It was raining, just like it had been raining that day.

He was looking out the window of his office; the one place where he went to think, to dwell on problems facing his family. The huge frame of his body covered the window – he was fit in all faculties, perfect for his office. He was their protector, their leader, their guide, and he would never let them down.

Not like he had let her down.

Everything was grey, cold, and wet – and in his mind, he remembered her. Warm, so full of life; her smile was electric, lighting up a room with its happiness. How often she’d saved that smile only for him.

Slowly, the memories came back, and haunted him. But not as much as her ghost itself haunted him.

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the glass.” Her transparent body sat on his desk, watching him with amused yet sad eyes. Those green eyes that he had loved to look into, loved to watch open when she woke. He didn’t turn, because it was the same image – he had it memorized in his brain, something far more valuable to him than any photograph. Not that he had any, not of her.

“They might shoot you through the glass – you know how I hate it when you get shot. You never cared,” she remarked, one small sneakered foot reaching cat-like from the desk to the floor as she stood; she spoke of past grievances. How they met, what forces had brought them together. She was so tiny in his hands, like a bird, but she was strong, so strong. That was what had drawn him to her that inside that tiny frame was a fire that would erupt and destroy anything in its path. She was always so afraid, but even in her fear she pushed herself to accomplish things she had never imagined she could.

“I know you want to stop them, but I don’t want you to do it for the reasons you think you should. I want you to do it for the family, to protect them.” One tiny, pale hand reached out to touch his back, but as it always did her hand floated through his sturdy musculature and straight out his chest. She hadn’t been a ghost for very long, and hadn’t mastered the skills that came with the package deal. It never startled him, but now he turned around and walked straight through her to sit in his chair.

They were holding her, one on each arm, too large for her to break free. They held her with such ease, and she struggled so desperately. Her green eyes were wide, with fright and worry. She saw him standing at the threshold of the church –held before the altar – and was afraid more for his life than her own. Besides the two holding her, there were ten to his left, fifteen to his right. So many and they were each as strong as he, so much so that it would take so long to reach her.

By then, it would be too late.

“Damn it, I hate it when you do that! Pay attention to me, I’m right here!” Tears, see-through tears dotted her cheeks and trailed paths from those gorgeous green eyes. He hated to see her cry, but there was nothing he could do for it now. If he dwelt in the past, there would be nothing he could do for those who needed him now. He wanted to placate her, hold her, and tell her that those damned beings that had killed her would be slaughtered before the next full moon, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t touch her – that was the unbearable part, that she was still with him but he couldn’t lay one finger on her, not in love or anger. He couldn’t make false promises when his own people were being killed, when he was torn in what he wanted to do. Kill those that had taken the one thing from him that had been his sole happiness, or protect those to whom he was pledged, to whom he had brought into his own existence and to whom he was sworn to lead and protect.

“Please...please, just look at me...” Her voice pleaded, but never whined. She would never go so low as to beg – only in bed, in that gorgeous voice of hers – never sink to whining. He knew if he turned, he’d see those tears in her eyes; that hand reaching out to touch him. The tears he couldn’t wipe away, the hand he couldn’t touch. It was more bearable to ignore her than to give voice to those emotions rioting in his head.

A voice rang out over the chaos, one voice in the multitude within the cathedral. It silenced all else but the rain beating at the stained-glass windows.

“It’s a race – the slower you are, the slower she dies. The quicker you are, and she might live. Let’s play a game...” All his eyes saw was red – the blood of his enemies on his hands, their flesh rendered by his claws and fangs. He didn’t care how many he’d have to kill; he’d destroy them all and kill any threat to what was his. Nothing threatened him, his family, or her. She was part of his family, but she was more – if anything, anything ever happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

And he already lived with so much guilt.

He rushed forward, greeted by five of them. They were dead in under a minute, but there were more, so many more, and soon he was weighed down by flesh, blood, and wounds. He was taking as many wounds as he gave – and the blood loss was taking its toll. He was struggling down the aisle, taking pieces from each that made the decision to attack him. He was death incarnate, a moving tornado of destruction. Nothing could stop him, nothing would destroy him.

Five, ten, fifteen...he lost count, and it seemed that more of them came from somewhere. There was no end! It could have been tens, hundreds, but he just kept going. The only sound in his ears were her screams of pain and for him to leave, that it was a trap, to go, leave, leave now! But he couldn’t, he’d put so much into this, he had too much to lose. It would end here, now, because he chose to end it now. He was in front of the altar, and time froze for a moment as he looked at her – she was covered in as many cuts as him, the blood washing her pale skin red. Her green eyes were the only thing unscathed, wide and afraid, but only for him. She knew that he was losing too much blood, and the family, if he died – what would happen to the family?

“No!” He denied her plea, unwilling to let any of his flock go wayward. Especially not her. And then he was moving, but not fast enough.

The knife was faster, a quick swipe from one ear to the other – what little blood was left in her body escaped through that brigand’s smile, from her mouth in a gurgle. Her screams were silenced; the only sound now was the soft liquid noise of death. Her eyes were wide in shock of her own demise – it wasn’t meant to end like this.

Never like this.

His hands were holding his head, inches from the desktop as he forced the images out of his mind. She was standing off to one side, the bookcase viewable through her body. She was turned to the bookcase – she loved to read, and had spent so much time pouring over what he had saved over the centuries. Her black hair reached just the top of her butt, and he remembered how it felt in his hands. Silk, black silk growing in waves down her back. She’d always left it loose, and he loved how it had spread like an inky pool over the pillows.

Setting those same hands down on the surface, he looked down to the papers. Simple things, bills to be paid, properties to be bought and sold. Things mortals would do, but they were but cogs in his grand schemes. They were the beginnings of his plans, what he would do with his immortality. He had such wonderful plans, but what they had cost – the sweat, the years, the suffering. He wanted to end it, but you had to break eggs to make a cake.

She had disagreed.

And they were gone. The damage was done – she was no longer a tool for them, and their leader had taken them away into the darkness with glee. He cared not, wrapping her in his arms as the blood leaked out of her so slowly. It was amazing that she was even still alive – maybe he could save her, but no, he had lost so much blood as well. There was barely enough in him to keep himself alive.

“I...” She coughed, more blood bubbling out of her mouth. Her teeth and tongue were stained a coppery red – she stank of blood. He could feel the bloodlust rising in his stomach like an animal that wouldn’t leave until it was satiated. But he refused to feed on her – even when she had asked it of him, he had denied her. He would never turn that horrible beast on her, not on anyone he had cared about. Carefully, tentatively he stroked a hand through her hair, moving stray strands away from her face. She shouldn’t speak, it took too much energy – if she could save it, maybe the rest of the family would come in time...

“I didn’t tell them...I swear. Not a thing. I promise.” It was barely a whisper, a rasping like leaves in the wind. She tried to smile, but her eyes were pained.

“It hurt...hurts so much. Please, it hurts.” Her eyes said more – said she was tired of it all, like she had been in the beginning. Full of questions, wanting to know why things were the way they were. Outrage at the regime, wanting to change it, but not in the ideas that he had. There must’ve been another way, any way, but that. And now she...

“Please.” It wasn’t whining, or begging. It was a simple word. A request. Her eyes said so much more than she was able to say – do it now, quickly, now, before I’m gone, now, please, now – and he could only do that which he had always done for her. Comply.

Her head tilted back, her eyes closed. He bent down to her broken, wounded neck and drank.

Drank and drew strength from her dying body.

Something was shaking his shoulder, and he thought it one of his assistants. Startled, he sat up quickly, thinking that something had happened that required his attention. But it was nothing – he had fallen asleep over the papers on his desk, and she had somehow managed to shake his shoulder. He looked at her – really looked at her – and took in the sight of his love. The first in centuries, the one that had given him peace in such a long time. Tears welled in his own eyes, wishing that, at the very least, he was able to pull her to him and hold her like a child holds their favorite toy. But she was so much more than a toy. She was the one who had broken in through his exterior, fought to be accepted and for him to accept her love in return.

Her pale hand reached out to cup one cheek, but of course he felt nothing but a cold sensation. She was smiling, amused at how he was over spending himself. She knew he needed rest, but he wouldn’t rest, not until he passed out. There was so much to be done, so much he wanted to do. She shook her head at him, knowing full well that the only way she had been able to draw him away from his work was flesh, and she didn’t even have that now. No, she had to leave him to fend for himself, the way he had been long before she had ever even been born.

“I can’t stay any longer. But I’ll come back – I always will.” I know you will, he responded in his mind, the words not needing to be uttered. He returned her smile with his own, putting his hand on top of hers and for a torturous moment he could feel that same warm skin again. But it was a fleeting moment, gone before it even came and there was no one with him in the office.

“I love you.” Barely a whisper, a rasping like leaves in the wind.

And then there was nothing.