Myrnin had just settled onto his comfortable bed in the tiny cell – that Claire had so kindly, if hastily, redecorated to his tastes – when he heard her scream echoing within the stone of the prison. He surged to his feet immediately without the conscious decision to, and stumbled toward the bars. The medicine, cure, elixir, flowed through his veins dizzying him. His long fingers curled around the bars, peering anxiously into the dimness.

"Claire! Claire, what's wrong?" he called softly.

The door slammed shut on her cry, and a shiver raced down his spine – he was scared, and that frightened him.

"Hello, my fool." That silky voice wrapped around him and left him breathless. "May I ask what you're doing in there?"

"Bishop," Myrnin said evenly, his voice lowering to a murmur, "I think you know exactly why I'm here. After all, you're the reason this started."

Bishop smirked. "I'll give you a point for trying to shift the blame here. You should know better, a fool as you are."

He sighed heavily and stepped back slowly, spreading his hands in surrender. "Get to the point, old man. There is a reason you're here, isn't there? In this spot, right now."

"I have no desire or reason to share that with you, Myrnin."

"Yes, I thought you would say that." Myrnin sank down on his bed and leaned down to take up the nearest book. He opened it casually and pretended to read, flipping pages nonchalantly. The words slipped, and he couldn't keep track, perfectly aware of the other's presence.

"Come with me, Myrnin."

"Ah, I expected you to say that also." He marked his place with the utmost care and closed the book, setting it on his lap. "I'm afraid I have to decline." This was the risk of the game, of daring to play against Bishop.

Bishop just seemed to tug on the door lightly, but the iron hinges screamed in protest as it seperated from the frame. Myrnin flinched, and abruptly Bishop was in front of him.

He seized his chin and pulled him off the bed roughly, the book falling to the bed as he was pulled against the older vampire's body. Myrnin barely had time to catch his breath as Bishop tilted his head back to expose his neck, sharp fangs nipping at the skin almost delicately – as if he were tasting him.

"I can make this easy or hard for you, Myrnin. Which would you prefer?" Bishop's exasperated voice was a quiet snarl, done with the game.

Knowing better than to incur Bishop's wrath by refusing, Myrnin gritted his teeth and nodded curtly, hating himself for being forced to give in so easily. He didn't protest as a stake was buried deep into his back that immediately paralyzed him.

He slumped in Bishop's hold, barely supported, and tried to comfort himself with the fact that this was all part of Amelie's grand plan.