Gabriel heard it too; the crunch of snow beneath armoured boots, too heavy for a human; the clank and rattle of weaponry; and that unmistakable smell. The fear and realisation swept over him like freezing water.

Oh...bollocks.

Demons. He knew they'd use demons when the time came; less likely to pussy out, less chance of him surviving the attack. The fact they weren't averse to a spot of mindless brutality was nothing more than a bonus.

His weapons were upstairs; he'd left them packed in his trunk in a moment of foolish optimism and security. You fucking idiot, he told himself. You knew you weren't safe anywhere. The footsteps grew closer; they were but ten steps from the door. He couldn't go and retrieve his weapons from upstairs; he could not allow himself to put Stefan in any danger from the assassins meant for him. Here was where he made his stand; fist-to-fist if necessary. Curling his long fingers around the leg of his bar stool and swinging it up to his face, he stood facing the door, waiting to unleash Hell before he went.