“Master.” Nefer handed him a napkin.

Ibenrè took it. “What’s this for?”

“Because you... are about to weep.” A broad smile split Nefer’s dark face as he bent his six foot four inches over the pool table and cued up. “Five ball in the side pocket.”

So said, so done. All night long Nefer had been beating his ass like it was whipping cream. In disgust, Ibenrè threw his stick down on the felt top.

“I’m going for another round. You up?” He swiped the empties from the ledge before Nefer could. “Relax, I’ll get it. Just bear in mind this is the last nice thing I do for you tonight. Next game, your ass is mine, buddy.”

“As always, your servant.” Nefer bowed his bald head, causing the diamond studs in his earlobes to spark fire. There was just enough ‘there, there’ in his tone to set Ibenrè’s teeth on edge.

“That humble thing?” he started walking backwards, “You don’t do it so well.” Ibenrè turned away from Nefer’s gloating chuckles. “We’ll see who gets served, when I get back.”

He skirted the dance floor, gorging himself on the crowd. A broad male back touched here, a female waist stroked there. Hell, getting physical wasn’t even necessary. The heavy house music pouring from the speakers had the humans so primed for action, the air was spiked with their energy. It was enough to make an Ieternal drunk.

And speaking of intoxicating, Ibenrè made a slight detour to pass by a leggy blonde. He reached out, feeding lightly, quickly, on her ki. The female started, jerking away. She looked over her shoulder; didn’t, couldn’t, see him and laughed nervously. Already deciding that maybe she’d had enough to drink.  

Him? Not enough. The edges of his reality needed a twee bit more blurring. Undetected, Ibenrè went behind the serpentine glass and steel bar, scored another couple of beers, grabbed a fistful of peanuts and dropped some cash on the till when the bartenders weren’t looking.

He was half way back to their table when the atmosphere changed, becoming wooly and tasting metallic. His heartbeat increased as he scanned the place. No one, except Nefer, met his gaze, but the Nubian had sensed the change too and was already heading over. Ibenrè ditched the beers on the nearest table and dropped the nuts underfoot. 

“What do you think?” Nefer’s eyes gleamed liquid silver.

“Outside.” Anticipation hoarsening his voice, Ibenrè flexed his wrist within their lapis-studded cuffs, touching fingertips to the jeweled hilts of his khepesh blades.

“Come to papa,” he murmured, making tracks for the exit. 

“It may only be other Ieternals,” Nefer cautioned from behind.

“Killjoy.” Ibenrè took the stairs to street-level two at a time, nearly unhinging the metal entry door as he crashed through it.       

“What the hell—?” The bouncer outside dropped his cigarette and spun round, ready for trouble.

And Trouble breezed by him unseen.

Before the mangled door had swung closed again, Ibenrè and Nefer were three blocks away, moving with preternatural speed down the near deserted downtown sidewalks.

The air crackled with electricity in their wake, and overhead several street lights blew-out. Ibenrè sprinted into road, racing a streetcar, then dodging between vehicles; to him the oncoming headlights simply come-hither flirtations. This is what he thrived on. The edge of danger. The chance at death. He let out a victorious whoop and made a final hurdle over a row of parked cars, with Nefer hard on his heels. 

They landed on concrete, seconds apart and inches away, facing the phosphorous curtain of energy draped between a trendy shoe store and an all night Falafel place.    

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ibenrè’s lips curled with black satisfaction. Just as smaller blind veils protected him and Nefer from human detection, this larger version cloaked the entrance to the alley from all but otherworldy eyes.

They breached the veil and Ibenrè took a deep breath. “Ahh, smell that stench. Nothing like it.” This time his guardsman didn’t correct him; the coppery scent of vampyres was way too distinctive.

He and Nefer quietly stalked into the darkness until they spotted their quarry: two large males, backs turned, deep in the shadows. If their smell hadn’t given them away, their getups were a big honking red flag. Black leather trenches in the middle of summer? Why? And for Ammun’s sake, just say ‘No’ to the mullets, already.

“Leave me alone!” a voice cried out. The vamps shifted position and Ibenrè saw some kind of weapon flash by in front of them.

“Looks like the bloodsuckers cornered something that doesn’t care for their company,” Nefer said softly.

“Showing impeccable taste as far as I’m concerned. But two against one hardly seems fair.” He loosened the keplesh blades from their leather cuffs just as one vamp made its move.

The cornered victim swung again and Ibenrè grimaced at the crack of wood meeting bone. “Oooo. That’s gotta hurt.”

The male staggered back, promptly smacked into his cohort and they both fell on their asses to the littered ground.  

Nefer snorted. Ibenrè shook his head in amazement. “I gave up the chance to annihilate you at pool for this? Bloodsucking Frik and Frak?”

“Annihilate?”

“Shut it.”

Ibenrè’s gaze slid to the being still standing. He had the impression of a face pale with fear, undeniably human, and unmistakably female; then the vamps were back on their feet. One tore the club from the woman’s grip and slammed her repeatedly up against a Dumpster, rapid fire, denting in the side, till her screams stopped.

The vamp’s head dipped to her neck, birthing waves of agonized whimpers from her, that were drown out beneath the vampyre’s wet suckling. 

“No one ever tell you not to slurp your food?”

The vamp stopped feeding with a hiss, jerking its head around to glared at him. The lower half of its face was a bloody smeared mess.

“It’s pretty disgusting. In fact, just about everything about you two is disgusting.”

“Mind your business Ieternal,” the other vamp growled, eyes fully white and glowing.

“As soon as you mind your covenants. Vampyres are only allowed to feed from their familiars. The lady doesn’t seem to be acquainted with you two.”

“So, consider this familiarizing myself,” Frak said and shook the lifeless body. 

While the vamps brayed like two demented hyenas, Ibenrè slid the keplesh into his hands; he gave them a twirl. “Well as long as we’re doing introductions, say ‘ello to my little friends.” 

Frak tossed the female aside.  “You Ieternals are all alike.”

“Yeah. Expendable.” Frik cracked his knuckles.

Ibenrè shuddered dramatically, then smiled. Now this was what he lived for. He lightly bounced the blades in each palm, testing their balance and potential for carnage. Perfect.

“Bring it.”

They did.

Twenty minutes later, barely out of breath, and with unholy glee coursing through his veins, Ibenrè pushed back a lock of hair from his brow. “Is that the best you boys got?”

He grinned, which caused the vamps to spew a volley of curses at him, his lineage, his manhood, and his taste in clothing.

Now that hurt.  

“Tsk,tsk; the mouths on you two.”

“You fight like a huumahn,” Frak snarled, showcasing several centuries of orthodontic tragedy. He leapt up from the garbage cans he’d crashed into — accidentally-on-purpose by Ibenré.

“Drop your weapons and fight like an Ieternal.” Frik, fangs bared, rolled off the hood of the Acura he’d landed on, again courtesy of Ibenré, and ran up for another helping of humiliation.

Ibenré made a moue, flipping one dagger into the air. “You mean like this?” He stretched his hand out and the sudden blast of ki energy stopped Frik in his tracks. The vamp’s body lifted, spine arched, corporeal shell disintegrating as Ibenré fed on the creature’s soul marrow. Seconds later only the sparking ashfall of its husk remained.

Behind his back, he caught the dagger upon its decent. “What would you give that, a nine? Nine-point-eight?” He looked from Nefer to the last sucker standing. “My timing was a little off but—” a cramp hit, gutting him, “—but, never suck vamp on an empty stomach,” he wheezed.

Bent double with the agonizing spasms, he barely heard his guardsman’s warning before Frak slammed him into the type of pain you spelled: B.R.I.C.K.W.A.L.L. While crumbling mortar rained down on them, the bloodsucker practically dry grinding him in fangly display misplaced foreplay.  

“No, no, no. No necking on the first date.” He head-butted the plague-riddled vermin; but Frak held on, dragging Ibenré down to the cracked filthy concrete as another wave of nausea skimmed through him. The knives slipped from his hands.

He could end this quickly, except his stomach heaved at thought of feeding on another vamp. That left Plan B: killing and maiming the old fashion way.

They tore up the alley from one end to the other. Fists, objects and bodies went flying. Finally, Ibenré aimed a well-placed knee at his opponent’s groin and sank one thumb deep into some bloodsucking eyeball jelly. Frak stiffened with a demonic howl that was cut short in a soft explosion of phosphorous ash.

And then there were none.

Ibenrè sneezed violently at the residue then looked up at Nefer, whose arm remained poised from striking the fatal blow. Slowly, the limb reformed, morphing from metal back to flesh.

“I had it under control; you didn’t have to intercede.” He wiped the slime off his thumb with a crumpled flyer.

“Once you go for the eyes, that’s my cue to step in.”

Grunting in response, Ibenré got up and limped over to where one knife lay in a patch of grayish sludge.

“You grow reckless, Master. That was the sixth blood drinker you’ve fed on in two nights. Tarik won’t like it.”

“My brother doesn’t have to like it, since he’ll never know.” He gave Nefer a hard look as he crossed the alley to where the other keplesh was embedded deep in a light standard. 

“Nor will Khentimentu tolerate you decimating his forces.”

“Or it could be exactly what His Royal Leechness wants.” Ibenrè yanked the knife out.

“So the plan is to make it easy for him? Might I remind you, you’re not indestructible. Only immortal.”

“And a damn good dancer. Don’t forget that.” Ibenrè winced as another wave of darkness writhed through him, reinforcing Nefer’s warning. Many Ieternals had succumbed to Khentimentu in just this way, far more than from being bitten.  

A vamp’s touch could comprise an Ieternal’s ability to feed, but they had to hit a major artery to cause real damage. On the other hand, if an Ieternal fed too often or too much on the vampyre’s tainted soul marrow, they could kiss their ass goodbye.

“You know, there are other ways to deal with this restlessness. A woman for instance...” Nefer let the question trail off, but Ibenrè’s reaction was immediate — long, hard and ready to poke an eye out.

“I see your need is prodigious.” Nefer looked away from Ibenrè’s tented crotch. “There’s still time to find a vessel before the clubs shut down, and you’re not too particular.”

“Are you implying I have no standards?”

“Quite the contrary. When you can bring yourself to pursue such endeavors—-make love, not war, etcetera—-you seem to find unequalled delight in all things female.”

When he could bring himself. That was the problem. As the centuries passed he’d found the rituals of copulation, the care required, chaffed mightily against his natural impulses.

But sometimes a little chaffing was good.

“Less talk, more action.” He slid the blades back in place, then adjusted his prodigiousness. “Let’s get out of here.”  

With Ibenrè kicking at an empty beer bottle, they headed towards the street. As they passed a Honda with its window shattered, he asked, “Did I do that?”

“Contributed.”

“Not bad.” Ibenrè kicked at the bottle again. It bounced back. Off a leg sprawled out from behind a Dumpster.

He and Nefer exchanged glances. They went for a closer look. The human’s neck was a mangled mess of raw flesh, glistening with the congealed blood that soaked her shirt to black and matted her hair.

To him, the devastation only emphasized the disquieting appeal of her face, which seemed carved from ivory in its pallid stillness. Even her full lips, which would’ve been infinitely kissable in life, were stiff, cracked and chalky blue. He had a flash image of the exact moment she’d beaned the vamp and felt a smile tug at his own mouth. “A fighter.”

“Master?”

He shook his head and crouched down. Several long seconds later a faint breath issued from her. “She’s a fighter,” he repeated. Just like him.

He brushed the dark hair from her cheek, tracing gentle fingers down to her ruined neck. Lightly, he gathered the torn edges of flesh together.

Nefer shifted behind him. “This isn’t wise.”

“Not surprising; you’re the brains of this operation, I’m the beauty.” Slowly he let the energy flow from him and felt the tissue beneath his hand begin to repair.

“Ben, I must protest.”

Nefer only called him by the diminutive when concerned. Ibenré looked up, letting his fool’s mask slip.

“We. Live. Nefer. After centuries of death — cheating, wallowing, and most of all delivering it.” He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, “Maybe there’s enough humanity in me at this moment to give life instead.”

A muscle worked itself in Nefer’s cheek. “You will enthrall her.”

“So what. She’ll get over it. Just like all the other vessels I’ve used.”

“And if she turns?”

“Oh, for the love of Egypt! She barely has enough ki to survive the next five minutes much less make it through a change. Never mind it takes a measured exchanged of ki to turn. Besides, when have I ever turned anyone?”

“Never. That’s why I think—”

“Stop thinking! You and Tarik are the hewn from same rock.” He raked back a lock of hair flopped over his brow. “Follow my lead. Just be. Just do.”

Nefer bowed. “A life saved, is a duty earned.”

“So you’ve been telling me for the last three thousand years. But honestly, Nefer, I would have let you hang with me just for the asking, man.”

Ibenré turned his focus back to the female. The wound on her neck was now an angry collection of puckered scars surrounded by startling bruises. Despite what he’d just said, he didn’t dare do more for her. In fact, he was already questioning his impulse.

Yet that didn’t stop him from cupping one soft breast, searching out the weak rhythm of her heart. A small vibration fluttered gratifyingly beneath his touch before a spike of heat pierced his palm and raced up his arm. Ibenré snatched his hand away and rubbed it on his thigh, trying to erase the sensation.

“What happened?”  Nefer asked sharply.

“Nothing. It seemed odd...” Ibenrè frowned at the offending breast. And the more he stared at it, the more his palm itched with a different type of sensation that danced along his veins and pooled low in his belly. 

“Odd, in what way?” Nefer persisted.

“As if I was groping her.”

“Oh. Well, that’s how it appeared from here, too.”

Ibenrè pursed his lips. Every few centuries he was tempted to turn his sidekick into tinsel. “I will do no more. She needs medical attention.” He unclipped his cell from his pocket. The screen stayed dark no matter how many times he pressed the call button. “Damn.”

“Forgot to recharge again?”

“Are you nagging?”

“Not at all.”

“Find a payphone and call an ambulance.” Nefer didn’t carry a cell. The guardsman’s unique physiology played havoc with micro-technology. “I’ll stay here to keep watch.” He scanned the rooftops, picking out a good spot that he pointed to. “From there. When help arrives, I’ll dissolve the veil.”

“Have you changed your mind about seeking a vessel?”

Ibenrè looked down at the female again. He may have saved her life. That single uncharacteristic act, gave him a small measure of peace. “No. I think she was more woman than I bargained for this night,” he said softly.

“So you were groping her.”

Ignoring Nefer, Ibenrè stood, leaped on top of the Dumpster and then made an easy jump to the fire escape above. “I’ll meet you back at the house later.”

Nefer headed for the streets, Ibenrè continued to scale the four stories to the rooftop. Once there, he sat on the ledge, swinging his legs and twisting the rings on his fingers, while black nausea churned in his gut and cold sweat dampened his shirt. How many more vamp feedings would send him into the dark? One more? Two? He clenched his teeth to stop their faint chatter.

If Tarik found out about this, it’d earn Ibenrè another long boring lecture on the merits of self-control and survival of their race, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah.  But Ibenrè wasn’t interested in self-control. Why be immortal and only half alive? Screw that shit.

Might as well be like the woman down there. Just as good as dead. His stomach twisted with something that felt vaguely like guilt, then another wave of dread clutched at him. In the midst of it, he somersaulted backwards into the air, landing several feet away from the edge. Copper singed the air, and seconds later a recognizable figure detached itself from the looming shadows of the rooftop mechanics.

“Now y’all didn’t have to get up on account of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of turning my back on you, Huston. That would be unmannerly, and just plumb stupid.” 

The vamp grinned in response and strolled over to where Ibenrè had been sitting, his snakeskin boots clip clopping loudly on the concrete and his black leather trench flapping around his powerful legs. He braced one boot on the ledge. “Like’em? I skinned them myself.”

When Ibenrè didn’t raise to the bait, six feet six inches of pure evil leaned over the edge, knuckling back the brim of its black hat. “Why from up here, she don’t seem much more significant than a lil’ bitty ole rag doll.”

“I wouldn’t know. My mother didn’t let me play with dolls. But that could explain some of your psychoses.”

“Now don’t go disrespecting a man’s mama.”

“If ‘disrespecting’ involves ripping out her throat and draining her blood. Oops. Too late, you beat me too it.”

“A purely unfortunate incident.” Huston bared his fangs in a nasty smile.

“Just like your birth.”

“And your continual presence in my life.”

“I’ve got two thousand years on you, you evolutionary tick. And a better vocabulary. That makes you the pain in my ass.”

Huston lost his smile. “One day, Ieternal, you and me.”

‘Right here, right now’, was on the tip of Ibenrè’s tongue, but Huston continued.

“One day, you’ll have a belly full vamp, and Khentimentu won’t be so interested in saving you.”

“Saving me from who? You?” He laughed derisively, his hands just itching to hold his blades.

“Why saving you for his’self, Ieternal. Can’t reckon why though....” Cowboy Sux looked him up and down, like he couldn’t quite figure it out, the way he probably couldn’t figure shoelaces. Hence, the boots.

Ibenrè didn’t get it either. Tarik knew, but he wasn’t talking. One thing for sure, big bro had royally pissed off Khentimentu at some point during their time as humans, and now the blood priest was nursing the mother of all grudges.

Huston’s shit-eating grin was back. “Yessir, Khentimentu’s got a righteous hard one for you and your brother.”

“Listen, I know all this talk of your boss’s sexual proclivities is turning you on. Me? Not so much. So if you don’t want to tango, what’re doing here?”

“I felt a disturbance in the force.” Huston made a grand gesture with his hands, his expression full of mockery. “Thought I’d mosey on over to see what’s doing.” 

“Right. And I was born yesterday. You’re pretty high up at Khentimentu-Screws-You Inc. You don’t just ‘mosey’ on over anywhere.”

Huston shrugged. “Had to check on the troops.”

“Nah,” Ibenrè shook his head. “Those two vamps were disposable, or you would’ve shown yourself sooner.”

The vamp tried another tack. “There’s been some rouges running around. Khentimentu wants them brought in.”

Now that had a ring of truth. Except when did the blood priest ever send his second-in-command after rogues?

The sound of oncoming sirens grew. The vamp glanced quickly down below. “Looks like this is a dead-end. I’ll be taking my leave now.” With that he stepped off the roof.

Ibenrè ran to the edge, saw Huston bend over the human and didn’t think before he leapt down after the vamp. By the time he’d landed Huston had sprinted to the end of the alley and disappeared into the night. He squatted down by the woman; a quick examination revealed no more injuries, but there was no time to do anything else. The ear piercing wail of the ambulance forced him to act. Ibenrè erased the veil and cloaked himself.

He’d stay close until she got to the hospital.

And until he figured out her connection to the vamps.

                             ***

Hannah woke to pain.

It sang in her veins, pulsed in her head, crawled over her skin. She moaned and it felt like grains of jagged glass scraped her throat.

“She’s conscious. Oh thank god.” A voice cried, before she felt a warm hand on her arm. That’s when Hannah realized just how cold she was and started shaking uncontrollably.

“Is she having a seizure?”

“Don’t worry mama, I’ll get someone.” That was Ronnie’s voice. Cool and controlled. Her sister was always in control.

Hannah forced her eyes open and winced against the harsh light. When she tried to turn her head, hot searing agony tore along her neck, from jaw to shoulder, springing tears to her eyes and causing another torturous moan. What had happened to her?

“Hannah, honey; oh baby, I was so worried.” Her mother squeezed her hand.

Hannah forced her eyes open and took in her surroundings — the pale green walls, pastel paintings and lilac curtains. And the machines that beeped and flashed, with their tentacles hooked up to her body. Fear clasped an icy fist around her heart just as the door pushed open. A doctor entered, followed by a nurse then Ronnie. 

“So you finally woke up?” He pulled a penlight from his pocket, then held each of her lids open as he shone it into her eyes. Next he asked her to follow his finger. He said something to the nurse, put the penlight away, and proceeded to take Hannah’s pulse.

“Feel like shit, uh?” He smiled contritely as he looked across the bed. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ve heard worse,” her mother said, with a tiny snort of humor. She looked back down a Hannah. “This is a good sign, now that she’s awake?”

“Very good.” His voice was professionally placating, and soothingly non-committal. He continued his examination, eyes flicking from Hannah to the machines.  “Can you talk?”

“Y-yes,” Hannah croaked.

“Good.” He took a chart from the nurse and scribbled on it. “No serious damage, then, to the larynx. You suffered quite a bit of trauma to the area, previously.” He gentle nudged her chin up and felt along her neck. “Whoever operated, did a pretty good job. Funny thing is, we can’t seem to find anything in your records on it. You had recent, extensive bruising in the area, most probably occurring at the same time of the  concussion and blood loss—”

“Concussion?” she whispered. Was that why her head was pounding?

“That injury to her neck happened the same night she was attacked,” Ronnie spoke up.

“Not possible. The scar tissue at the time of admission indicates one to two months of healing.”

“I don’t care what your charts indicate. That scar wasn’t there.”

“And when was the last time you saw your sister?”

Ronnie was silent. They were hardly what you called close and hadn’t seen each other since... last month. What scars?

“I was the attending when they brought her in. She was wearing a collared shirt, and her hair was down. Could have gotten loose during the struggle, but did she normally wear here hair down? That could have helped hide the scarring. Add a little make-up and you’d hardly notice.”

What scarring? Hannah dragged her hand up to her neck. She felt them; a series of raised lines from under her jaw, her fingers traced the smooth tender cords, down to her collar bone. The trembling started again. “H-how did this happen?”

“You don’t remember?” The doctor’s expression was serious.

Hannah shook her head slowly.

“See, I told you, she didn’t— ”

“One moment, please.” He held up his hand. “Hannah, what was the last thing you remember. Take your time to answer.”

She remembered leaving the store, late... pain garroted her skull. Something happened after she left the store. Her heart sped up, and she stared at each face surrounding the bed.

“Do you remember?” her mother coaxed.

Hannah shook her head slowly. The hammering in her head increased. “How long, here? Yesterday?”

“No, my darling; you’ve been in a coma for a week.”

Her lungs seemed to have difficulty functioning. “I can’t remember,” she said. It was a lie. Hannah remembered one thing. Fear. 

                             ***

She woke with a start. She did that now. No easy drifting upwards to airy consciousness. Just drug-induced darkness, then eyes wide open, heart racing: awake.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was smooth and mellifluous.

She turned her head carefully; two weeks had passed since she’d come out of her coma, but the stiffness, the stinging tightness was still in her neck. She swallow her self-pity and stared at her visitor. “You didn’t.”

He left her breathless.

She thought doctor’s that looked like him, only existed on TV or in the movies.  His skin was deeply tanned, his hair inky black, with a single lock falling over his brow in boyish charm, and his equally dark eyes seemed to dance as he returned her interest.

“That’s good. I’ve been known to scare some people.” He came to her, a smile curving his mouth.

Brief uneasiness tap Hannah’s chest. Here was an unknown man. Easily over six feet tall, broad shoulders beneath his white jacket, and coiled strength seeming to radiate from him.

But the door was wide open to the hall, it wasn’t like the floor was deserted, and why would someone hunt her down here, where there were witnesses and—

And then he took her hand, feeling for a pulse that had jumped to a rabbit beat. “You’re such a little liar,” he said with his smiling mouth. “But you’re a smart little liar. Fear will keep you alive.”

“What?” His words should have had her screaming blue murder, if her vocal chords had been up to the job. Which they weren’t. Not that it mattered, because he didn’t instill that type of fear in her. In fact he filled her with a sense of security. Almost bordering on familiarity. She tingled all up and down her arm, from where he touched her. Her heartbeat slowed.

“That’s better,” he said softly. “So how you feeling today? Stronger?”

“Yes.” Hannah frowned. “Have you come here before? I mean, when I was in a coma. I know it sounds silly, but your voice...”

“I was here.”

She felt a rush of relief. If she remembered his voice, from somewhere in her subconscious mind, then her lost hours, the night of her attack, she’d remember that too. And she’d know what she needed to be afraid of.  

“I come every night. Sit over there,” her jerked his head towards the furthest corner of the room, “quietly knitting. Keeping my eye on you.”

Hannah laughed. It was a rusty sound, surprisingly not too painful. “Knitting, huh?”

“I’m pretty good with my hands.”

Her belly went in knots. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter girl. With those hands, he was probably a surgeon. But her mind didn’t want to get out. She looked at those long fingers, with their neatly trimmed nails, that held her captive. The multiple rings seemed out of place for a doctor, but then nothing about him was average. Not his looks, his height, the small hoops in his ears, or the devilish tilt of his seductive mouth.  No, those hands could do a lot more than knit or sew a body up.

She eased her wrist from his grip and had the distinct impression he hadn’t wanted to let go. There was a split second of resistance, before his fingers loosened. Only when she found herself free, his warmth gone, did she realize she hadn’t wanted him to let go either.