Finding Home

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Seeing Cleo leave the house, Warren had thought very little about where she might have been going and the fact that she was leaving at all didn't surprise him. The human was a free-spirit, needing space and variety, especially as an artist. He was more shocked she'd remained stationary this long than he was that she was leaving the protective zone of the half-block radius that kept the reporters at bay. Truth be told, Warren was more proud of her for facing that kind of pressure than anything else and like a wraith, he followed her.

Avoiding being seen was his specialty, born of years of practice and natural instinct both. He was as much at home here in the city as he would have been in the forest, a wolf through and through.

No one took note of him unless he wished it, especially when he put effort into not being noticed.

Such was the case now as he followed Cleo across town and to....a train station? Gray eyes narrowed as he watched her mingle in with the crowd, puzzled. Had she come here to meet a friend? Not Yaotl, he always came to her, so...maybe whoever she'd been talking to yesterday hadn't been the jaguar shifter. Then who, though? As far as Warren knew, Cleo didn't have many friends who lived so far away they'd take a train to get here. And she wasn't heading for the ticket booth but rather the storage lockers some frequent travelers paid to keep so they'd have clothes and different stops or work supplies.

Yes, it was definitely to those she was heading to and the way she kept looking down at her hand, like she'd written on it or held a piece of paper with writing, only cemented the werewolf's suspicions. But that only made more suspicion grow within Warren at a rapid rate as he closed some of the distance between himself and Cleo. He was careful not to let her see him, not to even hint that she was even being followed, but something about this was pinging a warning through his body.

Something wasn't right.
 
Cleo was nervous for more reasons than one. It wasn't as though she was about to pick up drugs or anything for she was just going to pick up some tickets for her uncle and deliver them to another, more safe, spot in which he would pick up himself. Still, warning bells rang in her head for the longest of times, and she fingered the taser she had placed in her pocket as well as the small can of pepper spray.

Sure, the two things weren't all too intimidating, but the young Squier was not intent on maiming anyone in public.

Speaking about public, Cleo felt a tad bit more safe walking through the train stations that were filled with people. There weren't enough to be noisy enough, but there weren't too little that in case she experienced trouble, she would not receive help. Despite the chances of her getting into trouble were fairly slim, she was still highly stricken with apprehension.

If her hands continued to sweat anymore in the slightest bit, she may ruin the locker combination she had oh so hastily written upon her hand in ink. The last thing she needed to do was fail her mission because she was too stupid to sweat off the code of the locker, or at the very least remember it. She was pleasantly surprised when she came upon the last locker on the top. She had some issues fumbling with the lock at first, but soon it clicked open.

As Cleo put all her attention into unlocking the lock, she failed to notice multiple figures turn the corner to watch her. There were plenty of people throughout the train station, and therefore a few people just chilling would not have been an issue at any point. She was so caught up in her work that she did not feel the stares of them burning into her back, but she did feel the press of cold metal through her shirt.

She froze, feeling the blade graze her back slowly.

"You aren't who we expected," a husky voice seemed to whisper over her shoulder.

She dare not turn her head in fear of inciting the man who had a knife to her back. Cleo's panic mode kicked in though, and her mind flew to the two weapons she had. Screaming would do her no good, and reaching for the pepper spray or the taser would not give her much time to react when they decided enough was enough and that they didn't need her.

She could almost hear her mind screaming, 'I told you so! You shouldn't have accepted the offer, you stupid little girl!'
 
He smelled them long before he saw them.

Vampires.

They were some of the angriest about all this. Human were their blood-supply, their food banks. Now that humans were aware of them, that was going to be thrown into turmoil, logistics, negotiations and solutions that neither race was ever going to be entirely happy with. In one fell swoop, the Lord of the Night had been dethroned. No, they were not happy at all.

Warren had smelled the intent on them as they approached Cleo almost a minute before they got to her, but he hadn't moved. No, it was that same keen sense of smell, the warning buzz in the back of his mind, across his skin that told him to move right now would be a death sentence. There were more of the nightdwellers in the areas around the train station, just waiting for trouble, waiting to be called in. Not even a werewolf could defeat so many. Hell, Warren knew that of the two species, vampires did better with fewer numbers than werewolves did. And there was only one of him.

No, to help Cleo, he'd have to be far more careful and far less obvious.

Still, her fear spiked through him like a living, coiling thing and it was all the blond could do not to simply charge in blindly. He'd not felt such a strong desire to save someone since his brother, but while that would unease Warren later, right now it made the most instinctual, perfect sense and he didn't question it at all. Not one bit as his eyes took on a blueish glow, mixing in with the gray, said eyes watching Cleo's progress as the vampires walked her from the train station rather calmly, no one the wiser.

No one but the silent and deadly wolf that followed close behind, always careful to stay just out of sight and always downwind of the keen-nosed nightdwellers.
 
The person, despite threatening her with a dangerous sharp weapon to her back, gently lead her out of the train station and into a set of cars. Some of the others stayed around for whatever reason, but she paid no mind to such a thing.

She was not eager to ask questions in fear of igniting a sudden rage, but she did not feel as though complete obedience would do her any good. For she was under the assumption the WPA had given up on her, and the only other person who knew about her going there was Uncle Jimmy. Jimmy couldn't even say a word to the authorities because he was in hiding, so she was by herself. It was a scary thought, but Cleo wasn't going to cave over it. This was her time to either step up or be the damsel in distress with no knight in shining armor. The later was not an appealing concept, so she found the courage deep in herself to question.

Her voice was initially quiet, but became slightly stronger when they forced her into the car, "May I ask why this is happening?"

"Shut up," was the short response.

An idiot would only keep talking, but then an idiot would also blindingly follow someone to the slaughter too. Her best chances were waiting it out and making an escape when they weren't paying attention. The mere thought of running away spiked up her adrenaline as well as her fears. She didn't want to die, she knew that at the least. But she didn't want to get caught either.

The whole thing was a bad situation in general.

"You know, I don't know what you want from me. If you wanted me dead, you would have killed me as soon as I got in this car. That means one, you are either using me as a bargaining piece; or two, you are going to interrogate me," she deducted slowly.

The man, who had dark brown hair, did not express a single emotion, but then again she couldn't see his eyes through the dark sunglasses. He kept a steely face, and did not even seem as though he was considering responding. She examined the car around her for a few seconds before gathering up some more courage to ask.

"I'm trying to make this easier o-," she was cut off abruptly.

He had moved so quickly she hadn't even seen his hand, which held the sharp knife, move. It was pressed lightly against her throat in a warning, immediately silencing her. Cleo was not suicidal; hell, she wasn't even depressed that much. Despite her lack of dark thoughts, she steeled herself a bit more and opened her mouth, trying to trust the previous statement she had vocalized before.

"You aren't going to kill me," she stated in the calmest voice she could, but her hands were fisted in her lap.

She was terrified, who wouldn't be? It wasn't a regular occurrence for her to be threatened with her life, but she had prepared herself for some bad times when she had agreed to Uncle Jimmy's plan. She wasn't prepared for it to this extent, but she wasn't going into the situation completely blind.

Fortunately for her, her assumption was correct and the blade was lowered slowly, but not before kissing her neck oh so lightly enough to slip a single red drop of blood from her neck. The man turned to her and opened his mouth, flashing dangerous incisors at her in a warning. She was now immediately thankful for the fact that the man did have sunglasses or else she may have peed her pants right then and there. Deep down she knew the eyes beneath the shades were not human at all.

"I may not be able to kill you as of yet, but don't mistake that for invincibility, human," the thing warned in a low voice, leaning in closer and flashing his sharp teeth once more.

Cleo leaned away, but eventually the man backed off into his original stoic posture and position. She was shaking terribly, wishing that she had gone to the bathroom before leaving home. While she would love to disgust the monster, she wasn't exactly comfortable with the concept of peeing her pants. But she really really had to go and soon.
 
To follow a car was nothing to a werewolf. To follow a car through a city with vampires behind the wheel....well, it was safe to say that Warren chose his motorcycle over his wolf form. Weaving in and out of traffic, he kept close, but not suspiciously so to the vehicle that held Cleo. He didn't need scent or sight to find her; following the overwhelming feeling of fear was enough. It clawed at his chest, surged through his blood and Warren found himself fighting the power that was stirring within him.

Not yet!

Cleo didn't know how to drive a freaking motorcycle. If he Replaced her, she'd be in just as much trouble as she was now. Besides, he wasn't even sure he could do it. There was no contract between them, something he'd have to fix very soon whether she understood it or not, liked it or not, but for the moment...

No, he had to be logical, smart about this. He had to be calm.

Even Warren knew that wouldn't last for long, though. His species were not exactly known for their reason but rather their instincts, their ability to make split-second decisions based on gut feelings. Vampires were the complete opposite; calculating, sometimes overly so and coldly calm. The two were each others' greatest enemies for a reason. What werewolves had in ferocity and fangs, vampires made up for in speed and strength. They were nearly evenly matched one-on-one, but that wasn't the case here.

The werewolf was going to have to be wise like his enemy to get Cleo to safety.

--

He abandoned the motorcycle when the car carrying Cleo started to get into more rural, rundown areas of the city. The large wolf nearly twice the size of his normal cousins, kept to the shadow of buildings and then to the woods themselves as he followed the abductors to a location most would not assume to look for. It wasn't a warehouse or an old abandoned mill. It was a mansion, rather expensive and decadent. It was rather perfect for a vampire coven, though, and Warren wasn't startled in the least by it as he skid to a stop, watching the car move through the wrought-iron gates and up the drive.

The wolf, red-orange-white fur mixing perfectly with the background around him, brought his nose to the air, sussing out how many guards he'd have to avoid to get inside.

Too many. But it wouldn't stop him from trying and the canine started on it as he moved carefully around the perimeter of the fencing, looking for the weakest point to jump over. He needed to be careful about it, not to be caught or seen, but his heart hammered within his chest, the need to get to Cleo a roar through his head.

He didn't think the vampires would kill her, but that didn't mean they wouldn't hurt her and the thought made something painfully vicious twist brutally within Warren.
 
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Cleo was surprised they hadn't even blindfolded her, and that sent off all the warning bells that weren't already ringing in her head. People did not often take hostages or witnesses and allow them to see their lairs, or at least according to all the movies she say. Unless they were sure the captive would not ever speak of such a thing, which usually implied they forcibly ensured that they would never ever talk again. If it wasn't clear where Cleo was going with it, bluntly saying, she expected them to kill her after this altercation.

As they passed through the tall and menacing iron gates, a shiver ran through her. On the drive, she had somehow managed to calm herself. Mostly focusing on the idiocy of not using the bathroom beforehand. It had worked swimmingly and had almost successfully distracted her. Well until they neared a elegant mansion that despite looking all prim and proper gave bad vibes to Cleodora.

This could be the place that could very well be her death bed.

While she was not keen on going out without a fight, she knew that a taser and pepper spray would probably do her little good against a crazy monster man. That and she had a sneaking suspicion that he knew she had the things in her pocket and was just waiting for her to give him a reason to maul her to the brink of death on spot. That and he most likely seemed like he wanted to decapitate her. Oh she could so easily tell he was the decapitating type.

"Dear goodness gracious! Focus yourself, Bandit," she mentally chided herself nervously.

Now was definitely not the time to slip into another world, let alone think about how the monster next to her preferred to kill her. She needed to be calm and focused if she wanted to find out what was going on and how in the world would she get herself out of the situation.

For all she knew, she was heading into a giant nest of monsters just like him though, and she had very little bargaining chips to use so talking her way out was probably not the best idea. Seduction was also a no because she had the charm of a mentally challenged squirrel. That pretty much left escaping silently as her only option, but even that was a bleak output for she noticed the sentries everywhere.

As they pulled up to the front entrance, the door was opened for her and she was kindly thrown out of the car. Well, as kindly as one could throw someone. The man who had captured and threatened her seemed not to feel the urge to shove the knife in her back and make her walk for he lead the way. His confidence in the area suggested that she had no chance of escaping, or he had an over inflated ego that needed a decompresser. She was more inclined to lean towards the later, but she had a dying feeling that it was the former.

Her lips pursed in thought, and she followed the man absentmindedly into a cream colored room which deep red window curtains and carpet that covered some of the white marble floor. It was fanciful, disgustingly so in Cleo's point of view. It reminded her of the city apartments they were like skyscrapers and were so nicely fit. She missed her cozy little home deeply, wishing that she would be able to return to it one day.

She was escorted up the grand staircase, lightly jogging to keep up with the tall monster's pace. He was leading her somewhere to someone, and she realized he was probably only a lackey in the whole situation. She was going to meet the boss, or at least who she assumed was the boss, and that meant she was either going to die very soon, or she had better come up with a damn good escape plan.

As they turned in the hall, he lead her deeper into the levels, stopping in front of two giant doors. She had seen doors like this in ancient libraries as well as pictures and the sight was intimidating, especially since she knew her fate could very well lay right behind the door. Gulping as the dark wooded doors lined with what seemed to be black metal of some sort opened up.

They really knew how to play the evil villain when they thought of these doors. At least the things didn't creak.

Her oh so lovely-sarcasm if it wasn't obvious- escort did not enter the room, simply motioning Cleo to enter all on her lonesome. The room was a rich red, with a beautiful large desk in the center back of it. A large red chair was turned around facing the windows in the back, the arms of a person clearly sitting in it could be almost visible. The curtains were the same cream color as the entrance walls, and she would have spent some time scrutinizing the empty space if a chilling voice didn't speak. The words made the hairs on Cleo rise in fear, and she could now relate to a cat that had been spooked.

"Well you, child, aren't Mr. Jimmy Lorence," a feminine voice purred behind the chair.
 
Getting over the fence had been easy.

Almost too easy and Warren found out why sooner than he wanted to. It was after he'd shifted into his human form and was searching for a window to enter through that his, at this point, metaphorical hackles rose in warning and this time it had nothing to do with the fact that Cleo's adrenaline level had spiked. In fact, that was what probably distracted him in the first place. No matter what the reason, the werewolf didn't need to turn around to know he'd been caught and he rose to his feet with a wild grace that was distinctly different from a vampire's proper elegance.

Turning almost calmly, his gray eyes met a pair of sunglasses and a smirking face. The male vampire raised a brow, voice smug. "Lost something, mutt? Your ball perhaps?"

"I told you I smelled dog." a feminine voice intoned with a purring kind of laugh and Warren's fangs extended at the smell of the tiger shifter. She laughed still further, slinking up near to the vampire, more coming from behind the trees of the garden that had been his cover until now. "Oh, none of that, mutt. Dogs learn to respect cats in this house, don't they Nick?"

The vampire grinned and Warren's body coiled as a snarl rumbled its way into his throat.

--

Three vampires dead, but it did little to soothe Warren. He continued to fight as he was dragged through the mansion by the collar about his throat. The silver seared his skin, an agonizing burn that would not cease, only spiking every time the four chains, each held by a vampire, were pulled tight. And they did everything they could to keep them tight.

It had taken near six of them to hold him down to get the thing on and several more than that to push him toward unconsciousness by near suffocation, forcing him back into his human form from his half-form. He was bloody, some of it his and some of it theirs, bruised and fighting for breath past ribs that had been broken again. Even knowing it would do nothing, his fingers clawed at the collar at his neck, desperation making him attempt the futile effort.

He fought them, though, every step, savage snarls and growls tearing past this throat as he gurgled blood, the only thought in his head now besides making the pain stop being Cleo. Warren had come here for her and until he left with her - or his life was ended - she'd be the only thing he would think about.

She was the reason he fought so hard, managing to seriously injure another vampire, too, as they dragged him down to the lower levels of the mansion and the cells beneath.

--

A slight knock on the giant doors that had so intimidated Cleo interrupted any conversation going on within and a vampire, wiping his hands of blood, some of it smearing his face, addressed the female figure within. "My Lady, the disturbance has been dealt with. We've taken the creature to the lower levels for proper training."

The male vampire dipped his head in silent apology for the intrusion before leaving.
 
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The vampire twisted in her chair, exposing herself to the human that tried oh so hard not to quake in fear. Cleo questioned if the vampires could smell it or taste it like some creepy creatures that slunk around at night. While the words spoken by the male that had entered had disheartened Cleodora since it meant the likeness of her escaping while such patrols hung around, it also piqued her interest briefly. Who would enter this place willingly? Especially with all the monsters that took refuge here.

"It's pathetic that the patrols took so long to apprehend the pest," the vampire tsked.

The sound of the silk voice returned the Squier's attention to the center of the room. The woman had the loveliest chocolate brown hair that was twisted into soft curly ringlets, eyes as blue as a clear sky, and lips as red as a strawberry. She looked like a embodiment of the fairy tale Snow White, that was if the woman wasn't so damn intimidating compared the fairy tale woman who was so loved by all the small woodland creatures. The clear eyes seemed chilly cold, and the red lips turned upwards in a cruel smile. It make Cleo's urge to pee stronger, and she felt cold sweat slip down the back of her neck.

The woman chided, "So child, what were you doing snooping in someone else's locker? It isn't polite, you know." Before Cleo could even think about lying her way out of this, the woman continued, "I was told you knew the combination, so it is best not to fib."

At first, Cleo was absolutely awestruck. It never occurred to her that she was being watched for long. Also it puzzled her because her captors, well at least the ones that drove off with her, did not bring out phones or anything to communicate. While she wasn't large on mythological lore, she was almost one hundred percent sure that any creatures had the ability to communicate telepathically. Well except for the Twilight werewolves, and she doubted this woman was a distant relative to Warren or Jacob Black. Plus she doubted the validity of using that particular book as a lore guide, but then again she didn't know any better.

It occurred to her that she could play the role as the stupid robber, but then again she took too long to think about it to easily play the part. The truth was dangerous, and she wasn't keen on getting into trouble. Then again there was the off chance that these people were friends of her dear -sarcasm- uncle. Though it was a slim possibility, it still had promise. But usually friends didn't threaten their friend's niece with her life.

Though the man made questionable decisions, she didn't think he was THAT stupid.

"While this is stupid to say, if I tell you, you could easily kill me," Cleo replied slowly. "Before you say, 'If you don't, I can still kill you,' let me state that I am already aware of that. If my life is at stake either way, there is no reason for me to tell you anything, ma'am."

If anything, it was fairly valid. Granted a painful death was not appealing, nor was a quick death either. Cleo wanted very much to survive the whole ordeal. If bargaining would give her a bit more time to think of an escape plan, then so be it.
 
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Gods above and below, he hated vampires.

He'd been at the mercy of a few species, had been subjected to a sleuth of unpleasantness from those situations, but vampires took the cake. It was usually the nightdwellers who could afford pure silver and they utilized it well against Warren's kind. The werewolf now found his wrists secured in silver shackles and he already knew, having been shoved against the bars of the cell without care, that those were silver, too. Burns littered his body now, the skin of his neck and wrists still sizzling, his healing factor rapidly repairing the minor damage but unable to stop it entirely.

And as he got weaker, it would get slower.

Warren knew he couldn't stay here long. They would either kill him or break him before too long, and death would be preferable than to be slave to a vampire. Death would be preferable than failing Cleo for her options would be to die, to become a blood-slave or to become a vampire herself if she stayed here too long.

He couldn't allow that. He couldn't let either of them stay here.

Knowing that hardly helped the werewolf right now, though, as every attempt at resistance was met with pain. He stilled after a time, simply trying to breathe and the vampire that had been watching from behind the bars - Nick - finally came into the cell, circling the blond, appraising the werewolf with a slight smirk on his face. "You're quite determined, aren't you? That's good. Breaking you wouldn't be nearly as fun if you simply complied." Nick came before Warren again, grinning. "Only the fiercest make the best guard dogs."

Warren didn't make a sound, but his gray eyes flashed with blue and the werewolf's legs surged up, wrapping around the vampire's neck and giving a swift twist. It snapped and the werewolf gave a snarl as Nick dropped. It wouldn't keep the vampire down for long - more like being knocked unconscious - but it gave Warren some satisfaction to have done it...even if he'd pay for it later.

"I'm a wolf, you a**hole."
 
"That is true, little one, but wouldn't you rather take the better chances on your survival over nothing?"

Cleo scoffed, not at all interested in bargaining with her life. Silence enveloped the room for the response the female vampire was expecting did not come. The two women stared at each other, both with concealed feelings. The young human was absolutely terrified, and the vampire was pissed beyond belief that the girl would not spill her guts. After wasting a considerable amount of time staring each other down, the vampire let out a blood chilling smile.

"You must be feeling exhausted by today's events, maybe I should have the guards take you to a guest room? They are quite comfortable," the woman practically purred in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Cleo covered the shivers that the sound gave her and contemplated if there was a threat behind the words. In horror movies, pleasant offer from captors often were not truly as appealing as they seemed. That and resting would be impossible in a torture chamber or a bedroom.

There were benefits in leaving the interrogation that hadn't quite started yet though. It gave her the opportunity to bear herself and find an escape route if she was lucky. Or maybe find a wooden stake and go on some crazy adventure where she somehow becomes invincible and stakes all the vampire then puts sunglasses on and walks into the sunrise. The later was less likely, but the self amusement was needed lest she get into a state of panic at how bleak her chances were looking. Plus staking vampires probably wouldn't set them ablaze, but then again she didn't know much about them to know for sure.

She was just a human in a house of monsters, but that didn't mean she was going to give up.

"Yes please," Cleo mumbled.

Shyness and politeness could get them to underestimate her even more, if she hadn't blew it with her stark denial of cooperation. Either way, it would hurt to avoid ticking off the crazy she-bat-vampire-woman in front of her, lest she say goodbye to being moisturized. Cleo liked not being a pile of bones, skin, and dried flesh. Almost as much as she enjoyed being alive.

Next thing she knew, she was in a decently normal room. If one didn't notice the brownish red stains on the carpet and curtains here and there. AND if you couldn't smell a thing. Stale blood and cleaner wafted through her nose, and it made her almost hurl onto the carpet. Luckily there was a bathroom where she threw all the contents of her stomach into, then peed.

It was a relief to be aware that she at least wasn't going to pee her pants before she died.

The window was lock and fortified. She peeked out it considering smashing it open, but she doubted that the three story fall would allow her to still survive, let alone allow her to walk away from this monstrosity. Also it would take her time to get away and the crash of a breaking window would definitely catch the attention of someone or something.

The bathroom had no useful objects, unless shoving a shampoo bottle into someone's eye was any better than a finger. No razors or other sharp objects. No pens or pencils. Nothing to make a small and hide able weapon anywhere really. She considered breaking the chair that was put in the corner, but the noise it would make probably wouldn't do her any good either.
 
--

It took Nick all of a half hour to regain consciousness. It took all of an hour to finally wrench the first agonized cry from Warren's blood-mottled lips after that. The remaining half-hour was just more of the same and the werewolf was near-delirious with the pain by the end of it, and more red with blood than he was skin-colored. Warren had known he'd pay for his stunt, but Nick had been very thorough in his punishment using not only electricity - a natural werewolf weakness and favored by their enemies - but a silver-tipped whip as well.

Only vampires could afford the fancy stuff. Made Warren hate them even more.

Right now he couldn't think of anything but the pain, though, and when he was abruptly released from his manacles, the blond collapsed with a whimper that turned into a short howl of new pain as he was kicked in the stomach, forcing his body to curl around the injury, pulling at the tears on his back. Nick sneered at the sight, wiping his hands on a pristine white cloth, leaving red streaks behind.

"Cur. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be ready for some training, yes?"

Gray-blue eyes looked up from the stone floor and Warren showed his deadly, bloodied fangs before he spat said blood at the vampire. He didn't make a sound this time at the resulting kick - he'd been cracked, not shattered - and Nick merely chuckled, leaving the cell, his parting words thrown over his shoulder. "Don't worry, dog, we can try again tomorrow. I have all the time in the world."

He left the werewolf bleeding in the cell and Warren only let the slow tears run when the door shut, struggling to breathe, much less think past the agony. Every nerve felt raw, scraped over and movement was like fire flaring through his limbs. His back was a shredded mess, blood loss making him weak, dizzy and the silver having left burns over and within the cuts. Some of those burns were going to save his life, having staunched most of the deeper lashes so he wouldn't bleed out completely, but his healing factor was reduced significantly by the weakness he felt anyway.

He could barley move without wanting to sob with the pain and it wasn't long before Warren slipped into darkness; not willingly, but he didn't have much of a choice.

His last thought was of Cleo.
 
In the first half hour, Cleo had successfully tore apart the room and put it back together again. She had found some baking soda in the cabinet, a pencil in between the mattress and support, and found a handy paperclip in the farthest corner of the room stuffed into the uncomfortable chair. If only she had some vinegar to create a distraction.

Until a bottle of vinegar magically appeared then the baking soda would have to be useful for masking some of her scent. She had heard deer hunters had used it before instead of the scent-free clothes wash, and she was going to try to test how good the scents of the monsters were.

---

For some odd reason, there were no one in the long and winding halls of the scary mansion. It was unsettling, and for ever corner Cleo took, the more apprehensive she became. Everything was a blur to her, and she found herself meandering down a windy staircase set, unsure of where she was even going.

The pencil and the pepper spray were held in her hands like they were a life support. As pathetic as that may seem, one could do a fair amount of damage with a pencil, or any object really, when enough force was put into it. For instance, her whole body weight thrust into a quick jab and it would be a surprise enough to startle someone at the least, and disallow the use of their eyes at the most.

A sickening feeling filled her as she smelled blood faintly, that and she just knew she had gone too far down. Her curiosity, as stupid as it may have been, screamed at her to check it out. If she was going to die, she could at least sate it one last time. Or she could return back to her room, or even try to race the winding halls that she dared call magical for they never seemed to end. Not too surprisingly, Cleo did not listen to the logical part of her mind that told her to go the other way.

Before the monsters had discussed an intruder. The enemy of my enemy was my friend, right? Having a little backup would be able to help decently, but if the person was more of a hindrance than a help, she wasn't quite sure she would be able to leave them. Cleo, despite her reluctance to be logical sometimes and her inability to trust others easily, was a very compassionate and sympathetic person within reason of course. She couldn't picture herself leaving someone in need to fend for themselves, but she hadn't quite been in such a drastic situation before. Still, she would prefer to believe she would choose to slow down or even stay for someone else.

One never truly knew how they would genuinely react to a situation until it has occurred.

"Come on Bandit, just be quiet," she chanted to herself in her mind since words were too risky considering her whole ordeal with the sneaking away in stealth.

As she got lower and lower, she almost gagged at the thickness of the fresh scent. It made her stomach all too queasy, and she wanted very much to take some sort of break. Yet she knew that if she did take a break, it would only end up badly for her, and she could not afford for such a thing to occur. She was already taking one chance on the probably dead person, there was no need to take any others.
 
It was the scent that made him stir slowly from the darkness that continued to pull on him. The scent was too compelling, though, too strong to ignore. It was a smell he knew, one that he cherished, felt an unwavering loyalty to and that scent needed him. Or rather, the person the scent belonged to needed him even if she didn't yet realize it. And he would be there for her, come hell or high water....or multiple injuries.

How Cleo had gotten down here, Warren didn't know, but he wasn't overly surprised. She was smart. Resourceful, determined. Cleo wouldn't take being kidnapped without protest and without fighting, even if she did it subtly. She'd make a good spy.

The thought made the werewolf's mouth twitch at an attempted smile, but he soon had to focus more on getting off the floor than on his inner thoughts. And right now his inner thoughts consisted of rather colorful curses and swear words as his limbs shook, every nerve screaming at him to just stay still again. The blond ignored the advice of his body, though, knowing that if he gave into the pain now, there would only be more later and the opportunity to escape would dwindle he longer he was here. Which meant the chances for Cleo grew smaller too and Warren would be damned if he was letting that happen.

He was standing, unsteadily, stained with dried and fresh blood both, shirt shredded and his skin not much better when the human finally came into sight. Gray eyes caught her brown and Warren spoke before she could, if she was going to at all. "Cleo, find a key. It should be on a hook over there. I can't touch the bars."

Hell, he couldn't even touch the collar around his neck, chaining him to the wall, without his skin sizzling and his neck was burned raw by this point. It barely registered anymore, though. Everything hurt. The blond tried not to focus on it, though, instead directing his attention to Cleo; the only thing keeping him on his feet, though, she knew it not.

"Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Feed on you?"
 
When she had turned the corner, she had only seen a man in tattered clothing and literally drenched in blood. His clothing was shredded to pieces, and it seemed he was bleeding everywhere. Even his head seemed to stick to his skull with the crimson red liquid that cried out of wounds. If that hadn't scared her out of her mind, it did twice when the voice registered in her mind. That also triggered something in her, and she was dry heaving onto the floor.

The scent was bad enough as it was. Dried blood, thick in the air.

As soon as she somehow managed to recover, she couldn't process the words or even thoughts to be said, so she only searched for a set of keys somewhere. She was not able to find it, and it made the sick feeling in her stomach increase. There was no way she would be able to leave Warren, but the likeliness of facing down a jailor to get a set of keys would be dangerous and altogether stupid. Unless her pencil, pepper spray, and tasers were effective against monsters like them.

"I- I can't find it," she hurriedly whispered.

After scoping the room once more, she recalled the small paper clip she had found earlier. It was indeed a better option than going into combat against a monster she knew nothing about, but it could ruin the lock if she had screwed up and got something jammed. While she had little doubt for her ability to shape flimsy lock picks, never before had she had to seriously rely on them for something.

"I don't- We- We gotta get out of here," she mumbled, stretching the paper clip metal apart.

It would work, or it wouldn't either way, something had to be done before someone returned lest they both get into a large amount of trouble. Cleodora had just about enough of drama for the rest of her lifetime, she very much needed a break from the monstrosity that is the world. Drama stalked her every day, and by now she should have been dead due to all these terribly coincidences.
 
Her reactions wasn't surprising and Warren didn't judge Cleo for it. He'd expelled the contents of his stomach the first time he'd seen the aftermath of a battle and that was a much different setting than a tortured body. No, he understood her reaction and the werewolf hadn't really thought she'd answer his questions. He'd said them more to perhaps jolt her back into some calmness before she could really let this situation register and freeze up. It seemed to have worked as the werewolf watched Cleo search for the key. When she reported that it couldn't be found, he felt ice settle in his torso and his legs nearly buckled.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Cleo to leave, to argue with her if need be, but just as suddenly his resourceful, brilliant human produced something of value and Warren's eyes lit up with faint hope again as he moved closer to the bars, as far as the chain on the far wall would allow him.

He wanted to touch Cleo, to smooth her hair from her eyes and cradle her head, to tell her how proud he was of her bravery, to assure her that everything was going to be all right, that they'd get out of his and that he'd protect her better next time, but he could do none of that. The werewolf settle for keeping tabs on the stairs, ears straining for sounds, nose for scent and he kept half an eye on Cleo to see her progress.

Warren's ears were so alert, so attuned at the moment that when her paperclip hit the locking mechanism within the cell door, his gray eyes snapped to the human. "Stop. A little to the left...more....more.....there." His eyes opened, having closed as she worked, following instruction and when the cell door clicked and was opened, the werewolf grinned. He probably shouldn't have, his teeth showing some red as his mouth still bled in some places, but Warren didn't think about that quite yet as held out his hand for the paperclip, explaining his reason as he did.

"I have to get this collar off."

He didn't know if she'd be willing to get that close to him to do it herself and despite the fact that messing with the collar was going to burn his hands badly, the werewolf would have rather done that then make Cleo do something she was scared of.
 
Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment then two, but after realizing she was wasting precious time, she went relinquished the small item that was bent and cut into two pieces that worked as a lock pick and tension wrench. After debating upon it for a half a second, questions on how exactly he would accomplish such a feat by himself without the vision to do it.

It would take him longer, most likely, to pick at the lock than it would for her, and their time was borrowed. Any minute now someone could come bursting in and Warren was not in a physical condition that allowed fighting. While Cleo wasn't exactly helpless, she'd rather stay out of any fights if they could be avoided. Mainly because fights meant that there was a the risk that she or her friend could easily get hurt or caught.

She offered, eyes darting back to the steps she had followed from earlier, "I can do it."

She wasn't quite sure if he even wanted her nearby. She had expelled him from her sight under the pretense of what was best for both of them because of her need to figure out what exactly was going on in her life. It was completely understandable that he would be bitter at the least. Maybe he had even given up on her.

It hurt to think that way, but Cleo was not one to enjoy living in a world of pretty lies. While they had their own merits, in the end they screwed you over more than the harsh reality of truth. The young woman did not want to extend the pain any longer than it should be, but then again the drama of rejection could easily be saved until they were out of this dire situation as well as the many questions that ran in her hyperactive mind.
 
Warren looked at his human closely, gauging just how serious she was with her offer, but in the end he nodded and crouched so she could reach his neck as he bent his head, giving her access to the lock. Close up, it was easy to see what the pure silver was doing to him as the skin beneath the metal was literally sizzling slowly, giving rise to blisters that leaked fluid, cracked and drained and then formed over and over again. His neck was burned, bloodied, but the werewolf didn't move or make any kind of protest as Cleo worked.

The rest of his body gave testament to the fact that he'd endured far worse. Not just the new wounds, but the old ones peeking out from his torn clothes proof enough.

When the collar finally snapped loose, Warren shook the thing off like a dog ridding itself of an itch and he seemed to breathe a slightly sobbed breath of relief. It passed quickly, though, and the next moment his hand was finding Cleo's as he stood, looking down at her sternly, but not without that same affection that always glowed just behind his gaze. It had never left, most-likely never would.

Warren was kind of loyal to a fault.

"You need to stay close to me, all right? We might have to fight our way out and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but you need to do everything you can to stay near me."

When she showed understanding, the blond nodded back to her and then started up the stairs with Cleo in tow. Warren ignored how the climbing made him dizzy or how he trembled as they found the hallways, how his vision was flickering between clear and hazy. He needed to get Cleo out and that was all he focused on. Well, that and the scent of vampire suddenly rounding the corner.

The nightdweller took him in just as quickly as Warren did the same and the look of nervous fear that came over the vampire's face as the werewolf's fangs immediately erupted and his claws extended, ears growing, gray eyes taking on a blue sheen...was rather satisfying. Warren gave a chilling snarl, released Cleo and sprang, all injuries forgotten in lieu of a shot of adrenaline and rage. His fangs sank into the vampire's neck ruthlessly and while the blood that filled his mouth nearly burned, foul to the taste, it brought with it its own reward as the nightdweller shrieked and stumbled away, hand to his neck in a futile gesture to try and stem the poison seeping through his veins.

After all, the saliva of a werewolf, when delivered to a major artery like the jugular was toxic to a vampire. This one would be dead in minutes and Warren didn't go after him, fangs, ears and claws shrinking as he turned back to Cleo and simply grabbed her hand again, starting to move once more.

They couldn't afford to let her process his actions. That would have to come later.
 
After gaining his consent, Cleo picked at the lock till it clinked with a slightly more positive release. She was almost as horrified when she first stumbled upon the filthy cell, and the fear increased as she realized the full damage that the collar provided to him. His skin was wretched looking so painful the Cleo felt feint just staring at it, but she wasn't allowed to dwell long. Soon enough the lock had popped open, and Warren was shaking off the wretched contraption with what appeared to be relief to Cleo.

She couldn't blame him either, especially after seeing the results of the monstrosity it had caused.

As he spoke to her, she could only nod to the order he had given. Due to his background in jobs, she trusted he knew what the right thing to do was, and despite herself, she trusted that Warren would not let her come into any physical harm. Though a deep part in her worried that he was not nearly as worried about himself as he should be when helping others. It was a fault of his, and seemingly one of hers as well because she had attempted to help her stupid uncle. Then again, her stupidity got her there in the first place.

The attack had happened in mere moments, and as she was being dragged away by Warren the only thought in her head was, 'Double tap?' Well that and the mild panic attack because Warren had become more- Dog like.

One might consider such thoughts of double tapping as cruel, but these were the people who had tortured Warren and held her hostage. Cleo was not kind to a fault, and she wasn't willingly to let someone survive at the cost of someone important to her. Yes, Warren was important to her. She understood that at the least. That wasn't even the problem for her, but now probably wasn't the time to be thinking about such things.

They really just had to escape.

Her voice was extremely quiet and low, her own ears straining to hear it, "Can they smell us?"

Warren reeked of blood, and if she were honest, she reeked of sweat most likely. Heavens to Betsy, she had perspired enough to fill a bucket because the monsters made her entirely too nervous. Maybe it was an over exaggeration, but she just didn't want to blow the escape because they smelt like sewer rats or dare she belief they smelt worse.

She had run out of baking soda so that was not an option. If the monsters did have an estranged sense of smell, they would have to be extra careful or extra quick. While she was certain that Warren could get out alone, she wasn't quite sure that she would too. Sure, he promised, but the last thing she wanted to happen was both of them dying or being tortured.

Her voice was quieter than before, her previous question forgotten, "If something happens, promise me you'll go?"
 
"Yes, they can."

It was the most simple reply he could give, but the full explanation was much worse. Not only could the vampires smell them, they could hear them - or rather, hear their heartbeats. They were already found out, it was only a matter of time before they saw their next vampire...or several of them. The thought made the werewolf growl deep in his throat, but he kept control of his more feral nature and squeezed Cleo's hand gently, reassuringly. He looked down to her, truly so, when she spoke and Warren's gray eyes seemed to blaze with something very protective and yet sad all at once as the backs of his fingers brushed at the human's cheek, soothing and something far more, though, he didn't dare show that too openly.

"I'll go and I will get as far away as I can, as quickly as I can to guarantee that you're safe when I come back here. I promise." She would not understand it, not one word of it, but Warren didn't care. If they got out of this together, he'd explain it to her and if they didn't...well, she'd find out soon enough when she suddenly found herself where he'd run to and he was back in her place with the vampires. The werewolf would Replace Cleo in a heartbeat, without hesitation. She just didn't know it yet.

He'd run only to make sure she was as far away as possible when he Replaced her, that she'd be safe.

The werewolf's head jerked up at a noise only his ears could hear and the blond started to move again, faster than before even as it made his vision go dark around the edges and the world spin, blood roaring through his ears. Warren resisted giving in to the blackness that wanted to drag him under, to the blood loss telling him he couldn't go on much longer as he searched for the exit. Finally finding one, he paused at the door and stilled his breathing, listening very carefully to the other side. His fangs bared in frustration, hearing nothing, but his nose picking up all he needed to know.

There was a guard on the other side....but his ears told him there were people coming in their direction from inside the house, too. Their only option was this door, but Warren didn't know if he had it in him for another fight.
 
Cleo held to her makeshift weapons like a lifeline. Warren had paused for a bit, and it scared her partially to death because he had broke the pace they had previously set which meant one of two things danger, or he was about to collapse. She felt as though she were in a small room in which the walls were closing in on her. It was a terribly frightening feeling, and she wanted to just collapse and try to breath. At the same time though, she knew that such feelings were not going to get her anywhere.

She knew one thing above all others though. If Warren did collapse as she assumed he would, she was going to drag him out of there or die trying. Sure, she had made him promise to leave her, but she did not have it in her heart to leave him. No, it would definitely break her if she was forced to make such a decision. If now was a bad time to pause, it was even worse for the revelation she had come upon.

She couldn't live without him being around.

Dramatic as it may sound, it was true. There was a large difference with just surviving and living, and Cleo just knew somehow deep down inside her, if Warren didn't make it out of this situation, she would mentally die with him. Maybe in time she would be able to pretend to get better, but losing him would be hundreds of times worse than losing her brother or even parents. It was odd and terribly cruel, but she had ties with him that easily outshone the bonds of friendship and even familial bonds.

It was like he was a part of her.

Not in that terribly sickening belief that this person is who completes me, she simply did not believe in such a stupid romantic thing. But she did believe that in the sense, he had morphed the person she turned into that she just wouldn't be able to cope with the fact that all she knew in her life would be absolutely gone. If he wasn't the person she had seemed to know, she would willingly walk into open flames for him anyway. Why? Well because Warren Forester meant that much to her, and if it meant living in a terrible lie to maintain the feeling of control in her life, she would do it. Stability symbolized some sort of control over her life.

Control that everyone wanted, everyone needed. Something to be able to grasp and say, 'This is my choice. I'll choose on my time.' Without some sense of control over something, people had the tendency to go mad. If anything, Cleo was on the brink of insanity. Granted the past and current circumstances, it was unlikely anyone could blame her for it, but it did not change the fact.

Anger, the desire to maintain control in her life, and fear drove her more than anything at that moment. He stopped in front of the door, but she was going to face whatever it was head on, and she was going to win.

Despite all odds, when she burst past Warren and through the door, she had either shocked them all into not moving, time froze, or something happened. It felt as though it were a giant blur to her though, for she had rushed past her companion and flung herself into the person who was on the other side of the door. Shock was definitely littered on the vampire whom she had pounced upon, but it was even more intensified when she had managed to shove a number two pencil in between her ribs and into the heart, or so she assumed. If it was any other moment, Cleo would never find herself doing such a rash and harsh thing. She was more surprised such brashness even worked and counted her luck graciously. Maybe it was because they underestimated her, maybe the shock of a human pouncing on a vampire and impaling them with a pencil was completely shell shocking, or maybe it was something deeper like the vampire wanted to die.
 
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