His head hurt. The weird discussion with Kyung had left a distinct impression, but he wasn't certain exactly what that impression was. He couldn't put it into words. At least not words that felt familiar. He walked along Drottninggatan, wrapped up in thoughts that kept him from seeing much of his surroundings. There were enough people around to make him invisible in the crowd, and since people unknowingly avoided him, he could walk straight ahead without bumping shoulders.

The ridiculous job title was the least of his problems, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. Messenger. Couldn't the dragon at least have picked something that sounded a bit important? It was a title that placed him at the bottom of the hierarchy. Even the nasty secretary could send him on errands if he failed to avoid her. It made no sense. Nothing made sense. The dragon's presence in Stockholm was a clusterfuck, and somehow he'd ended up in the middle of it all.

There was nothing to like about the situation, which should have been enough of a motivation to relocate. He could pack his belongings and board a plane to an island somewhere in the Pacific. No one would bother him, and he'd live the next few years completely safe from trouble. Maybe he could convince Nev to move as well. That way, they'd both be free to live their lives surrounded by nothing but pleasure and tropical warmth. He stuck his cold fingers inside his pockets. Stockholm had very few advantages beyond the long hours of darkness during winter.

The idea of an island was nothing but a pleasant dream, however. Nev was unlikely to say yes, and he didn't exactly see himself happy with prolonged isolation. Besides, he'd fled most of his life and had no wish to start all over again.

A door flew open on his right, and two drunk women wobbled out from the pub with bright smiles on their faces. A loud buzz of voices from inside, coupled with some tolerable music, drew his attention. Perhaps he could do with a diversion or two. His beast needed to be fed, or something like that.

He crossed the threshold and squeezed past a few other guests to reach the bar disk. Any other night he would have opted for a drink, but his mind was already scrambled enough. Instead, he ran his fingers along the polished wood, touching every indent, every mark left by countless guests. The pub had been around for a while, dressed in a traditional British style which was a weird contrast. The British did have a more vibrant pub culture than the Swedes, though, so maybe that was the reason. Or maybe the Swedes had simply watched too much TV.

A woman with bleached hair and eyelashes too long to be real sat beside him, twirling the black straw in her cream colored drink. He could sense that she prepared herself to talk, and for once he didn't mind the prospect. Anything to take his mind off Kyung.

She released the straw between her red lips and eyed him seductively. "I sure hope you're not too young to be here?"

He almost wanted to laugh at the question. He'd damned his young appearance on more than one occasion, but at last he could get away with behaving like a reckless adolescent once in a while. He had no recollection of his childhood, but he knew he'd been around thirteen when his dear parents had decided to have some fun at the Salem witch trials, or at least that's what they'd told him. Most pinned him to be around twenty, which was a few centuries off.

"I'm old enough," he replied.

This didn't happen all that often. People could stare at him from a distance, but too close, their subconscious began to warn them to back away. Apparently this woman either sought danger or she was simply more intoxicated than he'd thought.

She leaned closer. "I'm Helene."

The bartender interrupted, "Can I get you anything?" The guy wore a knowing smile. Perhaps Helene was a regular who liked to prey on new, young customers.

"A ginger ale with some ice."

Helene made a little sound to get his attention. "Are you not drinking tonight?" She almost sounded offended. Again, not very uncommon for a Swede. They might not have the best pub culture, but drinking was deeply embedded in their heritage. It could get quite rowdy during weekends, which was a huge contrast from how Swedes generally acted. It was as if they all switched personalities from chilly do-gooders to reckless teens without limits.

He responded with a shrug and wondered what Kyung would have said if he saw them. Likely the guy would shake his head and scoff. He paused his thoughts right there. It was not comforting to know that the dragon randomly surfaced in his mind for no apparent reason. The meeting had been enough of contact for one night.

"So, Helene, do you have any interesting stories to tell?" He silently begged for a miracle. Maybe she had some tumultuous background that he could slip into and dig out a few juicy memories from. The grittier the better. He wanted anger and resentment. Something that matched what he should feel rather than this weird numbness that kept him insanely detached.

Her nose twitched and her lips parted slightly. "What do you mean?"

The bartender placed his order in front of him, smiling slightly as if the situation was amusing. Maybe the guy had overheard.

"Just tell me something interesting about yourself." He could have entered her mind already, but he wanted to see how much he could play with her first. A game was the best kind of diversion no matter how manipulative it was.

He needed to feel at least a little bit powerful after the exchange with Kyung. He needed control, and this poor woman had just happened to choose the wrong guy to flirt with.

Helene squirmed on her seat and hastily looked over her shoulder. There was this overall hesitance in her posture that almost made him back down. She leaned closer, revealing a bit of cleavage, but this time he wasn't sure if it was intentional.

"Can you keep a secret?" she whispered.

"Of course." It was easy enough to promise when the obligation to heed that promise was absent. His conscience had been ruptured long ago.

"When I was a child, I was positively certain our neighbors were some kind of werewolves. I mean, I know it sounds ridiculous, but have you ever considered the possibility of secret societies?" She sipped more of her drink, and from her dilated pupils and her choice of topic, it was clear Helene was not only a little drunk, but very drunk.

He raised his hand for the bartender who appeared almost immediately. "Can I get a glass of water?"

The bartender nodded and slipped away.

Helene was chewing her lip, getting a bit of red lipstick on her teeth. "I was just joking," she added, but she failed to sound very convincing.

His interest was piqued, however. "Why don't you drink some water and then we can get out of here?"

She lit up in a smile, thinking that she'd scored rather than landed herself in a situation that would rid her of a few memories. "Sure." She gulped down some water, left about half of it, and slid off the tall barstool. "Let's go." She sure was eager.

The bartender nodded in goodbye, and Adeem made a note to get back and look through the guy's mind sometime. As a bartender you had to see some pretty weird shit, and a taste of those memories had to at least hold a bit of fun.

Helene slipped her fingers through his, curling them slightly as if to stake some sort of claim. Her hand was warm and soft, a touch he didn't get to feel all that often.

The street outside was far from empty, and he decided to keep up appearances for a while longer until they could hide somewhere less crowded. He wanted to dig deep, which could take a few moments longer than usual. Steering her toward Kungsträdgården, he let her prattle on about whatever it was she was saying. He simply hummed and said a few words to keep her going.

She seemed entirely comfortable with the situation until he asked her to sit down on one of the benches beneath the barren cherry trees. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"My place isn't far, but I thought we could sit for a bit. You don't have the best of shoes for walking." He nodded toward her high heeled boots.

"Oh, thank you." Her smile returned and sat beside him, cuddling close.

He dove into her mind right away, eager to see what she had seen. It was always more of a hassle to pinpoint old memories because they tended to be spread all over like scattered pieces with no apparent strings between them. Glimpses of pointless everyday life passed by, all tinged with dark shadows. She was by no means a happy person. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for her. A man appeared regularly, always scowling, sometimes shouting. He left the memories alone and dug deeper.

A twirl of a skirt, green grass and the scent of lilac. She was younger, lighter of mind. He almost wanted to stay in that memory to feel the touch of her bare feet on soft ground, but he didn't. Reaching further, he saw the first images of a house. It lay next to a forest with few other houses around. It smelled of spruce and dried leaves. The lawn was more moss than grass, and an old playhouse showed signs of neglect. In the memory, he heard a howl which immediately pushed Helene's legs into a sprint. Safe inside the house, she went to the window and peeked behind the curtain.

A low whine reached them from the forest edge. One man and a young girl appeared, the older dragging a maimed deer behind him. The bleeding marks around the deer's neck were distinctive enough, but he could have recognized the werewolf without the additional evidence. The young girl struck him as familiar, a younger version of someone he'd seen, but she wasn't a werewolf.

He wanted to get out of the memory, especially when the werewolf shoved the girl forward, allowing her to stumble and fall on the dying grass. The moment the girl landed, the brown surface turned pitch black and ashes spread in the wind.

It was Astrid, the dark hellion who had always been an enigma. And, this memory made him even more intrigued.

He took hold of each piece of the memory he could find and retreated, rising from the bench before Helene came to her senses. The memory tasted of coal and licked his insides with fiery flames, and he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to rest before he found the hellion. He held something that truly didn't belong to him, and for the first time, it weighed on his conscience. Perhaps he had one, after all.

A/N Don't forget to vote and comment <3 Oh, and this is how I picture Astrid.