Good Morning Starshine
by RavenKat
April 19
Midair, 5:30 a.m.

“Ms. O’Neill, just wanted to let you know that sunrise is in a few minutes and the weather in Paris today with be partly cloudy with a high of 65.”

Kat pushed the intercom button and replied, “Thanks Captain. Will we be landing soon?”

The pilot’s microphone relayed the sound of shuffling papers. “We should be arriving at Charles de Gaulle in under an hour.”

“Sounds great. Now pay attention to your driving,” she joked and twisted to open the nearest window shade. It slid up with ease and Kat gazed out at the calm sea of clouds below them.  Soon, the sun peeked over the horizon and began to shine into the cabin of the speeding jet. She slowly stuck her hand into the rays and let the warmth seep into her perpetually cold flesh. It was truly a miracle that she wasn’t going up in flames.

The company that sold her the Gulfstream V had highlighted the special advantages of this specific flying luxury suite. It was an amazing vehicle and worth every penny of the $28 million she had paid for it.  The gentleman that had negotiated the sale was more than a little creepy but Kat was willing to deal with him if it meant being able to see the sun again. She hadn’t gone so far as to have that glass installed anywhere else, because she wasn’t exactly sure how Wolf, Ram and Hart had accomplished such a feat and didn’t feel comfortable having any more contact with the law firm than was
completely necessary. She was excited to see Vachon’s reaction.

She turned to her guest and contemplated waking him. The purring of the jet was a comforting sound and had lured Javier into relaxing to the point of sleep. He was lounging on the leather sofa and had yet to notice that sunshine was creeping up his jeans.

“Ahem!” she coughed obviously.

Javier opened his beautiful eyes and stared languidly at his travelling companion. Kat smiled. He was still the handsome conquistador she had met almost 20 years ago outside the Raven. His hair was longish and scruffy, and he dressed like the carefree soul that he was. She had offered, more than once, to fund a nicer place for him to live since his church had been torn down for some new construction, but he refused. He would stay at Kat’s condo on occasion for a taste of luxury but mostly he stayed where he could and where he felt unencumbered. Kat loved that about him and stopped offering a few years back.

The elder vampire ran her hand up and down through the beams of sunshine more than once before Javier understood what she was doing.  He sat up instantly. He followed the rays to his own pant leg and blinked.

“Unbelieveable,” he said softly. She had regaled him with tales of feeling sun on her face after almost 800 years of darkness, but it was different than actually feeling it on your own flesh. The sensation was just as he remembered it, though not as strong as the Incan sun of his last day as a mortal. He leaned forward onto his knees to get a better look out the tiny window. The plane began descending through the cloud cover, heading towards Paris, but he caught one last glimpse of el sol before it slipped out of direct sight.

At this angle, Javier was within inches of Kat’s knees. He placed his hands on her legs and pulled himself up close to her face.  She was pale and slightly freckled with flaming red hair kept in a perpetually tousled style. Her hazel eyes sparkled with tiny flecks of amber; it had been months since they had been together.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her tentatively on the lips. Kat placed her hand on the back of his head and pulled him in closer.  She wasn’t letting him get away that easily!

Paris by Air
by Trapper
Nick’s Loft, Toronto
April 18th, 10:00pm

“Now, you’re sure you don’t need me?” Schanke lounged against the kitchen counter, munching on an apple. “I mean, the precinct can get along without me for a few days if you need me to help out in Paris.”

Nick zipped up the garment bag and turned to face his old friend.  “Schanke,” he said, placing a hand on Don’s shoulder, “Moira would never forgive me if I took you to Paris without her.”  Nick saw the crestfallen look on his partner’s face.  “Tell you what.  You put in for the off time, pack up Moira and as soon as I get to Paris I’ll send the jet back for you. It can be a sort of second honeymoon.  What do you say?”

Schanke brightened considerably and slam-dunked the apple into the garbage can.  “I say that Mrs. Schanke’s only son is off the diet and preparing to parlez vous français!”  He grabbed Nick by the shoulders.  “Thanks, buddy.  I couldn’t stand sitting in the captain’s office while you were off having an adventure. And this’ll make serious points with Moira.”  He checked his watch.  “Speaking of which, I’d better head back.  I’ll see you in Gay Paree, Nick.” The elevator closed on the sounds of “Lilli Marlene” being whistled off-key.

Nick shook his head and smiled to himself.  It was going to be an interesting trip to Paris.  Hopefully, Don wouldn’t bring any of his loud Hawaiian shirts. Nick glanced at the photo of Trapper he kept on the piano.  It had been far too long since they’d seen each other, but he planned to make up for that.  He took the small box from his pocket, grinned and put it back.  There was no doubt in his mind that this would truly surprise her.

Gathering up his luggage, he headed for the elevator. If the Brabant Foundation’s plane was ready to go, he should be in Paris by tomorrow night.

WAR:  Saving Me

18 April

Las Vegas, NV

 

“Prison gates won’t open up for me,

On these hands and knees I’m crawling,

And oh, I reach for you.

Well I’m terrified of these four walls,

These iron bars can’t hold my soul in,

All I need is you (come please I’m callin’)

And oh I scream for you (hurry, I’m fallin’, I’m fallin’)

 

Show me what it’s like (to be the last one standing),

And teach me wrong from right (and I’ll show you what I can be),

And say it for me, say it to me,

And I’ll leave this life behind,

Say it if it’s worth saving me.”

 

She tried to remain as still as possible.  She had long since abandoned her attempts to curl into a ball; with her wrists and ankles bound together, it was painfully impossible.  She was almost thankful for the numbing of her limbs caused by the lack of circulation.  She knew from experience that when Lance finally released her, the blood would once again flow and, after the hours she had been bound, the rush would bring a whole new kind of pain.  She almost wished Lance would come back with his “toy” and finish her off.  After all this time, she still couldn’t understand why she continued to live.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of suicide, or even went so far as to put a gun in her mouth, a razor to her wrist.  And drugs were so incredibly available to her.  Yet every time the thought of ending her life seeped in through the cracks, every time the temptation came along that would have lead her down the never-ending road into Hell, she would see that tiny, child-like face in her mind, remember the pain and suffering she had seen in those violet eyes, and the misery of her own life seemed trite in comparison.  She remembered all too well the details of the stories August and Davistch had told her of the horrors they had visited upon her damned savoir, each and every one more horrifying and nauseating then the previous ones.  She remembered thinking how lucky she was that she would never be a vampire, so that August and Davistch couldn’t do to her what they had done to…

She pushed the thought of Her name away violently.  She hated Her so much for saving her.  Saving her so she could be like this.  Sure, she had chosen to come out here, after subjecting Don and Myra to all the Hell she could get away with.

Don and Myra.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had thought of them as “Dad” or “Mom.”   She did remember Don’s eyes the first day back from New Salem, when she had called him “Don” the first time.  Myra had been horrified.  But the look in Don’s eyes said that he understood no matter how much he wanted her to be his “little Jenny”, that girl was dead and gone.  What she had been through, what she had seen, would have been enough to destroy the most Stoic of minds.  Yet, even then, she refused to succumb completely.  She knew if she did, then August and Davistch had accomplished yet another of their nasty little goals.

She knew August was dead, that She had Diablerized the vicious woman.  Don had forbidden Nick or Trapper to say anything in front of her, but she had managed to listen in anyway.  She had lived for years with an almost primal fear that one day Davistch would come for her since she had escaped.  She never worried about Divia, since she knew the child-Vampire had no true reason to seek her out.

Once she reached her teenage years, and puberty hit full-force, she knew she was safe from him, that he would never come for her now. Davistch only liked his prey young and unspoiled…by anyone other than himself.  Never once did she consider that the only reason Davistch never came after her was because he was hunting Her.  He would have taken Jenny the moment he left New Jerusalem had he not been obsessed with revenge.

She tried straining against her bonds again, and the contraption referred to as a “G-chair” rocked back and forth.  Normally, a woman would sit in the “chair” and could be rocked in various angles so that her partner could find it easier to reach her “G-spot”.  Unfortunately for Jenny, Lance never used the chair for its true purpose.  He always bound her, as close to ankle to wrist as he could get, backwards along the two rings of the contraption.

She ran through her litany of curses: cursing the companies that made sex toys; cursing the strip clubs she had worked at; cursing Lance and his “tip”; cursing her parents; cursing Spike for taking her in the first place; cursing August, Divia and Davistch for what had happened to her; and finally, cursing Hanna for saving her miserable life.

She shuddered at the chill that ran over her body the moment Her name entered her mind.  In all the years that had passed , no matter how far she had fled from the memories, no matter the abuse she subjected herself to in an attempt to forget them, she never once allowed herself to speak, let alone think, that name.

She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to be able to see, to know that She was there behind her.  She felt the presence and for a moment almost thought it was August.  But she knew she was dead, beyond returning.  Yet why did She feel…

“So much like August?”  The voice was harsh, with none of the velvety warmth she remembered.  She didn’t know which startled her more: the fact that She could read her mind or that Her voice sounded almost like Davistch’s would have had he been a woman.  Of course, she shouldn’t have been startled by the mind reading, since merely thinking Her name seemed to have summoned Her, just like she had…

“Known it would.”  That broken glass voice tsked, and she “felt” the presence move until she could see tiny shoed feet in front of her.  Yet another shock: what she could see of Her dress and shoes was entirely white.  She never wore anything but black.  Never.

“Things change.  And some do not.  There were some ancient cultures that wore white as a color of mourning.”

Mourning.  Of course, she’d be mourning Jonas.

“No.  I mourned for my lost husband and Sire so many times over the last decade or so that to do so now would border on redundancy.”

Jenny flinched.  It wasn’t what She said, but the way She said it.  Back when She had saved Jenny, when She knew she was going to be tortured for it, She had been light-hearted, almost cheerful.  Now, it was like listening to an animated corpse talking about…

“Things that no longer matter.  As for the “animated corpse”, am I not?  I am, after all, a vampire, risen after my death almost a millennium ago.”

She saw the tiny, white-gloved hand reach out and lift up her head by her chin.  Jenny closed her eyes tight.  If Her voice and presence had changed so much, Her attitude and manner of dress, she really didn’t want to see Her face.

The broken glass voice tsked again.  “Open your eyes, Jennifer.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the command, or being called by her name, that brought her eyes open, but she figured it was probably both.

Hanna regarded her calmly, one delicate eyebrow lifted in amusement.  Her lovely doll’s face was harder.  Her eyes were cold and piercing, to the point Jenny wanted to look herself over for the proverbial dagger wounds.  The most shocking of all was her hair: before, Hanna had always wore her hair in a single, impossibly long braid, now her hair was cut till it barely reached the nape of her neck.  Jenny couldn’t help herself; her mouth dropped open of its own accord.

Hanna’s lips compressed, till they were almost a line slashed across a perfect, ivory surface.  “I told you.  Things change.  The hair was cumbersome.”  Her eyes traveled over the contraption, the damage done to Jenny’s body.  She tsked again.

“All of this could have been avoided, Jennifer,” she chided.  “You had only to think my name, and I would have come to you.  Stubborn, foolish child.  Do not tell me that you wished to suffer this.”  Her tiny hand flicked towards the contraption Jenny was bound on.  “You ran to prove you could.  You degraded yourself not because you wished for it, but because you thought it a suitable punishment for surviving.  I have watched you all these years, Jennifer Schanke, watched you hurt yourself, knowing that you did nothing to deserve it.  How ever much I may have wanted to come to you, to save you from yourself and those you allowed to abuse you, I left that choice to you.  Every time you were close to even thinking my name, I felt it, and stood ready to come to your aid.  And each time, you refused succor.  And finally, my reluctant martyr,” she almost smiled as she reached up one hand to stroke Jenny’s cheek, “you have relented and summoned me.  You have but to ask, and I will set you free.  Free of this contraption.  Free of that nasty little pig.  Free of the travesty you have made of your life.  Let me save you, dear, sweet Jennifer.”

 

“Heaven’s gates won’t open up for me

With these broken wings I’m fallin’

And all I see is you

These city walls ain’t got no love for me

I’m on the ledge of the eighteenth story

And oh I scream for you(come please I’m callin’)

And all I need from you(hurry I’m fallin’)

 

Show me what it’s like (to be the last one standing),

And teach me wrong from right (and I’ll show you what I can be),

And say it for me, say it to me,

And I’ll leave this life behind,

Say it if it’s worth saving me.”

 

Hurry I’m fallin’…down”

 
Jenny’s mouth worked silently, incapable of uttering a sound of any kind.

“Please.”

If Jenny had been at a loss before, she was completely rudderless now.  She had never heard Hanna beg for anything, and yet the tiny vampire, one of the most powerful of her “kind” of vampire, was standing before her, begging to be allowed to save her from herself.

She wanted to tell her she was sorry, that she had never meant for it to go so far, but the tears started spilling from her eyes.

“I understand, Jennifer dear.  I was there myself.  I want to do for you what was done for me.  You need to be allowed to bring your heart and mind peace.  Your body, however, cannot accomplish this.  You cannot feel your arms and legs.  You believe it’s from the binding. However, your “Lance”,” she spat the name, and Jenny knew she’d rip his throat out with relish given the chance, “has damaged you beyond normal repair.  Your ankles and wrists are broken, twisted so he could bind you tighter.”  Jenny tried to think, but could only remember blinding pain and then mercifully passing out.  “Your arms are dislocated at the elbows and shoulders.  If you could move, you would be able to see where the bones at the joints are trying to free themselves of your skin.  If you had ever seen the way someone is stretched upon the rack, you would understand how this came to be.”

“And then, of course, there is his newest “toy” that he purchased for you.”  Jenny remembered it all too well.  Before using it, he had shown it to her: a whip with long, leather straps that had heavy metal balls at the ends.  She had passed out after the third time he hit her with it.  What had he called it?

“A flagellum.  Used by Romans, among others, for scourging.  The metal balls are weighted lead.  Made simply for the purpose of crippling the unfortunate one it is used upon.  Slaves were beaten with them, then sold as “damaged goods”, if they survived.  Most, however, didn’t survive a dozen lashes.  Do you remember how many times he hit you?”

Jenny couldn’t remember much of anything.  She had passed out so many times, there was no way to tell.  Hell, she couldn’t even remember what day it was.

“Your back is in tatters.  Whole parts are laid bare to the bone.  Even if you could recover from the damage to your legs, your arms, or the damage to your insides from Lance’s “tip”, you cannot recover from this.”

Brown eyes opened to peer into piercing, violet ones.  “You want to make me like you.”

“No.  Not like me.  I will give you what you need to heal, give you your freedom, help you stand on your own feet.  But you can never be like me.  I will not allow it to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Later, Jennifer dear.  Right now, let me end your suffering.  Any more explaining just delays your relief.  I will tell you all, anything you ask of me.  Just let me free you now.”

Jenny barely paused.  “I don’t want to die like this.”

Hanna came towards her, lifting her wrist to her lips, tearing it open with her teeth.  As the blood started to flow out of the wound, she brought it close to Jenny’s lips.  “You must drink.  My blood will help me to heal you.”

Jenny never hesitated.  She figured it had to be like sucking on a finger after a paper cut, which she tried to duplicate.  She almost vomited when she swallowed the first mouthful.

“I know, Jennifer dear,” Hanna whispered, stroking Jenny’s hair with her other hand.  “It is foul to you.  But you must drink.”

Jenny gagged a second mouthful down, and was surprised when Hanna pulled her wrist away, licking the wound closed.  Before she could say anything, there was a sudden burning twist in her stomach.  She opened her mouth to speak, and another burning twist brought out a scream instead.

Hanna whispered in her ear, still stroking her hair; the broken-glass sound was gone completely, replaced by the smooth velvet she remembered.  “Sleep, Jennifer.  It will be easier for you if you sleep while I heal you.”

Jenny let the velvet voice carry her away into oblivion…

 

“All I need is you (come please I’m callin’)

And oh I scream for you (hurry, I’m fallin’, I’m fallin’, I’m fallin’)

Show me what it’s like (to be the last one standing)

And teach me wrong from right (and I’ll show you what I can be)

And say it for me, say it to me,

And I’ll leave this life behind,

Say it if it’s worth saving me.

 

And say it for me, say it to me,

And I’ll leave this life behind,

Say it if it’s worth saving me.”

 

“Saving Me” by Nickelback

I Love Paris in the Springtime
by Trapper
April 18, 8:00pm

“Oui, oui.  Nous serons tout à fait condamnera à une amende ici pour le moment.  Si vous amènerez en haut les rafraîchissements pour la madame, cela fera.”  Larry sounded a bit exasperated as he instructed the young man to bring supplies up.

Monique heard the exchange fade behind her as she walked up the stairs and into her suite. Everything was as she had left it. The help had taken care of the dusting and the mail, though the fact that her larder had not been restocked was a bit troubling. She made a mental note to take care of it tomorrow.

The evening air stirred the curtains in front of the open doors to the balcony.  Monique could smell the lilacs blooming outside in the garden.  It was one of her favorite things about this small chateau.  Well, that and the view of “Le cimetière de Montmartre”.  She walked to the balcony and looked out over the graveyard.  Nothing had changed.  And yet, everything had changed.  She had changed.  Life had become so very confusing.  Not only did she not want Devin’s heart anymore; when they all parted, she kissed Anna like a sister and hugged Devin.  Not what Maman would have approved of at all.

She sighed and continued to gaze out at the tombstones and crypts.  Sometimes she longed for that peace, that utter silence of the soul.

“Miaow?” The plaintive cry startled her out of her reverie and she looked down to see a tiny, black furball with green eyes staring up at her.

“Violetta!” Monique exclaimed as she scooped the fluff up into her arms. “Ma petite, I’ve missed you so!” The vampire kitten purred and put her head under Monique’s black veil of hair, nuzzling in.

It was good to be home.

Chairman of the Bored
By RavenKat
Georgetown, DC
April 17, 11:30 p.m.

“Are you still with us?”

Kat was staring hard at nothing and had to force herself to turn to Jan, her assistant. She had hired Jan almost twenty years ago and
considered her a real and true friend.

“I am so bored; I am about to petrify,” she sighed, melodramatically.

The small-statured associate chuckled and bustled past Kat to open the office drapes.  The moon was almost full and a breeze had picked up; both valid reasons to open the window, as well.  It had been a warm April so far in the nation’s capital – hopefully that didn’t indicate a blistering summer ahead.

In silence, Jan arranged the drapes just so, then attended to the cocktail cart.  A new shipment of “wine” had arrived from Detective Knight and contained a varied assortment of vintages.  The bottler had recently taken to scribbling a brief description of the donor on the label, for those with preferences.  Maryanne looked like it might have a measure of satisfaction for Kat.

“Oh, thanks,” Kat said, taking the glass from Jan.  She sipped at first then swallowed it more heartily.  “Hey, not bad” she remarked, surprised anything could interest her right now.

Business was basically running itself, Vachon and her family was in Toronto and nothing new had happened in years.  Sometimes that’s a good thing, Kat thought, but not this time. Even a life threatening emergency would come as welcome relief to this monotony.

“If you’re so bored, why don’t you go out tonight?”

“Ugh,” Kat replied, feeling petulant.

“Okay then, how about a trip?” Jan tried. “That’ll take planning and some measure of brain power….”

“I guess.” Kat stood up and started pacing the room.  “But where should I go?” she whined.

“Kat! You sound like a child! Just pick a place and go!” Jan scolded her, a laugh in her voice.

The vampire smiled in spite of herself. She could imagine what she looked like – a spoiled brat with all the money in the world and no one to entertain her.

“You’re right, as usual,” she admitted.  She reached out and squeezed Jan’s arm.  “What would I do without you?”

“Turn to stone,” she joked.  “Have you been home recently?” Jan inquired.

“Define `recently’.”

“Since the 1950’s?” Jan just picked a date out of the air. Her employer hadn’t been to France, that she knew of, since Jan had joined her just out of Wharton.

“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Kat replied, starting to think realistically about taking a trip to Paris. She returned to her desk, sat down and started dialing the phone.

Little Darlings
Hanna Clay
17 April
Las Vegas, NV

She wiped the sweat from her face with a dirty towel.  She had ten minutes until her next turn on the main pole, and she wanted to enjoy the breather.  She lightly dabbed her body, careful not to remove too much of the moisture. Most rookies tried powder and oils to keep their bodies from sticking to the poles, but anyone who had worked one for more than a week knew that nothing worked better than sweat.

“Go work it, Jeanette.”

She closed her eyes, trying not to groan. After 3 years in this city, doing everything with anyone, modesty was no longer in her nature. And yet of all the managers in this hell-hole, Lance was the only one who could make her wish that Little Darlings wasn’t one of the few fully nude bars in Vegas. Barely controlling a shudder, she turned to face him.

“Sorry, sweetie. It’s Crystal’s turn. Charity’s next, and then I’m up.”

She didn’t register the backhand until her ears stopped ringing.  She knew he loved to hit her, even when he wasn’t in her bedroom, but it never stopped her from being flip with him.

“Frank is fucking Charity, and is doing Crystal next. So when I tell you to get your bony-ass up there, it means move it.”

He started to walk away, and she stuck her tongue out at his back.

“Oh, and get them tipping big, you dirty little skank, or I’ll give you a “tip” of my own!”

She squeezed her eyes tight, barely stifling a groan, as she tried to shut out his annoying, nasal laughter. His “tip” was a toy he had got from a bootleg “adult” store off the Strip, made special just for her. It worked like a strap on, and looked like a meat tenderizer.

She threw the towel down and stalked towards the stage curtain, muttering a curse to that damned little bitch who could have just left her to die…

Never Complete
Hanna Clay
15 April
Ruins of New Jerusalem

The acrid scent of burning was still thick in the air.  After so many years, it still smelled as if the destruction had only happened only days before.  There was a distinct separation in the destruction: the damage to what had been the long-dreaded forest had definitely taken place before what had been done to the city.  And yet no matter how different the areas had been from one another, let alone how different the inhabitants of either were, the destruction took both without preference or prejudice.

He stood silently, staring out into what had been the forest, trying in vain to sense where the Cairn had been.  It had been the first thing destroyed, long before the destruction that took the entire city with it.  August and her damned Infernal magic that had poisoned and twisted the forest killing, mangling and maiming with fervor.  All to spite…her.

He froze, as he always did, when he thought of her.  He knew she was out there somewhere.  The bond he had shared with Jonas she had taken up, however reluctant she had been.  He had to beg her to do it, even though they both knew she would never have allowed him to die…

*******************************************************

She stood with her back to him, unable to face the naked pleading in his eyes.  She knew what he needed, what he wanted, more than she would ever admit.  But how could she give him her heart if she wouldn’t even give him her blood?

“Don’t ask this of me,” she whispered, a sound made all the more terrible by the damage that had been caused to the inside of her throat.  She was quite capable of healing it, but was completely indifferent about it, and nearly anything else.

“You know I wouldn’t unless it was necessary. But His blood is gone.”

He never mentioned “His” name. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the name of the man who would always come between them, no more than
she could bear to hear it. “I will begin to age soon, once the withdrawal begins. And with my age, the decay would take only a few hours to kill me.”

“Only?” A few moments passed before she spoke again. “I always felt it was wrong, Freidrick. However much we needed you, or however much you wanted to be there. You are Garou. But with His blood, for so long, you’re only a tiny step away from Abomination.”

He shivered slightly at the word. Abomination. Forbidden in all their worlds. A Garou who had been Embraced. Few had ever been created, every last one hunted down and destroyed, and their Sire with them. Is that what she truly thought of him?

He was caught completely off-guard when she turned to face him, took a step and was in his arms.  He had forgotten how quickly she could
move now.  So much had changed about her since the night she finally killed August.  The night Jonas had told him to scatter his ashes.

She buried her head against his chest, though with as tiny as she was, she barely reached his midriff.  Kneeling down would have been
insulting to her, so he lightly pressed her head to him, stroking her hair.  He didn’t quite know how to deal with her emotional outbursts, especially those directed at him.  She had always been kind and caring, trusting and friendly, though reserved and quiet.  He found himself wondering how much the events of the past year had truly changed her.  She was no stranger to pain and suffering, surely no stranger to loss, but never so much in so little time.  The torture and damage caused by Horton, Davistch and August, the children she had attacked in the cemetery after her cement “burial”,
the destruction of New Jerusalem, the loss of her Childe Starr, Diablerizing August, and the Final Death of her husband and Sire, all in the matter of a few weeks.  How on earth did she find the will to survive?

He hadn’t realized he had spoken the last aloud until she answered, “Because of you.”  He stiffened as she pulled back, looking up into his eyes.

“I have the strength to survive as long as I have you.”

********************************************************

He didn’t remember how they had ended up in his room, their clothes torn and discarded on the floor. There was a vague sense of gathering her into his arms, bruising her lips with his own, as he carried her up the stairs. The rest had been a rush of heat, and he couldn’t remember which of them had been more fervent; she had ripped off his shirt with as much force as he had used to rip off hers.

As they had moved together, neither wanting to let the other go, the blood had passed between them. When she had burrowed into his neck, he could barely control himself. Though he had used Jonas’ blood to sustain his life over the years, he had never fed directly from him. And never, in his almost 1600 years, had a vampire ever fed off of him. The moment he felt her teeth sink into his skin, felt her draw the blood and life from him, he suddenly understood why so many others had been unable to resist a vampire’s kiss.

Still heady from her drawing from him, he felt no shock as she drew her tiny hand over her left breast, the nail of her index finger cutting into her snowy flesh. And as her blood began to flow, he put his head to her chest…

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“It’s a good thing I’m a friend, or you’d be long dead,” a raspy voice snickered from behind.

He opened his eyes slowly. By all the forgotten gods, how much he wanted to hold her again.

“Hello Marcus.”

The old Nosferatu sighed. “How long has it been since you last saw her?”

“Leave it to you to go right for the throat,” he muttered.

Marcus winced. “There’s trouble, Freidrick, or I wouldn’t be here and you know it.”

He did know it. Marcus had watched every last one of his Nosferatu Childer dragged kicking and screaming into the burning light of day, while he hid with the remaining children of the orphanage, keeping them safe from Davistch and August. Marcus would never forgive himself for letting his Childer perish, even though he had save over a dozen children from worse than anything death would bring.

He turned to face his old friend. “What trouble?”

Marcus hesitated, that itself a testament to how bad it had to be. “It’s Caine.”

Freidrick had to remind himself to breathe. What did Caine have to do with anything?

“Hariod contacted me. Hanna is hunting Caine.”