings might communicate his love and pride and awe and appreciation better than words ever could. Ethan felt her cheek turn up against his chest as she smiled, his own face still pushed into her hair. He leaned his head back enough to fit his chin over her head, bringing her even closer as his hand left her hip to peel hers from his chest. A contented sigh blew out of her nose as he traced the band of her ring with his fingertips, feeling the symbols cut into the metal. He wrapped his hand around her own so that the two rings pressed together.

"I told you you would be blessed."

Sembene, with his catlike movements, managed to enter the parlour without Ethan's notice, a full tea service in hand. He nodded at their joined hands, seemingly unperturbed by their current position, as he set the tea down on the coffee table. Vanessa made no move to leave Ethan's lap but sat up straighter, her weight shifting on his thighs. Sembene stood as motionless as always, his eyes expectant. Ethan cleared his throat.

"Sembene, I want to thank you for what you did last night. And I want to apologize for not telling you what exactly to expect."

Sembene folded his hands behind his back. "I saw nothing last night to disturb me. Nature is wise, Ethan Chandler; for poisons, there are antidotes. For stormy nights, there are clear mornings. For evil, there is a counter, a means by which an abomination might be destroyed. This is what I witnessed last night. This, and nothing more." He lowered his head, a slow, stately movement Ethan could never hope to replicate. "I am glad you are here, my friend."

Vanessa squeezed his hand as if in agreement, and Ethan felt something stir inside him. Their reactions were so far from what he had expected, so different from what he himself had always thought of the wolf. All he could do was thank Sembene as sincerely as he could, his arms holding tight to Vanessa in wordless gratitude. Sembene nodded once more and gestured to the tea.

"It is nearly morning, and there is still much to be done. I made a cake yesterday afternoon to celebrate your marriage, but in the excitement it was left waiting. Perhaps we will eat it for breakfast."

"That sounds wonderful, Sembene," Vanessa said smoothly.

Frankenstein chose that moment to enter the parlour, an apron tied around his waist and his hands covered by long, stained gloves.

"We might want to hold off on the cake just yet," he said to Sembene before narrowing his eyes at Ethan and Vanessa. "This will be a regular occurrence, I suppose?"

Ethan smirked and stiffened his hand at Vanessa's waist. "Probably."

She smiled cheekily as the doctor rolled his eyes. "What news do you have, doctor?"

He sighed histrionically and let his arms hand loosely at his sides. "You'll want to come and see this. The sun is up, but there has been no change."

Vanessa nodded, slid gracefully from atop Ethan, and rose to her feet. "I asked Victor to leave the body somewhere where the morning light might shine on it. I thought perhaps her true form would not be able to withstand the light of day."

"We won't know if it's really dead until the body is destroyed," Ethan said as he pulled the wool blanket over his naked shoulders. Dark stains smeared his ruined trousers, the only marker that he had engaged in battle only hours before. Vanessa had been very thorough.

"Precisely."

"Only the sunlight didn't finish the job," Frankenstein supplied. "The corpse is still exactly as I left it. Have a look."

He turned and proceeded into the entry, indicating that the others follow.

"You left it sitting in the hall?" Ethan asked incredulously.

"Didn't want any more stains on the carpet," was Sembene's definitive reply.

Several old sheets had been thrown around the bottom of the staircase, and resting on them was a blackened mass of flesh. Ethan's stomach churned. Its face was nothing but a series of deep gashes; its chest was torn wide open from neck to groin, a putrid, dark sludge splattering the gaping cavity.

"Did I do that?" he asked hoarsely as the four circled the corpse.

Frankenstein shook his head. "Not entirely, no. I personally expanded on much of the damage you inflicted as I attempted to perform an autopsy."

Vanessa ran a soothing hand up and down her husband's arm. "Attempted?"

"Yes," Frankenstein replied excitedly as he crouched down beside the body. "I thought perhaps if we had a better idea of how these creatures are formed we might have an easier time killing them. They appear very humanlike, as you can see, but when I looked farther inside I found no blood, no organs, only this black mess. It's as though everything inside it died, petrified, and liquefied.

"We see effects very similar to this when dealing with consumption," he continued, gesturing to the hollow place where lungs should have been. "The disease destroys the tissue, causing it to die and rot into something not unlike soup. I have never seen it affect an entire body, though. It's actually very fascinating."

He gave Ethan an appraising look. "What I would really like to do is examine you, Mr. Chandler. You obviously suffer from some form of biological mutation that manifests itself in episodes like the one we witnessed last night."

"You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Doc."

Frankenstein huffed and turned back to the corpse, seemingly letting the subject drop. Ethan was amazed at how simple it had been, how easy it was for the doctor to acknowledge his curse and then dismiss it as nothing more than a casual quirk. It shocked him just as readily as Sembene's acceptance as it warmed his soul. Vanessa, sensing his conflict, placed a small, comforting hand in his own.

"Regardless," Frankenstein said, "it appears the sun does nothing to destroy the physical body. If indeed mauling it and spreading it open is not enough to completely kill it."

Vanessa stared down at the broken nightcomer. "In hagiographies, we are taught the only way to completely kill a holy person is through beheading. If it works well enough for someone touched by God, would it not do just as well for something truly unholy?"

"It's worth a shot," Ethan agreed.

Sembene turned silently from the group and made his way down the hall to the kitchen. The other three watched him go, still surveying the hall as they conversed.

"Sir Malcolm wasn't injured, was he?" Ethan asked.

Vanessa squeezed his hand. "No, just sleeping upstairs. He earned a decent rest after all he did for us yesterday."

"He's not the only one," Frankenstein muttered darkly.

Before Ethan could make a witty retort Sembene reappeared carrying a large, gleaming blade. His face was set in its usual composure, but his eyes glittered enigmatically.

"Allow me," he said, and with no further preamble he raised the machete high above his head and brought it down on the corpse's neck, the blade severing its head in one clean slice with a resounding thunk.

"Ugh," Frankenstein groaned as a gust of steam and a nauseating aroma seeped out from the wound. A trickle of black sludge oozed out, but nothing more. The disfigured head rolled to the side, and then gave no further movement.

The group stared down at the decapitated heap for several moments, too cautious to move or speak. Finally, Frankenstein spoke up. "How do we know it's any more dead than it already was?"

Beside Ethan, Vanessa's hands balled slowly into fists as she looked up at the doctor. "We burn the head."

Frankenstein looked further repulsed, but the idea struck a chord with Ethan. "No, she's right. That thing was spat out by the fires of hell to harass Vanessa; it's only fitting that fire send it back."

She turned to him again, her eyes blazing in a frighteningly exultant way that he found both exciting and encouraging. He smiled slightly, rooted in place, unable to do more with Frankenstein and Sembene present.

"Madness," Frankenstein stubbornly intoned, even as he gingerly took the head in his gloved hands. He looked around the group once before turning back to the fireplace in the parlour. Ethan moved his hand up to grasp Vanessa's wrist as they watched him go, feeling her rapid pulse beneath her paper skin.

The doctor stood squarely in front of the fire and without hesitation tossed the head in. The fire grew around it in a sudden roar, forcing him back with an exclamation. Ethan clung tighter to Vanessa, but they and Sembene made no effort to move as the flames licked out from the hearth. Then, just as suddenly as it had risen, the fired died down again to its previous height, as if the cremation hadn't just occurred.

"What the hell was that?" the scandalized doctor called accusingly from where he still lay crumpled against a sofa.

"Victory," Vanessa hissed, and Ethan could feel the validation rolling off of her in waves. A grim smile spread across his face.

"What do we do with the rest of the body," he asked, turning back only to find Sembene crouched in a half-kneel, tugging the spotted linens over the corpse.

"Behind this house," he said as he worked, "there is an alley, and in that alley live dogs. These dogs have no place that is theirs and no hand to feed them, and so they have become hungry and cruel. I give these dogs scraps from dinner, and so they let me pass freely.

"It is more than this wretched beast deserves," he growled, looking up at Ethan and Vanessa, Frankenstein having just reformed the circle, "to be fed to wild dogs."

Vanessa nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Sembene."

The butler bowed his head in acknowledgement before returning to wrapping the sheets around the nightcomer.

"Wait," Ethan said, releasing his wife's hand as an idea struck him. "Just a minute."

He kneeled opposite Sembene and tore the edge of the sheet away from the rest, balling it up. Careful not to let any of the black matter touch his bare skin, he pressed the cloth into the liquid, allowing it to soak thickly into the ball. He stood, the blanket falling away from his shoulders again, and strode purposefully to the front door. His back to the others, he raised the cloth and drew a large, black cross onto the wood. Ethan took a step back, assessing it, and, satisfied that the marks were dark enough, he turned back to the group.

They watched him silently but still inquisitively as he dropped the rag atop the corpse and picked his blanket off the marble floor. With a sigh, he pulled it over his shoulders and looked back at each of them in turn.

"When a predator in the wild comes across the carcass of its prey, it remembers that spot, because now it knows where to hunt. But if it finds the body of one of its own, ravaged and picked over, it knows that something bigger and meaner than it hunts there, and it stays away. If those nightcomers try to get back in this house, they're going to see that door and they'll remember exactly what we're capable of."

As he finished, Sembene secured the last corner of linen over the body. "A wise choice," he acquiesced in his deep voice.

He gestured to Frankenstein with a smooth twist of his head that he help lift the bundle. The younger man looked as revolted as ever but hefted the lump regardless, holding his end determinedly away from himself.

Ethan watched them hobble the makeshift bag around the corner of the staircase before looking down at Vanessa. She was scrutinizing the mark he had made on the door intently. He moved his hand gently up and down her right arm.

"What are you thinking?" he murmured.

She didn't move her eyes from the door as she answered. "It's missing something."

Carefully, she pulled her right hand from his and brought her thumb to her lips. The impulse to stop her when she bit down was sudden and jarring, but Ethan held back as she walked to the front door, cradling her bleeding thumb in her left hand. He watched as she rubbed the blood into the polished wood, the now-familiar scorpion emerging from the stains.

When the glyph was finished she let her hands drop to her sides as she gazed at her creation. Ethan hoped she was thinking the same as he was, that with any luck this would be the last time she felt the need it draw it.

Slowly, he eased his way over to stand beside her, his eyes still fixed on the scorpion. She made no move to acknowledge him, even as he took her bloody hand in his and raised it to his chest. Her eyes did flick to their hands when he used his free hand to peel her fingers back from her palm. Holding her small hand tenderly in both of his, he bent his head to press a kiss into the center of her palm, then the bridge of her thumb.

She didn't blink when he took her injured thumb into his mouth, his tongue laving carefully along the pad. He felt her turn to him more than saw it; he only pulled her hand away when the bleeding had stopped. It twitched, nestled in his hands, before he curved the delicate white fingers back over into their previous ball, only looking down at her as he gave her knuckles one last kiss.

Her eyes were the raging thunderstorm of the night before, and she breathed his name in the same husky gasp as she had when he hovered over her. He wanted more than anything to shove her against the door, to have her over the markings of their united mysticism, but the hand she brought to his cheek, then ran down his stubbled neck to rest at the juncture of his shoulder, held him in place.

"Ethan," she whispered again, her voice seeming to stick in her throat despite her wild eyes. "We're going to win this war. I can feel it. You have given me everything – your strength, you courage, your protection, your faith. You saved me last night, not only from the nightcomers but myself. You have shown me love as no one else ever has.

"I never once thought I would survive this. Even as a girl, when these terrors first began to manifest, I didn't think I would ever overcome them. I resigned myself to fighting a losing battle."

She pulled her hands from his to frame his face, moving her body closer to his. Ethan thought he might have shuddered at her touch but let his hands fall loosely to her waist, the material of her robe crinkling under his hands.

Vanessa continued with her quiet speech. "But you, my Ethan, you have shown me that my demons can be defeated. You have proven that we can win. You have given me the hope not only of freeing myself from this torment but that I can have a life after it. A good life, a happy life. For the first time in so, so long, I believe we will win, Ethan, I believe.

"And it's because of you. All because of you, and I love you so ardently, so completely, for that and for everything you have done for me. I love all that you are, every piece of you, man or wolf. And I believe that we will have a life together."

There were no words Ethan could offer her in response; he had already made her every vow he could think of, and he knew she was not looking for more promises on his part. Vanessa was finally, finally meeting him halfway, offering her honesty in return for his. And it moved him more than any other words ever had.

So he leaned his head down to claim her lips with his, his hands gripping at her protruding hips before circling around her back to pull her fully against him, his body wrapping around hers. She met his kiss with a certain ferocity he recognized only in her, her arms looping around his neck to pull his head down closer to hers. Her feet just barely touched the floor.

She was warm and welcoming and so entirely his. Ethan could feel her trembling against him, but no longer did he fear provoking her darker side. Vanessa was so much stronger than that, so much more in control now. He had meant what he had said barely a day before when he told her she had renewed his faith.

How long they remained intertwined that way Ethan couldn't tell, but all too soon a hacking noise caused him to jerk his head away from Vanessa's in surprise. Frankenstein stood ten feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression somewhere between amused and embarrassed. His soiled apron and gloves were gone.

Vanessa shifted so that her slippered feet were flat against the floor once more, but neither she nor Ethan removed their arms from around each other. Frankenstein cocked an eyebrow and flexed his hands.

"Sembene says he's not going to let his cake sit any longer."

The exhausted and fevered part of Ethan's mind wanted to retreat upstairs with his wife, pull her into his arms and spend the remainder of the day curled around her as they slept. They had been denied that right the night before, after all. But admittedly he was ravenously hungry.

Looking down at Vanessa, he could see that behind her flushed cheeks and swollen lips and glorious eyes she was still incredibly fragile. Her skin was inexcusably pale and dark circles rimmed her eyes. Beneath his hands he felt not supple flesh but frail bones. They still had a long way to go.

"Some cake might do us good," he said.

Her hands moved down to rest over his bare chest. "Perhaps we should see about finding you some better clothes."

He shook his head and brought his hands up to her waist. "I'm alright. And I certainly wouldn't want to miss out on Sembene's cake."

She grinned and took his hand, leading him back into the parlour. Frankenstein followed auspiciously behind them. Sembene already stood at the coffee table, delicately slicing into a pristine white cake, all traces of the machete-wielding warrior gone for the moment. He looked up as they entered and inclined his head pointedly at the nearest sofa. Ethan felt himself smirk as he sat and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

Vanessa's youthful tutelage in the domestic arts appeared to kick in as she began plating the cake. Frankenstein slumped down onto the sofa to Ethan's left and propped up his feet. Sembene passed him a slice of cake as Vanessa turned to sit beside Ethan, a plate in each hand. He took the proffered one, and she smiled.

Silver forks were passed around, and Ethan glanced at his wife before cutting into his cake. She was glowing as she thanked Sembene in her cultured way. Ethan brought the first bite to his mouth and let himself hope.

Many apologizes for taking so long with this last chapter; I hope it's what you all wanted. Thank all of you so much for following this little thing for the last few weeks, especially those of you who migrated from this to some of my other stories. (Ironically, I wrote a rather lengthy story about a Vanessa and a Lily years before Penny Dreadful ever aired.) Hopefully I'll find some time at some point in the future to response to all of your lovely reviews. Let's see where the last two episodes of the season take us, and perhaps I'll think of something new to post.