Rachel's face was anguished. "Althea. Beloved-"

“Didn't you hear me? Or are you pathetic mortals going deaf, as well as being blind and stupid? I want to be alone," she snarled, sweeping them all with a burning glance. Still holding the bottle by the neck, she threw her sword into a corner, where it bounced with a muted clang.

“*Love,'" she bit out, the word low and hating.

“What use is it when maggots have eaten the corpses of every person I have ever cared for?

Or ever wilt?"

In the shocked silence, she walked away. In a few seconds they could hear her uneven steps as she climbed up the back staircase.

When she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door hard enough to splinter the frame.

It was always bad after she won.

This was one of the worst times.

When she Lost, when she failed, there was still the drive of the hunt to keep her busy. When a demon-spawn, through guile or skill or sheer bad fortune, managed to elude her, she had a reason to go on. It was only after killing one that the depression set in. Another execution to weigh on her soul, if she had one. The church had been remarkably reticent about whether succubi and incubi had souls and would be allowed into heaven.

She couldn't imagine why.

It was well after midnight. The house was silent around her. She stood at the window, staring out into the darkness. In the trash can in the corner, the empty whiskey bottle lay, a final few drops spilling out into the bottom. As the night passed, she had listened as the family slowly recovered from her burst of temper and drifted off to their own beds. Sitting in a chair, pouring cheap whiskey down her throat, she had waited for some well-meaning idiot to come in and try to make her feel better.

Thankfully, no one had. Rachel had paused outside her doorway, but had instead gone to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Now Althea closed her eyes and leaned her aching head against the cool glass, hot tears flowing down her cheeks.

Blessed Almighty, mother of us all, what's the point anymore? I can kill creatures Like Kincaid until my hands are coated with their blood, and there will always be more. Is there nothing else for me and my sisters and the rest of my kin? Will we kill until we die or the world ends?

And what happens when we are all gone? When by bad luck or evil chance or sheer despair, the last of us departs this good green Earth? Will you allow the Forsaken to breed more children, until the world is full of them, and mankind itself plunged into slavery, torture, and death?

There was no answer. But then, she thought, there never was.

I should go.

The thought was so clear in her mind, so compelling, that she was putting together what she needed before she had even had time to truly think about her choice. She let the bloodstained dress fall to the floor and pulled on a pair of snug jeans and a black t-shirt. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, her wallet shoved inside, her laptop in its carrying case was held under one arm.

They can keep the clothes and everything else, she thought as she crept down the front stairs. Alex's car is out front. I'll be gone before they know it. Send them a text so they know where to find it. I don't want that on my conscience. Change the cell phone number, drop off the grid for a few years, and they'll never be able to find me. I'll move away. Denver, Dallas, Des Moines. Someplace that starts with "D." It's time to move on anyway. Chicago isn't so great. The winters are terrible, the roads are a mess, and the Bears never win shit.

And if losing one person you love devastates you, there's no reason to stick around and wait for six to die. It would drive you mad.

The house was silent as she padded across the foyer. The only sounds came from outside, drifting through the open windows, left open in anticipation of summer days to come. The hum of crickets, the gentle rustle of leaves in the west wind.

She was halfway across when a Light snapped on, blinding her. She threw an arm across her streaming eyes.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

It was Yasna.

“I'm leaving." She tried to keep her voice firm, regardless of how her heart broke when she said the words