They were vivid dreams, most of them recurring. The last hundred years the majority of them were about Delilah, fucking her, eating her, her blowing him, him feeding as he finger fucked or banged her to orgasm, wild, unrestrained, like he sensed she was, like he sensed was how she lived her life.

He’d also dreamed of her laughing, burying her face in his chest, her dark hair all around, her mirth vibrating through his skin, his flesh, straight into his heart. And he’d dreamed of her behind him on his bike, her tits pressed deep into his back, her hair flying around, whipping his face, her cheek resting on his shoulder blade. And of her sitting back, feet up on the table, ankles crossed, chopsticks in her hand, white carton held up before her, noodles dangling from her mouth as she grinned at him, his brothers, and Jian-Li.

And last, he’d dream of watching her die on a street somewhere he did not know, drained by vampires and then torn apart by wolves.

In his two hundred and five years, he’d never sensed or even smelled another being like him.

But he’d dreamed of them. Dreamed of the danger they represented. Dreamed of them harming his family. Dreamed of them taking Delilah. Dreamed of them ripping her throat out, just like what had nearly happened that night.

Now they were there.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Great,” Xun muttered.

He turned to his brothers, who were once like his sons, who would become his fathers, the never-ending cycle of life that ended in sorrow. A cycle that went on without relief. Would go on without relief, but now would include Delilah.

He would have her.

He would love her.

Then he would lose her.

It takes time, but you come to terms with the fact that you were blessed, having once had it at all.

He hoped like fuck Jian-Li was right.

“I need to get back to Delilah,” he declared.

Xun’s brows went up as did the corners of his lips. “Delilah?”

“Don’t let her near a pair of scissors,” Wei advised, eyes to Abel’s overlong hair, lips also grinning.

“Her namesake was not the one who used the shears,” Abel educated him.

Wei looked to his brother, mumbling, “Whatever.”

Abel took in two men he’d watched grow in their mother’s womb. He’d watched them learn to crawl, to walk, to speak. Men he’d started to train the minute they could coordinate their limbs. Men who showed him the blind devotion they showed their mother, tonight not the first time they’d demonstrated it, though it was the first time their lives were in peril when they did.

And he knew his next play.

He’d already known it. He’d known it for decades.

He’d never liked it.

But now that it was upon him, he fucking detested it.