Gregor again shook his head. “There have been vampires who have studied hangers quite thoroughly. The agreed theory is that they’re descendants of those who offered the same services to our kind in times when vampires were not ruled by any governing body, likely against their will. However, there was no Council, no Dominion. They were free to do as they wish; treat humans as they wish. The ancestors of hangers endured what we consider abuse for centuries to the point, perhaps so they could retain a modicum of sanity, that they convinced themselves they enjoyed it. To the point it became part of their psyche. It’s who they are. It’s what they crave. There is no way to help them. It would be as impossible as making you not vampire, not wolf. They are, Abel, what all of humanity will likely become if The True succeed in their aim.”

Abel tasted the thought of that in his mouth and it was foul.

“It would be interesting to see if you could use your ability to change this,” Gregor commented. “But I predict that would fail.”

Abel crossed his arms on his chest. “Right, then I was responsible for letting those kids loose for this asshole”—he jerked his head to Miko—“to treat them like shit once. Gotta tell you, not hip on being responsible for doing it again. If I can’t adjust what they crave, at least I can wipe all memory of this guy from their heads, and them from his. They’ll be cast adrift, but they’ll also be safe for a while.”

“If that’s what you wish to do, then do it.”

“That’s what I wish to do,” Abel told him.

“Fine,” Gregor replied, now sounding distracted. “Then I’ll ask you to finalize things. I need to be upstairs to see if our media specialists have managed damage control. You’re good to finish here?”

“I’m good.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you later,” Gregor finished, giving Abel a dip of his chin, Miko a cold glance, and walking out of the room.

Abel looked back to Miko. He dealt with wiping all memory of the compound, interrogation, and the three young men from his head. He continued with giving him orders to become their informant. And he finished with commanding him not to take another hanger, ever.

“Now you get to go home, asshole,” he muttered to the slack-faced vampire, then turned to the door, opened it, and gave orders to the soldiers out there to find someone to take the fuckwad home.

* * * * *

Abel stood with his shoulders leaned against the back wall of living room eight, his eyes on the TV.

The newscaster was talking.