Undisclosed Desires by M Peters

Undisclosed Desires By M. Peters

Undisclosed Desire With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedicated to: The woman who has held my heart forever and my hand throughout the whole creative process of this story. Thank you, my darling, for everything.

Chapter One It was, he decided, a delightful night. The air was warm and fresh against his ivory cheeks; the path he walked was smooth and devoid of other travelers. He could see a bustling city up ahead and he realized, with a wry twitch of his lips, that this was the same city he had smelled for about a mile. While most people of his stature would be deterred by the possibility of spending time near the waterfront's less-than-desirable collection of sensory offenses, Keith D'Ameron rather thought that such a place would suit him perfectly. He pushed back the hood of his heavy riding cloak and shook his mass of midnight hair free. The night was far too warm for the covering, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his skin. The woolen cloak was worn, its deep hunter-green hue faded by the passage of more years than any bit of cloth had any right to bear, but Keith knew that, beneath the covering, he dressed richly, and those who dressed richly and allowed others to see it usually ended up like the remains of the poor fellow he'd seen strung on a tree a few miles back. Of course, Keith thought, licking his lips and running his tongue along the sensually-sharp edges of his canines, I would not end up as that hapless man did; my attackers would. But tonight ... tonight is too beautiful a night for mindless violence. And perhaps he wouldn't avail himself of the waterfront's amenities tonight, either, he thought. He'd hunted well the night before last, and his body did not cry for blood with the desperate hunger he'd experienced during another time half-forgotten; he simply craved its warmth and closeness. Although another sort of intimacy might serve just as well... His loins tightened a little. He'd fed on blood far more recently than he had bedded anyone, and even if his body did not require that particular need addressed on a regular basis in order to continue its survival, its indulgence made for a more enjoyable evening, at the very least. Amused with his thoughts, the tall, pale man entered the city gates, noting with pleasure the careful attention to detail on the buildings and the prosperity evident amongst the population. Ladies in fine patterned silks moved gracefully along the wide streets, their jeweled snoods catching the torchlight and reflecting it back in bursts of rainbowed firelight, while the men on their arms, dressed in their fine linen shirts and gold-accented doublets, festooned the night air with their deep laughter and rumbling conversation.

Enticed by the beauty of it all, Keith

wandered through the streets, searching for something and enjoying the sensation of not yet having found it. A public house's door yawned open, emitting a cacophony of hearty laughter and drunken singing. But there was something else there, too. A heartbeat, singular in its attraction to Keith above all the rest of the thundering noise of human pulses, drummed madly from within the confines of the establishment before him, and before he realized what it was he had done, Keith had crossed the threshold of the tapas. He stood in its doorway for a moment as a man might; giving the impression that he was allowing his eyes to adjust to the brightly-lit interior after the relative dimness of the city streets. The smell of roasting meat sizzled hotly in the close air of the public house, undermined only a little by the ever-present scent of rotting discards dropped on previous nights by careless customers and missed by equally-as-careless serving-wenches come cleaning time. The faint crackle of the hundreds of candles set in sconces and hanging-lamps, audible only to Keith because of his preternatural hearing, augmented the clattering chatter of the groups of people at the long bars or pressed together at the smaller tables. Goblets clinked and smacked down on rough-hewn wood as cutlery scraped across platters and lips sucked juices hungrily from greasestained fingers in search of every last morsel of gastronomical pleasure. Keith had glanced at the great clock near the cathedral as he'd crossed through town, and he'd noted that the dinner hour was only just beginning. He smiled to himself now as he began moving through the great room, searching for the owner of the heartbeat that had drawn him here; oh, yes, the dinner hour had only just begun, and that was well, for he found that he was hungry. He drew some attention as he passed, for he was obviously not Spanish; as it was, with his tall, slim build and gardenia-touched complexion, he barely resembled a member of the Gallic blood which ran in his veins. His lips were a shade too thin to be described as sensuously full, but when they curved in the gentle, quiet smile that warmed his silver-edged blue eyes, they turned into a weapon far more dangerous to their audience than the deadly fangs concealed behind them. He cut a mysterious figure as he moved through the crowded bar. Richly dressed and quietly handsome as he was, it seemed quite odd that he would be alone. Several women brushed close as they passed, just to catch the scent of his skin and to see the soft dusk of his eyes up

close, but no men approached him. Perhaps, Keith thought when he noticed, they could sense the air of controlled danger about him, or the predatory thrum of the blood in his veins. They sensed such a thing, he was sure, without knowing that they did, but it left him to search unencumbered, and for that he was glad. It wasn't until he gave in and pushed for a place at one of the long bars to order a drink that he found what he sought. The heartbeat had suddenly risen again out of the crowd and struck Keith's consciousness with the power of a siren's call, making him aware of such a rush of longing and lust that he was glad he leaned against the high bar to stop his knees from buckling. He turned abruptly away from his pursuit of a drink and pushed through the gathering crowd. Perhaps it was the oddity of his blonde hair, shining like sunlight amongst the dark shadows that capped the heads of his compatriots, or the fine set of his aristocratic features in contrast to the poorer bones and pockmarked faces packed around the gaming table, but whatever it was, Keith knew that this man was the producer of the heartbeat that had frozen his step and which now burned in his loins. He knew, too, that his particular taste in partners had been considered a perversion for years, and no doubt, would not be well tolerated by this angelic man with the snapping green eyes, but Keith also knew that the majority of his lovers over the expanse of his long life had considered themselves as completely heterosexual. At one time, perhaps. Besides, it would be fun to try and submit this one. He could smell lust and sex on the boy as though he wore it like a perfume; he had lain with a woman recently, within the last few hours, but his senses were raging again, and Keith had an idea that, if the boy were not already snared in marriage, he would be seeking the arms of a lover of one type or another the minute his game was finished. Keith drew closer, drinking in the sight of the young man. He guessed his age to be no more than ten-and-eight, but the lines around his eyes and the deep growl in which he spoke to his gaming partners, belied his youthful appearance. He was well-dressed, if not as richly as Keith himself, and Keith supposed he must be from a family of some wealth, for the wagers he made were large, and the men with whom he played were more than obviously keen to have their share of his money. When the round ended, and the game paused as the dealer gathered the cards to

shuffle them, Keith saw that the golden-haired man had won, much to the displeasure of his friends. They grumbled, and Keith felt his loins clench hotly with desire when the man threw back his head and laughed in delight. He had good teeth and a strong jaw, and his lips were sinfully kissable as they stretched and softened warmly with his mirth. His eyes sparkling, his sultry lips parted again to deliver a playful, insulting salvo in the region's native tongue, which was answered by a crude expletive that brought forth more lusty laughter. He was obviously aware of his effect on those around him; he used his body's advantages to their utmost - which was distraction in this case, Keith noticed; he used his body’s wiles and his sharp wit in tandem to direct his game-mates’ attentions away from the cards he slid neatly up one section of his sleeves, replacing them with better ones he'd had hidden there. It was a well-executed trick, but Keith had caught him, and he would use that knowledge to win the prize he desired: that man in his bed. One man got up from the table at the finish of the next round. “Your father already owns my house, Javier, that's enough for me. See you tomorrow night.” “I own your house,” the man named Javier corrected sharply, and Keith noted that the other men seated at the gaming table looked around at the sound of rising temper in their companion’s voice. The young man’s features, turned dark and hard with the beginnings of what Keith thought must surely be exasperated fury, relaxed as suddenly as they had tensed, however, and the blonde man smiled – a trifle too sweetly. “You're just angry because what my father didn’t own and bequeath to me when he died, your wife does. It's about time she shared the wealth, too. When can I expect her?" The man named Javier's lips parted in a devilish grin. The short, rotund man who had spoken drew himself up and glared down at Javier while his table mates roared and pounded the table, upsetting some cards, which, Keith noticed, Javier deftly 'replaced' when no one was looking. Ah, I have caught you again, fierce Spaniard. Keith smiled to himself and approached the table. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I see that you are about to be one man shorter for your game. Would you mind if I joined you? Unless, of course, you were going to partake in the wealth you previously mentioned, which would leave you two men short... That is considered a sin in some

8 areas of the world... but I will not tell if you won't.” He met Javier's eyes squarely, delighted by the fury he saw there as the younger man recognized the insult. Perhaps one or two of the others caught the meaning of the question, and whistled softly, glancing furtively about. Keith wondered if he'd started a fight even before introductions had been made. The man whose reputation he had salvaged made a hasty exit, obviously thinking along the same lines. “The only sin being committed right now is the fact that you're not bleeding, Frenchman. What do you want?" Javier's voice was a low growl, and his eyes were alight with fury. Who dared insult him in front of his friends? He had half a mind to punch the smug smile off the man's face, but then the dark Frenchman removed his heavy cape, neatly folding it over one arm, and Javier saw how richly he was dressed. He'd already won a lot of money tonight, but with Ofelia at home, things weren't cheap any more. A prostitute only needed a good meal, and her legs would open as wide as her bones could get them, but a wife was always demanding a new dress or flowers or shoes, or to throw a dinner party or some stupid extravagance. He decided it would be much more satisfying to win the clothes off the man's back - he wouldn't be smiling so much then! Keith spread his hands and shrugged a Gallic shrug. “What does any man desire? A warm place near a fire at which to rest his bones, a rousing game of cards with associates... and a warm bed full of a willing body after all is said and done.” He noted that the other men nodded in appreciation, but still watched Javier's face for any signs of danger. Javier grunted, refusing to take the bait. “If you want a philosophical discussion, go to the whore mongers at the church. I'm only interested in playing cards. Do you want to join, or not?” “I would be honoured," Keith murmured, and slid gracefully into his seat, noting that the man named Javier had not bothered to introduce himself, or to ask Keith's name, either. When a man seemed interested, he introduced himself and thanked him for the courtesy of having been asked, making sure Javier's attention was not focused elsewhere at the time. Javier merely grunted, ignoring the tacit rebuke of his improper behavior, and Keith shook his head with a secret smile, settling into the game. He allowed himself to lose several times in the course of the game, so as to ingratiate himself to the locals - men did not like to lose to someone they had never met, and forcing his own losses allowed Keith to observe the man named Javier as he advanced his own misbegotten

winnings. He didn't cheat every time, Keith noticed. More than once, he played what he was given, and while he lost those rounds, it was only by a few points. He would allow himself to trail briefly, as Keith was allowing himself to do, and then, with a neat, almost imperceptible flicker of his fingers, cards changed places and his losses were miraculously recouped. Keith allowed the boy to continue his chicanery for one more round, and then he himself played in earnest, playing so well that even Javier's tricks could not save his score. The more money he lost, the fiercer Javier's scowl became, and the more Keith became aware that he had to have this boy as his own. It was not the base urgings of his body which demanded that such a thing must be, though they certainly held sway in his internal discussions tonight – how could they not? The boy's features went far beyond mere handsomeness; nature had graced him with such a beautiful body that even a god, Keith believed, would have had trouble crafting a twin to such perfection. Something more spoke to him, however, something beyond the admittedly all-butirresistible siren's call of the young man's good looks, and Keith was determined to find out what it was. He accepted his cards from the dealer with a nod and a faint smile, an expression the man, closest to Javier's right, did not dare return, and played shrewdly, but ended up only barely winning the round a few minutes later. Javier had cheated madly again, and had nearly succeeded in biting into Keith's lead. It was time for this particular game to come to an end, Keith decided, and for the next event to begin. There was no avoiding the fight that would follow hot on the heels of his accusation, for the man was proud and angry, a dangerous combination if one did not have the necessary means of defending oneself. He'd noticed that most of the men were armed, despite the city bearing obvious signs of peaceful prosperity, and Javier was no exception. He wore the traditional thin Spanish rapier, but he wore it oddly, at his right hip. Keith frowned to see it. He wears his weapon on his dominant side... However does he hope to draw it with that hand? He cannot – which means … he is left-handed … Mon Dieu, he is lucky he hasn't been branded as a witch's get and cast out -- or worse. Keith watched Javier closely, watching the anger mount in his eyes. Never in his life, which had already spanned the length of nearly three centuries, had he met anyone other than his own brother who was lefthanded.

And Dante learned quickly to substitute his right hand in place of his left. The fingers of that hand had been broken when he'd been only a boy, as punishment meted out by their tutor for continuing to use the hand in his writing exercises. To use that hand in place of the God-given strength of the right hand, was to admit to being not a son of God but of the Devil instead. The saving of Dante's soul, their tutor had insisted sanctimoniously, was well worth the price of a mauled hand, and had smashed Keith's brother's fingers in a chamber door one morning before their lectures. While the fingers had healed well enough so that the hand itself could continue to be useful, the lesson had been learned, and Dante had resolutely accepted the fact that this particular difference between himself and his identical twin, Keith, was an unacceptable one. Obviously, no such lesson had ever been given to Javier, and his had been a household accepting of such rare differences in their son. It was yet another intriguing aspect of the goldenhaired youth that drew Keith forward, but he was digressing. Keith locked eyes with Javier as the dealer dealt their cards for a third round, the dusky blue irises of his eyes boring into the Spaniard's snapping verdant ones. He spoke clearly, his thick French accent not blurring the words as he spoke them in the local tongue. “You, señor, are cheating, and I would ask that you cease and desist immediately.” Keith spoke calmly, and did not remove his gaze from Javier's face, even as the others around them whipped their eyes aside to stare at the young man’s accuser. As it was, his continued scrutiny had allowed Keith to see how very minutely Javier’s face had changed; he hid his shock well. Now, as the anger blanketed that dismay, he saw the muscles tighten in Javier's face and wondered what that strong, angry jawline would taste like against his lips and tongue. Will there be golden stubble, which is hidden from me at the moment, for me to tease and nibble? Mon Dieu, he is perfect … Lost in his erotic fantasy of the moment, Keith almost didn't hear Javier's response, but as the younger man jerked angrily to his feet, he almost upset the table and it brought Keith's attention back where it needed to be just in time. “You dare accuse me of cheating?" Javier snarled. "You come out of nowhere, and you win round after round of our hand-earned money, and you accuse me of cheating? If I were cheating, Frenchman, don't you think I'd be winning?”

Well, well. He is a fine actor, if nothing else. I would almost believe his impassioned speech to be true. “Even cheating as much as you do can't save you from your own startling lack of gambling skills,” Keith replied calmly, keeping his voice pitched low and refusing to rise to his feet quite yet. People were glancing in their direction, their inner barbarian stirred to life by the thought of a fight, but if one were to occur inside, there would almost certainly be fatalities. He gauged Javier's reaction to his words and decided a little more needling would be in order so as to get him outside, where it would be safer to engage in such fisticuffs. He had to tread carefully, however; the boy wore his anger as openly as though it was merely another part of his toilette, and Keith could see him fighting the urge to disregard all common sense and simply leap across the table at his opponent. Javier’s hands were bunching into fists, and he spat a sudden volley of insults at his accuser in his native language that left some of the serving-girls gasping and blushing in consternation. Unruffled, Keith examined his fingernails, studying the sheen that the smoky candlelight afforded them. "It's a wonder that you keep as many friends as you've got here tonight. You insult their intelligence as well as their purses when you press your sore lack of skill upon them. Not to mention such gross usage of your native tongue. One would almost think you were a poor, uneducated sailor instead of a fine, well-heeled young man. If, that is,” he added with insulting calm, “you are educated at all, and have not simply done well for yourself in trade by using the same tactics in your commerce as you have in your gaming tonight." Pausing a moment, Keith glanced at the other men around the table, several of whom were staring at him in shock. Obviously, no one here had ever dared tell the proud young man of his shortcomings, though Keith saw that a couple of the men nearby were smiling slyly at each other and murmuring between themselves. They knew as well as Keith did about the signals of Javier's ire, and, doubtless having seen what that anger had done on previous occasions, probably believed that their compatriot would make short work of the outsider. With a steely whistle, Javier drew his thin-bladed rapier. It was a noble's weapon, and in fine repair. He balanced it lightly between his fingers, his grip practiced and deadly. "Take your smart mouth outside, and I will show you how little I am lacking, Frenchman. I call you out." By the hard set to his eyes and the sneering smile on his lips, it was apparent that Javier believed he

had the advantage over the older man, though by appearances alone, there could be no more than five years between the two of them. He believed this would be a swift victory for him. Looking up from the golden Spaniard into the glinting point of the rapier which gleamed inches away from his face, Keith smiled. "You call me out, do you?” He asked quietly. “Surely not in defense of your own honour, for it is most difficult to defend what one does not possess, do you not agree? I would have been content with a simple apology and the return of my monies, but if you believe that the price of cheating is the loss of your pretty face as well as your standing, then so be it. After you, Javier Estas - the French don't trust anyone to walk behind them with a weapon.” “Only because they perfected the art of stabbing people in the back," Javier snapped. He drew in a breath to say something more, but people were jostling them both now, and somehow, both of them ended up outside in the dusty square without incident. Keith unbuckled the heavier, two-handed French sword he wore at his side; it wouldn't do him any good in a fight against the light, quick weapon his opponent carried. "Give me your weapon,” he demanded of a nearby man, who leered at the prospect of an unannounced duel, and willingly handed over his rapier. It was not so fine a weapon as Javier’s, Keith thought critically, but it would do. He caught Javier’s questioning glance amongst the brewing storm-clouds of the blonde man’s fury, and inclined his head. "Because you have already played me false, I shall not be branded a cheater, like you are, after you lose. I have borrowed a weapon so as to meet you on equal terms – but do not think its unfamiliarity will aid you," Keith replied, smiling coldly as Javier uttered a choked, outraged snarl, shoving people out of his way. The dueling circle was cleared quickly, and though Keith expected the younger man to leap angrily at him, he backed off and circled him warily, watching Keith's movements and learning what he could of his opponent's style before he struck. He’s damned tall, Javier noted as he moved cautiously around the ring that had formed in the dust of the square. He’s got me out-reached easily. But, the larger they are … Keith, regarding the boy as he circled, nodded slightly in approval; whoever had been the boy's mentor had not been lacking. But he was confident in his preternatural speed and his own ability - this duel would be no trouble for him. He'd laid his own weapon aside in order to level

the playing field as much as was possible for him - he was no cheater, but there was no way he could lose even with the disadvantage of an unfamiliar sword. Or so he'd thought. Javier whipped around with the suddenness of a feral animal as Keith pressed in on him; this strange Frenchman was fast, but he knew he was faster. Despite the added reach Keith’s height gave him, Javier knew he had more speed – and skill – than he would even need to dispatch this quick-eyed stranger, so he used it to his advantage. Javier’s hand came up as he danced to the side and backwards, and he bent it oddly at the wrist, sending the point of the rapier down towards the ground to give the impression that he had missed an opportunity to thrust. He smiled tightly and allowed the joint to pop naturally back into place, bringing the point of the sword with it. He'd been close enough to Keith when his wrist had snapped back into position to ensure that the sharpened point of his sword opened a deep wound from his jawline up to his cheek. He smiled at the sight of the blood blushing crimson against the unnatural pallor of the man's cheek, and withdrew. Keith dropped back with a hiss, clapping his unencumbered hand to his face. He swore inwardly; he'd never expected the boy to actually manage to nick him at all, much less manage first blood, and it posed more of a problem for him than the possibility of the loss of this duel and his pride. He knew his wounds would heal all but instantly because of his vampirism, and if there was anything he hadn't wanted the town to see, it was evidence of that. While they seemed accepting enough of human oddities to allow a left-handed person to remain so unmolested, he knew that they would not be as forgiving of a creature that walked the night and stole their lifeblood in order to further his own existence. He pressed in close, glad that the wound had bled enough to mar his face with crimson streaks; no one observing from the crowd could tell from this range that there was no wound left on his cheek, and he was fairly certain Javier would be too distracted, as long as Keith put him on the defensive quickly, to notice anything out of the ordinary. Again, it was a wager he lost. Javier was staring at him, and it was only instinct that kept his sword coming up to block Keith's thrusts. "What are you?" he demanded, eyes wide. "I cut your face open to the bone!”

14 “Ah, you are as much of a prancing peacock as you look if you think so poor a thrust could have wounded me so," Keith replied, increasing the speed of his sword strokes until some in the square were blinded by the glint of the fire- and moon-light on his blade as it sped through the air. "Are you going to continue this farce, or are you going to yield?" Javier's only answer, though he was hard-pressed to match the flickering swiftness of Keith's blade, was a screech of his sword against Keith's. "Yield, to you? I would rather die!" Carefully, Keith smiled, displaying the barest minimum of his teeth. "You never decided on the rules of the duel. Are you deciding them now?" He clenched his hidden fangs as their blades tangoed in the air between them. The boy is good. Better than good. Should he decide he isn't satisfied with first blood, what will I do? I cannot throw the match; he'll know. He's too good not to know. Once more, Javier allowed his sword to answer for him; spinning away, his boots lost in a cloud of dust, his hair was a shining halo of light as it lit around his angrily-closed face. He thrust low with his weapon and Keith jerked away, irritated to feel the slither of metal against his skin as it tore into the fabric of his jerkin. Boy, this game of yours is boring to me, and it will only end in one manner. You will not get away from me. Not now, not now that you have seen. He would not have his safety here compromised as it had been in France, oh, no, not again. And certainly not by this godling of a man. Aloud now, as they danced, Keith spoke, casting his words only as far away from his lips as the combined lengths of their weapons as their symphonies crashed in the evening air. "You marked first blood, but will you die for your tarnished honour, or will you yield now and walk away, saying nothing of what you have seen?" The last was a threat, and he knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his lips. Javier's eyes hardened into jade chips and he redoubled his efforts, forcing Keith on the defensive. "I yield to no man!” Keith smiled, but tightly. "Good. It just so happens that I am more than a man -- or did you mean that you prefer to yield to a woman?” That's it, my boy, go ahead and work yourself into a fury. The angrier you are, the easier this will be for both of us.

Javier snarled, and his next thrust was heavy with rage. It missed its mark, for which Keith was glad, for he was certain Javier's goal had been to separate his head from his body. Their swords met with a violent screech of steel, and both men strained to keep the other at bay. Keith gritted his teeth, aware that he could not make use of his full vampiric strength, not with others so close, but the younger man was deceptively powerful, and his anger only doubled his intensity. Their blades screamed along each other’s lengths, and Keith smiled tightly as he felt Javier's arms shuddering with the effort of keeping his opponent at bay. "Yield,” he demanded softly again, this time with a hint of icy finality. "I do not wish to kill you.” “Never!" Javier spat, and then knocked Keith completely off balance as he withdrew his sword completely. Taken entirely by surprise at the dexterity evident in the easy manner in which Javier had so simply executed that move, Keith staggered forward, eyes wide, and had no time to bring his weapon up to defend. He felt the cold steel slip up against his skin and winced as the contrast of its chill and his blood's heat mingled together. The blade hadn't really pierced deeply enough to cause much damage, but the unexpectedness of the pain made him stumble, and, as Javier withdrew his weapon, re-opening the skin which had swiftly healed around the sword’s length, Keith grasped at the younger man as he went to his knees. The crowd exploded in jeering cacophony; for a moment, the sounds spun around him like cobwebs and threatened the hold he had on his temper. While Keith was not by any means what one would consider a sore loser, he disliked the situation into which his own conceit had pressed him, and the crowd's mockery was far from helpful. His mind tumbled over itself. Think! You have to get yourself out of this, and you need to do it now! Use the boy! He pressed one hand to his side, grunting, while the other wound itself in Javier's shirt, pulling his neck close to his teeth. The spectators were calling out and cheering them on, but Keith knew it wouldn't be long before the fight would be noticed by a gendarme or other member of authority. This was the only chance he had to get out of this with his secret intact -- and possibly, his head still attached, -- so Keith bit deeply into the soft flesh that waited innocently near his teeth, his fangs instantly seeking the thrumming pulse that lay beneath the skin. Warm blood flowed from the twin pinpricks his teeth made in Javier's skin, and the moment of frozen surprise that still locked the Spaniard's muscles allowed him to savor the fury and passion he found beating within his blood.

Images crowded Keith's mind, tinged with fury and darkened with a deep regret. There was a woman in his life, he found; a young Spanish beauty at whose feet Javier laid the blame for most of his problems. But her dark eyes and captivating beauty were themselves not the root of his anger, despite the boy's mind insisting she was. Keith skipped through the smoky haze of Javier's unconscious deceptions and dug deeper, looking for the cause and reveling, in the meantime, in the sweet warmth of his blood. Even as he drank, however, he needled the boy into reacting as though the two of them had discarded their swords for the more barbaric and satisfying avenue down which their fists could take them. At first, Keith had to force Javier's body to battle with his, and anyone looking closely might have seen that Javier's feet were dragging in the sandy square rather than resisting, as two bodies will while locked in hand-to-hand combat, and Keith began to seriously worry that he would have to escape and leave the boy to die. Ah, wait... The young man was struggling now, his hands pushing and tearing at Keith, but whatever momentary weakness his body had suffered at the hands of the handsome blonde man had long since passed, and his own otherworldly power far outstripped any efforts Javier might produce. Keith allowed his lips to curve in a brief smile, distracted from his search, as he felt Javier's endevours beginning to weaken. It won't be much longer now, my boy, before you are mine to do with as I would. Just what that was, Keith wasn't sure, but he knew the boy would end up in his bed before the evening was over, even if he had to scoop him up and vanish into the night with him, spectators be damned! A little more . . .

But again, Javier surprised him, giving one last, violent push that

connected squarely with Keith's shoulders and forced him backwards several steps, away from the younger man. His fangs had torn a good-sized gash in the side of Javier's neck, and Keith moved quickly to block the townspeople's view of it, wishing to further their ignorance on the subject of his nature. There was no need, however, for Javier's mane of golden hair obscured any view they may have received as he stumbled backwards and landed hard, sluggishly managing to get his arms behind him in order to forestall a full-out sprawl on to his back. Keith stepped forward quickly and bent over him, drawing Javier's verdant eyes into his own silver-touched dusky pools. "Yield,â&#x20AC;? he whispered inexorably, amused when Javier shook

his head dully.

His physical resources were drained near to nothing, but his stubbornness

evidently had no such limitation. "Yield to me, my Javier," Keith purred, purposely discarding the proper Spanish pronunciation of the name and lengthening it to three syllables, even while dropping the 'r'. It came out sounding more as "Ha-vee-yea" than his natural name, but something within the young man responded as though he'd been referred to in that manner his entire life. Keith smiled, carefully concealing his teeth, and held out his hand. The crowd alternately booed and cheered the show of good sportsmanship; they were a kind-hearted people for the most part in this city, but the gesture meant the duel had come to a close and they would now be forced to seek other forms of entertainment for the evening. More yet cheered when Javier slowly reached up and took the proffered hand, but the cheers turned to gasps as, upon gaining his footing, Javier promptly stumbled forward, only to be caught in his opponent's steady embrace. “Come," Keith coaxed, loud enough for those around to hear him. "Let me help you home. It is the least I may do for such a show of good faith and excellent skill ..." He signaled for someone to call for a carriage and stopped only once more, to gather his fallen sword and return the weapon he'd borrowed to its owner. Javier did not pull away during this time, and Keith wondered what thoughts flickered behind his half-closed eyes.

He bundled him into the

conveyance when it came, shrugging off questions about needing a physician's aid, and climbed in after him, directing the driver, in his Gallic-accented Spanish, to take them to his own home. Javier offered no resistance during this journey, and upon their arrival, even appeared to have fallen asleep -- or unconscious, Keith didn't know which. After a few moments of prodding Javier into some semblance of wakefulness, the driver cast a searching look at Keith. “Do you need some help with him, señor?” “No,” Keith replied as he half-dragged Javier into the night air and leaned him against one section of the high gate surrounding the house. He was stirring slightly, his eyes half-open against the moonlight. Keith thought he had never seen anyone so vulnerably lovely in his lifetime. Glancing back at the driver, he nodded, extending a handful of gold pieces. “My servants will aid me, but thank you. This is for your services.” Blinking as he slipped the handsome handful of coins into his purse, the driver nodded his head in thanks. “Thank you very much … If you’re sure you don’t need help …”

18 Keith’s smile was faintly chilling. “I have never been more certain of something in my entire life, monseigneur. Merci for your aid. Have an excellent evening.” He removed the weapons from the carriage and turned back to Javier, waiting. When he heard the carriage begin to move away, Keith relaxed slightly, and decided he didn’t care if the driver saw him lift the boy from a distance. I do not want him awake, not yet … What he wanted instead, Keith found, was more of the boy’s blood; he craved it and the secrets it held as dearly as though he had not hunted in centuries. You have drawn me to you, he thought to Javier’s still form, bending low as though he was trying to induce Javier to rise under his own power, instead of convincing himself that to take more of the boy’s blood now – in such an exposed place – could be dangerous to them both. No onlooker could have known otherwise, however, and after a moment more of silent battle, Keith simply gathered the boy into his arms, weapons and all, carrying him up the winding drive to the villa’s doorway. It opened for him even before his footsteps approached the elegant entryway, and no one came out to greet him, but there were no passersby to notice this oddity, for the street had fallen silent once more.

Chapter Two Strong arms were wrapped close around his body, and somewhere near his face lay a soft fabric, scented lightly with woodruff. It was a sweet scent, but its sweetness brought forth imagery that was unfamiliar to his drowsing mind; rather than a womanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s erotic sweetness, the odor conjured a muskier, more masculine image of a man's bare chest as it gleamed in the firelight, the lightly silvered hairs on his chest adorned with diamond droplets of sweat. He longed to touch that chest and lick at the droplets of perspiration, seeking an animal intimacy his body had never before demanded in his lifetime.

Javier woke with a low cry, the sharp tang of sweat and something else still lying heavy on his tongue.

His body was taut with longing for something he could not name, as well as

something he could. Arousal and its various states had become a familiar companion to Javier Estas over the years, and for several moments, it was that driving lust which commanded the entirety of his attention, until he reached for the body of a woman who was not there, and realized it was not in his own bed that he lay. He struggled upwards, confined by heavy, rich coverlets and a sudden, almost nauseating weakness that flowed over him with the heady richness of too much good wine. He fell back against the pillows with a faint gasp that his ears barely registered having heard and closed his eyes tightly, as a child will when he perceives a monster in the dark. Even the blackness spun drunkenly behind his eyes, and his stomach lurched in protest. Before his gorge rose too far to be stopped, however, cool hands were smoothing back the wild mass of his hair, and something was pressed firmly against his lips. At first, he fought the mystery object, sure that if anything passed his lips, there would be more of a mess to worry about than the tangles in his mane, but then he caught the scent of it, and the battle was lost. Nothing, he was sure, had ever smelled so mysteriously wonderful to him before. It was the scent of sunshine on a woman's skin, of freshly-picked apples, of the finest sweet sherry; it was a mixture of every marvelous scent Javier had ever experienced, and his mouth abruptly cramped with desire.

His lips parted and the liquid flowed past them, bringing with it such unspeakable bliss that he fell back once more, his already-dazed senses unable to handle the onslaught of pleasure that trickled down his throat. His eyes opened and he knew some time had passed, for the light in the room was far dimmer than he remembered.

Candles had been extinguished, he saw, but only recently; a

fingertip dipped hesitantly in the pooling wax at one's base revealed that the taper's remains had not yet made the transformation from liquid to solid. But no evidence remained of the person who had so considerately doused the light sources, and it was this fact which drove Javier angrily from his bed now. Gone was the dazed, sick vertigo that had assaulted him first upon waking, and even the half-remembered dreamy bliss of his last moments of awareness fled before the rising tide of his ire. This, his mind shouted, was not his home, and he would not be kept prisoner here by some... some... Some what? Some madman, some loco? Some.... Something? He stopped, putting a hand out to rest against the rich wood of the mantelpiece over the fire, whose muted conversation with itself did nothing to comfort his whirling thoughts. He had seen ... something there that was not human, yes, but what had it been? He knew when – he had seen it during the duel with that Gallic outsider, that sharp-eyed Frenchman who had turned a night of drinking and gambling into the ferocious ruin of a rigged duel. But what was it? And, if he couldn’t remember, why did it trouble him so much? “Ah, you're awake. Good.” The soft words had been pitched in a tone that had not been intended to startle, but the sudden burst of those four words into the air frightened Javier badly. He spun about, barely managing to keep a hand on the chimney-piece for balance, and was further surprised by the sheer proximity of the man. While Javier could not boast to have the sharp ears of a feline -- he preferred to reserve his boasting for more sensual comparisons than some flearidden barn-cat -- he was certain the man had spoken from the confines of the entryway, and yet, here he was seconds later, more than ten feet into the room, and gently aiding Javier to a seat on the bed. It was only that confusion which allowed the man the momentary advantage over Javier, and then his fighting spirit reasserted itself. He shoved the hands away and stood, smiling smugly at the faint flicker of shock that moved fluidly across the older man's features. “Get your hands off me,” he demanded roughly,

taking a step forward under his own power and realizing too late that he had to direct his angry sneer upwards. Damn. I forgot how tall the bastard was. He had noticed it when the man had stepped up to their table in the tapas, he remembered. And again when we fought. I’ve never seen someone as tall as he is. He must have half a head on me, and I’m taller than anyone I know. Backing off a couple of steps, reducing the height advantage the man had, Javier quickly readjusted his mien from wearing the pale garb of startlement to a darker, harder costume of smug disdain. “And keep your hands off me,” he added, pleased by the sure sound in his voice. “I don't want the paws of a cheater on my flesh.” Keith stared a moment, his brief amusement at Javier's dismayed recollection of their height differences vanishing like candle smoke before the abrupt shock of being rebuffed in such a manner. It did not take long, however, for his good humour to reassert itself. He laughed aloud and was delighted by the curdling flames of anger building up in the boy's eyes. “Why, your own hands rove over your person each and every day, I would imagine. And, if I am not mistaken, more than once between the rising and setting of the sun.” Javier snarled and bunched his fists, determined to wipe that disgusting smile off the smug bastard's face when he saw again what he briefly recalled having seen moments before the duel had ended. Those teeth... they're like.... fangs.... The recollection froze him in his tracks, but Keith's amused chuckle once again snapped him free of its embrace and brought the anger broiling to the surface once more. Keith smiled, careful not to show his teeth this time. Little glimpses, he reminded himself. Slowly, slowly. The boy was a delightful mix of unbridled fury and carefully controlled selfsatisfaction, and there was something wonderfully gratifying about forcing the former to erase the latter, something delicious about the ability he apparently possessed to get under the boy's skin. Javier was so fierce, so wild, and so ... passionate in his fury that Keith wondered at the sheer magnificence of him.

The younger man's cheeks were flushed with a combination of

embarrassment and anger from being made the subject of Keith's mirth, and the thrumming, racing pulse in his veins, the roaring rush of Javier's blood, reached Keith's ears and almost held the power to make him swoon.

He suddenly wanted very badly to kiss him, to taste the lips which had been drawn back now in a snarl of fury. Could that fury be translated into passion? He'd been to see the boy's wife to assure her of her husband's safety, and she had been every bit as lovely in person, if not more so, than she had been while encased in Javier's memories, but she seemed a meek, quiet creature, more prone to wringing hands and fluttering breaths than inspiring erotic fascinations. But from the tastes of Javier's blood that he'd taken last night and over the course of today, he found no evidence that the younger man was lacking in that area of his union. For a moment, Keith had believed the boy a philanderer, straying from the marriage bed to seek more exciting pursuits elsewhere, but though there had been a sense of that prior to his joining, nothing of those feelings remained within the minds of either party now. He was startled from his musings by a harsh expletive aimed his way, and it was only that sound which gave him time to avoid the attack coming his way, rather than to merely regard it. He deflected the first two or three blows after Javier's body met his with an erotic slap of bare flesh against rich silk, but quickly determined that defense would get him nowhere. He blocked a punch and received, for his efforts, a sharp kick, worthy of a wince even for him, and then pinned Javier's hands against his own sides. The young Spaniard's eyes widened, the anger giving way to startlement tinged with the faintest gloss of fear. Keith's heart lurched a little in his chest at the sight of that latter emotion, and he lowered his head without thought except to melt that anxiety into something else entirely, meshing his lips to Javier's in a gently passionate kiss. For a moment, no response came, but just as Keith decided that his longing for the boy would forever pass unrequited into the shadows of the night, he felt the lips give the slightest bit. Their tongues touched, a twining dance that lasted all of a fleeting moment, and then Keith's control deserted him entirely. He crushed Javier fiercely to him, devouring his lips and tongue and teeth with all the pent-up desire he had carried within his heart for years, without ever knowing he had done so. He himself had no real need for oxygen, but the boy did, and though he would never know for sure, he liked to believe it was desperation only for that crucial element of human survival that made Javier pull away from the embrace. He stared, his verdant eyes wide with shock, and then he hauled back and threw a quick punch Keith almost didn't catch.

23 “Keep your hands off me, you filthy pig!” He gasped, his heart thundering in his ears. Desperately, he cast about for something to use as a covering for his body, which was determined to betray his tongue's words. Where did he take my clothes? What in the name of the devil is going on here? “I have no desire to burn in hell beside you!” Keith smiled, already knowing of the boy's hatred for the Church and his avowed disdain of organised religion. Religious persecutors had torn his family apart by the time he was ten, and he'd lost his parents in one of the Church's more vengeful raids but two years prior. “So you would rather burn in this life as well?” He laughed as Javier struggled to release his fist from the iron grip in which it was held. “Why suffer in two lives, mon amour?” he purred. “When you can satisfy yourself in this one for what feels like an eternity?” He forestalled any answer to his question and pressed his lips and body firmly against Javier's again. The young man's taut fist within the embrace of Keith's right hand quivered and then relaxed, pressing flat against the broad expanse of his palm. Keith's fingers crisscrossed Javier's own and interlinked with them, drawing the blonde man's body closer against his own. He released Javier's lips only when he felt that loosening of tension, sliding his mouth down across the day-old golden dusting of stubble on his jawline, suckling a hot trail that pooled in a warm gathering of soft, biting kisses in the hollow at the base of his throat. Javier moaned; Keith would never know whether the word was a prayer or a groaning whisper that contained his own name. His heart was racing in his chest; the little hollow at which Keith was so assiduously lapping was vibrating with his humming pulse, and he had never felt so sweet and consuming a desire in his entire life. Javier had wanted many women and had found deep sexual satisfaction with each one of them, but never once had he glanced a man's way, never once had he thought to find satiation in the hard, animal embrace of another male. Perhaps he was dreaming, he thought feverishly, and he would wake, gasping and clutching at the coverlets in his own room, safe in his own bed, and it would be Ofelia's hands stroking themselves across his torso and Ofelia's lips dropping broiling, diamond-hard kisses on his throat and across the broad, strong expanse of his chest, and ... Oh, mi Dios, those aren't Ofelia's lips! Oh, God! His eyes flew wide as Keith's dark head slid down and his hot tongue laved and stroked at the hard pebbles of Javier's flat male nipples. He'd never

realized a man could be so sensitive there, and his hands wound helplessly in Keith's midnight tresses, drawing his devil's tongue closer. But Keith had other ideas; his dark chuckle sent shocks of desire through Javier's entire body as he pulled away and circled his tongue ever lower. When he reached his final destination, Javier knew then that he must be dreaming for only in a dream could something feel this forbiddingly wonderful. Keith's head dipped until the tip of his nose was pressed flat against Javier's pelvis, and his lips closed around Javier's length of proud masculinity, tightening to form a sheath of wet heat more erotic than the body of any woman with whom the young Spaniard had ever lain. He sucked hard, pulling the skin taut until the veins stood out like a road-map to carnal delight, and Javier wondered if this was what the phrase meant when it was said that someone had died in their sleep. He wondered what Ofelia would think if she could only have known the death of her husband had come about from an erotic dream of another man! He was panting, begging, he realized, begging this man, this creature, to finish the unholy seduction he had begun. Javier Estas had never begged for anything in his entire time on this earth, and though the proud, arrogant part of his brain demanded that he not start now, the rest of him demanded that he never stop until Keith gave in to his pleas. Keith drew his head back and forth along Javier's member, drowning in the sharp tang of his male sweat. Every time he scraped the full extent of Javier's manhood against the back of his throat, he groaned, and finally, the sound came of good use. He felt a hot, salty spurt and Javier's hips bucked violently against his mouth. His lips stretched in a smile and he moved up and down a little faster, but evidently, even caught in the throes of passion, Javier always knew when someone was laughing at him, and Keith was startled when he pulled away with a gasping curse. One of his long, strong legs lashed out in a violent kick, aiming for Keith's jaw, but the vampire was too quick for Javier and had swiftly removed his body from harm's way. Javier's eyes had flown wider than ever when he'd felt the dark chuckle resonate against his pubic bone, stirring the golden wealth of the hair there, but unlike the groans of delight which had so stimulated him before, the laughter merely annoyed him.

25 “Get away from me! Keep your hands off me, you filthy son of a whore!” To his utter dismay, his voice cracked on the last note, and he turned violently away, more to hide his shame than to conceal his body from the wickedness of Keith's hands. Privately, Keith thought that the insult was more suited to the utterer than its recipient, for he'd seen Javier's father in the boy's memories, as well as his mother, and it was very obvious to Keith indeed that the latter had not produced her son by accepting her husband's seed into her womb. But despite the anger that the uttered discourtesy produced, he said nothing, simply licking his lips and wiping his hand across his mouth, setting his eyes on Javier's naked body like a hungry animal. He'd stripped the boy of his soiled clothing hours before; it wasn't yet dry from the scrubbing he'd given it, and something about the flickering firelight alighting their flames to his golden hair and suntanned skin had been so sensually beautiful that he hadn't been able to resist taking his fill of it. Nor could he resist its siren’s call now. “Why, cari?” He purred, shaking his head. “You cannot wish to deny yourself the ecstasy for which your body screams, can you? Will you do such a thing and commit such a crime against your flesh?” “It's better than committing the crime of lying with a filthy, unnatural thing like you!” Javier shot back, panting more with the effort it took not to focus on Keith's lips as they twisted into an erotic smile. The expression continued so long that it became unnerving. “What are you looking at?” He finally demanded, squashing the urge to cover himself like a frightened girl, and instead leaning back nonchalantly against the pillows. I can play the seduction game better than anyone, Javier thought fiercely, and leaned back, displaying every inch of his body to its fullest advantage. Keith licked his lips, and Javier was hard-pressed not to react. How could such a simple gesture set him aflame like that? But he was determined not to show any weakness before Keith's eyes, and simply continued to glare at him. Keith's smile widened and his dusky eyes roved freely over Javier's beautiful body. He was utter perfection, Keith thought admiringly. His hard body had been sculpted and shaped by a combination of years of good living and years of hard, good work. Keith had read enough of the boy's life in his blood to know that he was the son of a rich family, and that he'd not had to work a day in his life, but his current income had something to do with horseflesh, and he got the feeling that the blonde god before him didn't shirk from the hot, heavy work of running a stable. It was

odd to think of this perfect beauty as someone who toiled like a common man, knee deep in filth, but somehow, Keith wasn't surprised that he'd flaunt tradition. Javier was his own man, he was learning, who did things the way he wished to do them, and woe be to those who said he could not. I suspect they said that about his wife, as well – his wife who entrapped him in marriage and then could not even bear him live progeny. Within Javier’s blood, as bright and keen as though the loss had no more than a day’s span between it and now, rather than the space of several years, Keith had felt the loss he had suffered and the anger the boy used to defend himself against that grief. Abruptly, Keith felt a great empathy for the young man who reclined smugly now on the bed. You bury your true feelings beneath an onslaught of false pride and fury – forced from your philandering ways into a marriage you did not want … only to have the reason for that marriage ripped away from you, as the rest of your kin was taken from you? You are all alone in the world; it is not a wonder at all that you are angry at the way Fate has treated you. He ached to reach out to him now, to show him that he would not have to bear such indignities alone, but caught himself before he could. He simply regarded Javier quietly. Javier scowled as Keith's expression changed from a sensual, calculating smile to a sad frown. “What are you looking at?” He demanded once more, his eyes narrowing to jade slits. Keith shook his head, his lips upturning in a mysterious twist, and stepped away from the bed, turning his back on the younger man. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Since you seem to have recovered from your... indisposition, I shall bring your clothes to you. You may go once you are dressed, if you like.” And just like that, Javier fumed later as he stalked down the drive after finally locating the front door, he'd walked away. He walked AWAY on me, after what he did! A coward, that's what he is! He didn't even bring me my clothes! No, some yellow-eyed man who stank of dogs and raw meat had done that, dropping the pile of freshly laundered fabric onto the bed and exiting the room without a backwards glance. He hadn't even asked if Javier had needed aid in dressing! When he had finally yanked on his clothes and stalked out into the house proper, there hadn't been evidence that anyone even lived in the home. Most of the rooms Javier found himself entering in his quest for the front hall were filled with dusty, sheet-draped spectres of furniture, if they held

anything at all. At long last, he had reached the main hall and took but a moment more to fumble with the heavy bar across the double doors before he slammed out into the night. “And good riddance to him.” Keith shook his head and took the glass his servant offered even as the echo of Javier’s passing shivered over the walls. “And what is your problem with him, Amaroq?” He asked wearily, leaning back into the silent embrace of his favourite couch as he watched the flames spit shadows on the walls. “He's a barbarian,” Amaroq replied instantly, taking a seat at his master's feet. He didn't touch him, but he adopted the familiar position all the same. “So are you,” Keith pointed out. “Especially after the mess you left in the foyer.” “We weren't talking about me,” Amaroq insisted immediately, backing up a little. “He's not worth your time.” Keith sighed and drained his glass without tasting the contents. “Though I no longer walk amongst their ranks, I still consider myself human enough to wish an argument, especially one with which I disagree, to have more substance to it than an unproven opinion. Why do you feel that way? Did he do you some harm, of which I am not aware? I do not see how he could have, due to the fact that he was all but unconscious for the last forty-eight hours, but things have escaped my attention in this life before now; I suppose it could easily happen again.” His twilight eyes regarded Amaroq with wry amusement over the rim of his empty goblet. Amaroq scowled, and for a moment, the eyes glaring up at Keith were not yellow and snapping with the reflection of the firelight, but a deep, wild green, lit from within by a furious passion for life that Keith had found, as yet, to be unequaled by any other he had met in this lifetime. He shook the image away and focused on the man at his feet just as Amaroq shrugged and looked away from Keith's direct gaze, uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. “He's brash and loud and cruel. He is not suited for you.” Keith's brows lifted. “Cruel? How so is he cruel?” Had the boy done something to Amaroq of which he had not been aware? He hardly thought so, but wonders had not ceased in this life yet -- perhaps the boy had had more life in him than he'd thought, and had gone wandering where he wasn't supposed to. Keith himself didn't care for things like locks or rules of conduct that dictated where the guests or members of his household could and could not go, but

28 Amaroq had long since positioned himself in the role of security for the manse – where-so-ever their household congregated, -- and he took his job to heart. Keith supposed it was the wolf in him, the part of him that showed now as the man-shape before him blurred and shifted into something rather more canine and furry in nature than the man at his feet had been. Amaroq laid his great head on his paws and released a great sigh that ruffled the fringe of the rug upon which he lay. His mate. He is cruel to her, he murmured in the silence of Keith's mind. I could see it in the way she reacted to you when I followed you the other night. Keith sighed, ignoring the fact that Amaroq had tailed him despite Keith’s insistence that he wouldn’t be gone long. “Yes, I gathered as much. On both counts.” In fact, he’d merely suspected it from what he’d seen in Javier's blood, supposing that it went along with the crippling blame he laid at the poor woman's feet for his own misfortunes. But when he had journeyed to Javier’s home two evenings prior to reassure her of her husband’s safety, he had seen the damning evidence of it with his own two eyes. It had been in the nervous flicker of her eyes and the wringing of her hands; it had shown itself in the flinching, frightened attitude Javier’s wife had displayed even towards Keith himself, who had never once in his long lifetime raised a hand against a woman. He realized, of course, that she could not have known that he would not harm her, and that this was a world in which men dominated. He also knew that there was more of what a colleague of his in Scotland had once called 'domestic correction' in the average home all over the world than Keith found to be socially palatable … But I am one of only a few who thinks that such practices are … unsavory, so far be it from me to judge another man on the matter of running his home. Besides, Amaroq added suddenly. If he IS going to be your lover... what will you tell him about yourself – and about me? It was the latter question which held more weight for Keith. He reached down and buried his fingers in the thick fur of Amaroq's ruff. Many a night had been spent with his face buried in that spot in the years after the death of his mother had forced him to flee his boyhood home. It had been during that final flight from the village of his childhood that he had been found by the man who had later taken him across the veil which separated the living from the dead. Amaroq had been his Master's dog and faithful companion, but it had been Keith who had discovered that Amaroq was not, in actuality, a dog, and had subsequently truly befriended the

were-wolf. After his Master's death only fifty years after Keith had been turned into a vampire, they had wandered the world together, and when Amaroq had begun to slow with age, Keith had done what he believed no other vampire had ever done - he'd shared the dark gift of vampirism with him. Drawing Amaroq's blood into his own body, however, had forever changed both of their lives; at different times in the year, Amaroq was now not the only one whose blood and body was tied to the rising and setting of a new moon. Keith underwent the same, savage change from man to wolf that Amaroq handled with years of long practice, and, during that time, he thirsted not for blood taken here or there from the bodies of the guilty, but for the hot taste of raw meat in his mouth, and he was not picky about its source when those periods overcame him. The part that frightened Keith about those transformations, however, was not that they happened, or even that they made him react in such a manner, for when he felt their now-familiar agonies, he simply distanced himself from human habitations and wreaked his havoc on hapless forest inhabitants. What terrified him now was that they would come at a time when Javier lay in his arms, and in the nearly three hundred years he had walked the earth as a vampire, he had never shared his secret with any of his lovers. He had simply sent them away on the nights when he woke with those urges, and nothing had ever come of it. But Javier would not be a temporary thing, he sensed, not some single night's worth of carnal entertainment he could send away and woo back at a moment's notice, and perhaps Amaroq knew this, too. Something about Javier had called to Keith from the very gates of this city, and somewhere in his hidden heart, he knew he wished to share forever with the boy. It was not an entirely new notion. There had been a couple of others, almost literally that number, over the years, but something had always stayed his hand - the abrupt suicide of his last lover being the most recent. He burned for Javier in a way he had not burned for anyone, even his Master, whose control over his body had been absolute. “I don't care," he muttered suddenly, his brows drawing together in a frown that made him look more like his twin brother than even he knew. “I don't care if he beats his wife. I don't care if he finds out what happens to me. I want him.” He buried his face in Amaroq's thick fur and inhaled the heavy, dusty scent of a dog. “I want him,” he murmured, his words muffled by the

30 were-wolf's heavy coat. “I want him, and I will have him, even if I have to move the earth to do it.” He rose abruptly and paced the room, thinking. “He responds to me -- I felt him respond! - And surely, he could not falsify that. Surely, he cannot deny that his body calls for mine in the same way mine begs for his.” Amaroq sighed and only his golden eyes moved as he watched his Master's passage back and forth, back and forth, across the thick rug. His body may respond, but if he thinks it a cardinal sin, he will deny himself, will he not? Keith laughter barked humourlessly off the walls. “He cares nothing for what the men of God name as sins. He's probably well on his way to having committed most of them already anyway, and will probably make it his life's goal to perpetrate the rest of them before his heart's last beat. The men of God have already done him worse wrong than he believes he can ever do to them, and he cares nothing for their rules or their institutions. He hides behind that belief as a way to buy himself time; it is a new experience for him, and humans are notoriously terrible when it comes to accepting new ideas with open arms. I myself was the same, and I held no disdain for the words of God.” Amaroq grunted. It was an odd sound, coming from a wolf, and it made Keith smile. Well, in the end, you'll do as you like, no matter what I say, so have at it. But I don't promise to like it, he added grouchily, showing Keith some of the cantankerous nature that had followed him from his old age into his vampiric existence. And if you make me share a room with him when you bring him into this house, I'll bite him first, and then I'll go looking for you. Keith's laughter heralded the sunrise that morning, bouncing off the stone walls of the villa Amaroq had rented for them while Keith had been out wandering the town, and the warmth of it did more to brighten the walls and drive the shadows out of the room than any firelight could. At last, even Amaroq could not begrudge his Master a wolven grin, and decided that, whatever happened, at least it would be interesting.

Chapter Three The heavy crash of the thick cypress door that barred the night from intruding into the main hall of the Estas home brought Ofelia Casillas Galeano Estas up from her bedside chair, in which she had been nervously awaiting the return of her husband. She had not left the room for nearly three days; instead, she had asking the servants to have her meals brought into the chamber she had shared with her husband for the last four years, so that she could await his return. The man who had come to her in the darkness three nights ago, somehow managing to avoid being detected by the hounds which patrolled the grounds and the servants who kept watch over the inner courtyard where the Estas family grew their oranges and olives, had frightened her badly without leaving her logical mind with a reason for that fear. There had simply been ... something about him; some terrible, cold feeling that slid greasily down her spine like the rain from the gutters on the roof would if one stood under the wrong overhang in the spring. And so she had barred herself within the relative safety of the confines of her room, sure that he would never dare enter the sanctity of the room she, as a married woman, had only shared with her husband. She'd been correct on that score, if only through the fact that the man had not come again to the house. The bang came again; the front portal had closed behind the person it had permitted through its opening, and Ofelia darted to her bedroom door without needing the sleepy maidservant to confirm for her the meaning of the familiar sound. Her husband, at last, was home, and if he was slamming through the front door, he was under his own power, which meant he was well, but the force with which he moved meant he was angry, and that, she had learned, held its own problems. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Ofelia!â&#x20AC;? The dark snap of her name bounced ominously off the thick walls of the residence, and she struggled briefly with her wrap as she flew down the hall on bare, white feet. He had just drawn breath to command her presence again, this time with more fury, when she appeared with her sable hair tumbling in carefree ringlets about her face and into her deep, dark eyes. Ofelia's heart caught in her throat at the sight of the man before her. He who had owned her heart since the day their eyes had first locked.

He could not have been more than seven years old, she remembered, and that day, when she had first seen him striding through the marketplace with his sword flashing in the sun, ready to protect his honour and that of those around him already at seven years old, had been the best day of her life. She gazed at him now, filling her eyes with the sight of him. There was such wildness to his sunlit hair as it flowed back from the sunbaked hard planes of his handsome face and kissed the start of his broad back and strong shoulders. His green eyes were deeper than the shade of the orange leaves in their earliest blossom, and though they often regarded her with the same hardness as befitted their comparison to the heavy Cantera stone out of which their home was built, she knew that sometimes, when he thought she was asleep, he would look at her, and if she kept the dark fringe of her lashes still against her porcelain cheeks, she would see a softness in his expression that outstripped even the glorious velvet of his skin, or the golden silk of his hair. He would regard her then ... as he was regarding her now! Her breath caught in her throat and her hands fluttered nervously to her breast. She had never seen him look at her this way when he knew she could see it, and all of a sudden, she was filled with such fierce longing for her husband that she thought her heart would break. With a sob, she flung herself forward into the dark space between them, never doubting that his powerful arms would come around her and save her as he had always done, ever since the day in the marketplace. Her body tumbled against his and his arms wrapped roughly around her, as she'd known they would. He pressed her close, and she could smell sweat and the last kisses of orange blossoms in his hair. “What's this about?” He demanded roughly, but she'd surprised him rather than angered him. “What's gotten into your foolish girl's head now?” She nuzzled her face into the crook where his powerful shoulders met the rest of his glorious body. “The marketplace.” “The marketplace,” he repeated slowly, but she could tell he was interested enough not to rebuke her for her foolishness again. She nodded, craning her head to look up at him from the safe harbour of his embrace. “Si, the day I met you. You remember?” She remembered, of course. She remembered that day, as she suspected she always would, with the sort of clarity that belied the passage of more than ten years. In her mind, that first

meeting between herself and the man who was now her husband and the secret love of her life as no other had ever been, had no more time between it and the moment she now shared with him than the setting and rising of a single sun.

Her wide mahogany eyes could find no dearth of people or objects at which to stare as she walked through the marketplace at the snail's pace which befitted a young lady of her stature, only regressing to the child that she actually was when something startled her into clinging to her nurse's skirts. She shrank back from the fish-monger's shrill calls for the populace to gaze into the cold dead eyes of the fish head on the work surface of his stinking wooden stall, she hid her eyes from the braying voice and bovine-like face of the ostler hawking his equine wares, and she trembled at the brash cajoling of the jeweler whose croon to the ladies that passed held an air of desperation; had she been older, she might have noticed that the silks upon which he laid his works were old, and his tools were dull, but she was merely a child, and knew nothing of how badly a dying business can affect a man's behavior. But the man who finally broke down the brave young lady's reserve the six-year old Ofelia was desperately trying to hold on to was the fruit-seller. His face was craggy and deepset with the cracked lines that years of hard living give to a man, and his looming figure, grossly obese and toothless from too many nights of stuffing himself with the leftover, rotting wares of the day's labour, only added to her fright.

She couldn't say what it was that

frightened her; his looks were not the crux of it all. There was something in his eyes, and again, had she been any older, she might have recognised it as the stare of a man who was already dead, even if his body hadn't quite caught up. His eyes stared emptily through her, even as he shoved a greening brass platter piled high with melon and dates down into her face and demanded if she wanted any. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Such a sweet little lady... surely she would like the sweetest dates in all of Spain to go along with her?â&#x20AC;? His voice wheedled, but his eyes simply stared, and as she gazed upwards, slowly shaking her head in answer, a horsefly buzzed into one of the fat crags of his face and bit deep into the doughy flesh near his right eye. A tiny rivulet of blood further darkened his sunburned face, but his eyes just kept staring. She drew in a breath to scream, only to have it

forced out of her in a whuff of surprise when a rapier whistled out of the hot summer air and crashed with bright percussion against the platter of fruit inches from Ofelia's face. “The lady said she didn't want any, burro. Leave her alone before I cut your fat hide into bacon and sell it to the butcher for the noon meal.” Her rescuer was like the golden knight of the fairy tales, the burnished finish of his weapon second only to the brilliant halo of his hair and the shining life in his eyes. When the man had withdrawn, a scowl swallowing the thin line of blood in his blubbery face, her knight turned to her and sheathed his sword, managing to execute a courtly bow less than a heart's beat after. He took her hand in his soft doeskin-clad fingers, and for hours afterwards that day, she would stare at the places where the jewels in his gloves had made brief little indents, as if willing them to reappear so she could kiss them and imagine she could still smell the mingle of sweat and sunlight which had lapped at his skin. His eyes were like the soft spring blush of first growth, she thought at first, but upon close inspection, she realized they were darker than that -- perhaps more of the hue of olive leaves, or orange leaves. Such deep glossy pools, and she felt, even then, that she could get lost in them forever. He brushed his lips against the backs of her hands, which were still willing captives within the dual embrace of his own, and with that singular debonair movement, he took her heart prisoner even as he released her fingers. Her nursemaid, a woman whom, without knowing why, Ofelia would hate from this moment on, broke shrilly into their reverie. “Ofelia Casillas Gaelano, you get back here right now! And you, you filthy boy, shoo! Get your dirty Marrano’s hands off my charge! She's too good for the likes of one such as you, Javier Alvares Estas! Go back home and be with your godless father!” It was then that Ofelia saw the first flicker of the fierce anger that would be directed towards her in later years, but she felt safe from it then. “Oh, shut your loose lips in your prayer book and see if that doesn't tighten them up,” Javier replied rudely. “She was being accosted by that man; where were you when she needed you?” He turned back to Ofelia and smiled; her heart melted as the expression slid sweetly over his face. He bowed again, and she thought for a moment that she would swoon, but bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood

with her sharp white teeth, determined not to seem like the silly goose she was in front of her shining knight. He was speaking, and she drowned in bliss at the gentle purr of his words. “I am Javier Alvares Estas, Ofelia Casillas Gaelano, and I will always be your protector.” With a neat flick of his hand, he drew his weapon again, and she believed she was the only one in the world who thought it was thrilling that he drew the sword with the incorrect hand. It was something new and exciting to her; her brothers had clashed with swords all their lives, and the whistle of the metal as it hissed forth from its sheath was familiar to her, but there was something romantic and dashing about the way this young boy openly defied all tradition. He drew the weapon, which God had given to Man in order to ensure his safety, with the hand of the very same evil the blade had been forged to protect against. It was not frightening in the least; it was wonderful and noble and ... oh, she would surely swoon if she thought about him much longer! She bit the inside of her cheek again with such ferocity as to draw forth a second coppery burst of blood, but she paid it no mind, transfixed as she was by his presence. Suddenly, he danced away to the side of the square, and the blade he held whistled through the air, describing a circle in the air a mere ten feet away from the very spot in which he would face a vampire in a duel some twelve years later, and speared a ripe Cherimoya, a custard apple, from a low-hanging branch. He ran back with all the exuberance of a child, but he stopped before her and she saw that his eyes held the seriousness of a man within their sea-green depths. One move, and his sword was neatly sheathed; a second and the newlyskinned apple he held was filling the air with its thick, sweet scent, reflecting the bright sunlight in its pleasing, glossy glow, and the fine blade of his dagger flickered in the sun. “To cleanse your lips of the dust of the day, my lady,” he murmured gallantly, and then a woman cried his name somewhere in the crowd, and he was gone, leaving the sections of cut, peeled apple in her hand in return for having stolen her heart.

Well, Ofelia thought later, looking down from her chin's light perch on her right hand at the man who lay sleeping beside her. Even if you don't remember, I do. She had tried to explain to him the vividness of her memory of that day, but he had cut her off brusquely and taken her inside their chamber, interested more in what succor his body could take from her than misremembered

glimpses of long-forgotten noontides. She watched him sleep as she had for many nights since her first in this bed, in this room, but it was only now that she noticed something different in the way he reached for her in his sleep. He would frown and turn to her as he always had in the past, but her body gave his restless mind no comfort tonight. He turned away from Ofelia again, muttering something in garbled Spanish that she couldn't quite make out. She wondered if it had finally happened, if he had finally allowed himself to stray from the comfort of the bed in which he had never wanted to lie, anyway. Ofelia was the first to admit that he was unhappy in their forced marriage; her Javier was only hers through the eyes of her parents and the priest who had joined their hands in matrimony four years before. They had been meeting for some time for forbidden little trysts long before that, and she had not thought for a moment that anything which felt as good as his hands upon her body could ever bring him such pain. Had she been thinking, she reprimanded herself now, as she had a thousand times in the last three years, she could have spared him all of this pain, and he would be free to do as he liked. She closed her eyes against the tears, and thought wildly that she would be glad -- glad! -- if he had finally found another, for in their arms, perhaps, he could find happiness at last, even if he did have to come home to her every night. She lifted her heavy head off her hand and stared across the room at the jewel-box of teak he had given her for her fifteenth birthday, right before she had found out that she was pregnant with his son, his perfect little boy who had taken three sighing breaths and died in her arms. Her labour with him had taken nearly three days and while it had not cost her life, it had cost her any future of having children; the doctors had advised her she could never carry to term again, and though Javier had called them liars and crackpots as he chased them from the house, they had â&#x20AC;&#x201C; thus far - been correct. Six months after Javier had buried their son on the ridge behind their home, after her brothers had fashioned the little coffin and festooned it with orange leaves and lined it with the blankets under which he would have dreamed his nights away if only he had lived, she was pregnant again, and this time, lost a half-formed daughter in the sixth or seventh month that her family forced her to burn. No grave had been dug for that baby; instead, the ashes had been salted and scattered to the four winds so its evil could never return. A third miscarriage came the year after, the fetus so

early in its developmental stages that nothing could be gleaned from it save that it had once been alive. She didn't know what they'd done with this one; the bleeding didn't stop for three days, and Javier had slapped her cheek later for ruining so many sets of sheets, but she hadn't been aware of anything other than fighting to stay alive. But within the teak box he had presented her before all of those horrors had raised their ugly heads, there laid the solution to all of his misery. She would wait, as she had waited now for so long, for him to find another with whom he could be happy, and then she would pull up the false bottom she'd installed in the box herself only a year ago, and remove the little bottle she'd bought from the apothecary sometime after she'd altered her jewel-box. He hadn't batted an eye when she'd bought it, she hadn't even had to tell him the exhaustively-rehearsed lie she'd made up about the rats scaring her at night in her bedroom when Javier was late at supper. He'd simply handed over the little bottle and his voice had held no more than indifference as he'd explained that she must wash every last drop from her fingertips if she spilled any on her hands, for it was terribly lethal to humans. She could never tell him that it was this fact which had drawn her into the rank-smelling shop in the first place; it would be a secret she would keep until her death. If suicide was the mortal sin that the priests said it was, then Ofelia's only consolation was that it was a lesser offense than that which she had practiced to chain Javier's heart to hers. She turned her gaze from the little wooden box whose sight had once -- so very long ago! so delighted her, and looked back down at her husband's sleeping form, starting terribly when her eyes found that his were not lidded in slumber, but were awake and watchful. “J-Javier... I did not ... You should be asleep...” She clapped her hand over her mouth, terrified that her lips had had the audacity to tell him what he should be doing, and cringed against the blow, but he didn't move. “What's so interesting over there?” He asked her quietly. “You stare at that box a lot. Do you like it that much?” Terrified, her dark eyes could only stare at him as she nodded woodenly, hoping that the gesture would be enough of an answer. It wasn't, and his eyes narrowed, one large hand coming up and closing on the tail of the plait that lay over her shoulder, the glossy tail into which her maidservant always braided her beautiful sable hair before bed. She gave a muted little cry as he

yanked it hard, the movement jerking her head down so that it was mere inches from his. She could smell the sweet wine he'd had with his supper, thick and dizzying on his breath. “I asked you a question, Ofelia. Answer me.” “Yes,” she stuttered, forcing her voice past the level of the shaky whisper fear made it out to be. “I like looking at it. You smiled so when you gave it to me,” she continued wildly, hoping her additional information, not a falsehood in the slightest, for he had smiled beautifully - proudly, even, some would say, - would be enough to assure his disinterest. If he went over there and perhaps found the little bottle, what would she do? How could she tell of the heavy secret in her heart? But some god somewhere, though he had a terrible sense of evil humour, must have smiled on her, for Javier nodded and released her braid, his fingers replacing themselves on her left breast instead. He kneaded the soft, yielding flesh beneath the silk of her bed gown, his body coming alive as he felt the shock of their mutual desire when she moaned, helpless against the pleasure he had always been able to cause in her. No matter how brutal his hands could be at times, Javier had always been able to love her body very well, and tonight was no different. She tipped her head back against the pillows, relaxing against the soft eiderdown as he bit gently at the soft cloth of her wrap with his teeth, pulling it aside to reveal the sheer chemise she wore below as she tossed her head and uttered audible little shudders. Javier smiled briefly, and had Ofelia's eyes not been tightly closed, she would have seen in his expression a faint flicker of the time before his eyes became hard and his hands became as likely to hurt as to cause pleasure. The smile was almost gentle, but Ofelia saw nothing of it. He dipped his golden head down, tracing thin lines on the sea-glass smoothness of the material which separated her body from his tongue. Where his tongue had laved its way, the silk stuck gently to her body, outlining the warm flickering of his mouth. There was another place, too, where the cloth lay warm and wet against her skin, but his mouth and hands had not delved that far yet. She longed for him to have done so, but Javier often gained the most satisfaction in making her wait until the room's air was heavy with the scent of her throbbing sex, and their ears were filled with the whispering gasps of her pleas for release. It would not take long tonight, but then, it never had. Her mother had called her a whore and a godless sinner for indulging in such wicked acts with Javier even before she'd gotten with child, and had slapped her face. Perhaps these things they did together were wicked and sinful, perhaps

no child of God was ever meant to feel such pleasure and wonder together in the arms of another, and that was why they had both suffered so at the hands of Fate, but Ofelia knew that she would endure all of it again and ten times more, just to feel as she felt now with Javier's hands on her flesh. Her hips bucked up hard in anticipation; his hands were rolling up the thin shift and pushing it high up under her arms. She lay beneath him a moment as he towered over her and then one hand came down and cupped the warm mound of her pubis. “What did you do here?” He asked, and she trembled for a moment in fear, but there was no anger in his tone. Only a thick-voiced interest laced his words, and she saw that his eyes, when they met hers, were afire with lust. She blushed and tried to look away, but the hand that had cupped her newly-shaven womanhood came up and pushed her cheek back from its hiding place on the goosedown pillow; she could smell the tangy scent of her sex on his fingers. “I ... Alba Panza del Hierro and her niece came to visit the other day, when you were out, and we were trying on the new dresses you had made for me, and she... she had no hair there at all!” Ofelia sounded as though this were the most shocking thing in the world, but while Javier admitted that the lack of sooty, coarse curls between his wife's legs had given him a start, it was not striking in its novelty, in his opinion. He smiled faintly, suddenly feeling that she was very young. “So what made you decide to imitate her?” He delighted in her blush again, wondering why the abrupt blooms of blood on her cheeks were suddenly so attractive to him. Ofelia tried to turn her head away, but he pushed her cheek back firmly and held her face there. The scent of her body still lingered on his fingers and it made the low, pleasant pool of warmth in her belly flare up to something hotter. She felt the spike of pleasure as it curled upwards and downwards at once, like a serpent extending his head and tail in two directions, and she squirmed, but not to get away. He laughed, and the hand that held her cheek abruptly slid low, down across her side and over her woman's mound again as his fingers searched out the coral nub that lay between her slick folds. She gasped and cried for more, but he shook his head and pulled away. “You haven't finished telling me your story,” he chided, his lips curling in a feral smile even as his fingers dipped beneath the hard jewel of her womanhood and entered the hot sheath of her body. She was ready for him as she always was; even if he turned in the middle of the night and

woke her with a nibbling kiss or a sharp bite to the shoulder, her body was always primed for him. It was no surprise to either of them that his fingers encountered no resistance as they slid into her depths. Ofelia moaned and raised her hips off the bed, panting his name. He stroked her soft curves from within, liking the feel of the different, hidden textures inside her body. Here, for example, was smooth and slick and elicited moans of soft, cooing pleasure, but here was almost rough against his fingers, and made her cry out and drive her body down against his hand as she begged him to finish what he had begun. He laughed and withdrew his hand completely, rubbing his palm across her soft woman's shape and feeling her body jump. “I told you,” he rebuked her, the smile stretching upwards to his eyes now.

“You need to finish telling your story.” His voice was gruff and deep with

restrained desire, and there was a thickness to it that spoke of past chest colds. He always sounded like this when he wanted the most, and the rough darkness delighted her. “Ah...” Ofelia sobbed, trying desperate to gather her thoughts. She didn't remember what it was they'd been discussing, and she knew from past experience that she'd better recall swiftly, or he would leave her here, trembling and wanting, and would take his own pleasure while she was forced to watch, driven to a frenzy but denied the release in the end. “Ah ... A-Alba sh-shshowed m-me how her ... her ....” She blushed furiously, not able to believe that she was discussing another woman's private parts with her husband. Javier raised a golden eyebrow. “So you often show each other your body's secrets?” Had Alba not been a woman, the words would have come with a rush of jealous rage that would have left Ofelia trembling in fear rather than desire, but there was no rancor in his tone now. Ofelia blushed and Javier felt a hot bite of lust rise again at the sight of the blood in her cheeks. Dimly, he wondered at this new reaction to something which had previously either made him smile or had been completely overlooked, but he didn't question it now. He had other things on his mind. “Have you ever ... touched another woman?” He traced his fingers, sticky with her essence, up her torso and over her breasts. Her nipples hardened to tight little peaks and he bent to suck one, indulging himself for several moments as she moaned and pressed against him, desperately trying to hang on to the tenuous thread of their conversation. The question would have shocked her, had her mind not been otherwise occupied, and as it was,

all the answer he received was a wordless shake of her head that could have been a response or a simple soundless plea for him to continue his masterful torture. “No?” He asked, laughing as he drew away and she tried to pull him back, her fingernails scraping lightly over his hair and cheeks. “Hmm. What happened after she showed you her ... new fashion?” So much for trying on dresses, he thought, wondering if other women in different places did more to each other than share their vestments. It was a relatively unheard-of notion at the time, and the Church, Javier knew, was forever ranting about the evils of 'sodomites' and the 'sins' they performed, but they'd never mentioned the evils of two women lying together. The Church decried sodomy as unnatural, but Javier privately suspected that religious men would deem all sexual acts unnatural if only they could get away with it. But sex brought forth the seed of life, and the Church always needed new children to corrupt. He was fairly sure that during his studies as a boy, he had learned that the Greeks and Romans had completely ignored things like gender when it had come to sex, and there had to be people, both male and female, that still held such beliefs today. Yes, Javier thought grimly, and you know one such person lives here in this very town! He hadn't thought of Keith since he'd left; his fury at how flippantly he'd been dismissed had forced him to block the dark-haired man completely from his mind. Now, he was back, and the memory of his head dipping down and his mouth closing around Javier's cock brought with it a crushing, terrible desire. He groaned and grasped Ofelia's hips, burying his face there at the juncture between her thighs as she thrashed and cried out; her sweet musk, not at all like the spicy, salty moonlight scent of Keith's skin, enveloped his senses and drowned his thoughts. He panted; sure that one injudicious movement of his hips would bring sticky, hot disgrace against his torso, and pulled away savagely. Ofelia nearly screamed her need, his question forgotten; biting down hard on her knuckles to stifle the sound, and then her husband's body was looming over her face, his hard, throbbing member pushing hotly against her mouth. She parted her lips and sucked the head as hard as she dared, hoping he would return the favour and wondering from where that terrible, selfish, sinner's thought had come. He had never done this before, this wicked, wonderful thing, and she tried to think how he could possibly receive pleasure from her in this position. Usually, she knelt before

him, dragging her mouth back and forth along his length, and he buried his hands in her hair, tugging the sable curls as his hot seed spurted forth and he came. This position was new and the novelty of it exciting; as she lay back on the bed and he straddled her face, she was close enough to see each curling hair as it thrust forth from his skin, but not too close so that the view before her blurred. She moved her lips, sucking hard on the shaft; in response, he moved his hips back and forth for her; all she had to do was continue her suckling and nibbling. Javier cried out and buried his face in her wet heat, nuzzling and suckling at what he found there. The two feelings, one a memory and the other a reality, converged in his mind. Ofelia's mouth was not as hard around him as Keith's had been in his pleasure-giving, and Javier thrust his hips harder at first, seeking that animal roughness, until he realized he could not have it from his wife's lips. She was weeping with need, and he buried himself between her legs again, licking and suckling the tiny replica of a man that a woman's body kept buried like a sweet secret. He paused once to look at it; the raised nub was like a pink diamond now, hard and hot. He pressed the tip of his tongue against it, ignoring the almost-painful scrape of Ofelia's teeth on his shaft as he lost himself in the wonder of the notion that he could feel a rapid pulse, like her heartbeat, against his tongue.

Her hips bucked insistently after a moment, however, and though he would not

consciously believe it of her, on some level, he was certain that she bit down on his engorged member in a desperate push to break him from his erotic reverie and return to the task at hand. Something about the closing of her small white teeth around his cock drove him mad; the sharp, deep ache reminded him of another acute pain which had also been followed by stabs of erotic bliss, and Javier's testicles tightened with the roiling orgasm building within. Licking fingers of flame built upwards from his groin and the panting jabs of his hips became more pronounced. He was barely aware of Ofelia's climax, even though the deluge of musky, liquid heat that accompanied it threatened for a moment to drown him before he tilted his chin down and pulled his nose away from her shuddering body; suddenly, he was coming, and the violence of his own release left him seeing stars. He didn't even feel her teeth tear into the soft skin of his manhood and leave, in one place, a rent deep enough to draw a thin, coppery slither of blood. The pleasure was all he knew, and he came and came, his body rocking and shuddering with the force of it until he shuddered with

exhaustion. He was barely able to roll aside before his legs collapsed, and it was only with Ofelia's help that he was able to drag himself around so that his head lay near hers again. Ofelia's body still bucked and shuddered with last gasps of pleasure; Javier's was too tired even for that. He slept quickly, and she lay watching him for some time, thrilled by what they had done, but aching for the feel of him within her and secretly hoping he would wake again soon, ready to finish what they had started. He did not, and so she lay there, listening to the throbbing deep inside of her and wishing, on some level, that it was the heartbeat of the child she'd never have, but then she looked at Javier's sleeping face and buried the thought forever. A child would tie him to her, and she was even more certain now, though if asked, she would not be able to tell how she knew, that he had found another. She cried a little then, although she could not tell whether her tears stemmed from her loss or his, and afterwards, she slept.

Chapter Four Javier woke late the following morning, and he was burning with lust. His dreams had been confused and dark; a man's laughter had followed him through a castle that was more a pile of tumbling stone than an actual structure and at one point, there had been flames, the winding smoke from them so heavy that his lungs had burned and he had thought -- again! - That he would surely die in his dreams. But in the very last dream, Ofelia's eyes had watched him from Keith's face, and she -- he? - Had closed his -- her? - Lips around his throbbing cock, and he had climaxed violently, but his seed had not been opalescent in the dream. When he had come, the sticky fluid that had shot forth from him, coating the lips that were Keith's and nearly blinding the eyes that were Ofelia's, had been dark red, he recalled with a shudder. He had come and there had been blood there -- not blood in his semen, as had happened once when he'd been younger, during a terrible fever that hadn't deterred him from his normal activities in the least, despite his physician's concerns -- but actual blood. There had been, as far as his dreaming mind could tell, no other substance there but blood. And he'd come in great spurts instead of long, thin strings, as though instead of bringing him to climax, his lover had instead gouged a knife into someplace vital. He gasped in great lungfuls of orange-scented air; the window had been left open last night and he cast about for the reason why, because he was usually very strict about closing up the shutters before he slept in case some leering man dared look in on his wife in the middle of the night. He smiled as he remembered, and reached over to cup the same breast that had started everything the night before. No thoughts of Keith's dusky eyes or midnight hair came to him now; his mind was filled only with the sight of his sleeping wife who lay before him. “Ofelia.”

He was nibbling and kissing at her ear.

She stirred and her hands buried

themselves against his body, but she didn't wake. His nibbling turned to biting that was just shy of painful. “Ofelia, you never finished your story...” She came awake at once, her body twanging with pleasure. My story? She thought, her mind fuzzy with newly awakened desire. His hand moved low, rubbing over the sensitive rise of her pubis, moving against the grain of the day-old growth of hair and causing a sharp, pleasurable ache to spike from her belly down into the center of her sex. “Oh...” she replied weakly, the late morning sunlight streaming in on her face and catching motes of gold in the velvet darkness of her

eyes that spun like dust sparkles in the air of an unused room. He kept rubbing and she kept lifting her hips; he could smell the warm musk of her woman's core as her body stirred. “Oh... Oh...” she added helplessly, and he laughed, bending his head to lick at the source of that scent. He amused himself this way for several moments, liking that his wife's cries were the first music of the morning that he heard. He pulled his head away at last and looked down at her, his eyes a warm spring green in the early-summer sunlight. “The story of how you lost your hair...” He laughed at the absurdity of his words, as though her pubis were a man who had tumbled unawares into old age and woken suddenly with his pate as bare as his bottom. She blushed and no inexplicable bite of lust accompanied it this time, for which he was only half-glad. “Alba said... She said when she showed her husband... that he ... that he ... liked it very much, so I thought ... I thought I would try it to please you... and she said she would help me. She brought her husband's razor,” she added quickly, to assuage any possible thoughts he might have of her fingers on his possessions. His smile did not falter, and she calmed slowly, more certain now of the possibility of his continued good humour. He ran the pads of his fingers over her mound again and looked down at it, then kissed along the length and width of the soft, bare skin, which made her sob for breath as desire took it hostage. “Alba was right,” he murmured, drawing strange, erotic symbols on her flesh with his tongue. “I do like it.” Their room was soon filled with Ofelia's sobbing little cries as Javier showed her just how much he liked his wife's surprise, and when he could stand it no longer, when his own desire had become too great to bear any longer, he lifted her legs, first one and then the other, laying their lean, strong lengths over each of his powerful shoulders. He liked how she immediately moved forward, gripping his body with the backs of her knees, insistently pressing him closer. Other lovers with whom Javier had dallied in the past had had to guide him carefully into their bodies, but not Ofelia; she fit him now, as she always had. She was tight and hot inside, clinging to his pulsing shaft as though it were an extension of herself or vice-versa, and for a moment, Javier remembered another tight, wet heat that came with scraping, sharp teeth. He shoved it away and slammed his hips into her body, using her roughly, gripping her by the shoulders and driving her body down, down, down, on to him and around him. She was panting and writhing around him;

the heat of her innermost core threatened to scald him, but she begged him not to stop; in this, he knew he would obey. When she came the first time, she threw her head back and called his name in a keening cry, and he thought all was over then. Still, somehow, he reasserted control over himself and forced himself to lie still within her, watching her face as she slowly relaxed back into awareness. She moaned as she felt him shift the slightest bit, still large and hot within her, and she clenched her vaginal muscles in a secret rhythm only a woman knows, trying to return the pleasure he had gifted her. He released a breath in a sharp rush and his hips began to move again, unbidden. He swore he saw her smile, but when he focused on her face, all he saw in her eyes was the dusky glaze of satiation he had given her. Dusky ... I wonder what that man's eyes would look like if I did this to him? Would his eyes darken, like hers have? Would he beg for me to finish, would he sob for breath and clench around me when I lay, still erect, inside of him? Javier had never lain with a man, and part of his mind was screaming at him, wondering why he was thinking about it now as he lay buried in the wet sheath of his beautiful wife's body, but he couldn't help it. There had been something forbidden about the man, and while Javier was certain there was more to it than the nature of his sexual preferences, he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wanted to find out what it would feel like to kiss Keith's chest and ravage his body as he so often did to his wife. He knew it was wrong, knew it to be a sin in so many ways, the least of which being that he was spitting on the vow of marriage he had taken to be faithful to her, but something was drawing his thoughts there nonetheless. Ofelia wondered what it was Javier was thinking about. He was moving within her, and she could feel fingers of hot, slithering need crawling up into her belly again, even though she'd been sure, after the last explosion of her desire, that she could not want again for some time. Even after all these years, I have not learned there is nothing he cannot do to make me need him every moment of every day. She shook her head slightly at herself, but Javier took no notice of it; if he did, he probably thought she was helpless with pleasure, as she knew she would be a few minutes from now. She clenched in a gentle, pulsing rhythm as she noticed his eyes darkening not with desire but with something less gratifying, trying to bring him back from those thoughts. She ground against him, dragging herself closer to the arc of his body, hoping he would lay his hands

flat on the bed so that she could grind against his pelvic bone. When she moved, he did as she wished, brought back by a soft cry she was helpless to stifle as the hot, hard rock of her womanhood, standing as erect as his own member did, rubbed briefly against his coarse hair. Javier's verdant eyes widened slightly as the noise brought him back from his wrongfullyerotic wanderings, and he felt a burst of such want for the both of them that he drove deeply within Ofelia's core, thrusting and pulling out almost completely, shuddering with the waves of a building orgasm. The hard globes of his testicles, drawn up close against his flesh, were hot and tight as he came, filling Ofelia's body with his seed. She wasn't quite there yet as he came, and she uttered a short little cry of frustration, grinding against Javier's body in a desperate attempt to slake the thirst he had awoken in her. She uttered mewling little cries that came to his attention only as he slowly came down from the height of his release, and he flipped on to his back on the bed, carrying her with him before he could grow soft. She took up the lead instantly, pushing her hands flat on his chest and curling her fingers in the golden mat of hair that grew there. She thrust herself up and down on him, lying low against his body and grinding her hips against his pelvis, shuddering as she climbed higher towards a release. He jerked and shivered with remembered pleasure, and something in the gasping cries issuing forth from his throat excited her even further. When she came, she came hard, her hips slamming down against his again and again as her orgasm drove from her all the breath in her lungs. At last, still quivering, she tumbled against him, their bodies slick with sweat. For how long they lay there, she didn't know, but he was first to move, pulling her gently away and kissing her hairline with drowsy satisfaction. Despite his lethargy, however, she knew he wouldn't go back to sleep. He would want a bath and then breakfast; it was already late in the day, and he had things to do in his world that didn't concern her, a mere woman. She rolled out of bed, straightening her rumpled chemise and throwing on a thick wrapper despite the growing heat of the day before hurriedly calling for his manservant to heat water for a bath. Diego's strong, capable face warmed her with his smile as he nodded and hurried down into the kitchen to steal the maidservants' water pots as they boiled the water for tea and cooking. If Ofelia listened hard enough, she would be able to hear their little shrieks of outrage, for his theft meant that they would have to take new pots and get more water from the river. The rain-barrels, heavy cypress cisterns placed at certain intervals under the overhangs of the roof, were only to be

used for drinking water in times of emergency, and Javier had made it very clear that if any of the household staff dared take water from there under any other circumstance, they would never work in his household again, and he had warned more than once that he would see to it that they would have a hard time finding work in the city afterwards, as well. As Diego left, she hurried to the bed to comb out Javier's long, wavy hair before he bathed. She would bathe after him, but she would have her maidservant deal with her hair, to ready it for being washed. Trembling, she combed through the snarls and tangles, wary of the fact that his good mood could evaporate with any pain she might cause. “Ofelia.” Her name was a single, quiet breath, and she could read no inflection within the word at all. She stopped, afraid now despite their lovemaking. Was he angry? She couldn't tell. When he was angry, she cringed, for anger brewing in his spring-green eyes often meant pain. To be fair, sometimes he hurt her when he didn't mean to; sometimes he bit too hard, or pulled her hair too hard. He didn't know his own strength, was all, and she was a mere woman, but... Occasionally, the anger in his eyes leapt from the twin mossy pools in which it burned, and into his hands. That was when his anger meant pain, and she was afraid that someday, he would not stop. While she did not feel that she did not deserve the sometimes-harsh treatment he gave her, the notion of pain is frightening to everyone, and she was no different. She lowered the comb and wouldn't let him see her shaking. “S-si, cari?” He liked that name, he liked the way it rolled from her tongue, and if he was angry, maybe its usage would deflect some of his bad temper. Javier gave a violent start. Keith had called him that the other night, using Ofelia's favourite endearment against him in what Javier had thought at the time had been a nasty little trick. Of course, his rational mind had later reasserted itself, insisting that there was no way Keith would have known her fondness for the word, and his use of it had been no more than coincidence. Calm down, you idiot, he snapped at himself. But he couldn't help feeling oddly guilty. His plans for the daylight hours were nothing more than his usual mundane tasks; he planned on a visit to the family stables to check on the mares he was breeding, and to meet a couple of the ostlers in town to see if they had any more information on an Abbey some miles north of the town that bred beautiful Arabians. He wanted one as a present for Ofelia; she loved to ride, and despite their often-strained relationship, he loved his wife very deeply.

But he also knew where his travels would take him when the sun dropped below the horizon tonight. In the cover of night, when most people were sitting down to their tables of groaning food rather than watching the streets, he was going to find that man - Keith D'Ameron, he'd said his name was and .... And he didn't know what would happen after that, but if the first few minutes of their meetings before now were any indication, he was either going to kill the man or.... Or cheat on my wife. The thought hit him hard, and he drew himself up, resolute that he would not do so, that he would not risk word getting back to Ofelia and tarnishing her reputation. She'd done nothing to deserve the things that heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d done to her over the years, and though he knew he often took out his frustrations on his wife, and furthermore that such behavior was considered normal here in their town, he also knew somewhere, deep inside, that she deserved better. He always made promises to himself that it would stop, that he would learn to control his signature temper, but somehow, once his hackles were raised, the promise was forgotten, and it was fists that flew forth from him, rather than apologies. He drew her against him now with all the care that he could muster, and kissed her forehead softly. He was not a gentle man, and therein laid the truth of it. Javier was a rough, wild, passionate soul who longed to be free to do as he would; rules were there to be followed only after one had ascertained which ones could be broken without death as their consequence! Rules were mere guidelines to Javier Estas, and they always had been, so when he'd been forced to marry Ofelia when it had come to light that he had impregnated her, he'd found he was no longer free to do as he chose. Each day had to be spent in making sure his household had enough funds to continue its comfortable existence, and each night had to be spent making sure his wife was safe and comfortable. Before he'd married her, Javier had been free to come and go as he had chosen; he had only been required to make the amount of money needed to sustain his own habits, rather than that of eight or nine, most of them servants. He had been able to relinquish Ofelia to the protection of her family at the end of the day, and, if he so chose, as he had more than once, he could seek pleasure in another woman's arms the next night, or even the same one.

But now? Now she looks at me with those huge dark eyes and I feel resentment burning alongside all of the other feelings for her. Javier still lusted after her; his physical feelings towards his wife had not changed, even though some gossip-mongers had said it would after the ceremony had come to its close. They'd said he would return to his womanising ways, and he hadn't, though he would never be sure whether he hadn't in the beginning because they'd said he would, or whether he truly had changed. Now, he supposed, it was just habit. Divorce was unheard of here, even though he was fairly sure that he remembered reading about how it was done in places beyond Seville. The Church forbid it, of course, called it a moral sin as terrible as killing a man, even though some of his gambling friends often joked that the priests were being hypocrites when they put it that way. “They tell us that to kill our fellow man is a sin,” Juan Miguel Rodrigo had said recently, grinning as he lifted his glass to his friends seated around the table, “But then they tell us that we have to stay married until we die. I think the Church is siding with the women these days -- men can't kill each other, but women can get their hooks in us and nag us to death, and it's only a sin if we try to save our skins!” Everyone had laughed except Javier, who had felt at the time that it was all too true. He sighed and kissed Ofelia again, having found no answers in his ruminations. “I love you, cara,” he murmured, his breath warm against her face as Diego entered the room, bearing two heavy buckets of hot water under both beefy arms. He smiled at the sight of the master and mistress together; he'd always thought they were sweet together, and he'd always had a soft spot for little Ofelia, though it was worth his job - and possibly his manhood, depending on the master's mood - to keep that sort of thing to himself. So he said nothing, and moved into the bathing chamber, filling the heavy copper bathtub with the hot water he'd brought, thankful the cauldrons had been large enough so that he didn't have to lug them up a second time. He would, though; he knew he would, even though he didn't have to, for he didn't think it was quite fair for Ofelia to have to bathe in tepid water just because she was a woman. The master had never said two words against this practice, even if it was considered wasting water, and had always accepted his argument that most of the water used in Javier's ablutions ended up in Javier's hair, and stayed there. He bowed his head to his master as the man rose, glorious in his nakedness even to a man's eyes, and asked quietly if his services were required.

Javier considered it, and then shook his head. If he carried the feel of his wife's fingers on his skin with him today, perhaps it would stave off what he feared would happen come sunset tonight. â&#x20AC;&#x153;No, Ofelia will attend to me.â&#x20AC;? Ofelia nodded dutifully and went to get the rough blankets that served as towels from her maidservant, who was hovering outside the door. She shooed the girl away, knowing that she was waiting anxiously for the return of her cooking pots, and suggested quietly that if she had nothing else to do, she could perhaps set out the master's clothing for the day so that he wouldn't have to dock her pay to cover for the money he would waste on being made to wait for his garments. Javier was watching her with amusement when she came back in, her arms full of several old, clean blankets. He followed her into the bathing chamber and used the chamber pot, located at Ofelia's insistence in this room rather than the bedroom where it more commonly resided, as she added salts and oils to the steaming water in the copper tub and rubbed soap into a rough scrap of horsehair cloth. She winced at the pungent aroma that rose from the surface of the elimination basin, and reminded herself to insist that Iglesia clean it more often than once a day. It was one thing on which Ofelia prided herself in her marriage to Javier; she kept an uncommonly clean house, and while she was not above joining in to help the laundress with the wash, or the kitchen maids with the sweeping or washing up after cooking, she still understood that servants performed a duty, and in this, they were beholden to her. She had learned from her husband and from her brothers that a woman's place was within the home, so where the upkeep of the house was concerned, her word was law. She sometimes thought that Javier indulged her wishes in these areas more out of a desire to avoid wasting his time on such matters than out of any particular deference to her, but the results were the same. As she bathed his lean, strong body, she asked him quiet questions about what he was going to do today. By the way he answered, she deduced that he had some sort of surprise for her, though the fiery pits of hell the clergy warned about could never drag the knowledge from her. He was always so childlike when he gave her presents, and he adored surprising her. She knew he would be crushed if he thought she suspected anything, so when he avoided her questions, she went on to other subjects, running down her carefully-ordered mental list of necessaries they were low on in the house.

The maids or she herself did the shopping, but he took care of the financial side of things, and Ofelia had always been under the impression that it was impossible to budget a household if one did not know its expenses. It bored him, and she knew it and she suspected sometimes that he wished she could take the reins completely, but it was unheard of in their town for a woman to deal with monetary matters unless she were a widow, and even then, Ofelia knew that, most of the time, a male relative ended up stepping in. Money was part of the world outside of her home's front stoop, and women were not welcome there. Javier leaned over, wrapping his arms around his knees in the sudsy water as Ofelia scrubbed his back with a rough cloth. He released a soft grunt of pleasure, but didn't say anything to her, his mind full of the sweet Arabian he was going to bring home to her tomorrow night. Tomorrow night. Could he even think that far? He tried to shove the thoughts of Keith away, tried to forget the effect his dusky eyes and hellfire lips had had on his body. He knew why Keith had laughed when he'd tried to hide behind the pretense of any sexual act between them being considered a mortal sin; everyone in the town knew of his hatred for the Church, and he could name, though their worst torture devices could never drag the information from him, a dozen others in the town who felt as he did. He froze suddenly, so abruptly, in fact, that Ofelia jerked and asked him what the matter was. He waved her concern away and tried to relax as he felt her slowly return to washing his back, but his mind whirled. How could Keith know? He was certain the man hadn't been in the town for more than a few hours before they'd met because one of his neighbours had stopped him in the street on his way home the night before and had praised his skill against 'the newcomer' and their conversation had wandered on to the topic of the great house D'Ameron had rented at the edge of town. I was sure the place was still empty just the morning before we dueled. How did I miss an entire household coming into town? Maybe it is just the yellowed eyed one and him, but even that is strange. As for the matter of learning about Javierâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s personal affront for the Church, Javier supposed the man could have been wandering around, listening to gossip, but the gossip mongerers only talked about Javier's particular feelings for the clergy after the Church issued a demand for answers, as it had some years back when someone had mysteriously entered the local cathedral

after hours and let loose doves and a pair of Imperial Eagles that same personage had captured on an illegal hunt on the grounds to the south of the city, in the wetlands. The memory of the mess and utter chaos he'd caused to be found the next day made him smile briefly; he'd been highly amused to find that everyone in town knew he had done it and yet no charges had been brought against him. There was no proof, and he'd known that as well as they had, and the hours that had been spent trying to capture the fierce birds, and the days wasted on cleaning the gory massacre those same majestic birds had made of the doves had been time taken away from spreading their cancerous word, and, to Javier, that was worth an eternity in Hell. The respite from his thoughts was brief; they soon skittered back to the impossibility of the man. Javier had not done anything so flagrant as to attract the wagging tongues of the locals in a while, other than the duel. Well, I suppose he could have asked more about me -- he certainly seemed interested enough in me! Interested. Was that the strongest word he could find to describe the situation? Did it even begin to describe the searing kisses and the blatantly sexual things he'd done with Javier's body before Javier's sense had reasserted itself? He knew it didn't, and he shook his head. “Javi?” Ofelia asked softly. “Cari, what is the matter?” He smiled faintly, reaching back and patting her hand with his. “Nothing, Ofelia,” he replied gruffly, but she didn't flinch because she could hear the smile in his voice. Javi, he thought. She hasn't called me that since before we were married. And that struck on the other matter buzzing in his mind; the matter of his lack of fidelity to his wife. Even if nothing happened tonight, even if all they did was drink a glass or two of sherry and talk about banalities, Javier knew that there would always have been the possibility of something more. If there was another man to whom Ofelia was attracted, and he had to bite down on a sudden surge of hypocritical jealousy as it rose in his throat at the very thought, then even if nothing more than a few pleasantries were ever exchanged between them, Javier would have called on them both as adulterers, and he knew it. He also knew he would probably kill them both, Ofelia for daring to dally with another man, and the man for making a fool out of him and taking what was his! But how, then, could he go willingly into the jaws of temptation?

Because I am not tempted, he told himself firmly. I am not tempted by this man who knows things he should not, and does things no true man would ever do to another ... It was not a moral or religious ground on which he rejected the behavior, however, it was that it was new, and different, and though Javier was probably the last person on earth who should reject something because it had not occurred before, he was still human. He scowled at his thoughts. I am not tempted. Oh, yes, you are. The irritating voice, which always seemed to know better what he was thinking than he did, murmured the words smugly in his mind. He tempts you even more than she does, and that's what really bothers you, isn't it? All this time, the only thing that's kept you in her bed and not in someone else's is that Ofelia can still make you see stars when you bury your prick in her. And now, HE makes you see stars when he sucks on you, and the constellations you see before your eyes are much brighter than anything she could create. He sighed as Ofelia toweled him dry, and took one of the blankets from her, scrubbing at the thick, wet mass of his hair. When he took the fabric away, it was sodden, and his hair was a wild mass of tangles that stuck out in all directions. Ofelia put her hand to her mouth, trying desperately to stifle a giggle; sometimes, Javier didn't mind being the source of someone's amusement, but most of the time, he objected, and usually with his fists. He glanced up at the sound, and several panicked heartbeats elapsed between the emergence of a fond smile on his face and a self-conscious rising of his hands to try and smooth down the offending curls. Ofelia relaxed slowly, but as hypersensitive to his changing moods as she was, his silence was strange. Something had caught his attention, and she guessed it wasn't the contents of the surprise she'd earlier suspected he had coming for her, for that would leave him in a pleasant mood, and though he was not angry, his mood was decidedly sour. Melancholy. The word struck her suddenly. He seems... melancholy, as though he has lost a friend. But how could that be? Even sheltered within the home as she was, even though she had not seen her husband since the noon meal she'd taken with him more than three days ago, she would have heard if there had been an accident resulting in a fatality. A death was a large event in their town, whether the deceased was of the nobility or not. It drew people in for reasons they could not explain, reasons Ofelia herself suspected had to do with coming face-to-face with the notion that no one was truly immortal. Humanity, she believed, shunned all thought of death and

put such things as the indignities of dying out of their mind because to focus on such a calamity their every living moment would drive them mad. It was why Ofelia believed that funerals were not so much a function at which a community came together to mourn the person who had passed, but that they were instead a way for the living to press together and reassure themselves, embracing the comfortable notion of there being more safety in numbers, that their own lives were not in jeopardy, and they could then forget, once more, that Death lurked watchfully in every corner. She had never shared any of these thoughts with anyone; she was a woman, and such intellectual activities as pondering the ways of men were better left to scholars, not ignorant housewives. Reminding herself of this now, she shook the thoughts away and helped him with his hair, combing through the snarls until his curls and waves fanned beautifully over his shoulders instead of up from his scalp at acute angles. It was a quiet, peaceful task, and it seemed to soothe them both for a time. At last, she set the brush down on her own dressing table and knelt at his feet, putting her head in his lap as Diego knocked lightly on the door. “Si?” Javier glanced up, but his fingers threaded themselves through Ofelia's hair, and he didn't force her to move away. Diego entered and dipped his head to his master. “If you are done with the bath, Don, I will take it out... Doña, are you bathing?” He flicked his eyes to Ofelia, who opened hers only long enough to meet his as she nodded. “Si, por favor, Diego. Gracias.” “De nada, Doña, de nada.” He smiled at her and dragged the copper bathing tub, its contents sloshing noisily inside, out into the hall. He would take it out through the servants' quarters and into the backyard, where he would pour out the filthy water and then carry the emptied tub back upstairs to be filled with clean, hot water. Ofelia remembered that her family's servants hadn't been either so strong or so accommodating; she had always bathed in the kitchen by the great cooking fire, in water used first by her father, and then her brothers and mother, in that order. Diego was good to them, but she knew better than to praise him in front of her husband. She'd done so once after he'd been particularly kind, innocent of Javier's jealousy, and had nearly gotten the man killed. So she remained quiet, determined to thank him once Javier had left for the

day, and allowed her husband's fingers to continue winding through her hair. It seemed to comfort him, and it certainly soothed her. “What will you do today, cari?” It was an innocent question, she supposed, and maybe it would get his mind off whatever was bothering him so. But, as usual, it had the opposite effect. He shook his head and pushed her away. “Get ready to bathe. I'll be back late tonight. I'm taking supper with a friend's brother that just arrived in the city. I'm going to show him around, so he can see if he likes it here.” He didn't need to explain himself, but the words kept coming. Your tongue is feeling guilty, even if your cock isn't, sneered the caustic voice in his head. “Don't wait up for me. I'll be late, so I'll try to be quiet when I come in.” Ofelia swallowed and nodded, risking a look at his face. Her dark eyes met his, and he seemed to read some agitation in them, for he pulled her roughly close, all but knocking her off her feet. “Stop worrying,” he rebuked her, hugging her tightly and then letting her go. “You always worry too much. You crowd me with your worry.” It's because I love you, Javier, she cried silently, but merely hung her head and said nothing as he crossed to the threshold and leaned out, roaring for Iglesia to come attend to her lady. Diego came first, bearing the heavy buckets of water, and Javier let him pass even as he moved to the bed and began pulling on the clothes laid out for him. Diego handed the empty pots to one slim maid, and then moved over to help Javier with his vestments. Ofelia didn't rise from her tucked-up seat on the floor until he was gone, however, and the last thing Javier saw as he, too, exited the room was his wife's sable hair tumbling over her breasts.

Chapter Five He's driven you mad already? And here I thought you'd at least reach four hundred before I had to lock you away. “Be silent, Amaroq,” Keith replied distractedly, pacing back and forth on the thick rug in the sitting room where he'd spent the day hiding from the sun behind the great swaths of velvet that served as curtains for the bay window which overlooked the street. All day long, he'd heard the comings and goings of the townspeople, and never before had he felt so trapped. Keith had spent daylight hours within bustling cities before, but never one that contained the one man whose movements he was desperate to track. All day, he had been unable to rest, captivated by the thought that Javier might come, or even that he would pass by on the street in pursuit of some errand or another. Amaroq covered his eyes with one great paw. You're obsessed and it's not even over someone worthy. Now, that duke in England? HE was interesting.... and that servant girl of his, with those green eyes? I would gladly have made puppies with her. “The servant girl with the green eyes,” Keith repeated uncomprehendingly. “That is not the most outstanding of descriptions. Do you know how many servants I have seen with green eyes?” And long auburn hair, down past her back? So straight and soft.... She looked like a Celt, but she spoke such pretty French... And she really liked dogs. Amaroq flopped onto the rug by the fireplace with a wistful sigh. You just have no taste. Keith glanced at him and then started as he placed Amaroq's description. “Oh, yes! Yes, of course I remember Margaret. She was a beautiful woman; that you did not charm her to your den is a sin,” he commiserated, laughing. Amaroq lifted his head, growling at the sight of mirth dancing in Keith’s eyes. Stop teasing me, or I'll find your love interest and bring him home to you. “And how is that a threat that would leave me cowering?” Keith reclined in the great chair by the fire, watching his wolven companion with interest piqued more by the mention, he had to admit, of Javier's possible appearance than by Amaroq's countenance.

It was the wolf's turn to look smug. I didn't mention in how many pieces he'd be when I brought him to you, did I? He leapt to his feet as Keith jerked up from his chair and chased him with the book he'd been attempting to read that morning. Finally, having chased Amaroq up into one of the third story rooms, where he would hear his nails clicking on the marble if he came back again, Keith returned to the front room and settled by the fire, trying to return his attention to something -- anything! - more productive than wondering if he would ever see Javier again. He wandered the room, wondering if he dared to open the heavy velvet curtains to study the street outside, and knew he did not. He paced the length of the room until he heard Amaroq's claws clicking on the marble as he'd known they would. Dusk is come, and I'm hungry. Can I pass you unmolested, or will you chase me with bad literature again? “Thomas Malory's works can hardly be considered bad literature,” Keith replied, wondering why he was offended that a wolf found his taste in reading materials less-than-desirable. “The man was a criminal and a rapist. Why should you waste your time with his work? Or is it because you're identifying with him?” Javier leaned against the open doorway, warily regarding Amaroq even as he spoke to Keith, who jerked and stared at him in surprise. He had come. He's here, he came! Why has he come? Is he armed? Yes; why did he come? I need him. Does he want me? Keith cleared his throat and rose, slowly approaching the younger man who leaned so casually against the wall. He was as beautiful as Keith remembered, though he knew the passage of a single day couldn't be responsible for more change than, perhaps, a lessening or increasing of weariness around the eyes. But it didn't feel as though it had only been a day since he'd seen the boy last. “Amaroq, go. Leave us for a while.” Gladly. I want to be able to eat tonight and every night. Why can't you have better taste in men? Keith scowled, and Javier noted how fierce the man could look when he wanted to. The sight of that ferocity had a fair amount of effect on him, and he was glad he hadn't belted his tunic so that the fabric was lifted to display his groin, as was the custom. “When I want your opinion on my choice of lovers, I'll ask for it. Out.”

Javier scowled, both at the idea of the man so casually insisting they were lovers already without first consulting him and at the fact that he'd spoken to a dog as if the thing could speak to him. I can speak to him. I can speak to you, too, but you're not worth my time. Amaroq sat on his haunches and regarded Javier coolly with an expression of arrogance more befitting a feline than a wolf. “Dios!” Javier swore, backing up fast as Amaroq rose and padded towards him, his tongue lolling out. “Get this thing away from me!” Mmm, you've been lying with that wife of yours. Maybe I'll go and visit her for a while. Think she'd like lying with a real man after having put up with you? Even if she sees this shape, lying with an animal is still a step up from lying with you. “Amaroq!” Keith thundered, advancing on the animal. “Get out, and do it now before I decide you won't come back!” The wolf shot his master a startled look, as though it understood. Javier supposed, though, if it could talk, it could probably understand, and when Keith took another menacing step towards it, it fled. Javier leaned back against the wall, eyes wide. “What in God's name are you?” He demanded at last, when he felt his voice could support words without reverting to the trembling tones of a boy. “You... That ... thing, you can hear that thing - that's not a dog, is it?” Keith shook his head, amused. “No, and I daresay he'd bite you if you called him one. Amaroq is a werewolf. Man and wolf in one. In my language, I know him as le loup-garou, but in your language, I think he is known as el hombre lobo.” Javier nodded. “The man-wolf. I thought the stories said they could only change during full moons...” He let the words trail off. Why am I discussing this? This is madness! There's no such thing as talking dogs or men who can change their shapes! I must be dreaming; if I open my eyes, maybe I'll be at home, and Ofelia will be looking at me... He shut his eyes tightly and then opened them again, but the elegant sight that had met them before had not melted away during the seconds of blindness he had imposed upon himself. The fire still crackled merrily in the hearth and the thick stone walls were still adorned with their rich tapestries. The marble floor was still cold beneath the thin soles of his soft boots - and the man was still watching him. There was amusement in his twilight eyes, though he said nothing and did not move from his spot near the

fire. Javier looked away uncomfortably from the direct gaze, and then forced himself to look back immediately, defiant. Keith's eyes crinkled as a smile touched his lips. He was careful not to show his fangs - one supernatural event at a time, he supposed, or he might break the boy, but he couldn't help his mirth. “The world is full of strange things, my boy. You know, when I was younger than you, they still believed the world to be flat.” Javier snorted. “People still do. People are stupid.” Keith laughed. “Only as a group. Alone, they can be quite interesting, so long as they are ... stimulated correctly.” He watched for a reaction to his carefully-chosen word, and got the one for which he'd been looking. Javier's lips parted the slightest bit and he shifted uncomfortably, looking away for another brief moment before his snapping green eyes returned to Keith's features. “Stop baiting me!” He growled, pressing back against the wall. “I am a married man, and you are a ... a ... cheat,” he finished, somewhat lamely. Keith threw back his head and laughed, not caring now what the boy saw. “I?” He demanded incredulously. “Who won most of a man's savings before that same man retired for the night? Who insisted on continuing the trick, to gain more wealth from the others who stayed even after the first person left? You are calling me a cheater?” “If they don't want to lose money, they shouldn't play the game,” Javier replied roughly. He hadn't seen Keith's fangs; he'd been too busy trying to control his temper. “That should be a piece of advice you should give yourself, rather than cheating like mad to gain money you don't deserve,” Keith purred, stepping away from the fire and heading towards the boy in the doorway. “Only when you admit that you couldn't have won that duel without cheating like you did!” Javier shot back, all-too-aware of Keith's increasing proximity. “I would have cut your head off and mounted it on a pike that night if not for your dirty trick!” “One good turn deserves another,” Keith replied, enjoying the younger man's discomfort at his closeness. “I was simply showing you what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone else's deceptions...” Javier's features closed, and his eyes became cold and hard. “I know what it feels like, Frenchman.”

61 Keith sighed. “Back to that again, are we? Call me by name, please, Javier. And if you know what it feels like, why do you do it?” “Winning some money from a man too stupid to see he's being cheated is not the worst sin I could think of. Cheating on a duel and almost killing a man in doing so is worse. So is seducing him away from his wife.” Keith watched him with hooded eyes. “You would have killed me for speaking the truth. How is defending my life against your wrongly-drawn blade a sin? And have you never before been tempted away from your wife's arms? You'll lie if you say no, though I do believe it's sheer stubbornness that kept you near instead of some moral obligation. They said you'd stray, so you won't, just to prove them wrong.” Javier grunted, unable to say anything against Keith's words. Hadn't he been thinking about that very same notion this morning? He looked up, about to say something anyway, and found Keith standing there, mere inches from him. The words stuck in his throat and froze there as he stared up, aware for the second time that, for a Frenchman, he was tall. Javier was taller than most of his compatriots, who stood, if they were lucky, half a foot above their wives, but Keith held at least four inches' worth of height over Javier, which meant he had to be at least as tall as that Plantagenet monarch he'd read about in England. One of the Edwards, he thought, and then shook his musings off and pushed at Keith's chest, having nowhere to backpedal because of the wall's cold countenance behind him. “Get away from me,” he demanded. When Keith didn't answer or back off, Javier's unease grew, and he pushed again, but it was as fruitless an endevour to try and knock him over as it was to try and move the wall behind him with his bare hands. He doesn't look solid, but it's like he's made of granite! Why won't he move?! It was then that Keith did move, and Javier glanced up from his perusal of his own hands on Keith's chest just in time to watch Keith's lips descend to his. For a wild moment, Javier fought, struggling against the diamond-hard grasp of the Frenchman, but Keith's only response was to deepen the kiss and draw Javier closer against his body. Keith's strength was not visible to the naked eye, Javier found; his hands and arms were lean and thin, and his fingers and their movements were graceful to the point of displaying a slight effeminacy, but their grips were powerful. He wasn't as broad across the shoulders as Javier was, but there was more strength in

his chest and back than Javier had ever felt in anyone, even the weapons-master who had taught him swordplay so many summers ago. And no matter what he did, Javier could not budge him. For a moment, he knew paralyzing fear, the likes of which a woman who is about to be raped must feel, and he was further horrified by the notion which next occurred to him. He didn't really mind. His body was yearning for more of Keith's hot kisses, and the older man seemed to know this, as he slid his lips downwards, across the freshly shaven expanse of Javier's jawline. Diego had done the job himself just before his master had left for the day. His hands ran smoothly with the grain of hair and then against it, and the exquisite wonder of the softness of Keith’s hands against the rough-smooth grain of his cheeks very nearly drove Javier mad. He leaned into Keith's embrace helplessly, opening his eyes only once. Once is usually enough, and this time was no exception. Keith's hair had come free of the ribbon he'd used to tie its wealth back behind his neck, and a few locks tumbled freely over his shoulder, burning darkly in the firelight, and suddenly, the view brought to mind the last image Javier had of his wife, of her sable hair tumbling freely over her damp breasts as her maidservant scrubbed the sweat of the sex he and Ofelia had shared from her naked body. He jerked and shoved at Keith, later coming to the realisation that he only managed to move him then because he'd caught him by surprise. Keith staggered back, his eyes opening wide, and caught himself before he could fall. For a moment, he stared, and then he shook his head, seemingly angry. But when he spoke, his voice was quiet and filled only with regret. “Why do you deny yourself, Javier?” Still, he could not - would not, Javier insisted - pronounce his name correctly. That accent of his was always making it three syllables instead of two. The infuriating sound of it gave Javier’s skittering nerves something to which they could cling. “I deny myself nothing!” He flared angrily, shoving at him again, but Keith had stepped back out of range and he stumbled forward. Strong arms caught him and he looked up only to be sucked into the midnight pools of Keith's eyes. They were beautiful to behold; the pupils were black raindrops in an endless sea of dusky blue etched with light silver that reflected the firelight back in rainbows. Javier's lips parted as he stared into them, lost as so many others had been before him, and then the moment was gone as Keith angrily turned away.

So many others, yes, but Javier was more than that, more than they had ever been to him, and he couldn't even voice why he believed that to be true. There was ... something. Something about this golden-haired, fiercely-angry wild man, and it was something that Keith could not ignore. Keith understood that the man was married, and that he -- to his credit! â&#x20AC;&#x201C; believed himself to have a commitment to his wife that went beyond making sure she was safely tucked into bed at night and had ample foodstuffs in the house to break her fast in the morning, but ... But what? My desires are pulling apart a family, a family already made angry and ragged by the loss of their child or children, and what have I to show for it? No remorse; no, for if I regretted my actions so much, I would leave this place and try to forget the golden man before me... but I will not do that. I cannot do that. He watched Javier, who stood scowling at him for a moment more, and then stalked out, slamming the door of the palatial home behind him as he did. Keith stared after the boy, inhaling the last vestiges of his scent as they drifted away on the air, listening to the fading thrum of his heartbeat as it passed even from his far-reaching hearing. I will have you as my own, Javier. Even if I have to wait until your lady is slow with age, I shall have you. Only once had he made a fledgling of another human, and his brother had hated him for it for the last three hundred years. He had never dared again. But if that was what it took, if Javier would not consent to be his before he had laid his wife in the ground and given her soul to whatever god there was, then he would bring Javier across the veil which separated Keith's own soul from the thrumming commotion of human life, and he would wait for him. He would wait forever if he had to. Mark my words, Javier Alvares Estas. You will be mine, even if I have to do the unthinkable.

Chapter Six Javier curled into a chair by the fire, sucking heavily on the end of a cigarillo. It was an expensive little thing, but it tasted good, and the smoke burned his throat and lungs in a way that made him think it was smothering all of his anger and outrage. That... that man, how dare he think he could just coerce Javier into doing whatever vile act he pleased? If there would ever be anything between them, it would be on his terms, not on those of some cheating Frenchman's, who thought he owned the world because he had a pair of pretty eyes. He sucked on the cigarillo until the last of it had burned, and then he flicked the nub into the growing pile on the table. He'd probably smoked enough of them tonight to equal the price of a good mare, but he hadn't felt calm enough to leave until now. Never mind that I’ve been here since leaving Keith’s. When he glanced out one of the smoky windows, he saw that true dark had fallen, and he could only guess at the hour because the serving maids were running themselves ragged, trying to serve their hungry patrons the evening meal. This was the one tapas house in the city that also served a full dinner, and while Javier himself knew few people who would give their cooks a night off and go to a place of business for a meal rather than a friend's, there were enough travelers and peddlers here to send the wenches scurrying. From everywhere around him came shouts for more wine or more meat; heavily laden trays passed within inches of Javier's head as serving boys struggled under their load. Despite his marked lack of appetite, Javier briefly considered getting himself something to eat. He hadn’t had much more than a few bites to break his fast this morning, and had wanted nothing else all day, which was not usually the case for him, but he chalked it up to nothing more than his moodiness over Keith. I should eat, though – perhaps I should go home for supper. All thoughts of food fled from his mind, however, at the sight of the man who had entered through the side door. This was a rude entrance, made for servants bringing deliveries so that the heavy casks of wine or rolls of cheese would be more swiftly stored in the cool cellars that ran beneath the establishment's entirety. But sometimes patrons used it, too, usually ones that were too drunk to find their way to the front of the house before slumping into an intoxicated stupor.

The man who had just slipped in through the doorway in question was hardly drunk, though his cheeks were flushed with heat that might indicate his having imbibed more than he should have. Javier scowled and looked away, lighting another cigarillo from the taper which burned nearby. He was almost out of tobacco, he noticed abstractedly. He would have to send Ofelia to buy more. He knew she liked the scent of it, and so he often sent her after his little vices, even though she didn't smoke herself. “What do you want?” he asked, trying to affect an air of complete disinterest as he turned and released the words on a drift of smoke aimed right at Keith. Their height difference was such that it did not have the desired effect of clouding into his face, but the message was clear enough. Keith's expression did not change as he spoke. “May I sit?” Javier moved his feet from the rough-hewn bench wordlessly and settled more comfortably, still clutching to maintain his indifference and finding it was much harder to do so with the man at such close range. Once the man had settled, there fell a moment of silence between them that seemed even louder than the din of the customers and workers around them. Keith winced slightly at the crash of a platter being dropped nearby, but offered no complaint. He had to meet on Javier's terms, had to bend, for now, to Javier's will, and that apparently meant surrounding himself with the racing heartbeats and raucous behaviors of men who aimed to spend the next few hours saturating their blood with as much alcohol as possible. Javier permitted himself a faint smile at the obvious discomfort the setting caused in the man; the night they'd met, the place had been fairly quiet, and judging by the seclusion of that house of his, Keith D'Ameron liked his surroundings to be fairly peaceful. Considering that his 'interests' are more likely to get him beheaded than accepted, I can see why. Javier inhaled deeply, feeling the calm that only good tobacco could provide steal over him as he did, and then offered his last cigarillo, pleased when Keith declined the offer with a faint shudder. He set the box aside and stretched out comfortably again, testing Keith's tolerance for impolite behavior as he got comfortable, his feet less than four inches from Keith's thighs. “So. You never answered my question.” “I want to talk to you... Just ... to talk. Nothing more. Perhaps you would take supper with me, if you have not eaten yet, or we could have drinks and play some chess... I wish to get

66 to know you, Javier.” He held up his hands as he saw words of protest forming on Javier's sensual lips. “We will talk. Nothing more. I saw earlier that you had an interest in horseflesh,” he added quickly, trying to defuse the situation before it got out of control. “Those Arabians you bought are beautiful. I have some horses at my estate now - they arrived this morning with the rest of my things, - and while they are not as fine as the ones you selected for your own stables, perhaps you could point me in the right direction to begin expanding my own stables to include such fine additions?” Javier settled back, distracted by Keith's questions more than mollified, but the man obviously knew that the fastest way to get on his good side was to show interest in his business dealings. Wisely, he had gone straight for Javier's weakness. “They're a present for my wife,” he replied pointedly, annoyed when Keith didn't even flinch. “An abbey not too far from here breeds them. It's one of the only things the Church is good at, in my opinion: the breeding of animals.” Keith nodded sagely. “Whether on four feet or two, I agree with you. But they outdid themselves on that pair; will you breed them?” He was fairly sure that one of them had been female, if only because of Javier's statement. It was rare enough for a woman to ride, much less to ride a male horse, but he couldn’t imagine that the man had bought an animal just so his wife could stand and look at it. Javier shrugged his shoulders in a fetching, rolling shrug that Keith found irresistible. “I hope to. But I've noticed that mares can be as stubborn and calculating as women can sometimes. Occasionally, they just won't catch, no matter how many times the stallion covers them.” Ah, is that the true problem which lies between you and your wife? Keith wondered. Had there been a falsehood played on Javier regarding a phantom pregnancy in order to get him married off, and now, when an heir was required, there was no production of offspring? He knew nothing of human biological processes past what discoveries he had long ago made of his own body, but he was sure that somewhere in the society, eventually someone would place a stigma on a man who could not get his wife with child even if it was not the man who was at fault. And the blame would be transferred from man to woman, for a woman was easier, with her softer demeanor and gentler upbringing, to set at fault. He sighed softly, and Javier scowled. “What is the matter with you?” Keith shook his head and smiled faintly. “Nothing, Javier. Have you eaten yet?”

The man had never once bothered with the formality of his surnames, and, worse yet, obviously expected that he react in the same manner.

Javier scowled, but answered civilly

enough. “No, not yet.” He was startled to find that he was now hungry, and ravenously so. Well, at least my appetite has come back. It’s only a pity I cannot blame it on him. Keith smiled, and it was a warm, open smile for all that it showed very little of his teeth. “Good. I have an excellent cook, and I'm sure she would be more than willing to accommodate us this late.” Javier laughed. “Your chef isn't Spanish, is she?” Keith looked puzzled, but shook his head. “No, she comes from my homeland, in France. Why?” Javier coughed laughter and fading tobacco smoke as he rose, tossing a few coins in the direction of the nearest barmaid. “Because a Spanish cook would know that the dinner hour extends until midnight or later; my wife is probably just sitting down to dinner.” He pushed thoughts of Ofelia away fiercely; despite the man's promise that nothing would happen between them save a friendly game of gentleman's chess, he didn't really trust his own body, much less Keith's words, and he didn't need Ofelia's features making him feel guilty for something he hadn’t even done. Yet. Irritated with himself, he pushed past Keith and led him out into the dark. A warm summer's night had descended upon the city in its full splendour, and though the streets were light on passersby because of the time of night, the city still retained a vibrancy to it that had always thrilled Javier. Feeling carefree laughter bubble up inside of him, he darted to an apple tree heavy with fruit and snagged two off the branches, biting deeply into one and spitting the sour skin into the soil in which the tree grew before returning to Keith with the other. He skinned the rest of his apple and then Keith's before handing it over to the older man, who nibbled at it cautiously, knowing he couldn't swallow too much human food, or he wouldn't be fit company for anyone tonight, much less his golden Spaniard. Javier laughed exasperatedly, his good mood not deterred by Keith's formality. “No, take a great big bite, like this!” He demonstrated, closing his eyes in pleasure as the rich, sweet flesh of the fruit melted like fresh cream on his tongue, and then he turned his head and spat out the pips.

68 “Don't eat the seeds,” he instructed. “They're too bitter to chew, and I wouldn't advise just swallowing them, either. Some men believe that if you swallow them, you don't pass them, and they grow inside of you.” Keith smiled, chewing carefully and neatly extricating the small, hard seeds as he'd been told. The taste was foreign to him whose lips had not let human food pass them since well before the beginning of the Enlightened Age in which they were still living, but he did not find it as unpleasant as he'd expected. There was a rich, pungent sweetness to the fruit, and he thought it would make a very good treat for a child, and certainly it made a fine treat for the man before him, with its creamy texture and sweet flesh much akin to the women he no doubt had flocking to him at every turn. “This way,” he said, taking another careful bite of the apple and being sure to spit it out and heave the remainder of the fruit far away into the night when Javier wasn't looking. He winced as a sharp stab of pain somewhere in his abdomen reminded him why he didn't partake in mortal sustenance anymore, and waited a moment, but, thankfully, nothing more occurred. He let Javier in through the great front door and avoided any reference to the bedroom in which Javier had first woken or the library in which he had seen Keith today, taking him instead into a parlour the young Spaniard had not seen before. He pushed a chair near the fire and set to warming the room, rousing the smouldering logs from their quiet doze before calling a French name and seating himself near Javier. A glossy table built of intricately carved dark wood lay between them, and Javier briefly wondered what to say now, as he finished his apple, noting with approval that Keith's had already disappeared. A very pretty young woman came in through the same door they had entered, and dipped a low curtsy. Keith smiled at her. “Linette, this is Javier Alvares Estas, and I ask only that you treat him with the same courtesy and respect that you would treat me while he is here. Would you be so kind as to ask Marlon to bring in the chess table, please, and move this one out of the way?” “Bien sur, monseigneur.” She dipped into another curtsy and let her eyes rove over Javier's lean, hard form appraisingly. Keith cleared his throat. “Linette, the chess table? And tell Margot I have a guest in need of something to eat, please.”

She had the grace to blush, Javier noticed, and it spread beautifully over her ivory skin. “Bien sur...” Boldly, she looked at Javier and addressed her next question to him in fine Spanish that had a delightfully musical French accent to it. “Would you like any sweet wine while you wait, my lord? Or some canapes before the meal?” He smiled at the girl, his eyes roving appreciatively over her lithe form, even encased as it was in the unflattering black silk dress she wore. It fit her figure nicely in the bodice and, Javier noted, had even required some small amount of modification in order to be closed completely across her breasts, but the skirt simply dropped to the tops of the girls scuffed shoes, without ornament or fittings to bind it more attractively to her waist. “No, senorita, I am fine for now, gracias.” He watched her go, and only Keith's chuckle brought his head whipping around again. “Linette is quite beautiful,” Keith replied innocently to Javier's scowl. “Now... Do you play chess?” Reluctantly, Javier nodded and looked into the fire. “My ... father taught me before the Church hauled him off.” And Rebekah, he thought, remembering his sister's sparkling dark eyes and ready laughter. She was always able to beat me, no matter what I did. It had been a quirk of their household that she, a mere woman, would know the ins and outs of a gentleman's game better than her brother. But I didn’t mind, he thought wistfully. And I think I would give anything to have her here so she could beat me again. Keith watched the boy through hooded eyes. Regardless of the outcome of the game, tonight he was determined he would know more about the source of sadness in Javier's eyes, and the anger that so often burned just brightly enough to hide it. He simply nodded and smiled at Marlon as he entered, bearing in his powerful arms a beautiful stone table inset with a marble chessboard. Just behind him, Linette entered, struggling with a small gold-lined case of darkly polished wood. Keith rose and took it from her with a gentle smile, and Javier observed the two openly as they interacted. He feels nothing towards her at all; he is a Master and she is a servant. I wonder if she knows that? He made a face at himself. His woolgathering was of the same pointless lines of thought that his wife's often were when she sat amongst her flittering circles of giggling female acquaintances. But he found it interesting to watch people as they went about their tasks; hadn't he always?

Just admit it; you want to watch him. You're interested in what he does or says, not her. What's the matter with you? Did your marriage to Ofelia do more than restrict your womanising ways? Did they eradicate them completely, so now you have to go looking for satisfaction in the arms of men? I don't have to go looking for satisfaction anywhere! He shot back sharply. Ofelia is what I need, who I need. I don't need anyone else, and I certainly don't need him! Then why have you been staring at him this entire time? Javier jerked his eyes away just as Keith glanced across the table and met them. The gesture, more suited to the shy, retiring nature of a young woman than a man, amused Keith greatly, and he dismissed his two servants with the first real smile they'd seen touching his austere features in some time. He opened the heavy case and presented it to Javier, allowing him to have the first pick of playing pieces. When the Spaniard chose black, Keith knew the boy was up to something; every indication of his demeanor had suggested the boy would opt to go first because he couldn't bear to wait for his turn, like a child who has not yet learned patience. Neatly, Keith set up his own moves, smiling faintly when Javier chose to open the way for his rooks to move forward before anything else. One move drew forth Keith's Queen's bishop for play; the second drew the bishop halfway across the board. Javier had drawn forth his King's knight, but its placement didn't deter Keith as he neatly slid his Queen as far into Javier's territory as it could go on the diagonal path. On his third move, he ignored the proximity of Javier's knight to his Queen, knowing the piece was in no danger, and slid the bishop he'd moved before from its place, neatly capturing the black pawn which guarded Javier's King's bishop. He smiled as he looked up from the board, as Javier scowled at the unaccustomed move. “Checkmate. Well-played.” “What in God's name was that?” Javier demanded, glaring across the expanse of the chessboard. “You play like a woman!” Keith laughed delightedly. “It is a sly trick, I admit, but it is wonderful to use against a seasoned player, expecting a long, arduous game. Would you like to learn it? It's really very simple.” Javier scowled and leaned back in his chair. “Reset the board,” he ordered instead. “And play like a man this time.”

71 Keith smiled and handed him the stolen pawn. “As you wish.” He noted, however, that Javier studied each of his moves more carefully this time, and managed to foil several of the planned moves he tried to set up. This game took more time, but three deft moves towards the end held Keith's Queen in Javier's custody and soon after, his king was surrounded in checkmate. Javier smiled smugly. “One more?” he asked, far more pleasant this time, and when Keith reset the board for a third game, he found his own pieces were soon roughly blockaded into place despite Javier's side having undertaken huge losses in the form of one of his knights and both of his bishops. Javier grinned at him, his teeth feral in the firelight. “Lose your Queen. You have no choice.” Keith surveyed the board and sat back, stroking his beardless chin in thought. “You play very well.” He allowed the loss of his Queen, moving her into the line of fire despite having had movement of his rook; he'd discarded the idea at the outset because it was an empty move and would have helped nothing. He watched Javier carefully, delighting more in trying to figure out what the boy would do next rather than planning his own counter-attack. His intensity was a pleasure to experience; the scowl deepening his features was one of utter concentration rather than anger and gave rise to more than Keith's thoughts as he considered whether or not Javier would concentrate so fiercely on everything he did. He permitted himself the barest smile but let it fade before Javier could catch it. As it turned out, studying Javier so intently lost Keith the game. He'd been paying so much attention to the last detail of Javier's features that he moved pieces without thought to the consequences, and only once his King was being steadily backed into a corner by Javier's knight did he realize where he'd gone wrong. He moved his king out of check and surveyed the board. Javier moved one of his pawns, seemingly at random, but Keith noticed that its shift now allowed one of Javier's rooks free movement to the other side of the board. His rooks useless, Keith moved one of the few pawns whose movement Javier's neat blockade didn't affect, and saw that he had blundered again. Javier neatly took possession of the pawn which had previously sat next to Keith's doomed king, and on his next move, pressed his rook into play. He took the last white pawn that blocked his rook's way and pressed check on Keith's king. “Checkmate," Javier replied smugly to Keith's surprised glance. “That should teach you not to pay attention.”

72 Keith nodded. “I know there were several things I should have done instead of the moves I made. Could you have reacted to, say, this?” He reset the board as it had been when he'd realized he'd been blockaded, and tried moving his rook instead of forcing his king into a corner. Javier responded by moving his rooks into place a few turns earlier than he had, and he'd won the game again a few minutes later. Keith shook his head, smiling. “So, I have found a game at which I can be bested without it having to end in a duel.” He looked slyly over the chessboard at Javier's expression, which scrunched into a scowl for a moment and then cleared as he laughed. “I can best you at most games,” he boasted, leaning back. “I cheat because it bores me to try.” Keith laughed, amazed at the extent of Javier's ego. “Is that so?” “Si. I thought you were going to feed me,” he deflected, switching the conversation swiftly before proof could be demanded. “Or is that how you intend on winning the next game -- by starving me?” Keith laughed and shook his head, turning to the door and calling for Linette again. She appeared moments later, as though she had been waiting just outside the parlour doors. Keith suspected that was at least half-right, though he was fairly certain that waiting had not been what she'd been doing. He knew of her particular attachment to Marlon, and recognised the brawny man's steady heartbeat as it thrummed from the darkness of the hall. She'd at least had the grace, even if Keith couldn't think of where she'd had the time, to straighten her dress before responding to his summons, and her efforts earned her a knowing smile. She did not, Keith noticed, retain quite enough propriety to blush. He raised a feathered brow. “Has Margot managed something for our hungry guest?” Javier bit his cheek to stop from laughing aloud at the girl's saucy smile as she curtsied and murmured that she would find out right away. “She should have been in the kitchen helping the cook,” he grunted, but his eyes were sparkling. “I wager she was 'helping' someone else with the fastenings of her dress instead.”

He waited to see Keith's outraged reaction to his vulgar

comment, and was slightly disappointed when one wasn't forthcoming. Instead, the older man laughed darkly, sending shivers of delight up Javier's spine. “That's a wager you'd win. She and Marlon... enjoy each other's company. I let it slide as long as it doesn't interfere with their work.”

73 “How long have they been with you?” Keith's answer was interrupted by the appearance of his rotund cook, Margot, as she bustled in bearing trays that were groaning with food. In her typical manner, she had made enough to feed forty despite Keith's specification of one guest, and she snapped orders to Linette and Marlon as the chess table vanished and a mesa more suited to the weight of her trays was put in its place. Margot was a formidable woman despite her cherubic, well-fed countenance, and if there was one matter in which she ruled absolutely, it was that which revolved around food. With practiced ease, she took an empty glass from one of the trays and twisted a cork from a wine bottle; the crystal sang sweetly as the lip of the bottle kissed its rim and a thick red liquid that Javier thought at first was a well-fermented concoction of Madeira, issued forth from the bottle. She pressed it into her master's hand with a look which brooked no argument and Javier would have laughed, except that her eyes fell to him next. She heaped his plate with the choicest cuts of meat and slathered them in the rich sauce she'd made, setting the flatware before him with a flourish more suited to a magician than a manor's chef.

“Coma, mi querube,” she cooed,

surprising Javier with the distinct Castillian accent she employed when speaking in Spanish. He smiled at her, quite taken aback, and ate better that night than he had since he'd been a boy in his mother's home. Keith did not eat, he noticed, but he did drink, even though Javier detected no growing inebriation about him. He drank throughout the meal and though Javier had his own wine, Keith did not offer of his own, which would have occurred at Javier's table had there been more than one vintage. More puzzled than outraged at this behavior, for Keith had seemed, for the most part, to be far from lacking in courtly manners, Javier simply observed, and when he was finished and the plates cleared, he rested his chin on his hands and regarded Keith with the almost-drowsy expression of pure satisfaction one wears after sating a particular desire, be it one of hunger or something more primal. The firelight framed him and set his hair alight in a cacophony of golden radiance, and Keith thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. The vampire didn't know where it was he wished to go from here -- well, that wasn't quite true, he thought. He knew where he wished to go, and it involved a great deal more than what the golden man across from him was willing to

give at the moment. He thought, perhaps, they had almost gotten somewhere during their games of chess, but right now, with the silence hanging between them like the gossamer leavings of spider-silks, Keith didn't know how to continue. Javier smiled faintly. Here, he supposed, he had the advantage. It had come to him, over supper, just what it was Keith was trying to do. True, all they had done was play gentleman's games and talk of meaningless things, but was it so different from wooing a woman, what Keith was doing? Now that the man had backed off, had given him time to think, was it so different? It was, and it wasn't. A woman's courtship was careful and sweet, the intricate dance steps that led towards a goal that ended in a soft tangle of perfumed limbs and rosebud lips, beautiful in their delicacy. The courtship of two men, he was learning, was decidedly more savage. He suspected that the lovemaking of a man would also be more animalistic, that the sharing of bodies between a man and a woman had a certain gentleness to it to protect the frailer of the pair when the two bodies clashed, even though Javier had lain with his fair share of women who did not necessarily fit that description. Some women, he thought, were like men; they were rough and wild and refused to play by the rules. He smiled faintly, and it was then that he realized he was probably more than a little drunk. How much wine had he consumed with his dinner, anyway? He couldn't remember having more than two or three cups, and usually, it took that many bottles to get him feeling as he was now. He blinked at Keith, whose eyes narrowed as if something had suddenly occurred to him. Margot. In the kitchens, Margot froze, her flour-dusted hands full of various cooking pots and implements. She gulped, and Linette, nasty child that she was, giggled behind her hands. “The Master found you out! What's he saying?” “Hush, and I might be able to hear him!” She shot back, but her voice didn't sound as sure as she would have liked to her own ears. Yes, Master? Long ago, all of the servants had learned to communicate with their master in this manner, this strange, silent way in which they could speak to only him. Margot didn't even think twice about it now. I am going to ask you a question, Margot, and I will know if you do not answer it truthfully.

S-si, Master... Of course... She swallowed reflexively, aware that Linette had fallen silent as well, her dark eyes wide on Margot's unusually-pale face. Normally, her features were florid with a combination of too much wine and too much exposure to the harsh heat of her cooking area, but to Linette's eyes, they were as pasty as the dough she spent her days rolling. Did you alter our guest's food in any way tonight, Margot? Any way that could... induce him, perhaps, to act in a behavior unlike himself? Margot swallowed. She didn't know if there was any truth behind her master's assertion that he could read the truth of her thoughts despite what she might say to the contrary, but if he could create in her this ability to do such witchcraft as carry on a quiet conversation with him when he was seated halfway across the house, she wasn't sure she wanted to wager against him. I ... added some of your blood, master, from the bottles to the left of the cellar, like you tell me to when you have guests who come for your sculptures and paintings. But you knew he was not a man who wished to buy my works, didn't you, Margot? His voice was so quiet, so damnably deadly quiet in her mind, in her head, that she wanted to scream to drown it out. The master was frightening when he got good and truly angry, for it was then that his eyes would not flash but turn flat and cold; it was then that his voice would not stretch and break in rage, but drop to an almost-whisper, until its sibilance made the listener think they had made the fatal error of stepping on a snake. She wished he would get angry as normal people did, but Keith was a quiet man, prone to silent fury. She'd learned, during her years with him, that silent fury was the worst. Out of the four of them, only Amaroq and Margot knew what lay in the casks down in the cellar; only those two knew why their household functioned during the evening hours, and the meaning behind their master's frequent forays into the dark of the night, when more sensible people locked themselves snugly into their homes. Linette and Marlon merely thought of it as another quirk of an increasingly-eccentric master and had never been disabused of the notion. They knew that their master was very intelligent and had the oddest way of knowing what it was they'd done wrong the very moment they'd done it, but like children who believed their parent was all-knowing and all-seeing, they did not question this strange cognition; they had simply turned it into a game, to see which of them could get away with what they could before the master caught them.

Margot was returned to the situation at hand by an insistent whispering of her name, and she knew it was the master, demanding an answer to his question. Startled, she struggled to remember what it had been, grateful when he aided her, and reflexively tried to swallow, coughing when the dry tissue of her throat muscles met and stuck when no moisture was forthcoming. NNo, Master, but ... He aches for you so, and I thought... I thought it would loosen him, let him free a little bit. I know it does you, when you mix a bit of sherry in with your... drinks... and ... I know what you thought, Margot. See to it that it does not happen again. And as though his presence had never wormed its way inside of her brain at all, she sensed he was no longer there and would not respond to her timid questions even if she'd had the boldness to ask them. She staggered and sat down hard on an overturned apple barrel she sometimes used for a seat when she was peeling potatoes; it groaned a little beneath her ample weight, but she paid it no mind. Even Linette didn't giggle or make a facetious remark. She looked up at the girl, who had been resting her pretty little derriere atop the listing, battered chunk of wood that served for their eating table, and pointed at a bottle of wine sitting beside her. “Give me that, she muttered, brushing a trembling hand across her soaked brow, and waved her apron at the little chit when she scrambled for a goblet. “I don't need a cup.” Startled, Linette did as she was asked, watching as Margot drained the bottle in a few deep swallows, her thick neck working overtime to bring the alcohol into her body as fast as she could possibly imbibe it. “What did he say? What did he say? Is he angry?” Margot wiped a beefy hand across her face, her mouth stained with a purplish blush only a few shades deeper than the substance which crossed the master's lips that very moment in the parlour across the house, and uttered a shuddering laugh. “Si, si, he's angry. But our master, he's kind. Don't make him angry, pequeña. Don't ever make him angry. He's kind, but those words, they're worth your life.” In the parlour, silence had descended between the two men while, unbeknownst to Javier, Keith reprimanded his overbearing cook. Had he been made aware of the conversation between them, he might have been amused at Keith’s protective attitude towards the matter of his virtue – or perhaps irritated by the thought that Keith had considered Margot’s interference as some gross insult against his own ability to woo Javier into the situation he desired. But Javier knew nothing of the exchange; his thoughts made dreamy by the effect of some small amount of Keith’s blood

added to his wine, he was content to consider the situation in a quiet, pensive manner which made him seem more like Keith than himself. Where do we go from here? Javier wondered, watching Keith's expressions change in minute ways that seemed oddly fascinating to him. He supposed it was because he was drunk, but as he recalled, he was loud and jovial when he was inebriated. This ... He felt detached somehow, as though he knew on some level that the world was rushing past and he was content just to watch it happen. He was not the type of man to curl calmly into a chair and stare pensively into the flames; he only did that, he thought, when there was a problem he was trying to solve, and what problems did he have, just now? He was warm and well-fed, he had good company and ... He shook his head.

Keith was watching him. Should he say something? Had Keith said

something? He drew in a quick breath as Keith drew near, but even the sudden presence of the older man looming in front of him where before a table's length or more had separated them didn't rouse him from his comfortable languor. His eyes met Keith's, and though they were not vapid with drink, his state of consciousness was still altered, and Keith was not pleased. On some level, Javier knew this, and his hands seemed to have an idea of what to do to change the situation; he watched them rise from his sides and curl in the fabric of Keith's doublet, forcing the taller man to effect a lame, old man's stoop as he bent over the young Spaniard in the chair. His eyes are quite beautiful, Javier thought distractedly, trying to watch the dusky pools and the movements of his own fingers at the same time. They're like pools of midnight sky... He was not a man who watched for a poetic way to describe the feats of nature that he found pleasing, and even now, he had no plans to start. Something about them just drags me in... I wonder what he's thinking? I wonder what I'm thinking? What am I doing? I don't want him... do I? Why does he call to me? What is it in those eyes that calls to me? There's something about him, something I should know... but what is it? Javier's hands tightened on the bunched cloth they held, and the distance was closed between them more abruptly than either had intended as Keithâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s balance deserted him. His hands fell heavily on Javier's shoulders, his white, thin fingers gripping for bearing as he tried to right himself, and it was then that Javier turned his head and pressed his lips to Keith's. It was the first

willing kiss he'd given the man in the days since they had met, and somewhere inside of him, Javier questioned why he was giving in now. The wine, he thought hazily. It has to be the wine... but I want to.... I don't want to stop... There came no thoughts of Ofelia now, no resistance to the lust he'd buried within himself from the moment he'd woken to find Keith watching over him in the great soft bed. He wanted, very suddenly, to be lying in that bed, his body wrapped smoothly around Keith's as they tangled together in the warm embrace of the sheets. He deepened the kiss and closed his eyes. I was right, he thought blithely. It is different. Kissing a man is ... is ... He had no words to describe it, but there was a rough, animal passion to it. Keith's lips were not soft and sweet like a woman's; they were fierce and powerful and his kisses were hard and all-consuming. Javier felt as though he were drowning, and some distant part of him wondered if every woman felt like this when a man kissed them, and if that was so, he wondered why they ever wanted it to stop. It was Keith who pulled away this time; Keith who stopped the kiss from advancing hotly down from his lips to other places where he knew his tenuous self-control would not long survive. He drew away, gasping, and crossed to the edge of the table between them, only stopping there because he found he could get no further. He was trembling, he found, his body wracked with a frail, deep shivering he could not control, and he leaned against the table for support for fear that if he did not, his legs would give way beneath him. When at last he raised his head and felt he could meet Javier's eyes, he found that strange lassitude he'd spied within the green depths had finally departed, and the more-familiar anger burned within them once more. “What is your game?” Javier demanded, rising from his chair and slurring only a little. He was still drunk, Keith realized, and mentally, he damned Margot again for putting him in this position. “You lure me on and on, but when I actually respond to you, you pull away? Does a willing partner not excite you, old man?” Javier made a disgusted noise and his anger was only increased by his lack of balance. He gripped the table hard to steady himself, but the fury in his eyes did not abate. “Do you have to hold the girls down when you force yourself on them, or is that why you prefer men, whom you can ply with drink and then tie up like hogs?” That did it. Keith straightened, his eyes flashing. “You cross one line too many, you impertinent whelp!” He snarled, crossing the short distance that lay between them and taking Javier by the lace collar he wore around his throat. He wore deep black, as most Spaniards did in

this time, offset only by the thick frill of lace at the neckline, most of which Keith held tightly in his hands. “How dare you speak to me of forcing lovers when it is you who fooled around with that woman you cow with your fists and dragged her into a union neither of you want? You hide behind her even now, claiming her as your last defense against me!” he snarled, aware that he, too, had gone too far, but knowing it was too late to take it back now. “Give in to what you want, or run from it - I don't care which you do, but do something!” Javier had frozen as Keith had begun to speak, but now he flung himself towards him, magnificently angry. Keith bared his teeth, letting him see what he suspected Javier had halfknown about this entire time. He laughed and the sound of it was cold and brutal. “You think you can fight me? You think you can hurt me?” “I don't think!” Javier hissed.

“I know!”

He smashed his fist forward, and the air

shuddered with its passage, but Keith deflected most of the blow with his own hand, and squeezed. Javier gasped and tried to draw back, away from the source of the pain, but Keith's grip only tightened. Javier bared his own teeth in a horrible imitation of a smile. “Finally got you angry, did I, Frenchman? I was starting to wonder if it was actually possible.” His left hand swept up in an arc that Keith almost didn't follow in time to stop, and the two men's bodies shook as their strengths clashed against one another. So this is what courting a man is really like, Javier thought abstractedly.

Wild and

terrible... Why do I like it so much? Keith growled and pushed against Javier's strength while something inside of him marveled that the boy could actually manage to hold his own against a vampire. My wild, angry, powerful Javier, he thought, grunting as his hip met the corner of the table. Dishes sang a discordant melody as they were rocked together by the force of Keith's body striking the surface upon which they sat, but neither man paid the sounds any mind as they struggled together. What is he? Javier wondered as they grappled. Keith was fast and terribly powerful, and those teeth he'd seen -- was there truth to the legends about el hombre lobo? Was Keith like that dog-man he called a servant? He didn't stink of meat and blood, though, and surely, had he been a carnivore, surely he would have consumed more tonight than whatever that wine had been. He could move from one place to another faster than Javier's eyes could follow his body and when Keith was in range, Javier noticed that his eyes did a lot of following. He shoved at Keith, his

vision obstructed for a moment by a memory of the man rather than the reality, in which he'd shoved his hands flat against Keith's chest with no result at all. That did not hold true this time; Keith stumbled back, obviously not expecting Javier's advance, and the Persian rug, already bunched from their conflict, wrapped around one of his soft shoes and tripped him. He grunted as he felt his ankle give, and twisted to keep his balance, but the maneuver did him no favour as he crashed to the floor and lay still on his back, completely at Javier's mercy. The golden-haired Spaniard's smile was cold. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You look better on your back. But you'll have to find someone else to prove it to you, because your next lover won't be me!â&#x20AC;? He spat at Keith's feet and stalked out, slamming out into the night a few seconds later. He hadn't gotten lost in the house this time, and he was glad of it, for if he'd seen anyone else, he rather thought Ofelia would have been a widow come the next morning when they hung him for murder. He looked back at the looming villa only once, but he was sure that a shadow stood at one of the windows and watched him as he crossed the square. Once he was safely within the clasp of the tree-shaped swaths of darkness on the other side, however, he glanced back, and the window yawned with weary yellow light and held no man's shape in its embrace. Javier shivered and did not look back again.

Chapter Seven Keith hummed to himself as his hands worked without needing his thoughts to guide their actions. He shaped the form of the clay with which he worked as gently and sensuously as he would the body of a lover. As that comparison crossed his mind, however, the now-unwelcome image of Javier followed hot on its heels, and Keith's hands clenched the clay instead of shaping it, and crushed between his cold fingers the mold he had spent hours working on. Damn the boy! Would his thoughts never be free of him? He hadn't seen him or heard from him in days now. While the angry part of Keith said that was just fine and if the rest of him had any sense, it would agree, the fact remained that the rest of him, admittedly, did not have any sense, and so he continued to long for the boy. With a sighing curse, he turned away towards the bucket of water he kept for cleaning his hands and arms when he'd finished with a project, only to see that it hadn't been refilled the last time it had been dumped. “Amaroq!" Keith snapped, casting with his shout a mental command that would reach the werewolf even if he weren't within the confines of the residence. Luckily for Keith's temper, he was, and entered the large, airy room Keith used for his workshop mere minutes after his call. “Yes, Master?” He asked a trifle too carefully. One had to tread very cautiously around Keith these days, the servants had found. “Fill that, please. Don't bother heating it. And bring in another blanket when you come back; the ones that are left are filthy.” Keith turned away and went back to the pile of destroyed clay that listed dejectedly on his stilled wheel, drawing in several deep, calming breaths as he began his work anew. An hour later, he'd remade the mold and with its creation, had regained some of his good humour. Amaroq had come and gone, but he'd brought the water and cloths as he'd been asked. Keith cleaned himself up as best he could; he'd bathe later, to get the grime out from beneath his fingernails, but for now, he had some apologising to do. He knew he'd been a beast to live with these past few days, and Keith was not a man who liked conflict in his household.

If you're not, why is it that you're still lusting over the embodiment of controversy itself? Deigning not to answer that question of himself, he cleaned up his workspace, leaving the empty, staring mold of clay that would later become a porcelain vase sitting on the worktable. He would add the finishing touches later, knowing his thoughts were too distracting to allow him the concentration he needed for the fine detail that went into his work. He had first learned the craft some years ago from a wandering Italian painter who had brought the idea of working with handpainted tiles with him from his home city and had long wanted to try moving his craft to a more versatile medium. Keith had been absolutely entranced by the prospect, especially since it was virtually unheard of here in the West, and had spent many years with the man, learning everything he possibly could of the art. After the death of his Italian friend, he'd even traveled briefly to China and studied under one of their masters. It was from that country he had garnered the apparatuses he used in his productions today. Exiting the workshop and locking the door behind him, he came face-to-face with one of the many portraits hung at different intervals along the walls of the home. Though Keith had mostly left the furniture in the manse covered with their protective sheets, he had rehung most of the portraits he found. The sombre faces stared out at him from their frozen moments in time and made him feel as though he wasn't quite so alone when he wandered the halls. He paused in front of one now, stopping to more closely examine the severe features of the woman before him. Her honey-gold hair was piled tightly within the embrace of several strings of pearls and held in place with jeweled combs; she was probably a noblewoman of some wealth, Keith thought, though he could not place her. He'd often wondered if he could form miniature versions of people with his clay, something that captured the essence of a person but did not require them to sit, often for days at a time, as portraits did. He touched the heavy frame and shook the thoughts off. They were mere fancy, he supposed, and even if he could make them, he had no idea where to begin the process. He had enough on his hands just managing to make the sculptures and vases he formed, fired, and painted -- what need had he to busy himself with trying to reinvent the wheel? Besides, vases and ewers and tiling served purposes in a home - what purpose did a miniature, clay-fired person serve? It would be too fragile for a childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s plaything, and he could not imagine someone making d out of miniature dolls.

Keith sighed and moved down the hall, heading towards the warmth of the kitchen, where he knew Amaroq would be at this time of night. He was right; the great wolf was gnawing happily on a soup bone Margot had either been kind enough to give him, or had been forced into relinquishing. Looking at the animal as he gnawed away, Keith privately thought it was the latter which was the more likely scenario. As he entered the blazing womb that was Margot's domain, the smell of roasting meat struck his senses and nearly sent him blind with wanting. His mouth cramped with desire and his lips parted as he panted, but he managed to snap his mouth shut just as Linette passed him, bearing a tray of raw, freshly-plucked chickens to be chopped and cooked down for soups or roasts. The scent of the raw meat stewing in its bloody bath nearly drove him wild, and he turned away with a soundless gasp. Amaroq had abandoned his bone and was watching his master thoughtfully. Linette saw him turn away and squeaked an apology, brightening her words with a saucy little smile. “Oh, je suis désolé, Master. They probably look a fright to you, like this. You probably aren't used to seeing them before they're all stuffed and cooked.” That wasn't entirely true. While some vampires eschewed human foodstuffs and everything to do with its preparation, Keith was one of the few who actually still enjoyed the aromas of a finely-cooked meal, even if he could no longer participate in its consumption. Was it not so scandalously improper for him, because of his rank, to rub elbows with the servants in such a manner, he would happily have rolled up his sleeves and joined Margot at her cooking fire or Linette at her cutting board. He had done such things when he'd been a young child, before he'd grown to a point where pursuits more befitting a boy of his stature took him away from the kitchens, but that had been long ago. And this was their world; even if he cared nothing for what others of his rank might think of him, he knew from past experience how very uncomfortable it made his servants. To some extent, he supposed they were his family; some of them, like Linette and Marlon, were mischievous children who had to be monitored closely, and guided with a careful, sometimes stern hand. Others were compatriots, as Amaroq was, more of a brother or close cousin. And some were as Margot was, a bustling, warm motherly type equally as apt to bestow a maternal peck on the forehead as a swat across the knuckles with a spatula. Keith had always longed for a large,

close-knit family, and while he knew his differences from them set him further apart than any rank or title he could ever hold and that because of those eccentricities, he could never expect them to see him in the same light, he thought of the people who served him as extensions of the family he had always wanted, and strove to keep them happy and comfortable while they lived in his household. Right now, however, as Amaroq's lupine blood raged in his veins, he was looking at them as more of a meal than the kin he should love and treasure. He eyed Linette's blood-stained apron with something approaching lust and retreated back out of the warm inner sanctum of the kitchen, hoping he hadn't been noticed. But as he did, he knocked back into Marlon, who carried an axe over his shoulder whose blade was thick with chicken's blood. Any other time, the ripe, meaty smell would perhaps have been too much for his sensitive vampiric senses, and he would have withdrawn politely, attempting to keep his facial expressions in check as he did, but now, the scent called pleasurably to the primeval beast inside of him. What would it feel like to bathe in the man's blood, he wondered feverishly. What would it taste like, his throat, as he worried it between his sharpening teeth and tore at the soft skin? He had tasted the sweat and dirt of that first layer human skin a million times over the last three hundred years, but it was only a moment as his teeth pricked into the artery beneath the skin, nothing more. He had never licked shreds of human skin from his lips before, never tasted the sweetness of the meat which lay beneath that thin layer of protection. Amaroq usually made him steer well clear of human habitations before he turned, and the rational side of Keith, as it drowned beneath the onslaught of his wolven hunger, was rapidly beginning to see why. He gasped softly, and Marlon saw or thought he saw - his master's eyes change and shift in the dancing shadows from their calm blue to a weird amber colour that reminded him of the wolves he'd hunted down over the years. “Master?” he questioned, setting down the axe and starting to reach out a hand to Keith. “Are you all right?” “He's fine, Marlon.” Amaroq insisted sharply, positioning himself between Keith and his unknowing prey. Had the human actually touched Keith, he would have come away missing a hand -- providing he was lucky enough to come away at all. “He's not been himself the last few days. I'll see to him and get him settled. Get that axe cleaned up, or you'll have a mess to scrub up as well.” Amaroq enjoyed an odd position of power over the servants in the house. Linette

and Marlon, despite having both been in the room tonight and many other nights when he'd had to make a swift change from one form to another, had never once associated him with his wolven shape, thinking that the great white dog Keith kept as a pet came and went as he pleased, and warranted little to no attention. His odd way of appearing and disappearing at just the right time, and his obvious closeness to Keith garnered him a grudging respect from the lower-ranked servants, as well as an unspoken seniority that Keith had once supposed came from his wolven instincts being pressed on them for far too long.

Humans, he'd learned, would sometimes

unconsciously emulate behaviors to which they were subjected for any long period of time, and it made sense to him that Marlon and Linette would react to Amaroq as beta wolves to his alpha dominance. The long, level look Amaroq gave Marlon now as he started to form some sort of protest only reaffirmed Keith's beliefs, and then Amaroq was whisking him away, out into the warm night air of the side garden. The high-walled grove, in which grew only a few struggling, neglected orange and olive trees, was far enough removed from the bustling kitchen and any of its human occupants that Amaroq felt safe to wager that he could contain Keith here for at least the time it took for him to transform. Then, once he had completely shifted, they could leave the town entirely and hunt in the forests and marshes around the city, unbeknownst to the mortal population that bustled around them. They would work off Keith's blood lust until close to dawn, when the transformation might begin to ebb, â&#x20AC;&#x201C; sometimes it lasted for more than one cycle of a day - and, if Amaroq deemed it safe enough, they would return to the manse so Keith could hide from the rising sun. If dawn approached too fast, however, Amaroq would have to find them a place to stay for the day, and while that had, more than once, meant digging themselves literal graves in which to conceal themselves from the rising of the sun, Amaroq was fairly sure that the forest nearby held caves or dens of some sort that would suffice. Keith groaned and doubled over, the flickering agonies his pensive mind had blocked from his consciousness now turning into the full-fledged barrage of pain that often contributed to the worst of his wildness. He whined as his knees hit the grass; as his body folded against itself and bones merged where no human joints met, as fur grew in thick swaths to supersede the thick silky mane on his head, and opalescent orbs of amber replaced the dusky midnight of his eyes, he whined and keened in pain.

Amaroq watched his master thoughtfully, not extending a hand to aid him or hold him in any way; he had long since realized the futility of both gestures, and then froze as something occurred to him. If any of the servants took it upon themselves -- and knowing Margot, at least, she probably would -- to perhaps bring him a warm drink or something comforting from their domain to ease him only to find he was not in residence, they would worry, and Amaroq knew Keith would not want that. He blurred from man to wolf with practiced ease and bit at Keith's muzzle, snarling, until he forced the panting wolf to adopt a position of submission. Stay here! Amaroq commanded, baring his teeth and keeping his head low to emphasise his wishes. I will be right back. Then we can hunt. STAY HERE. Keith whined and made as if to get up, but Amaroq drove him back down until he revealed the white streak of fur over his otherwise sable-hued underside in compliance. Satisfied, Amaroq blurred into man-shape as he vanished back inside the house. Keith paced back and forth in the confines of the small, bedraggled garden, crushing beneath his great paws the dying herbs which had been choked by their hardier, less edible cousins. He was so hungry, and meat was so close... He eyed the tall gate which separated him from his meals, noting even in his savage state that its latches would have to be undone by human hands. Madly, he bit at the lock, driving his fangs against the unyielding metal until his gums bled, but to no avail. He whined and paced, then threw his heavy body against the gate, hoping feverishly that his weight would dislodge it. Again, he was denied, and a choked howl of fury burst into the night air. In the street, several passersby froze as they heard the sound, and the rush of their fear-stricken hearts as they pounded like running beasts into Keith's consciousness was too much. With another sound that, had it come from any other animal, would have been termed a roar, he backed up as far as he could go and leaped for the top of the wall. Not the gate, for even in his maddened condition, he knew he would sustain serious injuries if he misjudged the leap by mere inches, but the walls themselves. They were more than two feet thick and probably stood seven feet tall, but Keith was determined, and in his altered shape, few obstacles could stand in his way for very long. He snarled as he missed the first time, his claws scrabbling on the rough bricks and leaving long rents in the whitewashed complexion of the walls. Again and again he leapt, his paws reaching higher each time, and then he was over the first wall, crouched on the ornamental parapet that lined the top of the garden wall, where no man's

footsteps had been felt since the layers of its construction had been left to dry in the sun. He surveyed the street below with burning eyes, something inside telling him it was wise to wait until the square was empty before leaping down, even though the wait was almost intolerable. Thankfully, the late hour dictated that most were already snug in their homes, probably around glistening tables groaning with meat. Hot saliva dripped in thick strings from his muzzle as he imagined what it would feel like to burst through one of the glazed windows, into the bright warmth of a family home and set himself on the thrumming hearts and sweet, warm bodies that lived within, all unaware of his horrible presence. He threw back his head and howled in triumph, the sound shivering through the warm night and bringing many a man with his weapons to the door to see what the matter was. When a few hardy souls went to investigate the source of the sound, though, they found nothing out of the ordinary save the tracks of a large dog as it had darted through the sandy square, bound for freedom in the forest. Attempting to convince themselves that the dog had been the one to make the sound proved to be no great task, but shaking away the idea of a maddened dog that large as it roamed freely in their city was a different undertaking altogether. Though their town did not boast many reasons to bar its doors at night any longer, the menfolk of the city, at least for the night, listened to the urgings of their wives or their inner selves and bolstered their houses against such things that howled and screamed in the night. Javier stood at the window near the front entrance of his own home for a long time after dropping the heavy bolt into place, his broad shoulders pushing aside the filmy covering upon which Ofelia insisted on draping over the glazed panes to beautify the home. He allowed it to spare himself the argument, but now, as always, he had to fight the urge to tear it from its hanging and rip it to shreds for bestowing its tickling kisses on his hair and the back of his neck. He shrugged uncomfortably at it, and then turned as he felt the fabric pulled away by light little hands. â&#x20AC;&#x153;What are you doing out here? Go back to bed where you belong,â&#x20AC;? he growled at Ofelia, who merely shrank a little more into her wrap at his gruff tone. He had been rough this past week with her, ever since he'd taken dinner at the Frenchman's house. He hadn't said that was where he'd gone that night - in fact, he hadn't said a word about anything that might have happened while he'd been a guest in the old villa, -- but people in their community talked, and it hadn't taken long for word to get back to Ofelia on where it was her husband had gone to supper that night.

She'd tried to tread around his temper carefully, but sometimes, even her most cautious attitudes weren't enough to protect her from the fury broiling in her husband's soul. “Javier, come to bed, please...” Ofelia was tired; it was getting hotter during the day now, and the marketplace had been crowded and slow today. She hadn't been able to get the ingredients the cook had needed for supper, and one of the spit boys had fallen asleep at the rack and had burnt the roast, and Javier had been out of sorts for three days now, which never made life easier on the Estas household. She regretted the words as soon as they'd left her mouth, however; he turned from the side-table where he'd been about to pour himself another glass of wine, and stared at her with eyes as cold as frozen jade. “What did you say?” She shook her head, turning away so he wouldn't see her begin to shake, but again, she had misjudged his mood. Three long strides took him across the length of the room and one hard shove sent her reeling into the bedside table. Her back crashed into it and caught on the ornamental scroll-work that lined the edges; her thick wrap saved her skin from being torn, but it didn't save her from bruising, as her maidservant would find when she bathed her mistress the next morning. She cried out as she went down, covering her head with her hands to protect herself, but he simply hauled her up by the hair and slapped her hard across the face. “Don't give me orders, Ofelia. Didn't forcing me to marry you teach you it was a bad idea to try and dictate what I should and should not do? And see where that got you. Get into bed and shut your mouth.” Tears spilled over the edges of her lids as she nodded and crawled into bed, hoping her movements were fast enough to avoid any more blows. He watched her; she could feel his cold eyes on her, but when he slapped her next, it was a familiar gesture and meant something entirely different.

She'd cried after he'd rolled away from her to his side of the bed, had lain there with tears streaming down her cheeks whose chill was still not enough, never enough, to soothe the burning pleasure her body took in his rough sexual handling of it. She hadn't dared turn to him for

comfort, not with his moods swinging so wildly, but instead had lain there as his hot seed had trickled down her thighs and dried against her skin as quickly as her tears did, hating her body for leaping in shivering pleasure when the sheets brushed against her body but unable to deny herself the pleasure of his touch. She shivered now as she stood in the hall with him, just thinking about it, and Javier took it to mean that she was frightened of the sound that had roused them both from a late supper and sighed, pulling her tightly close.

“There's nothing out there,” he grunted, pointing.

“See?

Nothing.” She didn't say it; she didn't have to, but he knew she wasn't convinced. He wasn't either; if there was nothing outside, then what had made that noise? He was tempted to go out and see -if it was a maddened animal, it would have to be dealt with, and if it got into Javier's stables, it stood a good chance of ruining him. His hand tightened on the windowpane and he sighed, looking for a moment like a caged version of the animal from whose throat that howl had echoed. Ofelia didn't dare tug at his sleeves, but her thin white hands around his other wrist had the same effect. “Our room has a view of the stables,” she ventured to say, her voice soft in the crowding darkness of the front hall. When her husband only grunted and stared solemnly out into the night, she tried again. “Nothing will get past you if you watch from there, Javi... you'll see it no matter from what direction it chooses to come.” He remained motionless for so long that she began to despair that he would move at all, but at long last, his arm still looped protectively around her shoulders, he walked with Ofelia back into their bedroom and though she noticed he had insisted there was nothing to fear from the darkness surrounding the house, he barred their bedroom door with the heavy table upon which their hastily-abandoned dinner had sat. Javier glanced down at the half-eaten food on the plates with wry amusement. “Did you want any of this?” He demanded as Ofelia curled into the heavy bedclothes with a shudder. She shook her head, but Javier carried their goblets and a bottle of Madeira over to the bed. Though Ofelia wanted nothing more than to curl beneath the thick covers against her husband's warm safety, she accepted the cup of sweet wine that Javier poured for her, and even managed a smile when he slid from the bed and came back with a handful of apple chunks and cheese from a dessert platter, dipping each piece in his own goblet before

feeding them to her. He pressed his fingers to her lips, forcing her to suck the blood-red wine from their tips, and her smile widened when his expression changed to something more wicked. This time when he slept, Ofelia was free to curl against him, and by the time something wicked did come their way, she was fast asleep against her husband's shoulder and never saw the golden eyes staring in through the bolted window. Once more, the shutters were open against the night air, even if the window itself was closed, but this time, they had been left open on purpose so that Javier had been able to keep an eye out for the creature they'd heard in the dark even if he hadn't actually ended up doing much watching. It was this advantage that allowed the golden-eyed wolf to sit on the little terrace and stare at the beauty of the man in the bed that slept mere feet from his slavering jaws. Keith had felt he would go mad out here in the cool night air, mad with hunger and lust for the man within the bedroom. He had watched as Javier had played his seductive games with his wife, watched with his burning eyes as Javier had teased Ofelia into submission. The girl's cries of pleasure had been of little interest to him; the twining shape she'd made of her body against the coverlets no more arousing to his body than any other he had seen over his lifetime. She was beautiful, yes, and he supposed, on some distant level, he may even have found her attractive, but she was and had always been eclipsed by the presence of her lover. Keith had watched as Javier had danced the lover's dance with the girl, staring as her body had twisted and writhed, but what he had been looking for had not been the key to her pleasure, but to Javier's. Her hands had reached out and Keith had followed them avidly. Where did they touch? What did they do, to bring forth his pleasure? He studied the panting lovers even long after they had twined together and their breathing had evened into sleep -- no, that wasn't quite true. His eyes were only on the golden man asleep in the bed. It wasn't that he didn't see the woman as she curled against his side, her cheek pressed endearingly close to the crook in Javier's shoulder, for the contrast of her pale skin against Javier's richly tanned complexion was obvious, and the shadow of her sable curls was dimmed by the shine of the sun-kissed waves that spread out over her husband's pillow as he slept. Keith sat on his haunches, his legs too weak to hold him any longer, as the sleeping man turned from his wife's embrace and rolled contentedly onto

his back. He wasn't awake, Keith knew, and the gesture was telling, somehow, but in his present condition, he couldn't reason out why it was so. He licked his chops, imagining how the man's sweat, thick with sex and sated desire, would taste, and his body bunched, prepared to launch itself through the window-glass and feast on the glory that lay mere feet from him. Meat, his body screamed, and his muzzle gaped as his mouth cramped with the need to taste the hot tang of the man's body. No... I cannot... It's Javier who lies there, my wild Javier... I cannot! His eyes flickered in the faint moonlight from their lupine yellow of this form back to the silver-dusted blue Javier would have recognised without thought. He whined and covered his eyes with his paws, trying desperately to reign in the wild beast that howled within him. He saw himself throwing his heavy body against the windowpane until it shattered, saw his fangs gleaming white as bone in the moonlight as he leapt through the new opening in a shower of falling glass fragments. He heard Ofelia's scream of terror and horror as he fell upon the body of her husband and took his throat between his great jaws, felt himself drowning in the torrent of blood that rushed forth from the deep rent his fangs had made in Javier's throat. No, no, no! He shook his massive head, stumbling back into the parapet and knocking over a terracotta pot that rested on the edge. It crashed to the bricks and shattered, the cold water within it splashing over his paws and startling him back to some measure of rationality. There was noise in the bedroom now; bare feet struck the floorboards and a woman's shuddering cry, born now of fear instead of the earlier pleasure, reached Keith's pricked ears. He had no choice of exits, he realized, as Javier burst through the terrace door, his rapier flashing in his left hand and a throwing dirk in his right; he lunged over the high wall and fell down into the darkness awaiting him. He hit the packed ground hard, but wasted no time in getting to his feet as the whistle of the knife Javier had been holding announced that he had been seen. Ignoring Javier's shouts, he fled into the woods, hoping that the noise Javier was making would rouse his servants and still any chance of a chase long enough for him to get away. Panting, he ran to where the scent of water lay thickest in his nostrils, and splashed through the stream that bisected the woods until his fur was soaked through. He ran until his lungs burned and his eyes blurred from the spray his paws threw into his vision as he ran, desperate to avoid being found. When at last a burrow came into view, he lunged into it, too hungry and tired to care about its possible occupants, and when a

young vixen snarled angrily at his unwelcome invasion, Keith fell on it and tore it to pieces, hungrily gulping down what meat its body could provide. Half-sated, he looked around, panting, and spied the nest of young; still blind, they did not struggle much as his powerful jaws made short work of the four kits. The dog would come around eventually, he knew, with food for his now-deceased mate, and that would be just fine with Keith. He was not picky about the source of his sustenance when he was like this; unlike a true wolf, he had no compunction about consuming carnivores. In the end, meat was meat, and sating that terrible hunger would allow him to rest a while and wait out the rest of the night. He did not consider it consciously, but once the dog had come, without it ever going again, Keith drew as far back into the burrow as his size would allow and waited for the long night to end. Amaroq sighed, sitting in the glade just beyond the burrow. With how little room remained in the crude den as it was, he knew he could never fit within its confines, and besides that, Keith was often loathe to share territory with him when he bore the wolf's curse. He would be content to watch from here until morning came, and he would find his own shelter nearby before sunrise, as he always had. He listened for sounds of pursuit long into the night, but nothing came; either Keith had been lucky enough to not have caused as much alarm as he'd thought, or he'd lost any followers he may have picked up. Either way, it suited Amaroq just fine, and as the sun rose ponderously over the town from its bed of blue-tinted clouds, the snowy-furred wolf crawled into a hollow depression some enterprising marmot or rabbit had made in the base of a tree. He slept there until fat raindrops pelting his nose woke him from an uneasy slumber, but merely dug himself a little more deeply into the earth's embrace when he found that the sun had not yet made its way entirely across the sky. He was safe here, and Keith would not move until well after nightfall. He tucked his tail around his nose and closed his eyes, but the sudden scent of a man brought him into full awareness several minutes later. How did he get that close without my hearing him? Amaroq took a deep breath, opening his jaws slightly to allow, as a cat would, more air to infiltrate his senses. Almost instantly, his lips peeled back in a silent snarl of something close to hate. Though the man's approach had been so quiet as to have virtually passed unnoticed, Amaroq would have known Javier's scent anywhere. He watched from his hiding place as Javier tracked the passage of both wolves, and never before had Amaroq been so glad that it had rained. Rain would blur their tracks and, on the

off chance that Javier had brought hounds Amaroq could not for some reason sense, it would muddle up their combined scents and confuse them. Why is he out here? If he thinks something did come this way, then he did see Keith, and if he did, why is he alone? He strained his senses, listening and sniffing delicately for any other presences of which he should be aware, but found none. Several times, the young man passed mere feet from where Amaroq hid, and several times, Amaroq had to remind himself that Keith would be highly displeased with him if Javier were found to be mauled by a wolf. But still, he couldn't help but eye the man's hamstrings as they wandered past, telling himself guiltily, as though Keith were able to hear his thoughts, that it was merely instinct. Right. Instinct. Never mind that I don't want to eat him; whoever heard of a wolf that lames its prey and lets it bleed to death for the fun of it? I think I've spent too much time as a man. He pricked his ears up as Javier paused near his den and coughed several times, the sound of it deep and thick as though his lungs were stuffed with wet silk. He spat at the base of Amaroq's tree and swore quietly, muttering something about the rain, but didn't seem inclined to leave just yet. Javier scowled into the damp mist of the forest, knowing that thing had come out this way because the tracks had led straight to this stream. He'd already gone as far south as the stream had allowed, however, and there had been nothing there. He'd seen some tracks around here which had given him hope, but they were confused with fox tracks, and that didn't make any sense, since he was fairly sure that two such territorial animals would hardly stand to share their hunting grounds with each other for any length of time. He coughed and spat again, wincing at the rancid taste. For a few summers now, he'd been prone to heavy chest colds, and one of those was just what he needed now, what with some slavering thing scaring the wits out of Ofelia. He could just imagine how she'd be if he caught sick now; she'd start blaming it on the wolf thing, just like she'd used to blame it on the kitchen cat they'd had for a while. While Javier hadn't objected to the thing - he didn't like or dislike cats, one way or the other - he couldn't physically stand to be near them. Whenever one got too close for too long, he would start wheezing and choking for breath, his eyes would water as though the thing had shattered his nose, and he would eventually have to leave the house altogether. No one else he knew had that problem, but he couldn't even abide the barn cats the stable boys kept to keep the

94 mice and rats out of the horses' feed, so they’d had to resort to a combination of spoiling fruit and ground poisons from the apothecary. Javier didn’t like the idea of poisons being scattered about near his prized horseflesh, but he knew that something had to be done, and since there had been no fatalities so far, he let the matter rest. Another deep coughing fit overtook him and he leaned down, his hands on his knees as he spat and choked. “Ugh,” he complained thickly and then retched, spitting up a thick stream of phlegm. The cold, if that was what it was, had come on hard, out of nowhere. He'd been just fine before this... this stupidity! He looked around the drizzle-dampened forest when he could stand straight again and sighed. There was no point in this. He would go back and tell Ofelia that he hadn't found anything, and maybe he could convince her that the thing had run off and wouldn't bother anyone anymore. Or maybe he could say he'd found what was left of it after a bear had gotten to it or something - then he wouldn't be expected to bring a bloody souvenir home as proof. That settled, he moved off down the path in the direction he'd come, leaving Amaroq to wonder until he slept again. Keith woke late the next night; by the time he took his first breath in his cramped bower, the moon was already half across the sky, busily playing its eternal game of tag with the stars. He tried to stretch out and found he could not as hard-packed earth met his limbs. There was a smell of drying blood and rotting meat in this place, and he shuddered to think what he had done. Thirst clenched its dry fist around his throat and he wriggled out of the tiny burrow into which his wolf shape had obviously only just fit the night before. He shook dirt and sand out of his hair, trying not to think about what else lay beneath his nails, looking around for Amaroq. The white lupine watched from nearby, but did not yet rise and go to his master. You must be starving. You didn't eat much last night. “Starving isn't the word for it,” Keith agreed shakily. “I have to ... He broke off, staring up the path. “When was Javier here?” Amaroq looked startled and rose, changing from wolf to man in a movement as fluid as stream-water flowing over a rock. “Your senses are still that good even now?” “Never mind that -- he was here? What did he see?” “Nothing,” Amaroq hastened to assure him. Keith's eyes were almost wild and his pallor disturbing. “I think he was looking for one or both of us, but humans have a strange knack for

not being able to see what lies in front of them. You were only a few feet away in that den, and I was even closer to him than that. But I don't think he was looking very hard; he probably just got told to come out by his wife, and so out he wandered, wasting a little time, and then headed home again for a hot meal.” Keith relaxed, but only by a small margin. “I have to bathe.” “No,” Amaroq said firmly, “You need to hunt. You're shaking.” Keith shook his head. “I can't go near humans like this. I won't.” Amaroq gave him an exasperated look. “What are you going to do, bathe out here? What will that do for you? It's cold water, and your clothes are filthy anyway. Hunt with me, and I'll run you a bath when we get back, like I always do.” “I can't. No. Just... watch for anyone.” Keith shook his head and began to remove his ruined clothing. With some relief, he noted that his undershirt, at least, was still wearable even if it was soaked with his own blood-sweat. Amaroq would launder their clothes personally once they were home, as he always did; Keith had never cared for the questions he knew would come from any other party if he was to allow a regular servant the duties of cleaning his clothes, what with some of the nights he had passed in his lifetime. Especially lately, he thought wryly. Perhaps I should simply have him burn the stuff instead. It’s filthy. Amaroq shook his head and took up a guard position nearby the stream; changing into his lupine form for the advantages it provided his senses, he sat near the bubbling water and waited. The night was quiet; only a few hapless mice, easy prey for the owls in the trees above, scurried through the carpet of last season's dead leaves, and no one came to disturb Keith at his ablutions. Amaroq listened to him splashing quietly in the stream behind him, wondering at his sudden insistence of cleanliness. While it was true that they usually went back to their home and he bathed almost immediately, it was normally not very hard to convince him to snare an unfortunate human on the way if his wolven adventures had not adequately nourished him the night before. Perhaps he thinks we're going to run into his human and he wants to look dapper for him... not that his clothes are clean! Even if his body is free of dirt, his clothes are a mess, and I daresay he'll be cursing himself later when he tries to brush that mane of his. But at last, Keith emerged from the stream and Amaroq noticed he'd washed the worst of the blood from his undershirt and breeches while he'd been at it. Now soaked, both items clung to

him like a frightened woman, outlining the hard planes of his body. Amaroq had to admit, the impromptu bath had indeed improved on Keith's appearance, but if he thought he was going to go through the town looking like he did and manage to escape comment, Amaroq thought his master might finally have gone mad. He padded over to the nest in which he'd spent his own day and changed back into a man, pawing aside piles of dead leaves and shaking out an old green cloak. It was made of rough wool and he loved it dearly, but Keith was shivering hard enough that Amaroq could hear the clicking of his teeth from where he stood. He brought the wrapper over to Keith and draped it around his master's thin shoulders. Keith's smile was grateful, and it warmed his heart to see it. “Come on,” he murmured. “I need a proper bath, and if I don't get something to drink soon, I'll start in on those mice in the leaves.” Amaroq looked horrified. While mice might have been part of a normal wolf's diet, they had never been part of his, and he liked it that way. “That's disgusting!” Keith managed a wan smile. “I told you I was thirsty.” As it was, they found no one before they'd reached the limits of the town again, and it was too dangerous for Keith to hunt within its confines while the people were still on high alert about the creature they'd heard and seen the night before. He would have to leave the town for several nights to hunt now, he thought sourly, berating himself for his own stupidity. Whatever had possessed him to go looking for the boy anyway? In point of fact, it would be days, stretching close to a week, before Amaroq felt it was safe for Keith to hunt without the town again, and so Keith got used to the sight of his wine cellar. On one of those nights in question, he shook his head, drinking from one of the oaken casks in the coolest part of the wine cellar. Down here in the moist darkness, there were only the intermingled scents of wet earth and fermenting grapes, and the quiet of it allowed him time to think. He drew himself a third cup from the flask which bore not wine but his own blood, drawn from his body years before for times like these when, for whatever reason, he could not hunt. Casks such as these ones had sustained him through the long, painful nights after superstitious peasants had set his home aflame in France a century earlier, and it had lasted him through the long, lonely evenings spent wandering through the Pyrenees Mountains as he had traveled from

France to Spain. It had nourished him then and it would do so now, he thought wryly, though there was no substitute in his mind for the hot rush of stolen human blood. Is that why I went to him? Keith asked himself, horrified. Did I go to him because subconsciously, he is no more than a meal to me? No, it cannot be... He shook his head. Amaroq sighed, and the sound carried from the stone steps on which he perched to the damp floor below, where Keith perched elegantly on an empty wine-barrel. You went to him not because you wished him to be fodder for your wolf's hunger but because your man's side couldn't bear not to see him even for that one night. Just as your wolven senses did not depart from you until long after dusk tonight, your man's senses were long in leaving you last night. Your body craves him, yes, but it was your soul that cried out to see him that night, I think. Even within the body of a wolf, your soul knew where it wanted to be. Keith regarded Amaroq as he sat upon the stairs. It wasn't like the wolf to wax poetic or hide his true opinion within the flowery embrace of eloquent words. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Do you really believe that?â&#x20AC;? he asked, knowing the answer before he spoke. Amaroq simply turned and loped up the stairs, slipping through the thin sliver of candlelight at the top of the stairs. Keith shook his head and refilled his cup, sipping from it pensively. Even within the body of a wolf, your soul knew where it wanted to be. Yes, but his soul does not want to be there... does it? Can I ask him? Do I dare? Do I dare not? There had never been anyone other than Amaroq in his life to whom he could turn with questions like these; his drunken father had hated his quiet, effeminate nature, and his twin brother, elder by minutes, had been molded into an exact copy of their overbearing sire, so as to better inherit the estate left to them upon their sire's death. Even Keith's mother, as sweetly precious to him as she had been, had not been adequately equipped to deal with her youngest son's deviations from what had been considered the norm in their society. Although the precedent of males preferring their own company over women had long been set before the birth of her sons in 1202, Angelique D'Ameron had never been able to shake the notion that she had done some great wrong to Keith as he had slept beneath her heart by not bearing him as a daughter. He understood her in ways that the men in her life did not; while this fact had drawn them more closely together, Keith had always gotten the feeling that she had never

quite been able to reconcile herself to his differences. While it was true that Keith did not exclusively enjoy the company of males, it was also true that he seemed to prefer their company over that of a woman's. Keith sighed and ran his hands through his hair, discarding the goblet from which he had been drinking. He did not know if he had the courage to ask the questions which needed asking tonight, but he knew that their answers, whatever they may be, would bring to him some measure of closure. While part of him resisted the notion that he would give up his earlier determination to have the golden-haired Spaniard no matter the personal cost, the quieter, rational part of Keith knew that he had to first ascertain if there was any true feelings behind the lust he knew his own physical appearance and unconscious vampiric abilities could cause in humans. Be honest with yourself, he thought derisively. How many times have you employed that exact tactic on woman or man in order to drink their blood? You know you are attractive, and you know how to use that to your advantage. If his attraction to you is based solely off that ability, can you really constrict him to a vampire's life and an eternal relationship behind which there lingers no more than a false sexual attraction? He needed to know where Javier truly stood, needed to know the truth behind the glimmers of feelings he'd seen in the young man's eyes and veins. When last he had tasted of Javier's blood, neither had known the other particularly well. Not that we know each other any better now, Keith thought with a sigh, and left his thoughts to dwell amongst the wine casks. He did not see anyone as he left the house, and that was well, for he wasn't in the mood for conversation, nor inquiries about his health, both of which his servants were apt to provide if they caught sight of him. His footsteps stilled as he crossed the plaza and turned to the left, heading in the direction of Javier's home. No. He wasn't there, though by all rights, he could have been. He turned, his eyes searching for the direction of the tapas house in which he had first heard the heartbeats that had so altered him. He was ... there, but at the same time, not there. His brows furrowing in puzzlement, he followed the sense of Javier's heartbeat until it became an audible pulse in his ears, drowning out the existences of all of the others in the city. His confusion eased when he saw that Javier was smoking one of the cigarillos he'd had the night Keith had extended him the invitation to come to supper at his home. He watched as Javier took a deep, appreciative draw on the little

cigar, frowning as deep, thick coughs expelled the smoke from his lungs. That hadn't been there before. He'd noticed a chronic cough from the boy the night they'd met, but had thought nothing of it; men coughed to clear their lungs of many things, and the subsequent tastes Keith had had of Javier's blood had not indicated there was anything terribly wrong with him then. Now, however, there seemed to be; the choking fit had not eased, even as he had brought up thick, bloodied mucus that he spat shudderingly into the gutter. “Too many of those sound like they will be the death of you.” Javier spat again, straightening and trying not to let the man see how breathless his little episode had left him. These last few days, he'd had to take to smoking outside because he didn't want the others to see how bad his cough had become. He knew there was something wrong, but he had always avoided physicians as though they were the bringers of the plagues they sought to heal, and wasn't about to change his ways now. But to admit weakness in front of this man was worse again than any sin any church in the world could create. “What difference does that make to you?” he rasped belligerently, casting his eyes about in the dark. Dazzled as they were by the guttering torches that lit the tapas house walls, he couldn't see Keith as he stood in the shadows near the square. 'Where are you?” He asked at last. “If you're going to waste my time, at least do it where I can see you.” Keith resisted the urge to come up behind the bellicose boy and scare some of his arrogance out of him. Instead, he stepped forward into the light and leaned against a tree heavy with the bitter oranges of this region. “I'm right here.” “I can see that now, idiot. I'm not blind like some,” Javier replied sharply. “What do you want?” Keith exhaled slowly. What was it about this man that made him want to strangle him and kiss him all at once? “I wanted to apologise.” Javier's laughter was a sharp bark in the midnight square. “For what? Getting me drunk? Seducing me away from my wife? Cheating me in that duel and -- God knows how -- almost killing me? Where do you want to start?” Keith gritted his teeth. “While I will admit to bearing the guilt for the second and third charges you are throwing at me, I had nothing to do with your drunken state. My servant switched ...” Damn it all to hell, here he was, lying again. He felt that the first thing he had to do

100 to win the boy was to stop lying to him. “My servant gave you some of what I drank, and it mixed with what you were drinking,” he finished quietly. While that was the truth, it didn't feel as though it were to Keith, but here was not a place in which he could safely qualify his statements. “What are you doing right now?” “Wasting my time with a Frenchman who doesn't even know how to control his hired help. Shouldn't that be obvious?” “You are exasperating!” Keith burst out, unable to control himself any longer. “You are the most irritating man I have ever had the misfortune to encounter, and yet I cannot get you out of my mind! I cannot rid my skin of the feeling of your fingertips, nor chase your voice out of my head. What are you doing to me?” His breath came hard and fast and his eyes were burning. He blinked against the harsh light of the torches, knowing it was not their acrid smoke that stung them. Whatever he expected Javier's reaction to be, it was most definitely not the one he received. Smoky, hard laughter floated to his ears, but the human did not collapse into a fit of mirth. Had he, Keith wasn't sure if he could have kept himself from killing him. “So,” Javier murmured quietly. “That's how it is, si? You fancy yourself in love with me?” Strangely enough, he was not repulsed by the idea, and he suspected he hadn't been for a long time. He had always focused on women because to do so was the accepted norm in their society; a man chased women into his bed, not other men, but Javier knew there had been plenty of people through history that disregarded that idea. And the opinions of others rarely mattered to him; he simply had never found a man who had captured his fancy in the way 'his ladies' always had. His ladies.

He remembered a bright-faced peasant girl on his father's estate named

Gabriela. When he'd been five, she had been second in beauty in his eyes only to his mother. How he'd loved that girl, masking it behind childish pranks and silly chatter. When his parents had been murdered, she'd been sent away, and he'd never heard from her again. He shook his head. Stupid woolgathering. He'd been cooped up with Ofelia too long, he thought, his mood turning as rancid as butter left in the sun. He stepped forward to get away from his thoughts, but Keith stopped him with a single, elegant raise of his hand. “No,” he murmured softly. “Not yet. Not here. Not ... not until I have told you everything.” Javier sighed. “More talk, Frenchman? Is it all you ever do?”

101 “Come riding with me,” Keith responded, and Javier's brows vanished into his hairline. “At night? Most people go riding during the day.” “Are you afraid?” Keith countered. Javier's reaction was immediate. “Let's go. I'll find you a lame mare so you don't bruise your lily-white ass as well as what's left of your pride.” He stole back to his house, leading Keith through the side gardens to the back pasture of the Estas estate, where the family horseflesh was stabled. Still quiet, he avoided stalls near the small apartment where the stable-boys slept, and led Keith to the corrals at the back of the barn, first opening the back door before beckoning him forward. The mare that was half of the pair of beautiful Arabians Javier had recently acquired for his wife was regarding the intruders calmly; her male counterpart danced nervously in his own compartment. Javier ignored them; as he'd had the stallion covering the mare recently and was unsure as of yet as to whether it had taken, he didn't want to risk injuring either animal on a reckless night ride. Silently, he pushed open the last stall and slipped in. Keith approached the stall warily, unsure of whether or not the equines within could sense the hopefully-dormant wolf's blood in his veins. Inside was a young gelding, his glossy coat patched with greys and whites. He was a beautiful animal and obviously meant for a gentle rider. Somehow, this didn't seem to fit Keith's perception of Javier, and when the younger man caught sight of the man's puzzlement, he laughed softly. “It was my wife's before I got her the Arabian. He likes her, so I gelded him and let her have him. I'd let her have a stallion, - she's a good rider - but they're more excitable and I didn't want to risk it.” So there is real sentiment there, despite his resentments. Keith sighed sadly, for a man who would take such pains as to render a good breeding horse sterile for the safety of his wife had to bear some soft feelings towards her. When the horse had been led out into the main barn, Keith held out his hands, smiling faintly as the horse whickered and looked for a treat. Luckily, it didn't seem particularly skittish around him, and he breathed a sigh of relief and mounted as Javier came out of the tack room bearing bridles and saddle-blankets. He glanced at Keith already astride and shrugged to hide his pleasure at the sight before him. He looks good on horseback even better up there than he does on the ground. He looks natural and somehow... wild and free. He's ... beautiful. He shook the thoughts away and held up the bridle. “I suppose you don't need this, then.”

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Keith shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

He watched Javier go,

wondering what he would say to the boy. What would he do? What would Javier's reaction be? Will he run? Will he not believe me? He'll have to believe me, Keith thought grimly, for he'll have concrete proof right in front of his eyes. He guided the horse into the cool night air to give Javier the room he would need, glad of the slight breeze that cooled the nervous sweat on his brow. Javier's emergence on a wild-eyed grey stallion startled him, and the gelding snorted and danced nervously as he felt his rider jump. The larger equine, taller than Keith's mount by several hands, tossed his head and whinnied, but Javier tugged sharply on the thick mane until the horse calmed. He glanced at Keith. “All right, where? I don't want to lame my horses, mind. Some of us have to work for a living, and while you're not sitting on part of my business, I am.” Keith smiled. “I can see well enough for both of us, and we're not going far.” He had already been searching ahead of Javier for the thrum of human heartbeats, and though they were few out in the wild country that was southern Spain's marshland and forests, Keith needed no more than one to make his point. Javier frowned, but he said nothing, allowing Keith to lead them on a leisurely mile's ride outside of the city. Once the forest had closed its branches around him, however, he looked around with some trepidation. “What are we doing out here?” What am I getting myself into? Javier wondered, thankful that he'd thought to belt on his sword before leaving the house that evening. He'd thought to arm himself more because of Ofelia's insistence that the thing they'd seen the night before might yet be prowling the city than any thought of treachery at a fellow man's hand, but now he was glad she'd been so bothersome about it. Keith felt the tension between them spike, and didn't have to read Javier's mind to know that he was worrying about being alone with Keith. Oh, Javier, you'll have more to worry about in a few minutes than any sort of highway robbery or whatever it is you're thinking I'm going to press upon you. He raised a finger to his lips instead and stopped his horse, dismounting with silent ease. “Will he wander?” He asked Javier in a low voice. “No, not far from here if we leave Adan with him. Why? I thought we were riding.” “We walk from here. Get down.”

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Swallowing his anxiety, Javier obeyed without complaint, hooking his mount's bridle around a tree branch, allowing Adan enough movement to be able to crop at the grass but no more. He followed Keith through the cool darkness, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. As they walked, he noted that Keith's stride, usually an elegant pace that was better described as a stately sort of drift from one place to another, had altered in some inexplicable way. Now, he seemed to stalk something that Javier could not see, as if he were no longer a man but instead a hungry animal, intent on his prey. His hand stole towards his rapier, but stilled when he heard muffled sobbing and then rough Spanish -- a northern accent, too, if his ears weren't misleading him. He reached out for Keith's arm and stilled him. “There's a man out here.” Yes, Javier. Somehow, Keith's familiar, quiet voice seemed different in Javier's ears, as though it were coming from within a closed space rather than bursting into the air between them. He turned and stared at Keith, but slim fingers pressed to his lips stilled his words. How had he known? Had the boy kissed the tips of his fingers, Keith wondered, before he had pulled them from Javier's lips? There was no time to think about it now. He motioned for Javier to stay still, knowing that was the easiest way to get him to follow, and strode into the clearing. He'd been right in his telepathic assessment of the minds for which he'd reached; a filthy man dressed in ragged remains of what looked to have once been the fine hand-me-downs of a good household was pawing at an even-more-scantily dressed young woman, who, despite the picture her appearance might paint, apparently found his ministrations quite disagreeable. She wriggled and kicked, but her dainty feet were bare of anything that could resemble a weapon, and her slim white hands provided no strength with which to counter his unwelcome advances. Keith ghosted silently up behind the man, not yet keen for either person to see him, and winced as Javier drew his sword with a steely whistle. “Stand down or I'll run you through.” His voice was terribly quiet, Keith noticed, and while he found that was unlike Javier, the snapping anger in his movements indicated he was very much the same man. “Unh?” The man turned and bared his few remaining teeth in a rotten-lipped smile. “Well, look here, Tierra, a knight in shining knee breeches!” He laughed thickly and spat at Javier's feet. “You think you're going to save the day, little golden prince?”

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Javier's lips peeled back in a snarl and Keith covered his face with his hands, a gesture of resignation that would eventually follow him throughout the centuries. The man was nearly twice Javier's width and while Javier probably held two inches' worth of height advantage over him, the man's arms were like oak stumps, and his hands hung down past his knees, allowing him an advantage over Javier in reach that the younger man, already fighting with a weapon more suited to close quarters, didn't need stacked against him. Not to mention the fact that if Javier bloodied the man, Keith would miss out on his supper. Stand down, Javier, he thought as fiercely as he could. Stand down! â&#x20AC;&#x153;The hell I will!â&#x20AC;? he snapped, evidently believing his opponent could overhear Keith's side of the conversation as well as he could. He used the faint flicker of surprise that passed over the man's brutish features to lunge forward in attack, but the man had already recovered. He bent before Keith could reach him and came up swinging a crude club of knotted wood. Javier leapt back with startling agility and slashed the man twice across the face, smirking. Keith was going to kill Javier himself. Never mind about taking him across; I'm going to make the rest of his life, provided he manages to have any, a living hell! What sort of buffoon is he, taking a chance like this? He's going to get himself killed - is that what he wants? Damned fool! But when a lucky swing of the man's club connected heavily with Javier's chest and sent him rolling to the tune of Tierra's scream, Keith's anger vanished. He lunged forward, his body moving without his brain's authority, and grabbed the brute from behind, grasping a slippery fistful of his greasy hair and yanking his head back until the base of his skull met his spine. The wretch struggled, but even his workman's strength was no match for Keith's frozen death's-grip. Keith bared his teeth, past caring who saw him now, and slipped his teeth into the velvet-hot artery thrumming madly beneath the man's skin. His blood did not burst forth; at first it merely trickled, and Keith suspected the man's heart had skipped several beats in surprise. The pulsing rush came only after the brute's frightened heart had resumed its normal rhythm and his brain began to kick the rest of him into overdrive as it realized the desperation of the current circumstances. Keith closed his eyes in bliss, submerging himself in the barrages of images and emotions that made up the man's existence.

He did not regard them as he would perhaps take in a play, but he

surrounded himself in them, bathing in the liquid images of his kill's life. He drank and drank, forced to press his lips against the man's filthy neck and suck as the stream became weaker, but

105

still he reveled in it, and when he felt the heart fluttering and faltering in its final moments, he lowered the man to the ground with all the tenderness of a man laying a drowsy child down to dream, and Keith held him there as he died. Soon enough, the wild, panicked expression of life left the staring eyes, and it was glazed over with only the peaceful silence of his existence slipping away into the dark.

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Chapter Eight It was far longer than a handful of heartbeats that passed before Keith looked up from the still embrace of his prey, his midnight eyes soft and far away, but he shook himself back to reality as he regarded the owners of the two remaining heartbeats in the glade. Keith rose quietly, his eyes fixed on the girl, and approached her without speaking. Too shocked, too frightened even to gather the breath to scream, she huddled against the base of a tree and stared up at the ebonyhaired man whose cheeks were flushed with stolen life. He bent to her and Javier, with a hoarse cry, started to rise from where he had been knocked flat, his hand uselessly outstretched to stop Keith. The older man simply ignored him and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her gently, perhaps as a father would, but kept his eyes staring into hers for the eternity that stretched between them. What passed from Keith to the girl named Tierra that night, Javier never knew, but all at once, the girl rose and moved woodenly to where her would-be rapist's cloak had fallen during the scuffle and gathered it around herself. She moved off in the direction of Javier's home city without once looking back, and it wasn't until her footsteps had faded away completely that Keith turned back and regarded the stunned man who still half-lay on the wet forest floor. “Can you rise?” Keith asked him quietly, without moving. Javier stared at him a moment and then glanced at the body of the fallen man. “What...?” he started, but his voice gave as though he were a boy of ten again, and he stopped. He cleared his throat, coughed and winced, immediately pressing a hand to his side. “Is he dead?” “You know he is.” Keith still did not move; he knew the boy would bolt if he did. Javier swallowed and glanced towards the man. “You're... not like me, are you?” Keith chuckled, and the sound of it was dark and full of delicious promises. “You knew that the night we met, my Javier.” An unaccustomed flush rose in Javier's cheeks and he looked away violently, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Now, Keith knew, was the moment that would decide Javier's regard for him. Now, he would either run from him - and possibly chase him from town -- or he would accept that there were things in the night of which humans were often blissfully unaware, and that one of them stood before him right now. At last, on a breath of air as explosive as the crack of a falling tree, Javier turned towards him and sheathed his sword. His hand did not stray far from it,

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however, as he rose carefully under his own power and leaned as casually as he could against a nearby tree. “Start talking.” Keith could dance around his words if he wanted to, could tease some of the fury he loved so much back into Javier's too-still features if he chose, but he respected the man before him far more than Javier knew, and simply nodded instead. “No doubt you have many questions. I will tell you what I can, and you can ask me if I miss something, but not here. Can you walk?” The verdant eyes narrowed with challenge. “Of course I can -- you think me so weak that a drunken lout's lucky blow could lay me flat?” Keith neglected to point out that it had indeed done so, and simply nodded, biting into his fingertips and brushing them gently over the twin pinpricks in the man's neck. Javier started. “What are you doing?” Keith smiled faintly. “The fastest way for one of my kind to be caught at what we do is to be sloppy. I am not burying the man, so I am, in effect, being lazy, but tell me what you would think if you were to stumble upon a corpse with a single bite to the neck and no other exterior wounds?” “But he has no wounds now,” Javier pointed out. “Just the slashes I gave his cheeks and no one dies from cut cheeks.” “No,” Keith allowed. “Or if they do, I have yet to see it for myself. But men do die,” he continued, wrapping his hands sharply around the man's neck and twisting cruelly, “of a broken neck. Now, it looks like there was a fight, and the man took on more than he could handle. He's ill-dressed, and they will probably assume he tried to rob a passing merchant, because there are more footsteps than his here, or they may assume was what almost the truth.” He turned and pointed to the faint tracks of the woman's dainty feet as they faded away towards town. “That he was pressing unwelcome attention upon a young lady, and travelers stopped to lend their aid. As one thing led to another, he died. Leave his body where the animals can feast on it, and no city guard need ever know.” Javier fell silent a moment, and then grinned somewhat triumphantly. “But the girl will report it, she saw what you did, and you didn't tell her not to reveal it to anyone. She'll go right to the authorities.”

108 Keith smiled, and Javier noticed that the expression was almost sad. “It has been my experience that the poor rarely frequent the houses of men in authority unless they feel they must, and I can assure you, she was very poor. She remembers nothing, however, other than her gallant protector -- you -- stepping in to save her from that man's unwelcome advances.” He dropped the body carelessly and it tumbled stiffly to the damp earth with the neck hanging at a grotesque angle Javier found he could not bear to look at for long. “But how can that be?” He demanded, trying unsuccessfully to shift his attention away from the corpse. “She saw you ki -- do what you did.” Keith smiled. “Is it so very hard a word to say? Have you not killed a man in your lifetime?” When no answer seemed forthcoming, he continued. “No, she will remember nothing. It is another trick of our kind... to make people forget what they may have inadvertently seen.” “How can you make someone forget something they saw with their very own eyes?” Javier demanded, scoffing at the very notion. Keith shrugged, an elegant, rolling gesture of his oddly powerful shoulders. “I do not know how it works, exactly; I am a lover of art, not of sciences. But she remembers only what I told her that the man tried to rape her, as is evidenced by her state, and you frightened him off. Should she see me again, she may feel some sort of recognition she cannot explain, as I have been told has happened to people in the past, but --” “You've done this before?” Javier interrupted, eyes wide. “So you don't just go about kikilling people, but you erase their memories with some sort of witchcraft as well? The Church would gloat to see you on their pyres!” Keith's eyes met his calmly. “And will you turn me in?” It hung between them for an eternity of heartbeats, and then, very slowly, Javier shook his head. Keith smiled. “And why not?” “Because...” Javier replied slowly, trying to look away from the older man's strangely compelling eyes and finding that he could not, ”because you did no more than I may have done with my sword.” He shook his head, feeling somewhat dazed, and started badly when Keith gently drew him close. Again, he hadn't seen the man move... Oh, the wonder of it all! Suddenly, he was taken with a childish sort of delight; what would it be like to have such power? To move in

109 the night so silently, to avenge the wrongs done to others by members of their own kind – what would that feel like? “Justice?” Keith seemed amused. “I must admit, it sounds an unlikely post for you. Tell me, is it justice you seek for the wrongs done to others.... or revenge for your own hurt and hardships?” Javier stared at Keith, his eyes as wide as a hungry child's just after they have been told a table piled with sweets is theirs for the taking. “How did you...? You ... you can hear my thoughts? It is witchcraft, then!” Keith smiled, and Javier's heart skipped a beat or six at the sight. “I wouldn't know about that, my Javier.” “Don't call me that,” he responded automatically, but he didn't pull away from Keith's embrace. His mind was whirling with questions, but he didn't know how to voice them. How could such a thing be? How could he believe otherwise, when the evidence stood here before him? He could be insane, Javier thought, and then wondered whether Keith had heard him. He glanced up, expecting to find laughter or perhaps anger dancing in his eyes. Instead, his lips were captured fiercely with Keith's own and Javier was consumed. Keith's lips were oddly cool to the touch, but there was a coppery tang to them, a hot taste that Javier intuitively knew was blood. On some level, he thought that should repulse him - he was kissing a man whose lips had just sucked at the neck of a filthy rapist and, moreover, had sucked the blood from that man's body but he found, instead, that the notion excited him. The heat and the spice of the forbidden fluid only added to the terrible arousal that their embrace incited, and he at last allowed himself to lean into Keith's arms, and kiss back for the first time. He vaguely remembered having kissed Keith under his own power the night the older Frenchman had gotten him drunk, but he didn't know if it had felt quite like this when it had happened. His heart was racing and his body was flushing with heat as though he stood too close to the yawning maw of a bright fireplace, but he knew this heat came from no source as innocuous as a happily-crackling blaze. He groaned and parted his lips willingly when Keith's tongue brushed them. He did not, as Javier had expected, thrust his tongue forward to hotly wrest what he wanted from Javier's mouth, but instead, he coaxed and teased until Javier deepened the kiss himself. He felt Keith's satisfied chuckle as their tongues met and

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danced, and he tore at Keith's clothing, panting when at last the embrace was broken. Keith stopped him, stepping back just as Javier's fumbling fingers, slippery with arousal, found their mark. “Not here,” he crooned. “Not here, not yet. As I recall... there is a bed you once wished we could lie in together... and I very much would like to see that wish granted...” Javier groaned, his body afire, but suddenly, Keith's arms were around his and he could feel the wind whipping around them both. Before he could open his eyes to look, Keith's lips had crashed against his again and he was drowning in another deep kiss. His body throbbed with need that was almost painful, and he tried desperately to grind his body against Keith's. He could just about manage to brush his hips against Keith's chest, and the shock of even that light contact sent thrills through his body. Air that was cool against his hot skin struck him suddenly, and he felt himself falling, only to be caught by the soft, feathery embrace of a goose-down mattress. He clutched at the blankets, arching his hips up as Keith's hands tore away at the fastenings across the front of his breeches. He heard fabric tear, and then the warm kisses of air that followed and rushed between his legs only served to heighten his arousal. His own hands removed the collar at his throat and pushed it aside, heading next for the buttons of his doublet, but he gave up even that attempt as Keith covered his body with his own. Keith was still fully clothed, and the scratch of the fine fabric he wore against Javier's stiffened member was enough to drive him wild. He grunted and bucked his hips upwards, searching for the warmth of Keith's body, but finding no more than air as Keith moved away. He pushed Javier back down as the golden-haired Spaniard half rose from the bed, and trailed hot kisses down his cheeks, licking at the day's deposit of stubble that graced Javier's jawline. It roughed Keith's lips and tongue with a sharp, throbbing heat that spiked all the way down to his loins. He groaned as the pulsing that was centered there intensified, but he was not to be thwarted from his goal. He tasted sweat and grit from where Javier's face had struck the ground when the man had knocked the feet out from under him. His lips tugged at the rough whispers of beard on Javier's cheeks, gnawing gently on the whiskered skin, and as he finally allowed his sharp teeth to brush where his lips had been tasting before, Javier groaned and ground hotly against Keith's body. Keith licked gently downwards, tasting the secret hollow at the bottom of Javier's throat, feeling the fluttering pulse within, but not allowing himself to taste the hot blood beneath. He thirsted, he thought, but not for blood, not now.

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I thirst for his body... I need his body... I need him.... Keith released a shuddering breath and pulled away, his fingers deft and careful with the expensive layers of Javier's clothing. He laid the golden-haired Spaniard's body bare in a matter of moments, discarding the ebony piles of cloth carelessly only a moment later, all thoughts of caution fleeing to the wind at the sight of the naked body before him. For one long moment, agonising in its eternity for them both, he leaned back and drank in the sight, his eyes curving over every ridge, noting every minute flex of his muscles. He ran his fingernails down the expanse of Javier's chest, twisting his fingers in the golden thrush of hair that gleamed in the firelight, dusted with pearlescent drops of sweat. Keith bent and licked at the moisture hiding in the mess of curls, trapping minute hairs between his lips and tugging; Javier arched his back as even that brief flicker of pain, normally sharp enough to evoke annoyance, instead turned sweet enough to arouse another endless flood tide of desire. Javier gasped as Keith rubbed his downy cheek, as smooth still in his manhood as it had been as a boy's, against the roughness of his chest, feeling fire arc out and downwards as Keith's hot tongue encircled the hard pebble of his left nipple. He tossed his head on the pillow; many a woman's breast had received the kiss of his own lips over the years, but never before Keith had his own been touched in such a way. Nibbling, kissing, biting until blood beaded forth on one tight, puckered aureole, Keith worshiped Javier's male nipples until the younger man thought from that treatment alone, he would die of desire. Keith's lips peeled back in a smile Javier never saw, and his teeth and lips nibbled downwards, pausing at the hard planes of his abdomen, where the gilded hair of his chest ended. He licked and sucked at the firm ridges of his sculpted muscles, his tongue lacing sweet, hot designs over the ripples of strength that bunched beneath Javier's skin. When his tongue dipped into the tiny darkness of Javier's navel, Javier gasped and wriggled away, his eyes flying wide. â&#x20AC;&#x153;That tickles!â&#x20AC;? he protested, and the absurdity of it, paired with the terrible wonder of the things Keith had been doing to his body previously, made him laugh. Keith flashed a smile at him and Javier felt his cock rise to the bursting point at the feral lust he saw written on the dark-haired man's features. His fangs were just visible in the quick smile he'd given Javier, and something about their animality was deeply compelling. When Keith dipped his head once more, Javier tensed, expecting another round of devilish tickling, but it didn't come. Instead, Keith's lips nibbled and sucked at the thin line of sun-tinged

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hairs that marched downwards to the juncture of Javier's thighs. He followed the map they provided, but leisurely, lifting each hair with practiced flips of his tongue and sucking at the skin beneath. Javier was arching and twisting on the sheets, and Keith changed positions to avoid the frantic meeting of Javier's member with his body before he was ready. Now, he half-lay to the side of Javier, his long shape stretched almost lazily out on the great, dark bed their forms occupied, and as Javier turned his head to regard the man with lust-tinged eyes, a wonderfully nasty idea occurred to him. He reached slowly down, trying as best he could to time his movements with Keith's ministrations, so the vampire would think his fingers clutched in aimless passion rather than reached for a specific goal. His fingers closed suddenly and surely around the item he'd known he would find; when Keith had opened his clothes and pushed them away, he had freed Javier's little dagger, but his amourous thrusts had only rid the bed of his lover's clothes, not his weapons. Javier's right hand closed around its hilt and with a practiced flick of his wrist, he sliced at the fabric stretched tightly across Keith's engorged groin and tore a thin opening in Keith's breeches. Startled out of his sex-driven reverie as he'd just begun the descent towards Javier's proudly-straining shaft, Keith froze as the knife blade flickered within inches of unmanning him. For a moment, he thought the boy bore him malice and had simply - luckily! - missed his goal, but when he lunged for the knife, he found Javier had already discarded it, and was instead bent on widening the rift he had torn with his weapon by using his hands. Keith's lips spread in a smile that quickly fled as his jaws parted to release a thick groan as Javier wrested his thrumming manhood free from its coverings. The slightly cooler air of the room brushed a million kisses on his sensitive flesh, but the immediate heat of Javier's right hand curling around the base of Keith's cock forestalled any unwelcome reaction to the change in temperature. He bent quickly to Javier's pubic bone, burying his face in the thatch of golden hair there, his breath whuffing sweetly on the sensitive skin. For just a moment, Javier's hand released its prize as Keith's tongue licked down, just missing the very base of his cock. He gasped and shoved upwards, hoping to entice Keith to move his attentions the tiniest bit lower, to gain Javier the relief he needed from the pounding ache of over-arousal that burned in his loins, but Keith pulled his head away at the last moment, and when he did, Javier vowed revenge. Recalling what he'd done when he'd last lain with Ofelia

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a few days previous, he twisted around, glad suddenly of the differences in their height. Despite Javier's smaller frame, the difference meant he could curl his body easily on his side and wrap his lips tightly around Keith's cock, lying in such a way that Keith would be left without leverage to push him away, because his hands would be trapped against Javier's body, which was balanced by the Spaniard's outstretched arm. He leaned over on his left arm, his fingers opening and closing madly in the satiny coverlets, almost flipping his upper half onto his stomach as he came forward and took Keith's erection as far as he dared into his mouth. “Oh!” Keith's breath left him in a violent rush as the heat of Javier's mouth wrapped around him like boiling silk. He gasped as Javier used the ridges of his teeth and inner cheeks to stimulate him, and his hips thrust forward in a wanton expression of his desire before he clamped down firmly on his own feelings and tried to pull away. Javier's teeth closed warningly over the sensitive head of Keith's manhood, his lips sealing tightly to create such an erotic vacuum of pleasure that Keith nearly lost all semblance of control. Finally realizing that struggling would win him no escape, Keith instead sucked down hard on Javier's length, enclosing all of him until the base of his member almost struck Keith's nose, and the thick head brushed low down in Keith's throat. He groaned and swept his head up and down the extent of Javier's shaft, his tongue lacing hot designs on the underside that made Javier's hips buck violently upwards and finally release his hold on Keith's aching prick. Keith suckled in earnest now, his mouth clenching as firmly around Javier's cock as any woman's body ever had, and his hands came up to gently massage the tight, fragile sacs just behind. For a moment, Javier froze, certain that the elegant, strong hands would close painfully around the delicate globes they held, but when Keith's hands did close, it was merely a caress that his oil-smooth palms provided as they massaged the sensitive skin gently. Javier groaned and writhed beneath the exquisite torture; he didn't know where this was leading, but he knew he could not stand much more. Keith was nibbling at the very tip of him now, his tongue slipping between the creases of skin that crowned the head of Javier's manhood, licking at the tangy bounty of male sweat he found there. Javier moaned almost warningly as Keith sucked, and he felt Javier's testicles contract slightly as the younger man fought to maintain control. Keith smiled. Now, he thought, now you will beg for me. “Should I continue?” Keith demanded silkily as he moved away completely.

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Javier drew in a sharp breath as he shudderingly exerted some manner of control over his body. Desperately, he tried for nonchalance. “Not if you had something else to do.” He hooked his arms behind his head and crossed his ankles lazily, but his cock stood at proud attention and his forehead was beaded with perspiration born of the heat Keith had created in his loins. He was desperate to free his body from the physical torment the elder man had begun, but certainly not at the loss of his pride. Keith smiled, and there was no teasing in it. “I cannot have you that way, can I?” he asked mostly of himself, but Javier was just impertinent enough to answer, shaking his head and settling himself more comfortably. It was as Javier's attention wandered more to settling himself on the great bed than towards Keith that the vampire struck. Suddenly, Javier's hands were held in iron grips and his legs were covered, almost crushed, by Keith's own as his body lay against Javier's. As expected, Javier fought, trying to buck him off and hating himself for shuddering in wild delight when his stiffened cock ground roughly against Keith's leg or torso. But there was no removing the vampire, and Javier had no more time than what it took to spit a vile oath at him before Keith had neatly bound his hands to each of the posts at the corners of the bed with linen scraps probably torn from an undershirt. Javier snarled and kicked out wildly, but his efforts were in vain; first one ankle was secured to the bottom bedpost, and then the second, until he lay helplessly spread-eagled on the covers. Keith smiled. “Now, I think, you might consider begging.” “Damn you!” Javier fumed, struggling until the bonds that caught him at hand and foot bit into his skin. “You damned coward! You disgusting rapist! You know you can't get me into your bed on your own, without resorting to sorcery or abuse - does that make you proud? Now that I am helpless?” “I don't know,” Keith replied quietly. “Does it do the same to you?” Another inarticulate snarl burst from Javier's throat and he fought anew, but Keith's head had already dipped back into its place and his lips sucked forcibly along the length of Javier's shaft. Just as he'd thought, the idea of being someone's captive was secretly arousing to the younger man rather than terrifying or demeaning; Keith licked the tiny wound Ofelia's teeth had made upon her husband's manhood days earlier as they had tangled together in the sheets and smiled, silently thankful that Javier's wife possessed such fine, sharp teeth.

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Javier was lit aflame with a terrible desire far more consuming than before, trembling in the exultation of at last being forced to take the submissive role in his lover's play. There was something torturously wonderful about being denied all control over one's own body, and though he had never received it from a lover before, he had always wondered what it would be like if he told Ofelia one night that he was his to use as she wished, rather than the other way around. Now, he was learning what that exquisite pleasure was, and he found he liked it more than he could ever have thought was possible. He forced his panting, gaping jaws into a snarl and tried for indifference, but the best he could manage was a fierce scowl, belied by the desperate desire in his eyes. Keith smiled as he met those eyes, smiled around Javier's manhood as he dragged his lips and tongue and teeth along his shaft, his hands slipping downwards to his own body. He stopped suddenly, rearing up on his knees, and gripped his own erection roughly in his hands, pumping its length as Javier had often done before Ofelia's eyes. Keith's eyes closed as the sharp pleasure of impending orgasm nearly overtook him, but when he felt a familiar tightening and an icy-hot spurt of liquid fall into one outstretched hand, he stopped, content. Javier could only stare as Keith had pulled back and appeared intent on taking his own pleasure before his helpless eyes. As Keithâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes had closed, his had dropped shut at the same time, only opening once more when he heard no further evidence of movement from Keith. Opening his eyes again, he saw that Keith had not reached his zenith â&#x20AC;&#x201C; yet. Javier moaned, desperate suddenly to wrap his mouth around Keith's pulsing length and suck the hardness from him, wanting to taste his sweat and his blood and drown in the sounds of his orgasm as he came, but bound as he was, all he could do was watch. Keith groaned and his hips pistoned sharply; Javier closed his eyes again and prepared for the hot deluge of Keith's release to strike his naked, helpless body, but, again, it did not happen. Keith surreptitiously licked at the sweet, smoky spurt of blood he had drawn from himself and laved his fingers well, slipping them downwards even as Javier's eyes closed. He bent, and had his mouth wrapped snugly around the younger man's straining prick once more before his slippery fingers ever approached their goal, sliding into the dark, hot embrace of Javier's body in the only way given to a man. As expected, Javier jerked in surprise, crying out some garbled word, but Keith noted that he did not move away from the intrusion except when his hips raised

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to meet the embrace of Keith's lips. Keith reached deep within, probing for and finding, within moments, the area he sought. Javier's body jerked madly and he drove himself down on Keith's hand now, all thoughts of remaining indifferent to the sensations Keith could cause in his body having long since fled his mind. “Dios!” he cried, and Keith's lips stretched in a smile. He slowed his suckling and made as if to withdraw his intruding finger completely, wondering what Javier's reaction would be. He was delighted by the result. “No, no!” Javier's eyes were wide, the firelight leeching the deep green from them and bringing forth the nearly-invisible flecks of gold within their depths. “Don't, don't, don't!” He realized he was begging even as the words left his lips, but what Keith was doing to him was so terrible, so wickedly, sinfully wonderful, that he could not bear it now if the feelings ceased. He gave a tearing, guttural cry as Keith resumed his fierce suction and entered Javier's body anew. The orgasm built, boiling from somewhere deep within his body, and it crested towards its breaking point as a second finger, crooking upwards within Javier's body, joined the first at its sensual worship of a place within Javier so secret that even he had not known of its existence before now. He did not know if the words which tumbled breathlessly from his lips made any sense to the dark god that plied his body with such intense sensations, and afterwards, he could not even recall what it was he had said. As Javier's body reached its peak, Keith felt him contract almost painfully around his fingers and watched his body convulse and dance to the rhythm of his release. His eyes, which had squeezed themselves tightly shut as his zenith was approached, flew wide even as his hands clenched as though he were in the grips of some terrible agony. The boy wept, he saw, and as Javier came, flooding Keith's mouth with the sharp tang of his release, Keith closed his eyes and promised himself he would kiss those tears away. Javier was sobbing and coughing for breath, panting and bucking still as his body was thrust over and over again into a realm of pleasure Keith hoped he had never known before. While Javier's semen did not inundate Keith's mind with images of his emotions or allow him access to thoughts so secret and deeply buried that it was unknown whether Javier himself knew of their existence, the musky saline tang of his body's release was like a second ambrosia to Keith's heightened senses, and he reveled in it until at last, Javier's body lay spent on his bed.

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When Keith withdrew his fingers from Javier's warmth, a light slick of blood coated them. Frowning, he bit deeply into the fingertips of the hand he'd kept wrapped around the base of Javier's cock until they bled and, as Javier still lay spread open for him, gently inserted one and allowed his vampiric blood to heal any wounds his lovemaking had caused. He knew there was a danger to entering a man this way, with one's fingers, because of the fragility of the skin within his single orifice, and he did not want such pain visited upon his Javier. He licked the blood left for him on his other hand from Javier's body, delighting in the mixed taste of his body's musk and his blood's bright tang, and at last, only when he was sure he had not missed even one drop, did he move up the bed and release Javier's bonds, nestling the Spaniard against Keithâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own chest. Too sated to do more than murmur something unintelligible, Javier allowed himself to be untied and then pulled close into the heady scent of Keith's embrace. He lay there as gentle kisses rained down upon his wet cheeks, but only when Keith's lips drew away once more did he open his eyes to see the beads of sweat that dusted the thin expanse of silvery hairs on Keith's chest. He lay there for some time, just watching their pearlescent gleam in the firelight, and finally, at long last, received his chance to kiss the droplets away. His tongue licked at them with weary pleasure and though he was utterly spent, the sound of Keith's low growl of pleasure set his cock twitching between his legs. He knew he would not - could not - rise again for some time after the extent of Keith's lovemaking with him, but he was rapidly becoming aware that Keith had not reached the same pinnacle his body had, and though the man did little to drive the point home, Javier knew Keith craved release as greatly as he himself had previously. But how to give it? How did he return the wondrous pleasure with which Keith had gifted him when he felt barely able to lift his own head? Slowly, he told himself. He teased and tasted me for an eternity; surely I can do the same to him. He raised his head and let his tongue poke past his lips, stabbing at the pebbly hardness of Keith's flat nipples. The man gasped, and Javier started as he felt Keith's prick rub against his leg. It was so hot! Wonderingly, his hands wrapped around its length, but though his mind reeled with the influx of new sensations, his body seemed to act of its own accord and kneaded Keith's flesh in the same ways that Javier often paid attention to his own. Keith panted and arched his hips towards him, and Javier smiled at the power he had over the older man. He shifted down on the bed and ran his tongue up and down the length, re-acquainting himself with the taste and texture

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he had earlier experienced, and then took the head fully in his mouth and pulled back, sucking as hard as he dared. He felt a spurt of something that tasted vaguely familiar and brought back a sudden image of a very white hand buried in the tangle of wild curls that cascaded to Javier's shoulders. Intently, he reached for the source of that image and the memory behind it, but it slithered away as Keith groaned his name and pushed his hips up insistently. Javier couldn't believe it, but he felt himself growing hard again and drew away, forming a lover's embrace for his prick with his own hands, stroking and exciting himself even further as Keith's eyes opened and regarded him wantonly. The sight of Keith's eyes on his flesh as he performed such an intimate act only spurred the flames of his arousal even further, and he gave several panting little cries. But the mind behind his lust-gilded eyes was turning over the problem of how best to give Keith even half of the pleasure he himself had experienced. Suddenly remembering the thrill of Keith's fingers within his body, he wondered if Keith would like to be penetrated. He wore rings on his fingers one wedding band and one larger ring bearing his family's coat of arms and insignia. He would not - could not - take them off, but... “Suck me,” Javier demanded crudely, and was delighted when Keith's entire body jolted with hot pleasure at the vulgar demand he had uttered. So. He was once the submitter. I wonder which he likes best? He groaned as Keith's mouth closed on him again and nearly lost himself in the pulsing rhythm of Keith's hot mouth as his hips began to rock forward and back with the expert caress of the older man's lips. He felt a hot spurt and Keith uttered a muffled, high-pitched moan of terrible desire, and it was that sound which saved Javier's plans and denied Keith the pleasure of tasting his lover's second orgasm. And just in time, too, oh, god, how can I be this close again? His cock slicked now with Keith's saliva, he glared down at the dark-haired man that lay on the bed. “Turn over,” Javier commanded. “Turn over and get on your knees.” Oh, God, I won't be able to bear it if he does what I think he's going to do ... Keith thought desperately, but his body obeyed his fierce Spaniard's commands as though it had been born to do so. He knelt and raised his hips, spreading his knees so that Javier had better access to the dark cavern he wished to explore. He felt Javier's lips brush his buttocks, slide down, and Keith felt a spurt of wetness he only just managed to catch in his hands as Javier's mouth enveloped the fragile, tight sac which held his testicles from behind. He suckled this for what felt to Keith like

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an eternity longer than the one for which he'd already been alive, and then he released the delicate orbs, licking his fingers and plunging two moistened tips into Keith's waiting body. “Ah, Javier... Non... Gods...” he groaned, unable to form a more coherent sentence than that, but Javier had already pulled away and was guiding his shaft into Keith's hot sheath before the dark-haired man could object. He shuddered, and every movement gripped Javier's body closer. Entering a man, Javier thought breathlessly, even as his body moved in a rhythm as old as the heavens, was somehow similar and yet wonderfully different from entering a woman. There was something harder about a man's soft heat than there was with a woman, even when he was buried as deeply within Keith's body as he could go. Keith made little gasping cries as he brushed something deep within the older man's body with the head of his own organ. Interested in the new sensation, he adjusted his movements until every thrust he made resulted in those quivering sounds bursting from Keith's throat. It was not like a woman, Javier thought dreamily. A woman's secret haven felt somehow smooth and rough at once, as though a swatch of hot silk had been embossed by sandpaper, leaving behind a satiny texture that was both soft and coarse at the same time. Keith's hidden center of pleasure had a slippery round smoothness to it, without any of the interesting textures. There was something new in the movements of a man in the throes of another man's passion, as well: A woman's body twined upwards against Javier's chest when his member sought for and found that rough-smooth wall deep within her font of heat; Keith's body shuddered backwards against Javier's hips, grinding the smooth globes of his backside against the roughness of Javier's pubic bone. Javier's ruminations were cut short by a panting little invocation from Keith, and when Keith's body closed suddenly around Javier's cock, it was as though God's hand had gripped him.

The sensation was warmer, harder, better, than anything he had ever

known before, and he groaned, increasing his drive into Keith's body to match the increasing speed of Keith's backward thrusts. “Mmm!” It was a despairing whimper, desperately held in check by fanged teeth clenched on bleeding lips, and with that sound, Javier lost all control. He gave a violent cry and felt himself emptying into Keith's body, the orgasm he was achieving now far outstripping even the incredible pleasure of a few minutes prior.

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The hot streams of Javier's semen pulsing into his body as his lover came sent Keith's control spiraling away into the abyss. He could not catch himself in time as he came with a barking cry that could have been a prayer and was more probably a curse. Crimson darkness spattered the sheets and his own body as he jerked and spasmed, pushing back into Javier's embrace, milking every last shudder from his lover's orgasm. He couldn't stand the pleasure; to finally have had this boy, this beautiful man, in his bed was the ultimate gift, and he wondered at what magnificent thing he had done to be worthy of such an endowment. They lay, tangled in the confusion of each other's bodies, for some time without speaking. Keith was fairly sure he could not have formed a coherent sentence if he'd needed it to save his life, and if he was having such trouble, even with his body's restorative abilities, he knew his Javier would be doubly exhausted. Evenings were, after all, a time of sleep even for those whose dinner hours extended long into the night, and this night of theirs had not been an uneventful one. He chuckled before he could quell the mirth. No, ‘uneventful’ is not what I would call it at all. “Frenchman, if you laugh at me one more time, I swear to God, I'm going to kill you.” Keith turned his head and peered backwards, over his shoulder, at the man who lay half atop him, and who, in another trembling movement, slid stickily free of Keith's body. He would probably have left the bed entirely, save for the fact that his arms did not have the strength to support the rest of his body, and gave beneath him, to leave Javier lying inches from Keith's lips, his hair tangled over both of their shoulders. Javier stared at the mingling strands in the dying firelight, gold against coal, and his mind wandered off for a moment to think about how opposite the two colours were, even as his body attempted to recover. Keith shifted until he lay on his side, facing the blonde man. “Why do you think all mirth is directed your way?” he asked, seeming amused. “Is your world so very small that you need to fill its expanse only with yourself at every given moment? You are proud, my Javier, but not that proud, I should think.” Before the hot words that flared in Javier's verdant eyes could reach his lips and burst forth, however, Keith pressed his fingers to still him. “Or is it that you are afraid that the world is laughing at you?” Javier would always be capable, he believed in that moment, of surprising him. He'd fully expected the young Spaniard's teeth to close over his fingers, or for his balled fists to meet with

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the quiet planes of Keith's face, but he did neither; he merely sat back and regarded him as though he were actually considering his words. As usual, Keith found, he was incorrect when it came to knowing without trying - what Javier was thinking. The Spaniard gave a lazy smile against Keith's fingers instead and tossed his head, rolling over onto his back and displaying the bronzed length of his body with a languorous stretch that brought to mind one of the great, sunlit cats Keith had seen during his travels through India. “Talk, talk, talk. Don't you ever get tired of talking? Words only get you so far, old man.” Keith blinked. “Old man? You impertinent whelp, I have no more than half a score of years on you.” At least as long as we are talking only about my physical appearance... Javier waved his words away with a dismissive, indelicate sound. “That may be true though I doubt it - but the fact remains that you act like an old man... until you get between the sheets,” he allowed, rising and shaking his breeches out of the pile of discarded clothing scattered around the bed. His eyes met Keith's squarely, and they were dancing with delight. “Then you're as young as a girl on her wedding night, all nerves and fluttering gasps.” “Wretch! I wasn't the only one gasping, as I recall, and nor was I the one tied to the bed!” “Would you like to be?” Javier returned with a growl, and then tossed aside the conversation entirely. He was not one to stay enthralled with one subject for any particular length of time; he preferred doing things - be it mucking out a stable, tangling between warm sheets, or enjoying a good meal rounded out by a better game of cards. At this last, his gut, empty of anything except the few drinks he'd had at the tapas much earlier in the evening, gave an embarrassingly loud show of its displeasure at having been left without sustenance for so long, and he scowled, expecting a burst of merry laughter from Keith that didn't come. The dusky blue eyes of his lover - oh, how his loins clenched at the unspoken word! - were watching him quietly, tinged with ... something. Javier swallowed and fought to come up with a snappy retort. He managed the words, but his voice cracked a little when he spoke. “Regretting bedding me already, Frenchman? Now you'll never be satisfied with anyone but me.” “I regret nothing... By the sounds of things, it's you bearing that burden,” Keith replied quietly, wondering if he'd ever truly have the boy. He'd managed to bed him, yes, but truly, was that any real, great feat? Without attaching any arrogance to the notion whatsoever, Keith could

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readily attest that he was an attractive man and an attentive lover who knew best the ins and outs of both his own body and that of his companions' - no matter their sex. The physical aspect of a relationship was not hard to come by - it was not called the 'oldest profession' for nothing. But he didn't want the boy to leave; he didn't want to relinquish him back to the wringing hands and twining limbs of his mousy wife... In short, he was not satisfied simply by the boy's body; he wanted all of it, or none of it. “The only regret I have is that you're a terrible host who finds it polite to slake his own thirst before seeing to his guests' comfort,” Javier replied snidely, crossing his arms and, perhaps, Keith thought, aiming a well-placed dig that referenced his particular dietary habits. He couldn't be sure of that, however, and chose to leave the insult unparried, turning his back to the halfdressed golden god who was now sitting on the edge of the bed and glaring at his host. Without bothering to turn his head, because he knew the unaccustomed show of bad manners would further irritate Javier, What is it in him that brings out the very worst in me? Keith opened his clothes chest and pulled out another pair of breeches, tugging them on and tying the laces neatly before lobbing a clean linen undershirt in Javier's direction, as well as one of his old doublets, wondering if either item would actually fit, and half-forgetting that he'd still been speaking to the boy when he'd turned. “Your clothes are filthy. Wear these, and I'll see if I can't find you something to eat.” Once dressed, he rose, intent on finding Margot and coaxing her into making his late-night guest something to take the edge off his hunger. But Javier, still clad only in his hose, had moved without Keith's knowledge and neatly ended any plans he had of leaving the room with a single hand on his shoulder. Keith sensed irritation for a moment, and guessed correctly that its source came from Javier being forced into reaching upwards to do so. That made him smile, but he bit the insides of his cheeks to hide it, and when he turned around, Javier was watching him oddly. “You were pale a moment ago,” he remarked, and Keith surreptitiously licked the places where his fangs had descended. All was healed now, but he could still taste the brief rush of his own blood which had, for a moment, heightened his colour.

123 Javier watched, curious. “And now you're paling again. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were afraid of me - or ill,” he added a moment later, as though the latter had just offered itself as a possibility. Keith chuckled. “I am neither.” He could have chosen to elaborate on his statement; Javier's demeanor suggested that the remark hid a question inexpertly in its depths, but he didn't want to talk about his vampirism just now, because it might lead the boy to question just what it was he'd tasted during their earlier revelries, and for now, Keith would just as much rather that Javier remain innocent of as much of the darker side of Keith's nature as was possible after the events of the night. Catching sight of the expression on the gilded face of a clock near the bed, Keith smiled faintly.

Yes, it had been a very long night indeed, and was, in all actuality,

technically into the morning hours. Their ... activities had consumed a goodly portion of the night and, most probably, a fair bit of Javier's stamina as well so it wasn't abnormal in the least that his body would be demanding something to see it through the rest of the darkened hours. When he glanced back at Javier, the Spaniard's face was set into a now-familiar scowl.

“Well?” he

demanded. “Why are you pale?” “Because, like you, I have eaten little tonight, and ... participated in a good deal of exertion,” Keith explained with the quiet patience of a teacher who has become burdened with a dense, if willing, student. He rather hoped that his thinly-veiled reference to their cavorting would be enough to throw Javier's interest away from the line of conversation but, as usual, he was incorrect. “You drank blood earlier in the evening,” Javier pointed out, as if he'd forgotten that Keith had indeed been highly aware of what it was he'd been doing at the referenced moment in time. “Wouldn't it be like eating supper? If I'd eaten earlier tonight, I would hardly be hungry now.” Keith couldn't - and didn't - resist the urge to run his eyes up and down the lean, hard ridges of Javier's body, but he managed to choke back the urge to laugh that followed when the Spaniard angrily covered his torso's nudity with the doublet. Keith winced as he heard the fabric stretch; he'd underestimated the difference between their frames. Javier was shorter than he was by several inches, but he was undeniably broader in more than one area. Shaking his head to rid it of the sudden erotic turn his woolgathering had taken, he crossed his arms. “Yes, but you have also ... exerted yourself somewhat more than usual, have you not?”

124 Javier grinned suddenly, his lips upturning wickedly. “No. Tonight was nothing more than the usual,” he replied flippantly, wondering what Keith's reaction would be. Keith caught his breath, unsure, as he had been several times in the last few evenings, whether he wished most to give into his urge to throttle the impertinent young god who stood in his bedchamber, or kiss him until he took his words for sustenance instead of what foodstuffs Keith could find for him. “Wretch,” he managed at last, not able to come up with anything more damning than that. The blood left within his system flowered unhelpfully into crimson blooms on each cheek as Javier burst into merry laughter; for once, it was not he who was the subject of mirth here tonight, and Keith was beginning to see why he was always guarding so defensively against it. Grinding his teeth, he swept an arm towards the door, indicating that Javier should precede him in that direction. “I'll follow you so you don't get lost this time.” “What's to stop you from getting lost, old man?” Javier replied, unclenching his jaw just enough to let the words slip past. “Were you going to feed me, or what?” “I could feed on you,” Keith murmured as he approached, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. What was it about Javier that brought out the worst in him? Javier jerked, but Keith didn't see much fear within his reaction, and that was more pleasant than he'd expected. The Spaniard's eyes slid away from Keith's and down to his nails, which he inspected with an indifferent expression that was even more maddening than his smirk. “I thought you already did that... Or was my blood as unfulfilling for you as your body was for me?” Keith made some wordless sound of surprise. He had been caught once more by the swiftness of Javier's tongue, but he was quickly learning something that took the sting out of the insult. Javier's words and opinions did not always walk hand-in-hand. In fact, Keith thought wryly, he would bet a year's worth of blood that he could count on one hand the number of times they had been so similar. “Come,” he said brusquely, and finishing settling his collar. As he finished, he turned to regard Javier; the doublet he'd given him stretched widely over his broader form, showing off the long, sunbaked lines of his collarbone. The simple black and gold elegance of the shirt was too sobering for him, Keith thought. The boy needed colours on him. It was an odd observation, considering that he'd never seen Javier wearing anything more colourful than some combination of black and silver, or gold, as he was wearing

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now, but something about the borrowed clothing washed him out. Or perhaps he is simply tired. It has, after all, been a very long night. Javier scowled at Keith and looked himself over. “Wonderful - now I look as lively as you do, which is to say, at least my wife will not have to dress me in funeral colours.” “This from the man who finds wearing all black to be suitable attire for entertaining guests,” Keith murmured. “It will serve for supper. Go without the jerkin; mine will not fit you.” “It is far from my fault that you are a skinny old man,” Javier replied, without missing a beat, his good teeth baring themselves in a feral smile. His golden hair splashed playfully down over the ruffled shoulders of the doublet, and Keith was pleased to note how well the fashion suited him. “Nor mine that you are a fat, young glutton.” He did not wait for Javier's response, merely turned and exited the room, hunting for Margot. He was pleased to find her already at work in the kitchen; evidently, Amaroq had overheard some portion of their conversation at one point and had thought to rouse her from her slumber. He smiled faintly in approval as he approached and she instantly turned from her work to bob him her rotund attempt at a curtsy. “I am sorry to rouse you at this hour, Margot... Do forgive me. I would not ask it of you normally, but...” He winced as he heard his name bellowed from a hall somewhere in the home; how had Javier managed to get himself lost already? “My guest is a tad... lacking in proper etiquette,” he apologised, letting a self-deprecating smile replace the pained expression on his face. “Something simple will suffice,” he added, and then turned to go. Margot watched him; he wasn't exhibiting any of the strange behavior of a few nights ago, wasn't pale or panting or looking to faint like a frightened girl in the least; in fact, he looked better than she remembered seeing him appear for some time, as though someone had placed a spring back into his step that the Master hadn't even known himself that he'd been missing. So, more than the boy's tongue has been loosened somehow, she thought, pleased, and worked to make sure the Spanish guest she'd fed so well the first night she'd met him had never eaten so well in his life, even at her table, and knew her Master was pleased with the result when she caught sight of the warmth in his eyes. No quiet, deadly anger now, she thought smugly. Only a good meal for the boy, and a goodly bit of dallying for the Master, if all goes right.

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She hummed as she moved around her kitchen, only to spring back with a most unladylike yelp as Amaroq appeared right in her path. He'd apparently been under the battered table the servants used for their meals, though Margot wasn't entirely sure this was true. A real dog got underfoot in visible ways. Amaroq always seemed to appear instead of simply being in the way. Uncharacteristically, she kicked out at him, and though he was deft enough to avoid the blow, he yelped and bared his long, yellowed teeth at her in defiance and fury. Kick at me again, and you'll lose that foot! The words came clearly to Margot, as though the dog had said them as intelligibly as she herself could speak, and she just stared for a moment before her head whipped about on her thick neck, looking for someone, anyone, else who could have spoken. The white dog, his fur a musty grey from whatever he'd been getting into that evening while prowling around, retreated under the table just as Margot caught sight of the Master's guest leaning against the kitchen's doorway. She gave an undignified screech and threw her apron up over her head in fright, only then coming to realize that it had probably been he who had spoken all along, and she'd misheard him. He'd probably said, 'him' instead of 'me' and in her surprise, she'd misheard him, that was all. Slowly, flushing with shame now at having been seen mistreating an animal in the presence of the Master's guest, she lowered her apron. “Señor, I'm sorry, he frightened me, and...” Javier blinked, his brows rising to his hairline. “Sorry for what, señorita? Kicking the dog? The only thing you should be ashamed of is that you missed.” He grinned at her with an ease that could have been called wicked. Her hands fluttered in a nervous manner more suited to a girl of Linette's age than her own, and she flushed with a hue born this time of delight, rather than shame. This flirty boy, he's young enough to be my son! But he's a handsome devil, and probably has every lady in the town sighing after him.... She straightened and gave him as matronly a glare as she could manage under the force of his sunlit smile. “And what makes you think I'm not married, señor? Not a matronly señora, far too old for the young peacocks to be bothering with?” Keith would have noted - privately - the absence of a ring on her pudgy fingers, but such small details rarely troubled Javier. He grinned openly, and it was the type of smile that could and often did produce swooning in every young lady within its radius. “I could not imagine a lady as beautiful as yourself settling for any of the multitudes of offers that have come your way from the

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common thugs this town has to offer.... señorita. No, you deserve someone more worthy of your stature...” “Oh, of course I do,” Margot snorted wryly. “Anyone thinner than I, and they'd be crushed! Now, you knave, what do you want in my kitchen? Sweet words do not sweetmeats produce.” He roared with laughter at her sally, and impulsively kissed her flour-dusted fingers. “Ah, I do not shower you with ill-deserved compliments for mere flattery, cara...” “No, he does that when he wants something, Margot; you were correct in your first assumption. Did you follow your nose down here, Javier? For I cannot imagine that your sense of direction, absent thus far, would suddenly have reasserted itself,” Keith commented from the shadows nearby, noting that Margot's florid complexion paled unhealthily at his appearance. What had she been up to now? He peered at Javier closely, noting that he did not appear to have consumed anything quite yet, but then discarded the idea of a repeat performance of the last time he had supped here, for his warning to Margot had been quite clear, and she, out of all of his human servants, knew best of all which lines would be most deadly for her to cross. He merely gestured for Javier to follow him, sending a last, probing look Margot's way before vanishing after the tall, golden-haired Spaniard. Javier scowled at the imperious gesture but reserved his words, which all but blistered his lips as they built up behind the barrier of his clenched jaw, until they were alone in the same parlour in which they'd had their chess game. That seems like it was a thousand years ago... He shook his head, and rounded on Keith fiercely. “What do you mean, treating me like that in front of your servants? How dare you?” Once more, Keith was maddeningly calm.

“I merely warned my cook against your

unchivalrous advances. After all, weren't you the one crowing earlier that I was hardly enough for you? You're young.... strong... in good health... Why shouldn't you be searching out a more... suitable... bed-partner? I will admit, I would think Linette would have been more towards your tastes, but...” Keith shrugged. “I seemed to suit your tastes well enough, and I am not possessed of even half the good looks and charm of my young serving-girl...” He shrugged diffidently and relaxed gracefully into a chair, pushing one out for Javier with an elegant stretch of one long leg. He hadn't expected Javier to sit, however, and, for once, it was a wager he actually won. Instead, Javier stalked back and forth before him on the rug, clearly enjoying the sudden

128 advantage in height he held over Keith's reclining form. “You made me sound the fool in front of your staff, and you think I'm going to come back here, to you, to this place? I won't even be able to look your servants in the face!” He thundered. “Unchivalrous advances - how can you get away with saying something like that with a straight face when you've killed one man tonight and raped another?” Had Keith been drinking, he would have choked or, at the very least, broken the glass, for as his fingers clenched, the nails digging into his palms as a last-ditch effort to assuage some of his fury, his vampiric strength overcame the safeguards of his natural inhibitions towards violence. He rose from his chair with a snapping movement that ended only when the collar of Javier's borrowed doublet groaned in protest as he lifted the Spaniard off his feet and pushed him bodily up against the far wall. “You pretentious peacock! You have no idea what rape is, you prettyfaced little whelp! You want that woman in the kitchen? She'd come to you, whining like a dog, with her legs spread as wide as her bones could get them, and she'd do it as though she were born for it! You've never had an unwilling partner in your life and certainly, you've never been unwilling. You were as eager to fall into my bed as I was to fall into yours, you ungrateful wretch, and I'll never let you forget it!” From his elevated perch at the mercy of Keith's trembling hands, Javier had done the last thing the vampire had expected: he'd smiled. The expression hadn't been sly or devious in any way; instead, it had held within it a secret, quiet delight that puzzled Keith as much as the upward turn of the Spaniard's sensual lips both infuriated and intoxicated him. Angrily, Keith tossed him away, but he was mindful of his strength and Javier aware enough of himself to strike the thick rug and roll harmlessly to his feet. The green-eyed god Keith had bedded not an hour past was still smiling, but now he shook his head. “You're jealous,” Javier said softly, and had Keith been human, he may not have caught the words. “You're jealous that I was paying attention to her, and not to you. And here, all I thought you wanted was my body.” Keith stalked away, standing stiffly in front of one of the room's high windows. He always had the servants open the curtains to these outer rooms, to give them the sunlight they wouldn't receive if he were to use them at any point during the day, and he stood in front of the glazed pane now, staring out at the watery eye of the moon as it danced between scudding clouds. “I

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have always wanted more than your body. From the first moment you locked eyes with me. If I'd have just wanted your body, I would have raped you... and you never would have known it...” The words hung between them for some time as Javier stared at the tall, thin back against which he had so recently and so willingly lain. He remembered the girl in the wood, and how stiffly, how blankly, she'd moved off in the direction of the city just because Keith had whispered in her ears and stared deeply into her eyes with his silver-gilt eyes. He swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry, and seemed overly glad indeed when Marlon came in bearing a tray of sweet wine. He accepted the cup tendered to him by the man's clean-scrubbed, work-scarred hands, and drank deeply from it.

Marlon smiled, showing decent teeth despite his station, and Javier

considered Keith's back once more. It was more than apparent that he treated his servants well, so why would he feel a need to mistreat a lover? Then he shook his head, his fierce scowl returning. It is almost like I am a prospective mother-in-law who is making sure the household to which she is giving over her daughter is acceptable to her. I am not here to MARRY him! No, he was here.... for what? To cheat on his wife with Keith? His eyes flicked to Marlon, whose plain face had scrunched into a sad frown. “Does the vintage not please you, señor? I can bring in another bottle... The Master has a fine wine cellar...” That was another thing. Keith had come here ... from where? Javier didn't know. He didn't know anything about the man except that he craved Keith's touch and the things he could make Javier feel. But he had come out of the dark that lay beyond the city and had burst into Javier's life with all the violence of a mob that had tasted blood, but yet his household acted and lived as though it had been established here for longer than Javier had been alive. He shook his head in wordless answer to Marlon's question, and then elaborated so as not to confuse the man. “It's fine. Gracias.” He waited until Marlon had bowed and exited the room, and then turned his attention back to Keith, sipping a tad more slowly at the wine in his cup. He stared at the vampire for a long time, and nothing but silence fell between them. To distract himself, Javier glanced away, trying to find something anything to use as a weapon to shatter this terrible quiet. There were so many things in his mind, so many images and questions and feelings... He couldn't stay here. “Keith.”

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The vampire winced and did not turn, at first. Javier had just drawn an exasperated breath on which to convey his name once more when he was abruptly faced with the quiet beauty of Keith's features once more. The silvery tint to his eyes seemed more pronounced now, as though the pool of moonlight in which he had briefly stood had somehow left part of its luminous opalescence in his eyes. He was so beautiful that, for an eternity which lasted only a moment, Javier could do nothing more than stare, and then he shook his head, hard. He demands to know of me what it is I do to him... and yet, if pressed, I doubt if he could answer the same damned question! “I have to go.” If he did not say it with finality, he would never leave this place. “I ... have a lot to think about. I.... I will find you.” And, feeling shame, as though he were running from a duel rather than fighting it cleanly to its end, he turned and fled the house, managing, as he had the once before, to find his way out without difficulty. For at least the third time in little more than a month, Javier stalked out of the foreground of the home Keith had taken, but this time, the fury which carried his body far across the square and into the village proper was affected, and there was no fear, as there had been last time, when he looked back at the yawning windows as dawn broke the sky, certain he could see the shape of a man outlined in one glazed pane. A passing milkmaid hailed him and he turned away at the sound of her greeting, only to look back once more to find that the palatial house stood as silent as the Estas family crypt, with no man in sight. Had he been dreaming? He looked around, his roaming eyes freezing on the spot just between the apple trees, where two swords had clashed and two men had struggled so violently, so recently. His head turned back, to regard the home that sat with patient silence across the square, as if it waited for him, and his mind skipped to a bedroom his eyes could not see, where two men had tangled in slippery sheets adhered with the sweat and sex of their bodies, and he turned away and pressed his hands to his eyes as if to blot out the sight. He staggered to the trunk of a nearby tree and wrapped his arms against it, pressing his head to the bark and drawing in great sobs of breath. In that home, between those sheets, with that man, he had broken to pieces the marriage vow of fidelity he had taken with his wife. Beyond the apparent slumber of those white-washed stone walls, he had been given glimpses of things no man had ever seen before, he was sure of it, and done things only whispered of in the most controversial of conversations. He turned and

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stared at the house again, curling his lip when he found that its stillness was suggestive to his tired mind of the same wry amusement he hated so much to see in Keith's eyes. He dragged his hands over his weary face, only snapping to attention when townspeople he knew spoke his name or uttered a greeting to him. One, Ofelia's friend Alba, on her way to chatter and gossip with the other silly women at market, stopped her manservant as he walked with her, to regard Javier. “Javi?” she questioned, and though her family and his had been friends for many long years, he had always hated the way Ofelia's nickname for him sounded from her too-thick lips. She was a beauty, he supposed, with her smooth skin and flashing eyes, but her husband's money had filled out her girlish curves too well, and her pouting lips conjured feelings of revulsion in him, rather than appeal. He nodded to her, straightening from his place by the apple tree. “Señora Del Hierro... he murmured, touching her fingers but not raising them to his lips. She laughed and squeezed his fingers gently. “Javi, why so formal? And why do you look like you've been rolling in the dust all night?” Her well-fed face curved in a wicked smile. “Don't tell me you and Ofelia have ....” She was already craning her neck to look for the petite form of her girlhood friend. “No,” he interrupted, more harshly than he meant to. “No, I was coming home from supping at a friend's and I was attacked by some ruffians who'd slipped in the gates before they closed...” He straightened, feeling only a slight stab of remorse at how easily the lie sprang to his lips. “Oh, Javi, are you sure you're all right? Did they rob you?” He was wearing unfamiliar clothing, too, she noticed - French, if she wasn't mistaken, with its subdued collar and irritating inclination towards gaudy patterns. “Your clothes... Someone helped you?” “They knocked me about a bit and tore my clothing. I lost a purse in the scuffle, but it was of no matter.” He shrugged, and Alba cooed in jealousy; how wickedly delicious it would have been for her to have snagged a man who made so much money that he didn't even flinch at being robbed! “Has Ofelia seen you yet? She'll have a terrible fright if she sees you as you are, all scuffed and battered... Are you sure you're not hurt? Where did you stay?” Damn the chattering woman; she was drawing more attention! “The Guard escorted me back to my friend's home - he is a friend of my cousin, Miguel, I think you've met him... I stayed

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there, and it was his clothes he gave me. I just wanted to get home to Ofelia, so I left before the house was up, but I stopped here.... it has been a long night...” He stared off towards his home, suddenly longing to be in there again instead of standing in borrowed clothes in this sunlit square, lying through his teeth. Alba watched Javier as he regarded the faintly visible glint of sunlight that played off the gates of his home. It wasn't far from here to there, and Alba would let him go – for now. But if Javier thinks for a moment that I won't find out which woman he's had in his bed, he's wrong! Ah, let him lie to me... In the end, it will be all the worse for him. To his face, she smiled and cooed her sympathies, and at last let him return on his way, but her avaricious dark eyes watched his every move. He didn't walk like a man who'd rolled about in a woman's bed, though, she thought, and he certainly didn't smell like one. Alba knew the smell of sex on a man's body very well; her husband was insatiable, and when he was finished with her, she would often hear him leave their bed and then the house would be filled with the squeak of whichever housemaid he'd decided to maul that evening, and then he would come back, flushed and fat with pleasure, and there would be that smell, that scent that was more than perfume; more than sweat, it was the fragrance of a man's body being plunged into a woman's, and there had been no such evidence of it on Javier's skin. She watched her best friend's husband go down the avenue and vanish through the tall gate that adorned the protective walls of his home long enough that her servant finally asked her if anything was amiss. “Oh... No.” She shook her head, laughing softly. “No, nothing at all.” She touched her hand lightly on his arm again and they continued on their way, but she cast more than one glance back at the Estas home as they did, wondering with the wicked mind of a fervent gossip just what it was she'd seen behind her old friend's verdant eyes. He'd looked harried and tired and sated all at the same time, as though he'd found something he wasn't yet aware he'd been missing. Surely, it had to be another woman, but that made no sense; who bathed and then tussled in the dirt? Her mind seized eagerly on that notion. Maybe he had, and then, on his way home this morning, then he'd met with the ruffians. So, he was telling her half-truths. That would make things all the more interesting tonight when she had supper with her friends, because the best way to weave wicked gossip, Alba had learned, was to include a nugget or two of truth to make it believable.

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Chapter Nine Javier pressed his hands flat against the great wooden portal of his front door, nodding to the sleepy servants who were beginning their morning work on the orange and olive trees, but he did not enter the quiet sanctuary of his home just yet. He didn't feel he could, and so, he stole around the side and headed to the stables, where the scent of soft earth and new straw mingled with the rich pungency of horseflesh. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his eyes closed, just breathing in the early morning sunlight and the dancing dust motes all around him, until the sounds of the stable-boys rising from their beds disturbed him. One poked his slumber-ruffled head around the corner and blinked at the sight of his employer. “Señor! Don Estas! Have you come to ride today?” He gazed with open-mouthed interest at Javier's odd clothing, more suitable to a quiet night in his chambers than even a sedate morning ride, as he would sometimes take with the Doña. His murky eyes peered around, looking for Javier's pretty wife and darkening some with disappointment when they did not see her. Javier scowled as the man peered around him, knowing that he was looking for the petite form of his wife, but then he considered the idea. He hadn't gone riding with Ofelia in quite some time, and perhaps... perhaps it would rid him of Keith's influence on him forever. Now that he stood in the sunlight, on the grounds of his own home, and was free to stare at something other than the dusky pools of Keith's eyes, or the hardened marble of his body, he was free to realize that what he had done, no matter how good it had felt, no matter how much he had wanted it at the time, was wrong. As much as he hated it, as much as he did not wish to be tied down to this life he led as a married man with a household, with a family... though how it can be called a family, when I shall never have children to carry on my name, is beyond me! The facts did not change. He still had one, and even if Javier Estas did not believe for a moment that his eternal soul would suffer because of some pretentious churchmongerer's edict, he knew who did believe it, and she slept not far from where he stood. In fact, if he walked out of the stable to face the west, he could almost see the tightly-shuttered windows, where he knew she slept. Abruptly, he ached to see her, and turned to the stable-boy, who was still standing there with the same oafish expression of surprise on his face. The disappointment, luckily for him, had

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faded from his eyes now; if Javier had seen its continued presence on his face, he might have caused harm to the boy. “You. My wife and I will ride after we break fast and bathe. The Arabian mare, she is breeding?” “We -- we do not know, Señor... She was last covered yesterday. We will not know if the studding took for several months yet...” The stable-hand's beetling brows drew further together; his master was a fine horseman, and an even better breeder. He had been taught all he knew by his father, who had been taught by his father, who had been taught by the revered Carthusian monks, devoted servants of God and masters of all earthly horseflesh. He knew better than to think that a mare who had just been covered three days before would show signs of pregnancy visible to a man so early in her gestation! “Are you ... well, Señor?” He asked carefully. Javier swore a silent black streak of obscenities. He couldn't believe he'd asked something so foolish, but it seemed like it had been three months since he'd stood here in this very stable. Three months since he’d watched the screaming stallion descend on the mare; yet they - he and Keith, and there the man was, invading his mind again! - had been in this very stable last night, and he had made the conscious decision to bypass the mare when he'd chosen a horse for Keith. Abruptly, his heart plummeted into his stomach. Dear God, the horses! He didn't know how they had returned to Keith's home the previous night -- he was the first to admit, in the privacy of his mind, that both of them had not been considering the needs of their horses in the least when they had returned to Keith's home, but... He felt real sorrow at their loss. His stallion, Adan, had been a fine prize of a horse, and the foals he had produced in his younger years had been responsible, at their sale, for the cost of more than a few of the dresses and pretty things in Ofelia's chambers. And Ofelia would be heartbroken to find that her favourite gelding had wandered off. She loved Abran as though he were the son she would never have, constantly feeding him treats she hid in various places on her person and cooing over him as though he were a baby instead of a five year old gelding. What was he going to tell her? Woodenly, he approached Adan's stall, trying to brace for the rush of despair that would come with the sight of its emptiness... and froze as Adan whickered a greeting and stamped restively. “Mi Dios!” Javier whispered, stumbling back into the stable hand, who had followed his master when he had moved. They danced an awkward, wind-milling waltz for a moment, and

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then Javier caught himself as the less-graceful servant tumbled into the chaff on the floorboards at their feet. He sat down hard and stared up at his master as though he had lost his mind. “Master? Señor, are you sure you are well?” Javier reached down a hand and yanked the boy to his feet, his heartbeat still thundering in his chest. “Ah... Si... Si, I am fine...” He waved away the boy's concern and turned back to stare at Adan. “Go and see to the horses while I see if my wife is awake.” Gil paused; he was not a smart boy, and his penchant for blindly obeying any orders he was given had been the only thing to allow him to keep this job after many missteps, but the Master was acting truly strange this morning, and like most men, he was aware from where his bread came, and aware that it could soon disappear if something happened to his employer. “Are -- are you sure, Señor? I can fetch a doctor...” “No,” Javier replied, so roughly and hoarsely that it broke his voice and caused one of the wet coughing fits which had been plaguing him on and off for three springs now. “Just see to it that the damned horses are ready when my wife and I wish to ride, and do it now before I decide you don't really want this job, or any job to be had in this damned town!” Startled more by the look in his master's eyes than the vehemence in his voice, Gil did as he was told, hastening into the tack-room even as Javier, still clearing his throat, stalked off towards the house. Not caring now whether anyone saw him in borrowed clothing, he slammed through the house and into his bedchambers. Had his wife been still asleep, it would have resulted in a rude awakening, but as luck had it, Ofelia was already up and freshly bathed. For a moment, Javier stopped to gaze at her, pristine in the morning sunlight coming in through their bedroom window, with her sable hair casting a startling, wonderful contrast against her ivory skin. Then, just beyond her, he saw the remains of one of the terracotta planter pots scattered over the high wall that surrounded their home and he froze. The dog... No... The wolf. “That … That thing. It's not a dog, is it?” “No, and I daresay he'd bite you if you called him one.” Now he knew from where the creature which had so frightened Ofelia had come, though he supposed it didn't matter. He wasn't going to see Keith again – he couldn't. What they had done together... It would not be repeated.

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Angrily, Javier tore his gaze away from the shattered pot and bellowed for Diego, who came to the bedchamber at a dead run that scattered some of the embers of Javier's ire. “Get someone to clean that up,” he ordered, turning to his clothes-chest and yanking out cleanscrubbed clothing. He didn't hear Diego's retreat as he went to personally oversee the matter, but he growled at Ofelia as she came over to help him dress, wincing inwardly as she shied away. Why must I be so wretched towards her? He demanded of himself, feeling savage delight as stitches in his borrowed doublet popped and the expensive fabric tore a little. Serves him right, wreaking my clothing like that. Even if I did like it... He wasn't aware of the anguished little cry he made, but Ofelia caught it, and this time, she was too quick for him. She caught sight of the mottled bruises across her husband's ribs and gave a startled little exclamation. “Javi!” She gasped, her fingers flying to her lips. “What happened to you? You were gone all night, and now you come home bruised and … and ...” For a moment, just a moment, he considered telling her the truth. Perhaps not about Keith's otherworldliness, for she would hardly believe him on any account, but about all of the rest. About the midnight ride, the long, tangled bouts of their forbidden lovemaking, the desperate, wild passion Keith unleashed in him. The need the man sparked in him. Once, Javier knew, when they had both been caught in that stage of life where neither was child or adult, they had been able to talk to one another of anything and everything. They had spent hours on the outside reaches of the town, watching the clouds roll by and talking of their dreams and the things with which they would occupy their lives. Or, at least, Javier had spoken of those things. Ofelia was a woman; she had always known she would never be expected – nor was it her place – to aspire to anything more than running a home and bearing her husband his children. But Javier had painted an entire world of adventures for her – he had woven tapestries of dreams about adventures on the high seas, or about traveling for the crowns of Spain to conquer new worlds for their mother country. These were stories that, Ofelia was sure, would always remain as nothing more than fanciful dreams, yet they had always been very real to Javier. He had spoken to her, and even if she had not truly understood, she had listened, and that had been enough.

137 But now? When I try, the words do not come. I cannot bear to lie to her – it seems more terrible than anything else I have ever done. But I cannot bear to hurt her with the truth, either... For an eternity of a moment, he was trapped, and then he turned gruffly away to finish dressing, grasping his brush and dragging it through his golden waves. “Nothing happened, Ofelia. Finish your hair and let's have something to eat.” He realized too late the sharpness of his tone and turned back, but she was already flinching back, and the sight of her quivering only made the aching betrayal he carried in his soul taste worse on his tongue. “Cariña.” He was startled at how gently the word slipped past his lips. He was raging inside; how could he sound so gentle? Furious, though not with her, his anger was close to stripping him of what little control he had over himself and yet that word had been said so quietly, so calmly, that Javier found himself even more surprised than Ofelia. Her great dark eyes were giant pools of fright, but they'd always seemed endless to Javier, and he realised he was falling into them as he hadn't in years. He reached out, some part of him touched by emotions he'd thought long buried, and took her hands in his. “Why don't we go for a ride today?” He asked, his voice still low and crooning. “Just you and I, on the north edge of our lands. We can pack a cold lunch and just ...” He stopped now, aware that he was reaching a point where words were not adequate. He shrugged. “If you want.” He could feel a flush creeping up his neck and fought down fury once again – was he some blushing maiden now, reduced to stammering utterances of terrible poetry? He risked a look at his wife's face, and found some relief in the sight of it, for the fear had vanished, to be replaced with a soft expression he often thought of as her courting face. There was no guile to it, but the gentleness inherent in her soul came up into her eyes when she looked like this, and Javier knew there was no man in the world who could resist the urge to shelter and protect Ofelia Casillas Galeano Estas when she looked at him with those deep eyes of hers. He pressed her to him, burying his face in her tresses with something akin to a sob, but when a knock on the door heralded Diego's return and her husband pulled away, she saw his eyes were dry. She frowned, puzzled, but he was already rising and snapping orders to Diego and the housemaids. She shook her head and changed into clothes better suited for riding than the simple velvet gown she had been wearing. As she undid the stays and lifted the dress over her head, her hair snagged in the embroidered cloth of the neckline, and she made a little cry that was muffled

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by the folds of the gown. Sunbaked, strong hands caught hers and gently lifted the dress free of its snarled place in her hands and hair, and she found herself staring up at her husband, standing only in the silken chemise she most often wore to sleep. His eyes traveled over her flesh and back to her face, and she saw a desperate hunger there. Perhaps it was a woman's intuition, perhaps it was something even deeper than that, but Ofelia knew it was not she who could best sate that hunger. She was nearly certain he had met the one who could – though how she knew, she could not say. But she could try, and in that trying, she could at least be close to him for the time she was given. It was selfish, and Ofelia knew it, but her soul had been condemned to Hell the day she had taken it out of God's hands and given it, along with her heart, to the glorious man who stood before her. The moment between them passed as quickly as it had come; while she dressed, Javier followed Diego out into the kitchens, growling commands for this or that to be packed in a basket. A couple of times, she heard deep, rattly coughs mixing themselves into his conversation, but he had always been prone to chest colds, and if those bruises were any indication, he was not taking the care of himself that he should. But he will never let me do it – and why should he? He is here to care for me … because I forced him here. Somehow, somewhere, he has found someone who deserves him – and that person is not me. He will never leave me – but please, please let him be happy. Ofelia turned her face away from the wooden figure of the suffering man on his cross which hung over their bed, wondering to whom she thought she was praying, and silently finished dressing. The morning sun felt magnificent on Javier's skin as he dismounted from his own horse perhaps a half-hour later and wrapped the reins of Ofelia's mount around his right hand even as he reached his left up towards his wife with a smile. She shifted her skirts and thought again how much easier it would be for both of them if women were allowed to ride astride their horse, as men did, instead of to one side as suited a lady, but her guilt at such an improper line of thinking soon reasserted itself. Putting such outlandish thoughts aside, she slid neatly from her mount down into the waiting hands of her husband. His smile was more brilliant to her than the sunlight splashing down around them, and her laughter as he spun her around in his arms danced girlishly off the trees.

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As he set her down on her feet, she looked around. The glade in which they had stopped was on the northernmost edge of their property, with a pretty little stream running through it. She spotted something nearby its edge and left Javier's arms as he struggled with the hasps of the basket he was unloading from his saddle. One of the fastenings stuck fast and he turned away from Ofelia for a moment to free it, only to look back when she called him. “Javi, come look – what's this?” “I don't know – what is it?” He replied without turning back, tugging at the stubborn tie. It gave way with a snap that nearly emptied the basket's contents on the ground before their picnic had even began, and only his quick reflexes saved their meal. He looked up as she came back over, one hand busy with her skirts and pointing in the direction of a tattered bundle of cloth. Heading over to it to investigate, Javier made a face. “Sometimes, Ofelia, I wonder that you weren't born a male with the filthy things you find when we go riding. What is that thing?” “That's what I came to ask you... it looks like someone's cloak, but it's missing pieces. Who comes out here, Javi? This isn't one of your capes, is it?” Javier screwed his face up into a frown.

“No, I've never seen it before.

I hate

trespassers,” he grumbled. Even if it was just some traveler passing through, these were his lands. “It's torn to pieces, so whoever owned it didn't want it, I suppose. Just leave it where it is.” Ofelia shrugged and began to turn away from the ragged cloak when she noticed that its clasp was still attached. Frowning, she tugged it away from the cloth, wincing slightly at the tearing sound even though she knew the garment had been long since rendered useless. “Javi, look – whoever owned it must have been rich. This emblem of the clasp is gold.” Indeed, it was quite heavy in her delicate hands as she carried the dirty thing over to her husband. Javier turned, startled. Gold was fairly rare even in these prosperous times of Spain, and it immediately brought his avaricious side to the forefront. He took it from his wife, startled at the weight of it, and turned it over, squinting. “It's monogrammed, but I can't read what's on the back. It's … French, I think.” Ofelia crowded close and her brows drew together in a frown that made Javier smile. He leaned in to kiss it away, and her forehead cleared as she smiled shyly at him. “I don't know all the words for certain, but I think it says, 'Eyes that have touched a thousand souls have not seen

140 as deeply as yours'.” She looked down as she finished reading it, but Javier tipped her chin back up. “When did you learn French, querida?” Ofelia shrugged. “One of my tutors knew a little. I like the sound of it.” So do I... Javier thought, and shuddered a little, though not in disgust. He closed his fist over the heavy medallion, wondering if it could be Keith's. When could he have come out here? What if he came out here to see … me? Why was his heart thundering in his chest at the thought? He turned away with a scowl; he hadn't come out here to think about Keith. Just because they'd found a stupid medallion with some French writing on it didn't mean it was his. Though no one else in the town speaks French, an insidious little voice whispered. Except my wife, apparently! He shot back, feeling a little guilty that he hadn't known that about her before now. He gathered Ofelia to him and kissed her sun-warmed hair. “I love you, cariña,” he muttered fiercely, and then crushed her lips to his as though he was desperate to convince himself it was her touch, her body he desired. Why wouldn't it be? He demanded silently. She's my wife! I want her! I … love her, in my own way. She was kissing back with that same timid passion she'd always had, as though she were secretly unsure as to the correct method of such shared stimulation, and then she was pulling back slightly, her thick braids of mahogany hair tickling his arms as they tumbled over her shoulders. He remembered the sight of her breasts in the bath that morning as he'd left to seek Keith out – and how close had the two of them come even then to committing the acts in which they'd participated only the night before? – but this time, it did nothing to help spurn the memory of Keith's eyes and the touch of his skin. Dammit! Damn me, and damn him, and damn everything! Why can't I get him out of my MIND? He reminded himself sharply that he was supposed to be out here, enjoying the sunshine and the wonder of his wife's presence – and yet, he was beginning to realize that he wanted nothing more than to return to the villa at the eastern edge of the city and go into the arms of a dark, wise-eyed Frenchman who, it seemed, had somehow burrowed into and stolen a part of his soul. He wanted to pound something in frustration, but out here, there was only Ofelia – and he'd

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struck her enough over the years. He managed a weak smile as she frowned and started to ask what the matter was. “Never mind, cariña. Let's eat, hm? I didn't break my fast this morning. I'm hungrier than a wolf.” He grinned at the comparison, but she shuddered. “Don't say that, Javi.” And then her eyes went round as something occurred to her. “You don't think that thing is out here, do you?” He groaned. “Ofelia, don't start all that again. I told you – some animal got to it, and it was torn to shreds before I got there. It's gone, and it's dead, and nothing can hurt you. You think I'd let anything hurt you? You're my wife, Ofelia.” Not that the fact mattered last night... Ofelia tried to force herself to calm down. He was right – her Javi was usually right about such things, even if he was being strange today – and she was being a silly woman again, smothering him with her foolish worries and fears. She knew she should stop – or, at the very least, make some attempt to modify her behavior – but she loved him so! She looked up at him and tangled a curl of his hair, shining golden in the sunlight, around her hand. He looked down at her, puzzlement erasing the exasperated lines which had begun to gather over his brow, predicting the growing storm of his temper. “I love you, Javi,” she murmured simply, and nestled against his chest. He looked down at her and his green eyes were endless. “I know,” he murmured. “I... I love you, too.”

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Chapter Ten Keith moved restlessly beneath the folds of the damask sheet which covered his white limbs. Everything north of his hips lay bare and gleamed in the faint moonlight that peeked through the crack in the drapes. Amaroq stood at the window, holding the thick curtains bunched in one hand, creating that sliver of moonlight; a noise from the bed had arrested his activity in midmotion, or that slight evidence of moonlight would never have come into being. He took his Master's safety very seriously, and if he were prone to such pensive bouts of reflection as was Keith, perhaps he might have seized on that matter as the reason for his intense dislike and mistrust of the man for whom his Master had so irrevocably fallen. But it was not so; Amaroq was a wolf firstly, and wolves were not introspective creatures by nature. He simply knew that the very presence of the man within these halls, foreign as they still were to both Amaroq and his Master, was a threat. He knew that Keith had conferred with the Spaniard and had shared with him the secrets surrounding his nature, and that furthered Amaroqâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nervousness. If Keith has shared his vampirism's secrets with that ... male, what will he do about the rest of it? Will he tell? Amaroq had known dozens of Keith's lovers over the century, and he also knew that Keith had not told a one among them about his deepest secret, the one which they both shared. He sighed, frustrated, and pulled back the drapes, letting the moonlight burst in and spill over the drowsing man in the bed. Amaroq knew Keith was long out of the full-fledged sleep a vampire falls into during daylight hours because of his movements, but he also knew that Keith liked to slowly wake up and greet the night. And if he's especially tired, he'll fall back into a half-sleep and just lie there and dream. He likes that. Amaroq sighed, expelling a whuff of breath in the direction of the figure on the bed, though he went no closer. Keith was no threat to him in the state in which he lay, for his body was aware enough to waken in time to protect itself, unlike the quiet diurnal sleep of the dead in which he'd spent the majority of the daylight hours, but still, Amaroq regarded him from a distance.

143 “More thoughts like that, Amaroq, and I'll think there is a poet hidden under that white fur of yours.” Keith didn't open his eyes, but his lips stretched into a drowsy smile. “A 'quiet, diurnal sleep'? I like that – you should write it down.” “You're the one who was taught to hold a pen, not me. You write it down,” he grumbled, releasing the drapes and changing between one step and the next to a wolf. His amber eyes were narrowed, but not, Keith thought, against the moonlight. While his nature often descended into grouchiness, a fact that Keith attributed to the burden of years his faithful servant had carried before Keith had naively bestowed upon him the gift of his own vampirism, the Frenchman didn't understand its cause tonight. He extended his hands, slightly shocked when Amaroq didn't come near as he normally did. “What's this?” He asked softly, slipping away from the sheets and coming to kneel, nude, on the thick Persian rug on which his bed sat. “What has upset you?” That male upsets me, and you know it! Amaroq burst out angrily, trying to jerk his great head away from the enclosure of Keith's arms. I fear for you – I fear what he can DO to you. Keith's lips twitched upwards into a smile. “Amaroq, you have no idea what he can do to me. But I assure you, it's nothing of which to be afraid...” The growl that issued forth from Amaroq's chest was enough, Keith thought, to rattle the glazed window-glass. He sighed and dug his fingers into Amaroq's ruff, reaching to scratch the spots he knew the wolf loved most. Slowly, unwillingly, the homolupine relaxed into his Master's touch and was soon leaning his heavy body against Keith's chest instead of pulling away from it. Keith continued in silence for a few moments more, and then, when he spoke, his voice was soft and very serious. “Amaroq, Javier is not going to hurt me. I will not let him hurt me. There will be no repeat of what happened in France. I promise you.” How do you know that? Despite the abruptness of his words, his mental voice was almost sleepy. You can't know his thoughts while you are asleep. If he comes during the day and you are not awake... what if I am not fast enough to save you this time? If he tells the whole town... There are so many people here, Keith, and if they come for you, the odds are pretty good that neither of us will get out alive. And they'd probably hang Margot and the rest as accomplices. Keith sighed and buried his face into Amaroq's shoulder-blades. Great clumps of white fur tickled his nostrils, but he didn't move for some time. “Dammit, Amaroq, what do you want me to do? Hide forever? Run from town to town and be completely alone? You are with me, and

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you will always be with me, but you know that we are more dissimilar than not, and you cannot spend every waking moment with me. He makes me feel alive, Amaroq. Something about his wild fire, his fury, his passion – something about the way he lets it all out for the entire world to see... it is inspiring and wonderful. Everyone should live like that.” He paused. “I do not want to end up like the Master did, Amaroq.” His voice cracked a little, and he moved away slightly from the wolf's great form, taking in three quick, deep breaths to control his emotions. “I do not want to wander the world, tired of everything in it. I do not want to find myself so lacking in any emotion that the most interesting item on my agenda for the evening is to see whether I can kill myself before you can stop me. And he chases away every bit of apathy I might even have considered allowing into my soul, Amaroq. With every step, every blow, every curse and every kiss, he brings me back to life, Amaroq. He is the sun I have all but forgotten, and I need him. I don't know why. But I do.” Amaroq sat silent in the face of his Master's confessions, and finally drew a heaving sigh from the very depths of his soul. All right... I can't stop you. I know that by now. He snorted, a very human-esque sound for a wolf, and the incongruity of it made Keith laugh. You're as stubborn as your brother, you know that? Keith smiled faintly at the mention of his identical twin. He loved Dante dearly, but they hadn't spoken since the year after Keith had taken him across. For reasons Keith could not fathom, Dante resented this life into which Keith had thrust him. Amaroq had decided that, since Dante did most of his talking with his fists, it was better for the twins to be separate for as long as it took for Dante to come around. Still, Keith had written Dante in the summer of the year 1221, telling him that Dante would always have a place in his home, whenever he wanted it. Keith had never received a reply. Whether or not Dante had even received the letter was something he could never know – and now that he and Amaroq had moved on, neither of them were sure that his twin even had any idea of how to reach them. It was no longer even worth worrying about – though Keith admitted to doing it more often than he liked. He kissed the top of Amaroq's head, tossing away the sight of Dante's icy violet eyes. Their colour, arresting in its oddness, was the only real physical difference between them, though even it had been muted by the onset of vampirism which had lightened Keith’s silver-edged eyes until they were bright-faced with something very much like what lay within the irises of Dante’s.

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Keith wondered, suddenly, what would happen to Javier's eyes if the dark gift of a vampire were to be given to him. Would the motes of sunlight in their grassy depths leap out to him, sparkling like golden lightning in their brightness? Or would the green overtake the shreds of gold and drown him in its impassioned, verdant sea? All right, all right, you're in love with him – stop already! You make me glad that no one writes down the sorts of thoughts you have in your head, because otherwise, you'd make me learn to read it! Keith smiled. “Don't make me hold you to that, my old friend.” So what now? What do you want to do? You want him – where is he? Back at home with his wife – he doesn't belong there. He belongs with you. So woo him. Court him, like I would a female. Find as many fat rabbits as you can and stuff him to the gills – he'll raise his tail to you willingly. Keith burst out into merry laughter. “My God, Amaroq, he's not a she-wolf! I can't bring him rabbits to his doorstep – he'll think I'm more of a madman than he already does!” Well, even if you don't bring him rabbits, the sentiment is the same. Court him if you want him. Let him see that he does not want that female of his. “He does want her... and they are very much --” Don't tell me he loves her; I won't believe you, and I'll bite you for lying to me. If he loves her, then I'm a cat. “If you are that, my Amaroq, you have a very strange purr to you.” But Keith sombered and shook his head. “I think you are wrong that he does not love her; I think he does, in his way. But what I was going to say is that they are very much together, Amaroq – they are a family unit in the way that you and I are one. You would not have anyone intrude upon that, would you? Then how is it that I can justify doing so to him?” Amaroq watched Keith for a very long time. Where has this sudden streak of softness come from? You were a determined man a week ago – you would do anything to see him in your bed, in your hands, in your house. Why the change of heart? “It's not a change of heart, not at all.” Keith sighed. He wasn't sure he could explain it to himself, much less to Amaroq. Something about the way the boy's regret had lain over him, like a sickness, only it was a malady not to be cured with crushed herbs or oily nostrums. “I want him

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more, every moment I think about him but I don't want him to suffer, Amaroq, and if you had seen him this morning...” What makes you think I didn't? A wolfish grin lit his lupine features. What makes you think he ever made it home? Keith gave him a quelling look for his efforts. “Because his heartbeats still thunder along my veins like the thrill of the first hunt, wolf,” he replied coolly, smiling a little at Amaroq's surprise. “It shocks you that I can hear it from here? I know where he is, always. I may not know what it is he is thinking until I am close, but I know where he is, and will until the day he dies.” So go find him. If you really wanted to do me a good turn, you could make tonight that night … “Impudent wretch!” But Keith was laughing, and he rose with more of a spring in his step than his uneasy sleep should have afforded him. He called for Marlon and Linette to run him a bath; once Marlon had finished filling the tub, he was sent to the wine cellar to choose amongst the finest of the wines in Keith's cellar. Linette was sent out of the bathing chamber in search of fine, clean-scrubbed clothes in which Keith could go visiting while Amaroq shifted subtly from wolf to manservant and washed Keith's hair and back for him. Even Margot was not spared tonight; she was sent in search of whatever would make an excellent bouquet, for Keith had learned that the Spanish dearly loved their flowers, and he trusted that a woman so attuned to the scents of wonderful culinary delights would most certainly know which blooms would feature most enticingly in a gift of flowers. “If you think this mane of yours is going to dry before tomorrow night, you're mad,” Amaroq informed Keith as he attempted to both dry and comb out Keith's long, shadow-kissed hair. Impatiently, Keith waved the notion away. “Put it up still wet, then.” Amaroq's fingers paused. “Put it up? In a plait? It's not done here. The males all curl their hair – or would, if it was as straight as yours, -- and I'm not sure whether it's frightening that you think I can curl yours while it's wet, or funny.” Exasperated, Keith rose and pushed back his heavy mantle of hair. “I don't care, Amaroq. I want to look gentlemanly and neat, not like I've just come out of the stables.” Even if that's

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where I want to end up. He recalled the sight of Javier on a horse and was nearly undone at the thought. He shuddered a little as Amaroq began to comb through his hair, and nearly an hour was spent in shivering, erotic reflections of Javier as Keith tried to endure his servant's fussing over his hair. At long last, Amaroq either gave in or had finished, and Keith was free. He dressed swiftly but richly, though he was careful to give at least a passing nod to the dress customs of the time. Amaroq had told him of the rumours already flying around the city, and he didn't want to attract too much undue attention. He left the house sometime after the formal dinner hour had gotten underway, and Keith smiled at the freedom found in the mostly empty streets. He walked along, wary enough to listen for the furtive movements of pickpockets or beggars, but carefree enough to take in the sights of the city. He wanted to time his arrival so that Javier and his wife would have eaten the main part of their meal already to avoid being asked to join them – if, that is, Javier does not leave me rudely cooling my heels in a parlour somewhere. If I can have it so, though, I wish to interact with Ofelia as well; I want Javier to see that I am not a threat to … to … He paused. “Good evening, señor...” An unfamiliar voice greeted him from somewhere to his left; he had just passed a fine house, by which a coach had been standing. Keith had not known the inhabitants within the conveyance, and so he had not stopped, but apparently, the woman thought she knew him. French, and very rich, too, at that, Alba thought, eyeing the man before her. He was slim, and that face of his bordered on beautiful. Her footman said something, but she waved him away; her husband had already gone inside, too eager to attend the delights of the table which awaited him than extend the courtesies due to her as his wife, so she knew she had a few moments before anyone would come looking. She also knew, without having to ask, that this was the stranger who had come to town some few months ago; his ebony hair and startlingly pale skin was far too Gallic to allow him to pass as a Spaniard. She noted the cut of his clothing, and something triggered in her mind. Javi was wearing something like that this morning... That doublet looks very similar. So, he is the friend, si? Half-truths, Alba, half-truths... “Perdon, señor...” She put out a hand as if to stop him on his way and met with the endless eternity of Keith's eyes. Her hand started

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towards her mouth and stopped before it reached its destination. Frozen by something Alba could not explain, she stood dumbly until Keith smiled. He had known the woman instantly. Her type lived in every town in the world; wealthy women who resented being stymied by the male-dominated world in which they lived, and who retained bitterness, rather than acceptance, over being left with little more to do than care for children or sew, would always find some little story with which to amuse themselves. At the cost, no doubt, of the reputations of others whom they believe are better off than they themselves … He had crossed paths with women very much like Alba – and, more than once, their gossiping ways had led to a rather hasty tactical retreat. Keith was not fond of traveling unless there was somewhere in particular he wished to explore, and hurried escapes an hour before dawn as a mob descended with stakes and firebrands was not the farewell he wished to receive from this particular city. He could taste the penchant for gossip on this woman as though she wore it as a perfume, and gossip was always where it began. “Si... senorita?”

Keith had paused before uttering the incorrect form of address; the

wedding ring she wore on her finger was quite obvious, but he recalled the effect the mistaken title had had upon Margot, and though it would be more likely that the woman would remember him all the better for having used it, perhaps he could use her vanity against her somehow. He smiled charmingly and took both of her hands within his own, noting their soft grip and bejeweled state with some amusement. The scent of her blood was abruptly quite alluring to him; women like this one often tasted of interesting sights and sounds. But he released her hands a moment later with a mild sense of regret. Murdering a wouldbe rapist was one thing; picking off members of the town's high society was another matter entirely. He smiled at her a moment later as though he had suddenly placed a name to a face he'd known but hadn't quite been able to recall. “Ah, you are Señor Estas' good friend, yes! He did not say you were so lovely, señorita; I shall have to speak with him most firmly about omitting such a thing.” It was – and he'd been certain it would be – the perfect thing to say. She flushed and flittered girlishly for a moment, completely thrown off by the compliment. Privately, Keith felt a rush of compassion for the woman – what a poor existence she must lead, despite her comfortable

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financial status. The vampiric women he had known throughout his lifetimes would probably have scoffed at him – or worse – for trying such glib trickery of the tongue with them, but he was learning quickly that, though human he had once been, he would now and forever remain beyond them, in a completely different world. That gave him pause; Javier's face, so easily brought to his mind, burst forth in its godly beauty, and he wondered just for a moment what it was he thought he was doing. Could he truly seduce a human? Did he really think that Javier's mind, as well as his body could wrap itself around all of what Keith was, and accept that state, being that Javier himself was simply mortal? Not that that was, perhaps, considered a state beneath that of vampirism, but the two lives they each led were so different, Keith thought, as different as night was to day. But is not Javier the sunlight I crave? Is he not the gleam of the daylight I have halfforgotten? He shook away his thoughts and smiled disarmingly down at the Spanish lady before him. “No, the señor did not do you justice at all, fair one.” “I was wondering,” she began, glancing over her shoulder as if to ensure they would not be interrupted so soon. “Where did you meet Javi – I mean, Señor Estas?” “I am a good friend of his cousin, Señor Miguel Merano Fernandez,” Keith answered smoothly. “We met when his cousin was in town last month. He is an interesting man, is Señor Estas,” he continued easily, aware he should not go too far – although it was not outright lying of which he could be convicted now.

More like a case of gross understatement, he thought,

amused. “He has a fine stable. I thought he could give me pointers for my own.” He was further amused, though not at all surprised, by the briefest flickering of disappointment in her dark eyes. She'd been fishing for gossip and Keith had neatly torn her burgeoning story into shreds. But Alba Del Hierro was not to be so easily dissuaded. She blinked, composed herself, and then cocked her head with a viper's smile. Keith wondered how her husband could not have seen that terrible glitter in her eyes – or how, if he had, he had not run screaming for the hills instead of towards the altar. It was enough, almost, to give him pause, and he had little enough to fear from this woman. “Are you married, monsieur...?” Keith smiled and lifted her pudgy hands to his lips again, allowing the barest brush of his lips to touch her knuckles. “Forgive me... My manners are quite abominable tonight... señorita. My name is Keith D'Ameron.” And I wonder how much of tonight I shall have to make you

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forget before we are through here? Impertinent woman, asking about such personal matters when she has known me but a few minutes... Perhaps it is not Javier who bucks tradition, but this entire town which has taught him to do so!

“No...”

He replied quietly, casting his eyes

downwards as though to convey a barely hidden grief. “My wife passed away some years ago. I have come to Spain to … start afresh. Señor Estas and his cousin have --” “Señora Del Hierro?” Keith did not react to the call of the unfamiliar voice which floated out from the grand house, but Alba did, twitching her shoulders with annoyance. She called something back in fluid Spanish, something about having dropped a comb, Keith thought, and neatly removed one from her hair before she turned back. He smiled. “Ah, ma chere, your light has been too long away from them and they long to cluster around it once more. Here is the comb for which you were looking. Why don't you slip it into your handbag where no one will see it?” He gave her a conspiratorial little smile. “Should it never return to its mate, you shall be required to buy a new set, non?” Her answering smile was a grin born of pure avarice, and she quickly took his advice, but it was not swift enough for her to see Keith leave. He vanished quickly into the shadows that a nearby lane provided, and waited a moment, looking back in the direction from which he had come. He wondered what la señorita had truly been after when asking about their mutual friend. Did she think the boy was cheating on his wife? He swallowed a moment, and then shook his head. Javier had been, of course, but Keith had known enough of the world by now to realize that the extravagant acceptance that the Romans had held for all things, including the physical manifestations of love between two people, had long since passed into the ether. Why, he did not know, for what he had long ago learned as a boy about the once-mighty empire had seemed, at the time, to be the height of … of utopia. It was a word which had just entered his vocabulary recently, and Keith decided that it fit perfectly. He leaned against a nearby building, thinking. The woman had been searching for some information on Javier, but what it was, Keith had no idea. He did not believe that Alba would think for a moment that Javier would have lain illicitly in the bed of a man and thusly dishonoured his marriage vows; most echelons of society didn't think about the idea of two men lying together when they considered the notion of adultery. The Church did, and of this fact, Keith was well

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aware, but though he held his own personal beliefs on the subject of religion, he did not much care for the emergence of organised religion as it dragged itself kicking and screaming into a more enlightened age. But if the woman would not have considered for a moment that it was I with whom Javier lay, then... who? She knows Javier fairly well by the sound of things, so she must be aware of his familial ties. Though I wonder if this cousin of his is indeed within the town limits â&#x20AC;&#x201C; should he not be, we shall both be caught in a liar's web. Keith gnawed on his lip and abruptly changed course. No, it would not be wise for him to approach Javier's home tonight, not so soon after such a chance meeting with that woman. Irritated, he sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at the fine house which contained SeĂąora Del Hierro and her party. You should be very thankful indeed that it is considered unseemly for a woman to be without escort, SeĂąora, for your blood is twice as appealing to me now that you have diverted me.

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Chapter Eleven The great wolf felt his master reach for him as he lay by the kitchen fire, contentedly gnawing on his latest steal from Margot’s soup stock, but he waited a moment, his mouth full of sweet marrow, before he deigned to answer. Keith had moved some distance away from the busier side streets before he had dared to attempt a link with the werewolf, and the movement had given his temper a chance to cool itself. Amaroq, he murmured for a second time, knowing that the wolf was merely pretending not to hear him as he chewed happily on his prize. In his mind's eye, he could see the great yellow-eyed beast as he lay by the kitchen fire, bellied up to something he had probably stolen from Margot. Yes, I did steal it from Margot. What is it? I thought you were going out to see … him. Amaroq stretched out lazily on the hearthstone, wrapping one paw more firmly around the knob of bone on which he was gnawing. I got waylaid. Amusement coloured Keith's mental voice. There is a gossip in town that hungers for tidbits about Javier, apparently, and I met her on my way over. It would not be wise, I think, to let her get wind of my presence at his home tonight – not without Javier's prior knowledge that I was coming. Servants talk, and word could get out to her, especially if she is related to the family. I did not bother to enquire. You want me to sniff around, don't you? It wasn't precisely a question, and Keith had to muffle his laughter. Not at whose home you are thinking, my Amaroq, no, but yes, I do wish you to do some hunting for me. No, I need some information on one of Javier's kin, actually, a man named Miguel Merano Fernandez. I need to know if he lives here in this city. Why? Oh, never mind, the wolf replied grouchily to his own question. If it has to do with the Spaniard, you won’t know yourself anyway. Where would this man possibly be located? I should hope he is somewhere nearby, within the town limits. Somewhere fairly close to both our residence and Javier's, for on neither occasion that he has come here has he used any other form of transportation than his own two feet. Keith thought a moment. Or am I incorrect on that notion? He knew Amaroq would know better than he would.

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How am I supposed to know? The only thing I pay attention to where that male is concerned is how quickly I can get him to leave. Keith scowled. Amaroq. What? I'll let you know if I find anything. Go hunting. It'll stop you from moping around this place for a while. That was an excellent idea, and Keith knew it; he hadn't hunted but lightly in the last few days, and the walk would possibly give him some time to think. I wanted to say so much to him tonight, he mused almost mournfully as he began to meander towards the town square, away from the residential areas of the city. But I think that I would not have known even where to begin had I received the chance. He frowned and walked along, his head dipped slightly and his shoulders dropped in sorrow. It masked some of the height advantage he held over the few people in the streets, and he garnered little notice as he passed, a quiet man strolling along with his eyes fixed on his thoughts. I think I have fallen irrevocably in love with the man â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and how can such a thing happen so quickly? - but seeing the indecision on his face... it does not inspire fury now. I wish he would choose me; I wish that more than anything, but who am I to command him to do it? I am a stranger from another country, whose world is so far apart from his that he must be reeling, simply trying to comprehend it. I have thrown all of this and more at him in so short a time span â&#x20AC;&#x201C; is it any wonder that he will not come to me willingly? He turned down a winding avenue; from here, the sharp tang of the waterfront and its various collections of disagreeable scents were publicly on display, and he wrinkled his nose slightly. The shops and few homes he could see were growing more dilapidated; why was it, he wondered, that those edifices built nearest the city's prime source of income were always in the most deplorable conditions? Someday, he supposed, things would change, but apparently not yet. It was easy to find prey on the docks; Keith had not been in sight of the filthy harbour for more than a quarter of an hour before he was accosted by a pair of rough men, who had probably been sailors at some point before their respective captains had decided life at sea would be less dangerous and more profitable without them. Keith had sized up the situation swiftly; too much of a brawl and not only would he draw further, unwelcome attention to himself, but he would lose out on the blood for which he was searching. He'd stepped back once from the first man who'd come up, and a simple flick of one

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wrist had sent him into the filthy waters below. Anyone who heard the splash would simply assume it was another drunkard stepping too far off the edge of the dock. The second man, however, did not get away from Keith’s grasp so easily. Outraged by the simple removal of his companion by the stranger – or perhaps made bolder by the thought that any riches Keith was carrying could now be made solely his, – the second ruffian pulled forth a rusted falchion that had, Keith thought, seen far better days in long ago times than those it faced now. Ignoring the longsword he wore at his own side, Keith simply dodged the angry thrust of the curved blade as it licked towards him and whipped behind the man. His right arm curled around the man's throat and pressed painfully on the ex-sailor's windpipe, crushing any thought the man might have of calling for help, and Keith yanked the man's head painfully over to his right shoulder, baring the thundering pulse point on the left side of his neck. His fangs slid neatly to the gums into the pliant skin of the man's neck, and he drank swiftly, knowing that the man would struggle less – and Keith's chances of discovery before he could feed would drop off significantly – if blood were to leave his body in a rush. He swallowed quickly, greedily, in practiced fashion, regretting that he barely had time to register the flowing images of the man's life as he drank. The struggling was slowing, and Keith pulled away, spitting to his left as he registered on his lips the taste of several weeks' worth of grime and sweat from the man's neck, before he was even finished. He craved more blood – he was half-tempted to go after the floundering ringleader in the harbour waters – but he forced himself to stop before he was ready. The body in his arms sagged suddenly as the man was taken in a faint. Keith caught him by the hair and inspected him. A broken neck would not suffice this time, and he didn't have time to impress upon his prey the numerous contusions he would need to make any enquiring public believe the man had died in a brawl. He paused a moment, thinking, and then spied the rusted metal edge of some discarded cargo boxes nearby. Moving swiftly and silently, Keith approached the boxes, and then, without ceremony, allowed the body to drop from his arms, ensuring that the man's head was perfectly placed to strike the corner of one of the salt-encrusted containers with as little resistance as possible. Dispassionately, he watched the man's head bounce off the sharp corner of one of the containers. He knelt near the body and wrapped one hand around the stack, steadying them and bracing them against his own body. Rust flaked onto his clothing, but he paid it no mind, grabbing a fistful of

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the man's hair, noting that there was already a faint slick of blood over it. Good. I left enough. Grimly, he regarded the man's expression one last time. Then he smashed the back of the man's skull as hard as he dared against the corners of the box.

Though he had restrained most of his vampire's strength, the metal-wrapped wooden

structure cracked and crashed to pieces under the assault by the third strike. Again, Keith lifted the man's head once more, inspecting the back of it to ensure the fatality of his handiwork – and paused. His eyes met with those of another man's, a striking youth whose short cloak could not hide the sun-kissed glimmer of his hair, even on a night as dark as this. Their gazes met and held, and then something made Keith look away. He looked down only long enough to release his grip on the dead man in his arms, no more than a handful of seconds, Keith was sure, but Javier was already gone. Keith's lips tightened into a smile; did Javier think he could evade a vampire so easily? He allowed the other noises of the harbour to fade away, ferreting out the singular sound of Javier's heartbeat and concentrating solely on that resonance. As it thundered in his soul, and Keith's senses locked on its location, he allowed himself to wonder at the boy's presence. Keith had told no one in his household where it was he had planned to go even before his conversation with Señora Del Hierro – and even if he had done so, his subsequent decision to alter his evening's plans hadn't been known to anyone at all. Except Amaroq … who was at the house. Keith invariably knew where Amaroq -and Javier always was, no matter the location; he was fairly certain his lupine friend had the same ability where Keith himself was concerned. So he could have told Javier where I was – or, at the least, given him a general idea of my whereabouts. But if Amaroq was the one who furnished him with such information, that means Javier sought me out – he would have had to come to the house! I can't imagine he would have seen Amaroq on the streets. No, he knew better than that.

If Keith sent Amaroq out looking for someone or

something, Amaroq would always find the source he wanted – neither the source, nor anyone else, would ever find him. So, while Keith was fairly certain that his vampire's heart could not, in any way, burst under the pressure of any emotion, he certainly felt as though it were trying to do

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so. Javier had sought him out! He had come to see Keith! There was something there, and the Spaniard could feel it! He took several deep breaths to contain himself, and moved at a cautious pace towards the thrum of Javier's lifeforce. Keith found it peculiar that its distance from him was not increasing; it appeared that Javier had not seen fit to move far, and Keith paused briefly to wonder whether the boy was playing games with him. As he listened, slowly beginning to approach the lane down which the golden-haired Spaniard had gone, the heart's beat echoing in his ears stuttered once or twice as a human's will when the body is caught in the throes of laughter or some other innocuous expression. Is he laughing at me? What is he doing? He swallowed. Is it a trap? He knew the boy had seen him doing something on the dock, and Keith truly could not be sure of how excellent Javier's eyesight was. Was he lying in wait with members of the guard just around the corner? It was a fear most vampires had when forced to hunt in the confines of a town – and a fair deal of his ilk that Keith had met over the years had been so richly punished that they subsequently, if they were lucky enough to have gotten away, never hunted so publicly again. He screwed up his face into a fierce scowl. I won't believe that. I can't believe that. If I believe ill of all I meet, if I believe that any and all are solely within this world to see harm done to me, then what sort of existence is this? I cannot go through eternity like this. But part of him wondered if he'd been incorrect about the reason behind his Master's suicide. Had he been made indifferent to the world ... or had he simply been made afraid of it? Living in fear was no life at all – was not worthy of his Master, and Keith would never have believed that someone like his Master could succumb to such an emotion. But perhaps it had been hidden deep within the man, buried inside those inscrutable eyes of his, and left to gnaw away at him without Keith’s knowledge. In the end, when it had become too great to bear, his vampire’s duty had been finished – he had made progeny in the only way left open to their kind. So he had been free to rid himself of the fear-riddled eternity he had been living. His Master had deserved better, after all, than to be forced to spend hundreds of years looking over his shoulder. And so did he. Keith would not allow his world to be so determined, not by anyone, no matter how deeply he cared for them. He summoned up his courage again and began walking slowly forward, tensely alert for anything out of the ordinary.

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When their paths at last crossed, however, there was no one else on the street. Keith relaxed slightly, and then jumped a little at the sharp sound of flint being struck. The tiny flame, which rose within the enclosure of a lantern, illuminated the dark and caught, within its small flare, Javier's verdant eyes. They were fixed on Keith’s face. The calm stare gave Keith a faint start – nothing like the one he would have had to find the boy surrounded by armed members of the Guard, he supposed – but he jumped a little under its intensity nonetheless. As he crossed the street and entered just enough of Javier's personal space to comfortably hold a quiet conversation, he hoped Javier hadn't seen his momentary fright. To the boy's credit, if he had, he didn't say anything. In fact, for several moments, neither man spoke. Javier punctuated the silence only with exhalations of smoky breath as he sucked busily on the end of another cigarillo. Only when he ground it out completely and went for the box in which they lay to light another, did Keith speak. “What are you doing here?” It was a weak – and possibly accusatory – start to their conversation, but he felt he had to know. He watched Javier's eyes, attempting to plumb their depths and found, for the first time, that he could not do so without the aid of his vampiric gifts, and Keith felt that to use them on Javier at this instance would be the height of incivility. Not to mention, it would probably backfire on me anyway, he thought wryly. Most things seem to with this one. As he'd thought, Javier raised a brow. “I wasn't aware you ruled my life so closely, Frenchman. I've long since grown out of being told where I can and cannot go.” “And I would not believe you if you said you ever listened to anyone who gave you such limits anyway,” Keith murmured. He caught the faintest flicker of a smile and then Javier was extending an unlit cigarillo to him. He declined quietly, his hands palm up to indicate both peace as well as refusal, Javier thought. He lit the one Keith had denied himself, and tapped it against his lips, though he didn't take it into his mouth, not yet. “Have you got anything else to say, or are you going to try and put me on the defensive some more?” He took a deep draw and expelled the smoke smoothly up to the stars, praying to a God in which he had no faith that he wouldn't start coughing again. His throat itched, but he swallowed reflexively and forced the urge away. “What did you follow me for?”

158 “What did you see?” Keith countered. Javier laughed, chuckles turning, too late to be stopped, into smoky coughs. He waved the smoke away from Keith's face, pleased to see that the man hadn't withdrawn. He was a worthy opponent, both in sword and word play; Javier would give him that. “Enough,” he replied, gleefully noting the faint flicker of irritation across Keith's face. He dragged in another smoky breath to buy himself time, and then released it to his right, watching Keith from the corner of his eye. “I saw you kill a man.” His voice was very quiet. Keith crossed his arms. “You saw me do that the other night, too. You weren't so appalled then.” Though he's not – he seems, instead, pleased that he caught me. “You murdered a man who was about to rape a woman. If a member of the Guard had caught him, he would have hung. So he would have died either way. What did that other man do to you?” Keith stiffened slightly. So he hadn't been there long. He wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. “I believe the word in your language for his 'profession' is pícaros. He tried to rob me.” Javier snorted. “With the way you dress, I'd be surprised if the damned churchmen weren't trying to liberate your possessions.” Keith arched a brow. “I don't see you running around the city in rags either, señor.” Javier blinked. On any occasion where the man could, Keith had never before missed a chance to use his birth-given name. Now, though, he had rolled the ending letter of the formal title around his tongue as though caressing it – and because Javier well remembered Keith's level of skill with that particular bodily organ, he could not help shivering a little in response. He wondered if Keith had meant his pronunciation of the word to produce the reaction that it did, and decided the man probably had; he wasn't above killing someone in public, after all, so moral scruples weren't high on his list. Irritably, he sucked on his cigarillo and fought for control. When he was not near Keith, he could force himself to forget all of what the man could do to him – had done to him! - by focusing on anything other than what they had illicitly shared. But when he was face-to-face with the man like this, when those twilight eyes of Keith's met his, there was nothing in the world that could stop Javier's body from reacting.

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But that's not it.

I've reacted to women before.

I've wanted women – probably a

thousand of them or more – but never like this. There's such mystery and wonder to him. I want more than this life I have … and it is almost like he possesses this secret ability to give it to me. He shook his head and glowered at Keith, who was leaning casually against a building now, one of his elegant hands pressed lightly to his chin. “What are you?” He demanded suddenly, and felt both anger and desire blossom in him when Keith smiled, showing the barest edges of his fangs. Carefully now. Bait him, but tell him what he wants to know, all the same. He wants … something. Give it to him. “You know what I am. We discussed that the other night.” He paused a moment, allowing for two beats of Javier's heart, and then continued. “I am a vampire, Javier.” “But what does that mean?” Keith spread his hands. “I don't comprehend what it is you are asking. It means that I am not like you. That I --” Javier interrupted him by laughing outright. “Not like me – there's an understatement! You are as far removed from me as a priest.” “But you should know as well as I – or better – that I am anything but a priest...” Keith's lips curled up into a sensual smile. “Or have you forgotten so soon?” “Forgotten what?” Javier replied coolly, proud that he had managed to utter the words so calmly. He inspected his nails as he had so often seen Keith do, but he allowed himself to watch Keith's expression surreptitiously. Keith jerked a little, instantly reminding himself that Javier was only trying – and succeeding – to burrow under his skin, and that he was at least as affected by Keith's presence as the French vampire was by Javier's, and then laughed to himself as he saw the boy imitating some of his own mannerisms. Well, he wanted to play like that, did he? “This,” he replied roughly, moving too quickly for Javier to follow and crushing the young man's perfectly formed lips to his. For a moment, the kiss was everything Keith could have asked for, and he drowned it in, feeling Javier's lips open, first in surprise, and then in searing acquiescence as he gave into what his body demanded. But nothing lasts forever, as Keith had long since learned, and he staggered back as Javier shoved him away as hard as he could. He'd put more effort into the motion than he'd needed;

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Keith hadn't been braced for the impact of Javier's body at all, and the strength coiled in Javier's arms and shoulders made Keith long to feel it for himself, around himself, as they lay in a tangle of limbs and bed-linens. Instead, he felt it as his back hit the wall against which he'd previously been leaning. He struck it hard and grunted as the wind rushed out of him. For a moment, he felt wild fury at the fact that Javier could give in so easily to his kiss or embrace and then dare to shove at him at though he were some common rapist! But his better sense reasserted itself and he relaxed slowly, straightening his clothing with a calm he didn't really feel. He looks like … he looks savage. Javier stared at Keith for a moment, almost transfixed by the way his calm descended upon him as though he hadn't been poised to launch himself at Javier's throat and tear it out with those fangs of his. Angrily, though a dispassionate part of Javier wondered whether he was directing the emotion towards Keith or himself, he wiped the taste of Keith's lips off his mouth with the back of his hand and spat at the Frenchman's feet. “Stop it!” He seethed, spitting at his feet again for good measure, because he'd seen the flicker of disgust register on Keith's features and, though it was infantile of him to do so and Javier knew it, he wanted to use that to his advantage. “If you do that again, I swear I'll see you burned on the stake at dawn!” Keith jerked visibly this time, Javier noticed, and he thought he'd even seen some of the colour drain from the Frenchman's oddly flushed face. When Keith had first approached, Javier had wondered at the lack of his usual pallour, and then had recalled how he'd acquired that unearthly blossom after drinking the blood of that other man.

Javier shuddered lightly in

recollection, and swallowed hard, attempting to seize control of the advantage he felt was quickly slipping through his fingers. Something about his threat had knocked Keith off guard and, forcing a confident smile to his features that the Spaniard didn't feel, he pressed it. “So, I've finally found something to knock that smug smile off your face, Frenchman. It's about time. Afraid of being outed in front of the entire town as a monster?” Keith ground his teeth but disguised his fury as well as he could. Keep him off balance. He's saying it to make you angry, and you know it. Calm down. He wants this – don't give it to him. Instead, heeding his own advice, he looked down, casting his expression into shadow a moment to allow his blood to cool, and then met Javier's eyes again. “I'm sorry.”

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Just as Keith had thought, Javier rocked back on his heels, caught off-guard by the unexpected apology. “Perdon?” He demanded, irritated with himself when his voice shook. Keith bit the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from uttering something sarcastic in response, and simply shrugged lightly. “I'm sorry. I don't... I didn't follow you tonight to …” He broke off, shrugging again. “I'm sorry.” He stared past Javier for a moment, his vampire's eyes slicing the shadows down the street. He could see something rummaging through refuse a few hundred yards behind Javier, and he focused on that movement while he attempted to collect his thoughts. His eyes met Javier's again squarely. “I don't want... to pull you away from your family. I wanted to come and see you tonight at your home –,” “Mi Dios, are you insane?” Javier interrupted, his voice hoarse with shock. “To my home?” He looked horrified. “Why?” “If you'll be quiet a moment and allow me to finish, you might find out.” “Don't talk to me like I'm five years old,” Javier replied automatically, glaring, but Keith appeared unmoved. “Don't act like it and I won't. May I continue?” Keith noticed that Javier's hand trembled slightly when he waved him on and when the young man lit another cigarillo, he drew in too much smoke and choked. The fit was deep and lasting, and had Javier bent nearly double. Watching the colour rise in his face, hearing the deep rasp for a moment, Keith felt alarm rise in his own throat. Javier gagged on a spate of further choking and leaned helplessly against a nearby wall, trying and failing to draw breath past coughing that would not stop. Frowning, Keith vanished inside the tapas outside of which they'd been speaking and bought a goblet of wine, handing it to Javier seconds later. Automatically, Javier drank, but his eyes were huge in his face. “How did you do that?” He demanded a moment later when the fit had subsided. He turned his head and spat into the gutter, turning back just in time to see Keith wince. “That really is a disagreeable habit,” the Frenchman complained. “Do what?” “Get the wine! I didn't even see you move.” He drained the goblet and set it aside on a pile of empty crates nearby, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He was glad to see that, upon surreptitious inspection, there was no blood marring the skin. He'd been upset to see it the other day after a coughing fit, certain that Ofelia would be bringing home

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battalions of physicians if she were to find out about it. But it was gone now, and that was all that mattered. What was he looking for just then? Keith wondered, frowning slightly. Aloud, he snorted softly. “Then you weren't looking hard enough.” He shrugged. “We move more quickly than you do, that's all.” “We?” Javier echoed. “You mean there are more like you?” Vaguely, he recalled Keith as having made passing mention to such a thing, but he couldn't quite recall what he'd said just now – Keith's eyes were too close to him, and Javier felt himself tumbling into their endless abyss too quickly to allow for rational thought. Keith smiled faintly and looked away at the shifting shadows up the street from them to allow Javier time to collect himself. “You do not think I am the only vampire who walks the night, do you?” As if he expected others to walk up the street with fangs bared at any moment, Javier looked around and then back at Keith. 'Well...” he began, and then shrugged. “I don't know! How did you get to be this way, then?” Keith smiled faintly. “That, my Javier, is a story for another time – or another life, perhaps,” he finished sadly. “I do not know why you followed me to the docks tonight, but I intended to see you anyway, to tell you this: I will not force you to do anything. I have never wanted any man, in body or simply company, quite the way I have ever wanted you, and I admit that freely. But I cannot be the one to take you away from your life here. I can share my secrets with you, Javier Alvares Estas, as well as my body and heart, but I will only do so if you are willing. You know where I live, and you are always welcome there.” Javier put out the remains of his cigarillo with more force than strictly necessary. “Firstly, Frenchman, I didn't follow you anywhere.

I was seeing my cousin Miguel off to Portugal

tonight.” He watched as Keith seemed to relax minutely; he'd heard something he wanted to hear, but yet, something had faded within the man's eyes, too – it had been as if some sort of hope had died there in those twilight depths. But Javier plowed on. “Secondly, you can't force me to do anything. There is nothing you can do to me – nothing – that will make me stay with you. But...” He hesitated, and his voice softened and dropped slightly. “But you're not the only one who can't

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deny that something happens when you and I meet. And I think I want to know what that is, though I'll damn myself ten times to hell and back.” Silence followed Javier's speech, not because Keith could not find the breath to speak, or even that he was floundering for something to say. It was simply the intensity of the young man's eyes. They held in check all the words gathered behind Keith's lips. Javier crossed his arms and scowled, and it was that familiar gesture that finally broke the spell he'd unwittingly settled over Keith. “Well?” The younger man demanded. “Are you going to say something, or just stare at me all night?” He was nervous now, sure that he would be rejected even if common sense told him that would be the last thing the man – no, the vampire – who stood before him would do. Keith shook his head helplessly. He wanted, more than anything, to come to him and draw Javier close, too close, to crush the breath of him and replace it with his own. But he did not move. Not here, Keith thought. If we are seen here, we will burn at the stakes at dawn, and I think he knows it. He said these things here because he knows I cannot act on any of it. Although that wasn't entirely true, and Keith knew it. Before Javier could register anything more than Keith's hands on him, they could be within Keith's home or somewhere else more secluded, and Javier wouldn't be able to stop any of it. Of this, Keith was quite certain. He did not move at all. Amaroq would have said, perhaps unwillingly, that such was a measure of his regard for Javier, that Keith did not use what talents he had at his disposal in such a way. His – their – Master might have seen it differently. Javier was much like a wild animal Keith wished to tame – to handle him so after such an admission of emotion, after such a bearing of the soul, would be seen as a betrayal, and Keith would lose all the ground he had so recently gained with him. But he met Javier's eyes and recognised the uncertainty within them. He smiled, only half-hoping that the expression would not kindle the boy's usual reaction, as illogical as it often was, and reached out to drag his thumb along the clenched line of Javier's jaw. There was a light fringe of stubble there that Keith longed to caress not only with his hands but also with his tongue. “Javier...” The caress of the other man's voice, the sheer heat contained in that single word, turned his name into something wicked. Javier thought he would die here on this unkempt little streetcorner, thought his very heart would explode in his chest, just from the immense desire that sole word produced. Had they had another moment, Javier thought Keith would have kissed him, and

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then, he knew, all would be lost, but just before the raven-haired man could lower his lips, a group of men burst out of a doorway somewhere down the street, and instinctively, both Keith and Javier jerked back from one another. It was wise that they had done so, for one of them hailed Javier in a drunken roar that probably carried to the outskirts of the city. Javier called a greeting in reply, hoping that his voice did not sound nearly as weak to the inebriated men as it did to himself. When he turned back, Keith was already moving up the street. For a moment, he was infuriated that the man could so casually walk away after he'd all but spilled his soul into the refuse on the street, and then he was moving. He did not call out; he wasn't sure that he dared to do so within the city's limits, but he used the strength years of good living and hard work had lent him, allowing his legs to consume the distance growing between Keith's form and his own. I only hope he doesn't disappear on me again. How did he do that, anyway? He tossed his hair back over his shoulders angrily, and almost didn't see that Keith had stopped at the corner around which he'd come not a quarter of an hour earlier. Javier skidded to a stop, breathing harder than he would have liked after so short a sprint, and forcibly slowed his respiration when he caught sight of Keith watching him with that irritating frown he wore when something troubled him. “That expression doesn't suit you,” Javier grunted, glad he could get the words out without stopping for air. He took several careful, deep breaths as Keith quirked a brow at him. But that one suits you just fine. It's … beautiful. He is beautiful. I never knew a man could be described so. Perhaps he is the only one, but he is … Keith broke into Javier's thoughts. “Which expression?” Javier laughed, ignoring the gasping sound of it, and cleared his throat. “When you frown. You look like an old man when you frown like that, and you can't be more than ten years older than I am.” Keith's response was a half-smothered chuckle that made the hairs on the back of Javier's neck rise, though not out of fear. “And what if I told you that particular assumption of yours is quite wrong? Very wrong, in fact. I am much, much older than you.” He stared off over the buildings, his sharp eyes picking out the glints of starlight through the smoky haze of torches that blazed on the high walls of the city. “My twin brother and I were born the year that the battle of

165 Bouvines began.” He waited patiently as Javier sought back through his memories of halfabsorbed history lessons, and then smiled faintly as those verdant eyes of his grew wide. “That – That -” he stuttered, and then composed himself. “That was over three hundred years ago!” “Yes,” Keith replied, in a manner so patronising that Javier's fists clenched. “Well done for remembering your French history.” “Don't condescend to me, Frenchman. Or you'll wear your innards for a collar.” Keith's laughter was delighted but soft within the distance between them, and Javier swore he could see the stars above them as they reflected into Keith's eyes. “Forgive me, my Javier...” he apologised, sounding contrite enough even to the Spaniard's critical ears. Javier grunted, mollified. “Just don't do it again.” For a moment, they were both silent – Keith with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety that was somehow both pleasant and terrible all at once, and Javier with a sudden crush of questions that crowded so in his head that he didn't know where to begin, and then Javier shook his head. “But how?” He asked finally, looking over at Keith and keeping his voice pitched low. He figured it was best to get the basics out of the way first. Keith chuckled, holding out his palms to indicate that the mirth was not meant to be a slight. “I believe we've had a similar conversation before, my Javier.” Instantly, the Spaniard's body stiffened, and his eyes were jade firebrands in the guttering torchlight. “I'm not your anything.” “Yet,” Keith replied calmly. “You agreed to see where this was leading, did you not?” “Oh ho, and you assume that I have made some tacit decision already, that I am yours for the taking?” Javier inquired hotly. “I am no man's, Frenchman, and it is long past the time when you should have learned that.” “You were asking me questions,” Keith deflected, and then looked around as a couple of doorways further up and down the street spat out their collective inhabitants. “Perhaps we should continue to speak about this somewhere more... private.” Javier's keen eyes watched the Frenchman as he shrank away from the souls coming up the avenue. He was such an interesting mix of fear and desire, Javier thought.

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No, not fear, he corrected himself. That's not fear. That's... It's like he's trying to control something. Like he wants to be surrounded by them and doesn't want to, at the same time... He watched Keith's eyes track a particularly inebriated man whose boorish laughter almost made Javier want to get into a fist-fight with him just to silence it, and he grinned. “Am I in trouble with you here, Frenchman?” He jibed. “Are you hungry?” Keith's eyes slid back to Javier's, and there was something animalistic and terrible within their twilight depths. “Parched, Javier. One man should be enough every few nights for me, but I've been … thirstier lately.” His smile became less feral, perhaps, but its ferocity did not diminish. “And even if one man – or woman,” he allowed, “were enough, we still crave more blood. We simply learn to... tolerate the feeling.” “But what kind of feeling is it?” Javier asked, fascinated in spite of himself. “You said it's like being parched – but anything, even water, can cure thirst.” “Walk with me,” Keith murmured, and turned to step away before Javier could say no. It forced the Spaniard to make a split-second decision, and Keith was gladder than he could describe when he heard the quick clatter of Javier's boot-soles on the cobblestones. He bit the insides of his cheeks to stop a smile, and led Javier on until they came to a quiet inn near the gates of the town. It was a place for weary travelers to set their heads briefly, or for the sailors using the port after long voyages at sea. Javier knew the place, though he'd never had reason to stay there himself. He nodded absently to a couple of the barmaids, and scowled at Keith's half-muffled smile. “What, Frenchman?” Keith shook his head, the smile blossoming across his pale cheeks.

“Fetch yourself

something to eat and drink and I'll keep talking. Here.” He handed Javier a coin-purse that clinked with evidence of his largesse, and it was Javier's turn to laugh. Keith's brow arched upwards into his elegant hairline. “And now the tables have been turned, Spaniard – you are laughing at me. Why?” Javier shook his head, still snorting. “You belong in a palace with that attitude of yours, not a taproom.” He dug out three or four coins and handed the purse back with more force than was strictly necessary, striding over to the bar. While he was so occupied, Keith took his time selecting a table; he wanted one that was quiet and out of the way of any late-night arrivals, but he

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wanted one with an unimpeded view of the bar. It was not because he wished to see if they would be observed as they spoke – it was nothing as important as that, Keith admitted to himself. No, I wish to be able to watch Javier’s body … I want to take my leisurely fill of every single movement he makes, because I crave him as I have never wanted anyone else. He ignored the flirting attentions Javier paid to the maids at their stations or tables, knowing he did that with every female. Keith supposed that if Javier had paid attention to a man in such a manner, he would have been upset, but he had yet to see the Spaniard do it. He mused on that a while, until Javier returned with a plate of food and eased himself into a seat. To be truthful, Javier didn't feel much like eating; he hadn't felt truly hungry since the night that he and Keith had lain together. But Keith had expected that he would be in need of food, so he had gotten something to appease the vampire's expectations. His cousin's words about how thin and haggard Javier had been looking were still ringing close in his ears as well, but he shoved them away irritably. His cousin had told him the cure for what ailed him was a voyage to adventure, but Javier had shaken his head and clapped Miguel on the back with a smile that hadn't reached his eyes. He took a deep breath now, hating the rattly feeling it gave off in his lungs when he did, and remembered that he'd told Miguel that not everyone in the world was lucky enough to be a rich bachelor. He had a wife to care for, a home to run... So why am I here in this hostel with a man who isn't a man, when I should be asleep in my bed? But it wasn't a question, for which Javier had an answer, and he knew it, so he shook it away, turning back to Keith. He had to know what it was that pulled him to Keith, had to know why his dreams were filled with the man when they should have been nothing more than images of his wife – or, at worst, nightmares about his lost family. “You were talking,” he prodded. Keith's eyes were endless as they perused the tired lines of Javier's face. There was something there tonight that he had not seen before, but he shook it away for now in much the same manner as Javier had done to his own musings, and smiled faintly, careful to hide his teeth. “So I was... What did you want to know?” “Everything,” Javier said around a mouthful of meat he did not want. “I want to know everything there is about you.”

168 Keith watched him for a moment, secrets dancing behind his twilight eyes. “That is a tall order, m- – Javier,” he corrected softly. “And while I have all the time in the world, you do not...” Something in his expression seemed very wise as he regarded Javier. Made uncomfortable under the scrutiny, he shifted a little, slicing meat with his dagger and chewing it, though it was tasteless and unappealing. Surreptitiously, he massaged his ribs on the side that had been bruised in the tussle with Keith's dinner the man who had attempted rape the night he and Keith had taken their night-ride. There was a pressure there, a low, annoying ache that he supposed was due to the knock he had taken. He'd not bothered to have himself looked at by a physician – they were all quacks in his opinion anyway, and would more than likely kill their patient in return for fattening up their coin purses. “Talk,” he commanded again. “You were telling me about what it feels like when you … want blood.” Keith chuckled. “Trust you, Javier Estas, to question first about our appetites.” His voice dipped to a low, honeyed growl on the last word, and Javier squirmed despite himself. Keith saw the reaction and smiled wickedly, but continued nonetheless. “It is much like the first pangs of hunger that you might feel. There is something warm about it, almost pleasant, so it is easier to ignore than one might think.” Javier frowned. “But the way you looked earlier – you didn't look like you were enjoying much of anything. You looked savage and … and ...” He broke off and speared another mouthful of food to buy himself either time or a distraction. As it was, he got both. Keith chuckled and reached out to touch his hand - cautiously making certain no one was regarding them before he did so. How was it, a part of Javier demanded, that such a sound could make him want to smash a hole in Keith's face and submit to every last dark and wonderful thing the vampire could dream of doing to him, all at the very same time? Trying to focus on something more than what Keith’s laughter made him feel, he watched the progression of Keith's hand as the long, elegant fingers uncurled from their place on the tabletop, as Keith lifted his hand, and then laid it gently over Javier's.

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His hands are somehow warm and cold at the same time... Javier's eyes were as wide as a child's as they lifted from their perusal of the fine molds of Keith's hand to the vampire's gently smiling features. “M- Javier, there is so much to it, so much even I cannot explain.” Something in his dusky eyes changed and became somehow calculating. “You will have to experience it for yourself.” Javier tugged at his hand, faintly afraid that their luck would not hold and someone would see them being so openly intimate, but Keith's grip was deceptively powerful. He scowled, and Keith released him – it was as if his expressions, not his actions, were the key to unlocking himself from Keith's grasp. He considered that for a moment, and then Keith was speaking again. “The hunt is a savage thing, do you not agree? Even if you do not hunt for yourself – and I can't see how, owning as much land as you do, that you haven't at least done so on occasion – you know the animal thrill of a successful hunt, non?” Keith's eyes were alight with something Javier couldn't name. Clearing his throat, Javier shifted uncomfortably, and then slowly nodded. Hunting was not an unfamiliar sport to Javier any more than raising the grain for his horseflesh was – though he wagered with himself that he would never see Keith bent over a field sowing seeds. Javier cocked his head and regarded the elegant man across from him. “Have you ever done a good day's work in your life?” He asked suddenly. Keith raised a brow. “I would assume you are taking the definition to mean hard labour, oui?” At Javier's slight nod, he shrugged. “Then the answer is no. Our lives were different, Javier. And the times in which we grew up were different.” He gestured briefly to a weary looking barmaid and spoke to her in quiet Spanish. Javier listened as he asked politely for her to bring him a goblet. He watched as Keith carefully hid his fangs from the girl when something she said made him laugh, watched as he slid her far more coin than was necessary when she returned with the empty vessel. Pleased with the gift, the girl sauntered away, but tossed an expression over her shoulder than even an illiterate oaf would have had no trouble reading. Javier coughed soft laughter, and only froze momentarily when those penetrating silver-tinged eyes returned to his verdant ones. Keith toyed slightly with the cup for which he'd asked. At least it's clean. “Is something amusing to you, Javier?”

170 Around another mouthful of meat, Javier grinned at him. “Now I know how you do it.” “Do what?” Keith's brows furrowed as he gently pulled a flask free of his belt and uncapped it. “Seduce people. It's some sort of … trick you do with your eyes!” Keith laughed aloud then, hard enough to both gain notice of the few customers still lingering and to warrant recapping his flask so as not to spill anything. He held up his free hand as Javier's expressions flipped from triumph to puzzlement, and then to fury when he realized he was, once again, the subject of Keith's mirth. “No, no, don't get angry, Javier. You are – unintentionably, I assume – a very funny man. I am not laughing at you out of spite.” That didn't appear to mute Javier's growing irritation even the slightest bit, so Keith continued, overriding any objections. “I assure you, I did nothing to solicit that young woman's advances than your smile would have.” “You do it without thinking to me!” Keith cocked a brow. “No, my Javier,” he replied with a smile. “Almost everything I do regarding you is very well thought out. It must be – for I find myself often having to forestall reactions like ...this one.” He reached out and caught one of Javier's wrists right as he placed them on the table to rise and stalk away. Or gather himself to leap at me. He could have been doing that, too. Keith kept his smile in check this time, though, tightening his grip as Javier attempted to pull away. My fierce, wild Javier. How much I have grown to love you in so short a time. “Promise to stay seated, please,” he murmured, “and I shall release you. I am not laughing at you with any intent to belittle or hurt. Why must you always think so? Perhaps you are not as confident as you wish everyone to think you are. But, no matter. Should you be inclined to believe my words, I promise you that I did not do anything to elicit such a behavior from her... other than inflating what coin she gets to keep on her person at the end of the night, that is,” he allowed, smiling faintly. Javier snorted. “She probably has to give anything like that back to the inn-keeper to pay her board. That girl has lived here since I was little. She was a foundling – someone left her on board a ship, and the sailors didn't know what to do with her, so the inn-keeper took her.” As the owner of that title came around past the bar, Javier raised his hand in greeting, and Keith winced.

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Their privacy, he thought, was about to be invaded, and if Keith knew anything about genial men such as this one, their solitude would not be returned to them for some time. “Don Javier, welcome! How is your little lady wife? Is she well? Thank her again for me for that tonic she made – it helped Agueda greatly.” “De nada, señor,” Javier waved the man's compliments away, snorting in amusement once the rotund man was out of earshot once more. “He is the only man I know that names his animals.” Keith raised an inquiring brow. “I assume by the descriptor of 'animals', that you mean farming animals, not domestic ones, oui?” Javier gave him a look, and then shook his head. “I was about to demand what loco you knew that named his curs or his barn cats, but I forgot – it's you that does.” He grinned and then continued. “Si, he has goats out back for their milk – and meat – but when I brought Miguel in one night, he – the inn-keeper, I mean – was terribly upset over something. Miguel always has to stick his nose into other people's business, so he wanted to know why. His favourite goat was sick, he said, hadn't eaten for three days or something.” He waved the specifics away. “So I had Ofelia make up one of her tonics for the thing. She's good with the horses and I supposed a goat would not be much different.” Keith hid a smile. “Is it a pity that she was not born a man?” He wondered what reaction the question would elicit from Javier, and found he could not guess. Javier's eyes darkened, but not with anger. He stared off past Keith for a moment, and then nodded, pushing his plate away from him. “Si, it was a pity for her that she was not. Then she would have been spared... would have been spared a lot of things. You were talking, Frenchman.” His tone was abrupt, and something in his eyes was terribly sad. Keith wanted, more than anything, to reach out and erase that cloud of darkness from his eyes, but he didn't dare. Not here, not where people could see. “Oui, I was,” he agreed. “What else did you want to know?” “I told you,” Javier grunted, draining his cup and looking for a serving wench for more. When one had come with more wine and then gone again, he continued. “Everything. I want to know what you are, why you're here, where you came from. Everything.”

172 “I wouldn't have billed you as such a curious fellow,” Keith murmured. “There is not all that much to tell. I was the second son of a French noble with more ties to the crown at the time than was good for him – he believed the circumstances of his birth gave him the right to do as he liked, to whomever he liked – and I suppose that was true, in a way,” he conceded. Javier cocked his head. “So you're telling me you're the son of a son of a king or something? That explains why you don't know what hard work is.” Keith laughed quietly, ruefully. “No, our father was … distantly related to one of the monarchs in power at the time of our birth. Our mother could claim higher titles than he could – his family arranged their marriage, no doubt, to save their fortunes. My mother's family was very wealthy, and my father inherited all of that when he married her. We lived a very good life.” “You keep switching,” Javier noted. “You keep saying “my” and then “we”. Why?” Keith laughed, but there was something in it that spoke to Javier on a level he wasn't willing to acknowledge. His verdant eyes narrowed and he regarded Keith more closely, but not with the eyes of a man who truly wants to see that which he is seeking. When Javier saw the heartbreak there in Keith's dusky eyes, he looked away, back to his wine and plate of half-finished food, but nothing more passed his lips save one or two quiet breaths. “Well?” He demanded, for lack of anything else to say. Keith chuckled again, but there was no humour in it. “Even now, I link us,” he murmured, and then fell silent again. It was as though he were speaking to someone else that Javier could not see. He shook his head and refocused his gaze on the young man across the table. “My apologies... I misspoke before.” “In saying ‘I’?” Javier asked roughly. “Or ‘we’?” Keith's smile was terrible to behold. It reminded the younger man of something, of a fleeting expression he'd seen one sleepless night on his wife's face. What's so interesting over there? You stare at that box a lot. Do you like it that much? Javier shuddered and pushed the image away, forcing his mind and his eyes back to Keith despite the irony of the situation. How many days, after all, had he been forcing over Keith's face the memory of his wife's... when now, all he wished to see was Keith's face … and not hers? “Stop smiling at me like that and answer my question,” he grumbled, draining his cup a second time. Before Keith could answer, he'd stalked to the bar and returned with a full goblet that

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splashed its contents onto the rough-hewn wood of the table as Javier sat once more. He licked the wine from his hand and Keith looked away with a choked little cry born of pure desire. When he felt he could turn his eyes back, Javier was grinning at him. “So is that what it's like to be a vampire, Frenchman? Is it all sex and feeling? I don't need the teeth, then – I have that already.” Keith regarded him steadily for a moment, and then smiled. This was an expression Javier could look at – in fact; he thought he might like to drown in it. “True,” the dark man conceded, lines around his eyes crinkling too late into laughter for Javier to react, “but you don't have me...” “Who says I want you?” Javier replied archly, and then gasped as Keith flickered up beside him without even seeming to move. His eyes, straining to believe what they saw, flicked to the seat the man had been occupying a moment before. His goblet, his flask, were both still there on the table; a drop of something, Javier thought, that could only be seen as wine if it was viewed from a healthy distance, still clung stickily to the face of the rim that he could see from his own seat. But Keith, the man, was not sitting there any longer. The older man knelt beside him, his features inches from Javier's own, and he could smell Keith's cologne – and something else when he smiled. Javier was so entranced by that smile – by the wonder of his nearness, his impossibly swift movement! - that he could not react in time to halt Keith's response to his question. Keith's right hand whipped out and then down, faster than Javier could follow, to land quite squarely in his lap. He uttered a sharp grunt that was muffled by Keith's shoulder, into which he'd jerked when, automatically, his body had come forward to protect itself. He tried to tear away - and found that he could not. He tried to wrestle around to stare at Keith – and found that there was no need. Keith's dark blue eyes were less than an inch from his own; if Javier had wanted, he could have kissed the man. His jaw gaped in surprise and then snapped shut on another strangled sound as Keith's hand closed gently around the burgeoning erection between Javier's legs. Javier could see the smile up close, too – along with the fangs. They extended somewhat beyond the line of Keith's other teeth, and they were just as white and straight as the rest of the teeth Javier could see. It wasn't uncommon for the upper classes to have most of their own teeth when they reached the end of their lives, but there was something otherworldly about the cleanscrubbed lines of Keith's mouth, and Javier suspected it had a lot to do with that pair of fangs nearly hidden around the sides of his upper jaw.

174 “To answer your question,” Keith murmured, sliding his eyes hotly down the ridges of Javier's jawline, “I do believe this says you want me very much...” And then he was quietly sitting across the table, as though he had never been up from his seat for even a quarter of a moment. Javier could do nothing but stare, too shocked even for the defensive shield of his fury, and settled only for snapping his mouth closed. He took in and released several breaths, and finally felt in control of himself to speak. “Don't ever touch me like that again, Frenchman. Not unless you want the blade of my sword in your gut.” Keith laughed softly. “I do not think it will be my gut into which you … sink your blade,” he replied, his voice bubbling with amusement, but then he sobered and held his hands up in acquiescence. “I agree, however. It's not worth the risk of your family's reputation for a few cheap gropes of my hand.” Javier stared and then collected himself again. Keith seemed to be able to put him at a loss for words far more often than he liked. “Why should you care about my family's reputation?” “Because I care about you,” Keith replied softly, his voice pitched so low that even Javier leaned forward slightly to be sure he heard him correctly. “And your wife matters to you, so, in turn, she matters to me. No, not like that,” he interrupted, raising his voice slightly as Javier drew back, his eyes flashing fire. “I have little to no interest in female partners, and I certainly don't want one who is married to another man.” “But you'll have a man who's married to another woman?” “Yes.” “Why? You make no sense to me!” Javier exploded, but Keith's hands reached across the table again and pulled his wrists close, effectively stopping him from rising. “Settle down, and I will tell you,” he coaxed, not releasing Javier's hands until he felt them clench and relax as the Spaniard dropped back into his seat once more. Keith regarded him a moment more, smiling faintly when Javier glared at him and flicked his hand at him imperiously. “Well?” The younger man demanded. Keith's smile didn't waver. “I can take a married man from his wife and not a wife from her husband because there is no competition with a man. While I grind into a man's body, I believe it's safe to say his mind isn't full of thoughts of his wife. I have never raped a man or a woman, Javier Alvares Estas,” he finished lowly. “No matter what you might want to think of me

175 otherwise.” He shrugged flippantly. “But with a woman, it is different. She could be thinking of many men – or none at all.” “And why couldn't the man be thinking of a woman?” Javier challenged, though even he could hear the hoarseness in his voice. He swallowed and cleared his throat, trying not to squirm. Keith smiled faintly. “You tell me.” “You arrogant … cagafuego!” Javier sputtered, his face paling and then reddening in turn. He grinned a little when Keith, taking a moment to translate the unfamiliar word, quickly assumed a similar mien of outrage. The older man sat back. “You can be quite childish when you want to be.” “And you redefine the height of propriety every time you open your mouth,” Javier shot back. Keith snorted softly. “And what would you know about propriety?” “Evidently more than you do.” It took the two of them several minutes more than it should have, but they both came to the realisation – at approximately the same time – that they were enjoying this little back-andforth. Keith's smile widened a little more, and Javier threw back his head and laughed aloud. Keith took a sip from his goblet, and suddenly, Javier couldn't be sure whether the flush on his cheeks arose from the contents of his cup, or a touch of the same embarrassment he was feeling. “We're acting like children, aren't we?” Keith asked quietly a moment later, managing somehow to look both abashed and amused at the same time. Javier made a rude noise and grinned at him. “Maybe you are. I'm simply informing you about yourself – providing a public service.” But it was obvious even to himself that he was enjoying the clash of their wit. He narrowed his eyes as Keith settled back comfortably, evidently not bothered enough by his last volley to come up with a return. He grinned belligerently. “Is that all you have?” Keith's smile looked somehow serpentine. “Would you like to come home with me and find out?” “No – I don't like disappointments.”

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Keith threw back his head and laughed freely, loudly enough that other patrons turned and regarded him with the cautious smile that one gives when one knows it is polite to do so but has not fully understood the jest at hand. “Oh, Javier, you are a rare jewel.” The young man shrugged calmly. “I know.” He leaned back onto his arms and regarded Keith from across the table, dipping his head slightly to shadow his eyes. Instead of shielding himself from Keith, however, the movement only served to illuminate Javier in ways Keith was fairly sure the boy wouldn't be happy to see. My God, Keith thought as he regarded the blonde man across the table, it's all a mask, a front...”You play that game very well,” he murmured, and then smiled as he saw Javier's guard rise, saw the anger stretch forth in his eyes like a wildcat catching an unfamiliar scent. “What are you blathering on about, Frenchman?” Keith drained his cup and rose from the table, tossing down a couple of coins. Javier noticed he pocketed the goblet, hiding it somewhere in the voluminous cape he was hardly ever without. For a moment, it made him think of another piece of clothing his wife had found recently, but he shoved the image away as he, too, stood to try and smother the advantage of height the man had over him. I've never met anyone as tall as he is, Javier thought. Is that part of being a vampire, too? I don't see how it could be, but he doesn't tell me anything, even if I were to listen to him for days! Then he could not think, because those eyes with their silverdusted edges and eternal field of starlit-blue were fixed on his face. He felt as though it was not blood that Keith needed to have from him to live, but something more. I feel like he wants my soul... “Come to my home and find out,” Keith offered, but there was no trace of any lewd suggestion in his features now. “Once a week. No games, no nothing. Just talking – like this, only the wine will be free and you won't have to worry about people overhearing our conversation.” “Who said I was worried about anything, Frenchman? It's your heart on the stake, not mine.” Oh, my Javier, how right you are... and how terrifying it is that you do not yet know it. But Keith could see that the young man was intrigued, at least, and that was something. Even if it came to nothing more than a few late-night talks by the fire, it would be something.

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And it would lead, he thought furiously, to something more than that. It had to. Keith had known that when their bodies had finally fitted together on those sheets, that it was more than sex. It had been more than sex for him the entire time. But I think Javier needs more time... Not more convincing – they could roll into bed at every midnight moment Keith could grasp from here until the day Javier drew his final breath, and it wouldn't register as anything more than that gratification of the most base urge a human being has. Sex came easily to a man like Javier, a man so beautiful and pleasing in manner and appearance that even men who were devoutly straight paid attention when he entered or left a room. Keith supposed that such was true for himself as well, but there were deeper reasons for the secret attraction most people held for him, and it wasn't because he had pleasing features. No, and I would imagine it would shock Javier if he knew. He wondered if he should tell him. Perhaps one night, he would, but not now. “Send me a letter advising me that you are coming, and I will see to it that you are adequately --” “Stop talking to me like I am some stuffy business associate,” Javier snapped. Keith raised a brow slightly and wondered what else Margot – or her injudicious addition to Javier's wine that night – had told the boy. “My deepest apologies, Javier,” he replied quietly, wondering why his turn of phrase had irritated the boy so. Javier waved him away. “You sound like a … a … painting would, if it could talk, when you say things like that. No life to you – just faded colour.” Keith regarded him for a moment, his lips curled upwards slightly in a smile, and then inclined his head slightly to one side. “You amaze me, Javier, with the very depths of you...” “And you frighten me, Frenchman, with the very madness of you,” he replied flippantly, but he wasn't entirely sure he meant the words so lightly. “Will you come?” Keith pressed. Javier made a face at him. “Will it make you go away if I say yes?” He relented. “Si, yes, I'll come. I'll send a servant by...” He paused and frowned as something in Keith's features shifted. “What is it?” “You must come after dusk.” Javier's face screwed into a scowl. “Why? What is all of this creeping around at night business, anyway?”

178 “What does it matter?” Keith deflected. “I will tell you later.” Maybe. Or maybe not … until after you are turned. Then it will be safe to let you know my weaknesses. But again, if I cannot trust him, how can there ever be more between us than the pleasure we can find in one another's bodies? I must trust him... But not here; there are too many other faces here, too many other possibly inquiring minds which could put the pieces together. Letting him know my secrets in confidence is one thing, but repeating them where the town crier might be able to overhear is another thing entirely. “Just send one of your servants over early in the day and have him tell Amaroq you would like to come for dinner that night. That gives Margot ample time to shop and prepare...” “And you time to get rid of the lovers on the side?” Javier had no idea why he'd said that, and he swallowed so hastily, as though trying to snatch the words back out of the air, that he choked. Keith raised a brow and, gesturing for Javier to drink the contents of his goblet, waited until he could speak again. “Just what did you mean by that?” His voice was very soft. “Do you think that, since you cannot cow me into being faithful, I will happily philander on you, hm?” He barely managed to bite back angry words about Javier's wife, knowing they would be anything but productive, and found he had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from picking Javier up by the collar. “Do you have any idea of the gravity of the insults you have thrown at me lately, you selfabsorbed little swine?” He hissed, bending slightly so that his words did not carry past their table. “First, you brand me a rapist when you well know that it was your own decision, your own reactions, that brought you to my bed, and now you dare infer that, because I choose to see you over a civilised supper rather than by day, where I would be interrupting a time used for your work and family, I am rolling into bed with whomever I can enchant home with me? Come or not, Javier Alavares Estas, but you will watch your mouth when you do, because I will not take such slander against me so lightly a third time.” And then he was gone in a swirl of his cape, slamming out into the fading darkness beyond the inn's door. No patron but Javier watched him leave; the heavy door slid closed on well-oiled hinges and did not betray a hint of the anger held by the personage who had last gone through it. Except to me, Javier thought wistfully, wincing when the portal slid closed. He sat back and drained his cup, then tossed his own coin on the table and sat there for some time, his eyes

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empty, lost fields of jade in his tanned face. When at last Javier rose and left the inn, he did not see the heavily armed man rise from a shadowy corner table and come over to the one he had so recently occupied. The light gleamed on the polished wood of the longbow at the man's back and the heavier crossbow he held almost negligently in the embrace of one hand. The weapons he bore did not move from their places; he busied his other hand with Javier's discarded goblet, raising it to his nose and inhaling and then allowing his tongue to carefully scrape the inside of the rim. Wine, the man thought, disappointed, and no more. He took the cup, then. I should have followed the monster when he left, but the boy would have seen me. Now I have no choice but to drag the boy into it. The Guild didn't want to drag innocent humans into their hunt, for the local authorities – mostly the Church – got rather upset when heathens and demons infiltrated their towns. Besides, it was easier to sneak up on a vampire before the creature got wind of the general populace’s ire than to try and track it while it fled a possible wave of torches and pitchforks. It wasn't that Chrétienne de Sens had any particular problem with the local townsfolk helping him to fulfill his ancient family duty, but more that he preferred to work alone and spare the lives of the innocents he was attempting to protect. I need information, he decided. He could get it from the young Spanish man he'd observed that evening while watching the vampire he'd followed from France, but he thought that it might be better if he sought it from less volatile sources, first. The vampire was attempting to woo the poor soul, after all – Chrétienne was neither blind nor stupid, and one would have to be both not to have seen the lust afire in the vampire's unholy eyes – and the young man had enough on his plate to deal with. He might even already be ensnared in its wicked web. But all was not lost. Worry not, young sir. I will liberate you from his demonic embrace before he can sink his fangs into you and steal your soul. I failed once before, but I assure you that I will not do so a second time. Rising grimly and settling his weaponry, Chrétienne considered the jolly inn-keeper for his first source, but discarded the notion when he recalled that the man, while appearing to know the Spanish man named Javier, had paid little to no attention to Javier's companion. There must be someone else in the town with which he has had interaction. And the best place to find that sort

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of information is to seek out the town gossip-mongers. Be they women or men, found in taverns or tearooms alike, they were often better sources of information in moments for his missions than weeks of watching the creatures which he hunted. For this, though, he would need the daylight hours, so he moved to the bar and asked in quiet, careful Spanish whether the inn had a room he could use for the night. The florid face of the inn-keeper split in a guileless smile. “Of course, señor!” He eyed the weaponry on the man's back, and made light conversation while he searched for a key and found the ledger which contained the various rooms he had open for rent. “There are hunting grounds to the south of the city – is it from there that you come?” The weapons looked a little antiquated to have been used in the recent war over some papal mischief, but if the few reports he'd heard of the conflict from deserters and veterans were anything close to correct, there had been some fairly heavy casualties on all sides, so perhaps this man was simply another recruit who'd been handed whatever his regiment could find. Cold blue eyes met his dark ones as the man looked up from scrawling his name in the ledger. “The dehesas? No. I would like to hunt there if possible, though – is it very far south?” His voice was an even whisper, inflected with just enough emotion to be pleasant. “No, no, not at all. A half-day's ride, at most. You'll have to get a permit for hunting from the --,” “No matter,” the man interrupted smoothly. “I did that when I came into town the other night.

I simply didn't know where the grounds were located.

Two silver for the night is

satisfactory?” An avaricious gleam entered the man's eyes. “Will you be requiring any meals?” The icy eyes settled into a calm smile. “No, I don't think so. Should I change my mind, I will let you know,” he added, amused by the crestfallen expression the man worked quickly to hide. No, I have more on my mind than cheap food at the moment, Chrétienne thought as he climbed the steps. Inspecting the room and finding it satisfactory for the evening he would spend within its confines, he was asleep minutes after he had climbed into bed. Had he taken the time to appreciate the view through the glazed glass of the room's single window, however, he might have seen Javier standing in the middle of the town square, his eyes pointed northwards towards

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where a great villa could be seen, sprawling impressively at the edge of town. The forlorn expression on the young man's face would have told ChrĂŠtienne everything he needed to know, but he saw nothing of Javier â&#x20AC;&#x201C; or the dusty white shape of the animal that was far too large to be a dog as it slipped around Javier and hurried home after the man they both loved. Instead, he saw only his dreams, filled with the thrill of the hunt, the lullaby of his crossbow, and the scent of fresh wood, stained with bright blood.

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Chapter Twelve Javier armed sweat from his brow and looked over the chaos of the main square, where most of the town's trading took place. It wasn't often that he came here on what was deemed a “market day”, because it was on those days that the women converged with their servants in order to do as Ofelia was doing now – stocking their pantries and making sure their household had sufficient supplies to last them until the next time. But his general sense of avoidance didn't stem from that; at his heart, Javier was a businessman, and the buying and trading of goods was an interesting matter to him, whether the items in question were foodstuffs or horseflesh. Rather, Javier's dislike for such a day was its inevitable manner of calling together all of the town's gossip-mongers in one place, and if there was one thing Javier couldn't stand, it was people with nothing better to do than stand around and talk about nothing. Having a polite conversation here or there as one worked was one thing, but simply passing the hours engaged in pointless conversation was not something which attracted Javier in the least. It was partly, he supposed, what irritated himself so much about Keith – the man enjoyed long, languorous chats, in which nothing was ever said! It was well – if irritating – that Keith's name passed through Javier's thoughts when it did, because its journey across the darkness behind his eyes had allowed him to become attuned to its utterance in the physical air around him. He turned as a familiar voice – belonging to Alba Del Hierro – split the hot air around him, and instinctively drew back into the space between two stalls. He wasn't sure why he was observing her so discreetly, except that he was certain she had just mentioned Keith's name. She was standing by a fruit merchant's stall, the basket on her arm glinting with the sweet treasures she'd already purchased that morning, and smiling up into the hot morning sun at an unfamiliar man. Javier frowned; the man wasn't Spanish. Though that shouldn't have served as the basis of his alarm because many people traveled these days through the booming port at the west end of the city, it triggered a shiver along Javier's skin. He regarded the man closely, trying to judge from where he'd come. His smile was easy,

183 but Javier recognised it for what it was – the man wasn't parting his lips in the human expression of gladness or delight. He was flashing his teeth in the manner of a predator – baring them to show his superiority, to warn others that he was aggressive and would not take well to being crossed or cornered. He wore a longbow across his back, and that surprised Javier – it took half a score of years or more for a man to become anywhere proficient enough with the heavy bows to consider them useful as a hunting weapon – but the presence of the crossbow against which the foreign man leaned was more worrisome. Those weapons didn't require much training, but they could be deadly accurate, and fatal even to a well-armoured man. While there had been recent conflict involving some of Spain's forces, war had not come to blight Seville with its presence since long before Javier's birth, and he wondered at the reasons behind carrying such an ugly weapon. The man wasn't dressed like a solider, either – he bore no marks of combat or commendations of any kind on his plain traveler's clothing. Javier could see that he wore a skinning knife at his belt and a mean-looking scimitar of some kind at his left hip whose sheath was unadorned and fading with time and use. He turned his attention back to Alba as the man brushed thick dark curls over his shoulder and gave her that awful smile again. Javier's face screwed up into a frown; she was too stupid to see the danger in front of her. “Oh, si, I met a man by that name just last night,” she cooed, obviously taken by the fact that this handsome foreigner was paying her such attention. Nearby, Javier could see her husband scowling from beneath the shade of another stall, but the richly-dressed rotund man was something of a coward and wouldn't dare make a scene in front of his wife, much less before the presences of such a well-armed man. If he were chatting with Ofelia so comfortably, I'd kill him with my bare hands, crossbow or not! Javier fumed, and then focused on the fact that had almost escaped his attention before – where had Alba met Keith? She rarely went out at night unless it was to one of her husband's friend's silly dinner parties, and given that he himself had had much more intimate contact with the man recently – the phrase made him shiver in a myriad of ways – and had never seen Keith eat anything more than an apple, he doubted Keith would be leaping at the opportunity to sit around a table groaning with foodstuffs.

184 “He was a very charming man,” she continued, sliding her dark eyes over the stranger's body with an expression that would have been blatantly sexual if it weren't for the fact that her curves were overfed rather than womanly. Javier felt his breakfast lurch at the same time as laughter bubbled within his throat; to see the expression on her husband's face as he grew angrier and more embarrassed was priceless, but did he realize how foolish his wife appeared? Javier's eyes flicked back to the stranger and found that his stance reflected a man who was barely able to control his own unpleasant reaction to the woman. Abruptly, Javier felt a little sorry for Alba; she and Ofelia had been friends since girlhood and it was fairly obvious to most people who knew her that Alba thought she'd gotten the short end of the marriage stick, and now had to compensate for its lack by indulging in other areas. “He has recently come to town, yes – he was staying, I believe, with a cousin of a man with whom I am good friends. Javier Alvares Estas is his name.” She turned to point towards the lane which led to Javier's estate, and Javier shrank back behind the cover of the stall around which he hid just in time to avoid both of their attentions; sometimes, he thought wryly, having as beautiful a head of hair as he did in this town of dark-haired souls was more of an encumbrance than a gift. “I see... Do you have this cousin's name? Is he here within the town?” “You must want to find this man very badly indeed...” Alba deflected, smiling her viper's smile. She'd caught the scent of gossip in the morning air, and wasn't about to be deterred. Another emotionless smile. “Yes – very much so indeed. He and I are … old friends, señora, and it has been a very long time since our paths have crossed. When the innkeeper told me he had caught sight of a man matching his description, I had to see if he was still in town.” “Well, of course he must be!” Alba said, though she was only outwardly delighted. Inwardly, she was desperate to believe this armed man was either some sort of authority, and the well-mannered rich man she had met last night some sort of criminal, or it was the other way around. “Oh? Why would that be?” She grinned. “The ship to Lisbon was delayed last night, and it was the only one to leave harbour in the past week that wasn't a cargo ship destined for the Americas.” She shrugged, the tight material of her dress groaning as it stretched across her ample bosom.

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That means Miguel is still here, too, Javier thought, and something about that fact made the sweat running down his face turn cold. Miguel had never met Keith – as least not as far as he knew, but today appeared to be full of surprises! - and if Keith had told Alba he knew him, and this stranger found Miguel and found out he did not, then there would be a mess indeed to clean up. What the hell was he thinking, lying like that? He's not even good at it! Now look at the mess we're in! I can only hope Miguel took ship on that early morning freighter like he said he would if this one were delayed. “Well, señora, I thank you very much for your time and information,” the stranger was saying as Javier turned back to them. “Please, let me give you something for your helpfulness.” Immediately, Alba's eyes lit up with avaricious delight, though her good breeding just as quickly brought the words to her lips that denied she was deserving of any reward and a married woman, besides. But the man would not be dissuaded, Javier saw, and, turning to a merchant who sold expensive ornaments meant to shine amongst the tumbling curls of women's hair, he quickly spent a small fortune on a set of beautiful combs that had Alba all but swooning in delight, her dutiful protests about being a properly married woman quickly forgotten. The man swept her a smart bow, handing over the pretty hairpieces a moment later. “For your esteemed help, señora... and for the extreme pleasure of your company. Now, in which direction did you say this cousin of Señor Estas' would reside, if he were still to be here?” I have to divert him. Javier didn't know why he was stepping up; there was no way in the world he could know whether the man's words to Alba had been lacking in veracity. He had no reason to doubt the man, so why was he trying to keep Keith and the man apart? Because of Miguel – if this town finds out I've been lying about this, they might start thinking other things, and we could both end up on the pyres! But that wasn't all that spurred him to step free of his hiding place while their attentions were elsewhere. Something about this man's manner, something hidden in his eyes, told him that he was as much a danger to Keith as the Frenchman was a danger to... Me, Javier thought despairingly. He's as much a danger to me as he is to any innocent or rogue this city has to offer, because he only wants their blood. I think he wants my soul. But he buried those thoughts deep in his verdant eyes and mustered up as much courage and jollity as he

186 could when he spoke. “I thought I heard my name being mentioned. Good morning, Alba...” Javier took her hands in his and kissed each of her cheeks the way he would an old and dear friend. She gave a startled little cry as he appeared so quickly in her line of sight, and could only coo her greeting in reply. Javier's eyes switched up to the stranger's icy ones, which softened slightly in something that could have been compassion, if Javier didn't know better. “Good morning to you,” he forced himself to say, and then repeated it carefully in the fluid French he'd picked up from his wife the other morning. After she'd surprised him with her own knowledge of the language, Javier had asked her how to say certain polite phrases, thinking at the time that he could use them to shock some of the smugness from the man. Now, however, they were useful in testing his theory. If Keith and the man knew each other as well as the man purported, he would probably know what Javier was saying, and be able to respond in kind. But if he was lying, Javier might be able to catch him in the act. The cool eyes focused on his face didn't flinch away even for a moment, but there was a beat of silence before the man replied, in easy Spanish instead of French. “Good morning, sir...” Ha! Javier thought triumphantly, fighting not to let anything show in his eyes. “Oh, Señor De Sens, this is Javier Alavares Estas, the man I was telling you about! He would certainly know the whereabouts of your friend, for he saw him not a week past,” Alba bubbled delightedly, her pleasure impervious to the expressions of both men. Sensing a break in the conversation, her husband finally threw caution to the winds and came forth bravely to collect his wife. “Señor Estas,” he greeted Javier coolly, then put a firm hand to his wife's elbow, completely ignoring the stranger's presence. Javier bit back a smile. “Señor Del Hierro. Good morning.” He and Alba's husband had been in competition with one another in various ways since they had met as boys, when their fathers had both been at the height of their careers – and rivalry between the two men had once been very fierce. Javier was fairly sure that his own natural streak of competitiveness – and good fortune – had furthered the demise of any burgeoning friendship the two of them might have had despite their parents' mutual contentions.

The Del Hierro boy had grown into a rude, ill-

mannered and bitter man who was surrounded by enough evidence of his own success to make

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any other man perfectly content, but because he had not come into his good fortune as easily as Javier had, or in the same manner, he was discontented with the world as a whole. Javier looked back at Alba and bowed to her before kissing her fingers in what would shortly be a farewell. “Perhaps we could see the both of you for luncheon or dinner one day this week?” He asked, knowing that her husband would find some way around the invitation without having to outwardly refuse. Alba clapped her hands in delight and smiled wickedly at Javier, then dropped him a mysterious – and unsettling -- wink before allowing her husband to pull her away into the milling crowd. He turned to the man Alba had called De Sens, only to find that he had not watched the disappearance of Alba or her grouchy husband as Javier had done, but instead had fixed his eyes securely on the blonde Spaniard's face as though attempting to memorise its every detail. Javier raised a brow, hiding his discomfort at being viewed so openly in such a public place, and stared him down. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced,” he murmured, allowing into his tone some of the frost that spat forth from his green eyes. “Señor...De Sens, is it?” The man's laughter was a low rumble. “Chrétienne de Sens, at your service, señor.” Javier's answering chuckle was wry, and he flicked his eyes in the direction Alba had taken. “Somehow, I do not think it is you who may be of service to me, señor, but rather, the other way around.” He crushed the wave of delight that blossomed when he saw the man's eyes tighten in surprise. Yes, that's it – why don't you guess at what I overheard? “Oh?” The man was good; Javier had to give him that. His reply was cool and calm, as devoid of emotion as his eyes. But the twin pools of swirled ice were cautious and watchful; he would have to choose his words very carefully in order to proceed. He attempted to clear the harshness of his expression by smiling, but it only served to increase the sense of animalistic aggression he carried around him. “Well, then, señor, what can you do for me?” Javier met Chrétienne's eyes squarely and crossed his arms. “I do not know who you are, other than that you are not who you say. You seek someone in this town – I would suggest that you stop. I don't like strangers sticking their noses where it doesn't belong. Señora Del Hierro does enough of that for the entire city, and I have to put up with it because I know her, and I respect her family. But you, señor, you have neither going for you. This city is not yours, and neither are its inhabitants.”

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For a moment, there was silence between the two men. Javier began walking, knowing that Chrétienne would fall in beside him. When he did, the Spaniard smiled, allowing the armed man to see it.

When they had reached the opposite end of the market and had removed

themselves from the clutter and bustle of the busy square, Javier stopped and turned to the man, smugly looking down from the advantage of his height. The man wasn't quite as lacking in stature as most of the Spaniards in town, but he was easily two or three inches shorter than Javier was himself, and this pleased the golden-haired young man very much. “So,” Javier said, leaning comfortably against one of the high, white-washed walls that surrounded his home, “I would suggest you take whatever your business is here in Seville to someplace more deserving of it.” Chrétienne waited quietly until a carriage had passed, and then tilted his head and chose his words carefully. “My business is to free the world of vile wretches like the one who has you so ensnared that you would defend his life against those innocents he murders to extend his unholy existence.” This time, it was he who had the satisfaction of seeing Javier, who wasn't quite as good at controlling his emotions, jump in surprise. “I admit,” he continued in that same quiet tone, “that it was a surprise to see you appear in the marketplace the way you did. I had no intention of embroiling you further into this mess Keith D'Ameron has created by his presence – you are, at worst, an unfortunate victim, and I can only hope I am come in time to save you from his grasp.” “Keith D'Ameron,” Javier replied slowly, as though to a very small child, “has no claim on me whatsoever. I know what you are thinking --” and here, he paused, for he had observed Chrétienne give a little jump of startlement again, as though Javier's words had frightened him somehow. Javier didn't understand, but went on nonetheless. “-- and I assure you, I have yet to see Keith murder in cold blood.” “Just because he has not shown you his evil does not mean it is not there! Satan comes in the guise of --” “-- Men like you, who think they are helping, when in fact they are only serving to send themselves more swiftly to the Hell about which they preach,” Javier finished warningly, his hand straying towards his rapier. “I will not tell you again, Chrétienne de Sens, so attend me well while you still have both of your ears: stay away from Keith D'Ameron. Or you will soon find that

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removing his scourge from this town is the least of your problems. I am very influential within this city, and I can see to it that you gain the attention of the Church very quickly - for having been seen engaging in licentious behavior, perhaps, or for hunting illegally where you have no permit to be. Or perhaps I should mention that your religious affiliations are questionable.” His eyes, seething with dangerous fury, raked down Chrétienne's tanned form. “The Church does not take kindly to outsiders they cannot convert, you see. I know this, because they decided my father's were too ... problematic for them to overcome. I have had personal experience with it, you see, so I know how their minds work.” “Whatever you believe to the contrary, Señor Estas, I assure you, I mean yourself and your family no harm – quite the opposite, in fact! Now, if you will not do me the favour of enlightening me as to Lord D'Ameron's location, I am afraid we must part as enemies, rather than friends. I will not bear you any malice, but I cannot promise your safety, either, should you seek to interfere with me.” Chrétienne's eyes were as grim as his words, but something in them looked infinitely sad at the same time. Javier's smile was terrible. “Señor, I think it only fair to tell you now that you have signed your death's warrant. Whatever Keith D'Ameron means to me aside, you have threatened not only the life of someone with whom I am acquainted, you have now told me in no uncertain terms that, should I attempt to make sure you cannot carry out your ill-fated business here in my city by warning him somehow of your presence, my own life and safety is compromised.” He paused, more for effect than anything, and when he glanced back at Chrétienne, he was smiling. “It's strange, you know. I have lived in this city all my life, with my father and his father's family before him casting their roots back – and never before has my safety been placed in peril. If there is a cold-blooded killer in Keith D'Ameron as you say, and if we are so entwined together, as you seem to suggest, then would my life not be in danger, and would it not have been for some time? But today, I find that I am the recipient of the first threats I have ever had made on my life – and they come from you.” There was nothing to say in the silence which hung between them, Chrétienne knew; it was too late. Satan's minion already had the poor young man indoctrinated into whatever web it was he felt like weaving that particular night. He hadn't killed humans in a very long time, but he would if he was called to do so, and it appeared he would be in this case. He had missed Keith

190 twice in France – but it would not happen again. He would make the memory of his father mean something, he thought determinedly. His father had been going after the same creature who had given rise to the man Chrétienne now sought, and, in doing so, his father had lost his life. His son would have the revenge he craved – on the son of the very vampire who had taken the hunter's life. Perhaps Javier saw some of this within Chrétienne's face, because his hand did not leave his weapon for several moments. The hunter stared at Javier, trying to read his expression, but finding that he could see nothing within their depths. The man's eyes are like a clear spring day – how is it that I cannot see what lies within them? But as Chrétienne watched, however, Javier's hand slowly fell away from the rapier at his side. The young golden-haired man regarded his tanned hands for a moment, and then spun quickly and pushed Chrétienne backwards, smacking him hard against the wall against which he himself had been leaning only seconds before. This would create a scene, and Javier knew it, but he didn't care. Once he had stunned Chrétienne, he danced back a couple of steps to the clattering rhythm of the longbow on the other man's back, enough to draw his sword and hold its point at the juncture of the man's throat where his pulse pattered. Javier's smile curled upwards like the smoke from his cigarillos. “You will leave this town by nightfall, or I will have you arrested for the attempted rape and murder of my wife,” he told him lowly. “I assure you, there is no judge in this town who would believe you over me, and I have no compunction against using my wife as bait to be rid of you. Keep that in mind, Chrétienne de Sens, and book yourself on the first ship that sails. I don't care where you go, but I do not want to see your face again.” Chrétienne's hands had gone up towards his chest, palms outstretched in the age-old gesture of surrender, but Javier did not think he could be so easily scared off. He withdrew the point of his sword enough to allow the hunter to slide past, but he kept the weapon up in case the man tried something with that nasty looking crossbow he carried.

He could hear people

murmuring behind him, and it made him smile just a little more when he heard a rancid comment about how it seemed lately that, every time Javier Estas came into the public eye, he was starting fights. I didn't start that last one, he wanted to turn and tell the gathering crowd. That cheating Frenchman did, with his stupid smart mouth and quick eyes! If he'd have left well enough alone...

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We might never have met if he'd left well enough alone. The realisation hit him hard, and for a moment, the point of his sword wavered in the morning sun. Chrétienne saw it and thought, for a moment, Javier was repenting and that he would agree to tell him what Chrétienne needed to know in order to find the creature who had so entangled them into his web, but then the weapon stilled again, and those cold, angry eyes were boring into his soul. “Go,” Javier murmured quietly. “I will not tell you again.” Movement from his right caught his attention, and he smiled to see some of his gaming partners sidling up, their dark faces flushed with the heat of the day. They'd left their stalls and work when they'd seen the beginnings of a confrontation, and Javier watched them with a sense of faint pride as they grouped pointedly around the stranger as he moved away from the walls of Javier's home. One of them strayed from the group and looked back at Javier. “Should we tell the Guard – make sure he leaves the city for you?” Javier considered this for a moment, and then shook his head with a smile. “No, no, I don't think that will be necessary, will it?” His eyes were hard as agates as they rested on Chrétienne. Though the man did not answer, he looked away and began to move towards the gates of the town. He could feel the eyes of the patrons at the marketplace on him; they burned their branding of distrust into his back as he walked along with his shoulders back and head held proudly. His mission, Chrétienne thought, as those of the hunters before and after him, was not executed in the expectation that he would receive praise – or even notice. Sometimes, there was a small village or hamlet being preyed on by the creatures, and then, his services were welcome, but in a metropolis like this one, where the Church's light had replaced the shadows in which the fears of the people commonly resided, he would find only mockery. He was used to this, and it bothered him no longer. On his way out of the city, he caught sight of a winding lane leading down to a villa, nestled behind high stone walls. The gates yawned, giving the impression of either welcome or abandonment; Chrétienne drew closer not because of one or the other, but because the staid look of the house reminded him of other times, before he had understood what the shadows held at night. Before his mother had faded palely away into whatever existence lay beyond this one, twin pinpricks on her neck the only allusion to the cause of her death, and before his father's face had grown grim and watchful instead of jolly and alive.

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The very stone of the walls... everything is the same. He stared in wonder for a moment, and then slowly began to process the differences between the structure in front of him and that of his boyhood home. Still, it was eerie in its similarity. Who owns this place? I must know... Chrétienne wheeled about and snagged a man crossing the square, thankful that he had not been close enough to witness the fracas of several minutes ago. “Señor, who owns this house?” He demanded breathlessly. The man considered. “A German noble – away on business. He is letting it to a young Frenchman at the moment, as far as I know.” Foreigners, the merchant thought. No manners at all. And always ready for war. Go away; we don't need your type here. Chrétienne could see the man's dislike for him in his eyes, but he nodded his thanks, carefully keeping his expression neutral, and pressed some coin into the man's hand. As always, money lightened the businessman's mood immediately, and he gazed at the house, suddenly feeling expansive – foreigner or not. “Whoever he is – the person staying in the house, I mean – keeps to himself. I've never seen him before dusk, though he doesn't seem a disagreeable fellow, despite himself.” He eyed Chrétienne, who was paling slightly in the hot sunlight. “He's French, like you, which must explain his penchant for coming into town and disrupting everyone's peace.” Chrétienne's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” Alarms were shrilling in his mind. The merchant slipped the coins he'd been given into the purse on his belt. “The first evening I saw him, he got himself into a duel with young Don Estas. That must be the way you French make friends, because the señor has come here more than once, since.” Oh, dear sweet God on high.... “Do you know if he's accepting visitors just now?” He was careful to keep his tone as even as possible. “Who?” The merchant was already losing interest in the conversation, and Chrétienne barely kept a hold on his temper. “My countryman – the man living here. Do you know his name?” “Oh, si, I know it. One of his servants came to my stalls not a day past and had me send some things over – D'Ameron is his name.” Hurriedly, Chrétienne relieved himself of more coin and slipped it into the man's hand as he turned to his servant and began barking out orders. The merchant looked back, startled, but

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his conversation partner was already eating up the distance towards the front of the manse, too far away to hear.

Well, he thought, hefting the gold in his palm and examining the coin for

authenticity. Whatever he wanted to know, I'm glad I could tell him. Talk is cheap – but apparently, no one ever told him that. His loss. He turned and barked again at his clumsy servant, and by the time Chrétienne had crossed the foreground of Keith's home, the hunter and his strange questions had already been replaced by the thousands of other tasks to which the merchant had given more importance. By the time Chrétienne had crossed the neatly ordered foreground of the home, littered with orange trees bearing the first crush of their bitter fruit and almond trees blushing with the sweet touch of their early blossoms, he, too, had forgotten the merchant. His every instinct was pointed towards the house and the demon which may be yet residing within it. Upon closer inspection, Chrétienne could see that the trees had only recently been pruned, and the beds of flowers which kissed the landscape here and there in riots of blooming colour had been left for some time without human intervention. In one bed, there arose the deep, damp smell of newly-turned earth, and a scatter of natural refuse that had once presumably curtailed the growth of its inhabitants lay in a pile off to its right. Another row of bright flora – Chrétienne had never been one to study plants, and wouldn't have known the difference between an orange bloom or a rose if the two had not been known to grow on entirely different structures – was still strangled under the curling fingers of many months' worth of overgrown grass and weeds. So. He's not been here long – or it's not been long since he's managed to hire a gardener. At least there's that. If he's setting up flowerbeds, then he's planning to stay for a time. But that didn't set his heart at ease; Chrétienne knew that the habits of vampires were as fickle as any mortal's heart, and though his household could still be in residence, its master, the monster he sought, could have fled before dawn. But that cannot be; I know he did not see me last night, and his boy has only learned of my presence here in the last hour. He has no warning. Made confident by that fact, Chrétienne moved forward, towards the great door, and was no more than three feet from its imposing structure when a shape imprinted in the dark, dusty soil beneath a pair of olive trees made him pause.

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The wolf. He still has that wolf with him. Which means that servant of his who keeps it is probably inside, as well. How to get past him? He stared down at the clean paw-print, his throat clicking dryly when he swallowed. He stared at his hand and then at the size of the prints below him, and shuddered, leaning against the embrace of one of the almond trees for support. Chrétienne drew in great lungfuls of the warm, sweet Spanish air, but his mind was already returning to a darker, damper place he had not seen, except within his nightmares, in nearly twenty years.

He stood in the driving rain, his gloved hands tightly gripping the coil of his crossbow. His eyes lay on the prize he sought, and that was the great front portal. Keith was beyond it, Chrétienne knew, and with the ending of his monstrous existence, the hunter's revenge would be complete. He inched closer, the soles of his boots sucking thickly at the wet ground. He loathed the rain, but he knew it was the greatest boon to his mission tonight for which he could have asked – for the wolf-dog that had nearly removed Chrétienne's hand the month before could not be far away from its master, and the driving rain would hide Chrétienne's scent. He squinted up through the rain, trying to judge where the moon might be, but the cloud cover was too thick still. By his best estimate, it was an hour or so after the falling of the dark; the monster would emerge soon to seek his night's allotment of stolen blood. And when he did, Chrétienne would be waiting. When the door did open, with a terrible creak that Chrétienne was certain came to the Pope's ears as well as his own, he raised his crossbow and sighted along its length. He balanced forward on the balls of his feet, and perhaps it was that injudicious movement which alerted the wolf-dog to his presence. Keith dropped to his knees in the midst of stepping out into the darkness beyond his door, flinging back the confines of the heavy green cloak he wore in order to free his arms in order to best defend himself. Chrétienne rocked back on his heels, feeling the wet mud of the garden suck at his soles. The wolf leaped out of the yawning darkness as the vampire dropped down, and both lupine and man hit the sodden ground with a snarling squelch, and then he was being torn away, swept dizzyingly upwards until his nose was inches from a snarling mouth full of fetid breath stinking of countless liters of stolen blood. His finger moved without thought; the bolt of the crossbow twanged loudly amongst the pattering of the rain, and

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suddenly, he was being flung away again, rolling into the dark and wet. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that the bolt had struck home somewhere, but Chrétienne knew it would be inviting Death to his door to stay around and find out in whose body the bolt had seen fit to bury itself. No, it was best to flee for now while he could, and return again, perhaps by day... And return by day, I did, he thought numbly. I was young that night, naïve; I should have known I could not have waited for him on his very own doorstep with that wolf-dog to protect him. And so I grew brave. I stole into the house as I wish to now, but he was waiting for me. Those townspeople; some of them must have betrayed me, and told him I was coming. He stared at the portal before him, so dissimilar to the one in front of which he had almost met his demise before, and yet, was it not all the same? Into what mess do I think I'm getting into this time? What waits for me beyond that door? That man who corrals the dog swore that he would have my blood – would have the skin from my body while I still lived to feel it! - should I dare to enter the home of his Master again, and he must be in there, for he is never far from the man... Chrétienne bit his lip, thinking, and then slipped around the side of the manse, taking shelter beneath the great spread of an encina, or holm oak. He could remember how he'd waited until the high heat of the day, when most of the household were immersed in the heaviest tasks of the day, intending to chase out the monster who lived in the house. He'd carried no weapon but his daggers that second time, that hot summer day, not thinking he would need them. His plan had been simple enough; he'd gathered together a group of the villagers, and they had been ready and set to storm the monster's house, infuriated by the tales Chrétienne had told of the soul-sucking leech living like a real man in their midst. But some of the villagers must not have believed him, he thought, for the monster had been safely locked away someplace, and the manse had been guarded, instead, by two enormous wolves. One bore the dusty white coat of the vampire's longest companion, and his yellow eyes had blazed a human hatred as Chrétienne had fumbled for his daggers and gone down in a snarling rush of fur and hot breath. He'd lost hold of one of his knives almost immediately, but the other had found its mark along the white wolf's side. Chrétienne was unaware still of the fact that his blade had met along the line of the same scar his crossbow had left some two years earlier. Amaroq had fallen back, snarling, as crimson blood stained his fur, and then the other, a great, sable-hued monstrosity with the most curious of blue eyes, flung itself at a knot of the villagers who had come, armed with pitchforks and staves.

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It was maddened, those who had been fortunate enough to escape later said, tearing into cloth and flesh alike with an eager ferocity. Three men had died under its fangs, despite the heavy clubbing and multitudes of stab wounds it had incurred. The white wolf had come for Chrétienne a final time as he had raised his knives, intent on removing the menace in spite of – rather, because of – the danger its rampant lunacy posed to the village in which they lived, and he had been forced to flee. When he had gathered enough weapons and support to return the following night, the house was empty of wolves and men alike; only the dusty spectres of furnishings remained in the quiet halls. Snarling and swearing like a rabid animal himself, Chrétienne had pounded throughout the halls, slamming into bedrooms and sitting rooms alike, all for nothing. It was as though all of them – the wolves, the monster, all of them! -had faded away into nothing, he thought glumly. Or perhaps, had never been there at all. He'd lost sight of the monster after that, and it had taken him almost fifteen years of searching to come across him again. Now, he sat in front of the vampire's very home... and he had no way of getting in. A door opened somewhere very close by; it took all of his strength and speed for him to scramble up into the embrace of the great oak under which he'd been sitting, and not a moment too soon had he done so, for a servant, his muscled body bent low under a heavy load of firewood, came around and beneath the great tree a moment later. Chrétienne felt his nerves tighten. Bent like that, how can he close the door behind him? Oh, if I'm swift, I can get in behind him and … He did not think; he merely acted. Silent as dust, he dropped from his hiding place, slipping behind the trunk and allowing the man to step ahead of him once, twice, three times, before following. He slipped around the front and hid behind one of the almond trees as the man trudged forward, his heart knocking in his chest as the powerful servant struggled briefly with the heavy door and flung it wide to allow for his passage. The man's breathing was laboured and his steps were slow; if Chrétienne were swift, he could follow the man in and flatten himself along a wall before the door closed again. He did not want to have to hurt the human; the rules of his trade forbade him from doing so except when explicitly necessary, so the notion of silencing the man with a swift blow to the back of his head didn't even cross Chrétienne's mind. Marlon plodded forward, looking only towards getting this load into the kitchen, where Margot wanted it, and then into Linette's room for some much-needed relaxation before the Master would rise and want his help with bathing and the rest of his nightly duties. He never

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noticed the man who slipped in behind him, silent as a shadow, and hid along a passageway. “Margot,” he called in his rough voice. “I have the firewood here; is that all you need?” “Yes, you knave.

Get you upstairs then, and make sure Linette's finished with the

cleaning.” The big woman Chrétienne had seen at market a couple of days earlier, before he had realized the presence of the monster within this town's gates, took a bushel of the firewood from Marlon's sweating back. Relieved of half his burden, the man straightened and shifted the second bushel easily over one shoulder and vanished after her. He was saying something about how the Master would die a thousand times over if he were to see Margot bearing such a load, and then the swinging door shut behind them and swallowed their voices. If I have my way, Chrétienne thought blackly, the first of their Master's deaths will be at my hand today. Dear sweet God, guide me in this... He followed the halls, intending to safely search whatever rooms he could while two of the three servants were occupied. Once or twice, he nearly got himself caught, but the shuffling gait of the man alerted him in time to allow himself to hide both times in the recess of another doorway. At last, all of the lower rooms had been searched, with the exception of the kitchen. He could hear Margot singing to herself as she went about her daily business, and he knew he didn't dare search in there. There's only the second floor, then – or the cellar, but that's beneath the kitchen. If the monster's in there, I shall have to ambush him somewhere else in the house.

That decided, Chrétienne moved, inch by inch,

towards the staircase and edged upwards just as slowly. He came to a hall full of closed doors, and stopped at the first one, not daring to try the handle. Instead, he leaned over and listened. Within the room, Linette smiled as she gently pushed Marlon down onto his back. “I'm finished with my chores for the day,” she announced silkily. “At least until the Master wakes up, or Amaroq comes back,” she amended, pulling away from Marlon's prone form long enough to begin undoing her stays. He reached up as one breast burst forth from its confinement as her dress fell away to her feet, but she pushed him back with a giggle. “Greedy man … what have you got to show me?” She demanded, stroking her own fingers down her body. Linette's figure was such that she eschewed the usual slips and petticoats even Keith's servants were supposed to wear, feeling she did not need them to accent her beauty; as a result, she was free of the linen dress she wore within seconds. She had often wondered if their Master liked what lay beneath her dress as much as Marlon did, and found herself wishing that were so – though Marlon was a

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decent lover, there was something about the depth of her Master's eyes, and the incredible length of his artist's fingers that sang to her, deep in her core. She closed her eyes and cooed to herself, her pretty lips pursing in a croon of self-absorbed satisfaction as she let her fingers glide over her breasts, teasing her nipples and moving downwards to the coal-coloured thatch of coarse curls which grew at the juncture of her thighs. Her legs parted slightly as she stood there and toyed gently with herself; she stole a peek at Marlon to find him involved in much the same fashion, though his eyes were open and fixed firmly on her. She gave a delighted little giggle and pounced like a kitten onto the bed, rubbing her cheek along the straining length of him, pulled free in great haste from the dirty trousers he wore. She sucked on the proud head, imagining what Keith would taste like in comparison to Marlon's unwashed sweat, and then mounted him, moaning as her folds opened to accommodate his body. “Oooh,” she cooed, clenching and wondering if Keith's cold flesh could ever feel like this against her hot skin. Marlon grunted and strained upwards, giving a wordless cry that Chrétienne, outside, wished he could identify correctly as whether it belonged to Keith or not. He listened, hoping for a name or a curse or something, but all he heard were the woman's low cries. She was panting as she and her lover copulated, their energy serving to make the bed groan and squeak along the floor in time with their motions. Unable to help himself, Chrétienne groaned as he felt his body reacting to her cries, and knew he had to discover quickly whether her innocence was being tainted by the monster. At least, that is what I'm telling myself. He knelt and leaned cautiously close to the keyhole, hoping he could spy the two lovers at their business in full so that he could ascertain the man's identity. He could certainly see the pretty young woman; she rode her partner madly, the cream of her complexion stained with the flush of her desire and exertion. As he watched, she threw back the wealth of her dark curls and came to a shuddering climax; this evident by the way she ground her entire body against her lover and moaned. He peered closer, trying to catch sight of the man atop whom she lay. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Chrétienne whirled as fast as he could in the crouched position he had adopted, the weathered skin of his cheeks flaring into a dusty pink that swiftly paled away when he caught sight of the person who had spoken. The pale young man who stood in the shadow-draped hall

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leaned idly against one shuttered window, his midnight hair swept back into a womanish plait that only served to outline the near severity of his beauty. There was something terrifyingly sensual about the casual way he regarded Chrétienne, his midnight eyes sweeping from the startled planes of the hunter's face down, down, and down. When at last the twilight depths of Keith's eyes returned to Chrétienne's own icy ones, they were no longer quite so indifferent. “You have kept yourself well, I see. It must have been a score of years or more that have passed since last I saw you, and not yet a hint of grey about you. Impressive,” Keith murmured, inclining his head slightly. His lips twitched and then curled without baring the fangs which lay behind them, and his eyes sparkled mischievously, the dimness of the hall doing nothing to subdue their eerie light. Once more, he trailed his gaze over Chrétienne's form even as the cries from the bedroom grew in pitch. Keith's head cocked to one side as Chrétienne jumped slightly at the sound of a shuddering cry from within, and this time, the fangs were visible. “Did you think it was me enjoying the bounty of Linette's curves?” He didn't wait for an answer, his laughter bubbling lowly forth. “I assure you, Chrétienne de Sens, Linette's embrace holds no appeal for me.” Again, amusement morphed into something more – something worse. “Does that shock you?” He inquired softly. “No, I should think not – after all, you witnessed enough of my courting play last night in the Inn, did you not, to know in whose bed I would prefer to lie? And I see you have sought him out – did you think him interested in your stories about me? Or did you think to shock him by revealing the intimacies of my most guarded secrets to him? Did you sermonise on my past misdeeds, Chrétienne, in the hopes that you would get him to raise his sword against me? He's already done that once, and, given leave to try, I'm sure my wild warrior would gladly seize the opportunity to do so again.” Keith's brows drew together briefly at a slight movement from Chrétienne. “Oh? Oh, ho, you were denied even that?” Chrétienne could not stop the spasmodic shiver that ran through him as the monster before him guessed his thoughts – perhaps even saw the events of that morning as they automatically replayed themselves unbidden through his mind. What am I doing here? He's going to kill me. He knows my every thought... I cannot hide from him! “That's right,” Keith agreed aloud, enjoying the soft exclamation of surprise Chrétienne was helpless against emitting as he simply read the thoughts from behind the hunter's eyes. It was a grave invasion of privacy, but Keith didn't see how that would matter in this case, since

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Chrétienne had breached his home with the intent to murder in cold blood. He considered something, and Chrétienne drew away once more at the grim shift of expressions within the monster's eyes. “Had I been the one in that room, on that bed,” Keith began softly, “would you have murdered Linette as well as I? Or do you not think of it as murder, still? Would that bolt have entered her heart as easily as it would seek mine, because I corrupted her soul?” “No,” Chrétienne grated, rising suddenly and bringing his weapon up with a swiftness that surprised Keith. “This bolt is meant only for you.” It was his words which saved Keith's life. Had he not spoken, had he not drawn the vampire's attention to his movement, Keith would not have had the time to turn aside. The bolt twanged heavily through the air, but its passage was swift and terrible – and it found its mark just shy of where Keith's heart still sluggishly pushed its vampiric bounty through his veins. Had he not shifted a short distance to the left, the bolt would have pierced him through in exactly the right place. The pain was quite incredible, Keith thought distantly as his chest wall exploded into a million fragments of agony. The thrust of the bolt had thrown him backwards, and one flailing arm had caught the well of the inset window along the wall, his outstretched hand scraping along the tight wood of the shutters. Chrétienne saw this and pounced, moving before the residents of the room outside of which he stood could react to the unfamiliar noises in the hall, springing for and flinging open the small window in the hall. It wasn't much light, but it was enough to send Keith scrabbling backwards for the safety of the shadows, his natural aversion to even the slightest stream of daylight overcoming his desire for revenge. In doing so, he stumbled and hit the floor with a solid crash that shook the staring portraits in their frames. Keith's eyes met theirs and he shuddered to see the grave reflection of the hunter's ire in their lifeless gazes. Seizing his advantage, Chrétienne brought out a dagger and grasped it in both hands as Keith fought to rise, the bolt encumbering his movements in the narrow hall. He was spitting blood with every heaving breath, and his gorge rose further at the sight of the bolt ejecting from his chest. But he didn't have the time to pull it free, not if he wanted to avoid further damage at Chrétienne's hands. He kicked out, forcing Chrétienne to leap backwards to avoid the blow, and then Keith was rising, his footing gathered just as Marlon burst forth from Linette's bedroom. His homely, kind

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face gaping in stupid surprise, Marlon stared at the man in the hall for a moment too long. Chrétienne whirled on this new arrival and the knife in his hand tore upwards from Marlon's abdomen to his ribs. He went down with a gurgling scream, and Keith's howl of anguished rage was enough to shake the walls. He lunged at Chrétienne to the tune of Linette's scream, but the man was already up and running, tearing down the stairs. At the commotion, Margot came thundering out of the kitchen and her shriek of fear only increased Keith's desire to see the man suffer at his hands. He lunged for the tail of Chrétienne's collar, torn in the scuffle, missed, and landed heavily in a pool of weak morning sunlight. He gave a terrible cry and rolled to his feet, scrambling back to the shadowy shelter of the stairs, searching left and right for some way to get at the man without causing further injury to his smouldering skin. But there was none; the front hall had great windows that were yawning openly towards the rising sun-kissed morning, and so Keith drew himself to his full height, his eyes locked on Chrétienne's face as the man stood, transfixed, in the very sunlight which had saved his life. What colour still remained in the hunter's face drained away completely a moment later as Keith gripped the bolt of the crossbow that still sprang forth from his chest like the branch of some ghoulish tree and tugged it free. Chrétienne flinched as the bolt was thrown at his feet with a clatter that should have served to rouse everyone in the town from their tasks, and he shrank back against the wide girth of the front portal, which he'd flung open in his haste to flee Keith's advances, as the vampire simply turned on one heel and vanished back into the dark from where he'd come. He sagged against the door one moment more, but even that respite came quickly to an end because of the woman who charged him with an animal's scream in her throat. She was a giant of a female, Chrétienne thought dazedly, and it was the bulk of her breasts which shoved him backwards out the door. Still too stunned to believe that he had truly gotten away from Keith -Or that I took my best shot at him and missed oh god I shot him and he just walked away as though that bolt were nothing more than paper! -- With his life intact, he fell hard onto the cobblestone drive that led out from the manse, up through the shaded gardens and into the city. No more than a heartbeat passed before he was racing up that drive and into the city square, still thrumming with the life of a market day. He was

202 certain the dog would be after him now – or both of them, maybe! - and he'd turned fully to look back at the house, in order to assure his panicked mind that he genuinely had gotten away with his life, with his back to the square. Oh, God, oh, dear, sweet God, he thought, unable to form any more coherent a thought than that. Did I truly escape with my life? Before the hunter could turn, Javier crept up behind him and brought both of his fists down on the very center of the back of Chrétienne’s neck. The man buckled instantly, and two men, ostensibly perusing some wares at a stall nearby, quickly came to Javier’s side and propped the hunter’s limp body between them. They each wore identical grins on their homely faces that set an answering smile on Javier’s. “Where do you want him, Don Estas?” Asked the brawnier of the two. Javier considered it. He didn’t want to kill the man and risk being connected to his death by the magistrate. After all, it wasn’t like he’d actually gotten to Keith’s home and done the vampire any damage, he reflected proudly, because Javier had caught the pious zealot before he could. But what should I do with him? He took several seconds to stare in a wide-ranging circle around the city, and it was as he faced towards the water that the idea struck him. His grin widened as he caught sight of a familiar blaze of colour flapping over a ship in the harbour. “Take him down to Capitán Gonçalo’s ship. I’ll be along shortly.” Using the length of his legs to their fullest capacity, Javier darted up the lane and through the gates of his home, sparing not a glance for the startled servants who bustled around the gardens. He strode right through the house and into the wine cellar, where he knew there rested, away from much of the other spirits left to ferment in the cool darkness, a cask of Benedictine. Javier didn’t care for the illusions the spirit held about being the next cognac, but it had been a present from one of the monasteries with which he sometimes traded horseflesh. Fitting the cask under his arm, he fled the house again before Ofelia could return from the market and catch sight of him, running full-out towards the harbour. He was glad to find that his friends hadn’t gotten all that far, for it became quickly apparent that Javier’s running days were long behind him. He paused around a street corner and pressed the cask to his knees, catching his breath in high, strained gulps that led to a coughing fit he barely managed to suppress. Insisting it was the added weight of the cask which had so slowed him,

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Javier pushed away any unwelcome thoughts he had on the matter of his laboring lungs, which had appeared to be growing worse lately. He wondered briefly if Keith was to blame, wondered if this was his consequence for sharing what he had with the dark man, and then shoved it all away, disgusted with himself. He was no trembling mouse like his wife, terrified into obedience by some phantom of a God and Its preachers’ hateful words. He was Javier Alvares Estas, and he needed no church to tell him what to do or how to live. He spat contemptuously into the gutter, licking his lips and ignoring the flat tang of his own blood, and continued on his way – albeit at a more sedate pace. He met up with his companions not too far up the avenue; they had succeeded, he saw, in holding on to Chrétienne, who was only now beginning to stir. “We’re getting stares,” one of his friends warned, but Javier merely smiled and vanished into a tavern, returning with a skin of wine. He poured half of the contents over Chrétienne’s clothing and made him swallow some more, then handed the wine to one of the two men carrying him. “Now we won’t,” he replied, grinning wolfishly. “Now he’s just another drunk we’re going to sober up by throwing into the harbour.” Javier measured him and decided another blow wouldn’t be in order, not unless they couldn’t find the capitan right away. As luck had it, however, Capitán Gonçalo’s familiar brassy roar was heard coming over the gangplank of his ship not long after Javier had led his little group down to the harbour. He waved the grizzled sea-captain over, and the man ambled amicably over, his direct gaze assessing Javier’s unruly little group. “Don Estas, it is a pleasure to see you again – what brings you down to the harbour again so soon? Have you changed your mind about sailing with me?” Regretfully, Javier shook his head, but he indicated Chrétienne with a smile. “Actually, I came to give you a present, and thought I’d ask a favour of you while I was at it.” He held out the cask. “Though it’s up to you which description fits the liquor.” The sea-captain roared with laughter, but he took the spirit willingly, hefting it easily under one thick arm. “Is there anyone in this world over you can’t charm, Don Estas? Of course I’ll do a favour for you – anything for you. Your father bankrolled two of my ships – the least I can do is repay his generosity by aiding his only son.” Javier laughed wryly. “I knew my father well – I’m sure you’ve more than paid off what you borrowed from him and then some. He was a good businessman, but it also meant he was

204 quick to collect what he was owed. But no matter – what I wanted to ask you is this - could you see fit to take on an extra bit of cargo?”

He indicated Chrétienne, who was murmuring

incoherently, but not showing signs of returning to any more troublesome a stage of wakefulness. The bright eyes that had seen a thousand days at sea or more assessed Chrétienne down to the very wood of the longbow which hung at a drunken angle over his shoulders. “Cargo, you say? Well, a ship must have cargo to make profit, si? I don’t see why not.” He grinned wickedly. “Anything for you, Don Estas. I’ll make sure he doesn’t return to bother you again – but curious minds want to know what it was he did to gain your ire…” As he spoke, he gestured to two of his brawny sailors, who shoved Chrétienne rudely into an empty box whose length was about that of a coffin, and strapped heavy weights to its top, so the hunter could not get free when he woke. The lie slipped beautifully from Javier’s lips without hesitation. “He was looking at my wife.” “Oh, I see…” Gonçalo was more than familiar with Javier Estas’ fierce temper and possessive nature, especially where his wife was concerned. “I’m surprised he still has possession of both of his eyes, then. How is little Ofelia?” Javier looked out over the harbour with eyes that seemed years older than the rest of him. “She’s fine… She can’t wait to see if her Arabians are going to be parents.” “Oh, the joys of the stable!” For a moment, the weathered Spaniard looked out at the town beyond his ship, and then shook his head despite the wistful expression in his eyes. “Sometimes, I wonder what a life like yours would have been like as my own, Don Estas, but then the Lady Sea calls to me again, and I can’t help myself.” He shrugged deprecatingly, and kicked the box in which Chrétienne lay. “I will see to it, Don, don’t you worry. He’ll never be back to bother either of you again – you have my word.” “I appreciate that, señor, more than you know,” Javier replied gravely, and gestured for his friends to precede him from the harbour. As he did, he recalled the man whose life Keith had so casually taken here on this very harbour, and shuddered a little. Keith was not his problem. And he had taken care of the hunter, so the hunter was no longer Keith’s problem. All was well, he thought, so why was he still edgy? Javier frowned and loped back into the city, away from the bustle of the harbour, with his friends. Even when he stopped at a local tapas to reward his

205 friends with good wine to celebrate their aid, he couldn’t relax enough to enjoy himself, and found himself wondering what Keith was doing now. He’s probably sleeping, Javier thought, and suddenly had to stifle a yawn. I know I would be if I could. I haven’t been getting enough sleep, so I’m willing to wager that he hasn’t, either. And I don’t think I’d sleep easy in that house with that dog of his, besides. Drowsily, he contemplated the wine in his cup. It sort of looks like what Keith was drinking … I wonder if his servants know? They must know – didn’t he say they switched my drink once? Abruptly, his eyes flew wide, and he struggled to stifle a retch. Wait … His mind stuttered. If … If … If he drinks blood, then… then I drank blood too. But it didn’t taste like blood, he argued with himself, trying to slow the panicked race of his heart. The sight of blood didn’t faze Javier, as it didn’t bother most people of his time. It was simply another facet of life. Drinking it, however, was another matter entirely! He shuddered again and downed the rest of his cup quickly, trying not to focus on the flavour, worried that his mind might make his tongue curl around the coppery taste of blood rather than the sweetness of good wine. He tossed down some money on the table and rose, waving away the offer of a card game or two. He didn’t have his trick cards on him anyway, and besides, they’d be looking for him to cheat now that Keith had gone and shoved his nose into things. Keith. Would his mind always return to him? He couldn’t help it; it was as if his attention was drawn to the man, as if nothing but thoughts about the vampire were what mattered. Maybe he would go and see him tonight, just to crow about what might have happened if he, Javier, hadn’t been there to intervene. Maybe I should have let him get inside, he thought uncharitably. Maybe it would have scared some sense into Keith to turn a corner and see that crossbow aimed at his heart. Maybe it would have made him run off, back to his home and away from me, so that he won’t bother me anymore. I am a married man, after all. He cannot have me. Whatever it is I – he – wants between us, it cannot be. So why am I wishing to see him again? Why do I know I will see him again? It was as though their lovemaking had not been a random occurrence, but some profound, ever-lasting promise that ran deeper than any marriage vow. Javier shoved his way out of the dim tapas and moved out into the bustle of the street, aware of how very alone he felt in spite of the rumble of activity in the town. He felt as though he was missing something terribly vital to the very fact of his existence, and the notion frightened him.

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But what frightened him most was not the notion itself, but rather that he knew very well that it was no blind thing; it was a person with midnight eyes as deep as the sea Javier someday, somehow, hoped to cross, and that he would die for the owner of those eyes a thousand times more than he would ever do so for his wife. Across the city, in his own home, the very man about whom Javier was currently thinking was coming grimly up the staircase to where his manservant lay bleeding. Keith knelt by Marlon’s body, trying to ignore the scent of the blood saturating the polished floorboards.

It sang to him, doubling the crawling hunger pangs that were his consistent

companion. Adding to his discomfort and furthering his body’s demand for blood, his chest still hurt terribly; both his shirt and undershirt were stuck bloodily to his skin, though the exterior part of the deep wound Chrétienne had caused was already healing.

Despite, Keith thought, the

furtherance of damage I myself brought on me by yanking out the twice-damned bolt. He was shivering with blood loss and nearly desperate to feed, but this had to be finished first. He turned Marlon’s head up to face his eyes and tore into his own wrist with his teeth, scattering and spreading over Marlon’s wound the droplets which bubbled forth. He withdrew before more than five drops fell; so little would not cause an instantaneous cure, but it would speed up the healing process. Margot was already coming up the stairs with Linette hot on her heels. Once his cook had gone into Linette’s bedchamber to begin setting up her makeshift hospital, Keith lifted Marlon into his arms, his twilight eyes flaring upwards at a sobbing screech from Linette as Marlon uttered a choked groan.

“Get inside and aid Margot, Linette,” he

ordered. Marlon was staring at him, goggling at the gash Keith had made on his own wrist, the same cut which was healing before his very eyes. He had made it with his own teeth, fangs which better belonged in the mouth of some great dog, rather than a man! And Linette … Marlon’s eyes tracked her passage. No, Linette had seen nothing at all, because of her upset. Keith shifted his manservant gently, cradling him like a child, but his eyes were very cold as he gazed downwards. For a moment, only the sound of Linette’s hiccupping sobs filled their ears, and then Keith carried the man into Linette’s bedroom, where the sheets had already been thrown

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back from the low bed. Without speaking to any of the three in the room, Keith settled Marlon as comfortably as he could and stood back to allow Margot room to work. As angry as Keith still was, he could not have hoped to stitch Marlon’s wound half as well as Margot’s steady hand could, and the elder woman would provide a calming influence on Linette. He merely crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to hide the worst of the blood on his own clothing from Margot’s gaze, though he supposed she might consider it merely stained by Marlon’s wound. It did not take long, Keith found, for Margot to finish her doctoring, and this was well, because the vampire was swaying himself before she was done. But he gathered himself as well as he could as Margot set aside her tools and begin to pour cups of strong wine mixed with something for Marlon’s pain, but Keith gestured for her to step away before she could bring the cup to Marlon’s lips. “I will give it to him, Margot. Go and calm Linette; if there is brandy within the cellars, you may both have some. Please check that the front door is bolted tightly before you do.” Margot’s curtsey was as deep as usual, but Keith caught a tremor in her fingers as she touched her apron. Amaroq had informed him long ago that she suspected, if not knew outright, certain things about Keith’s otherworldly nature, but he wondered if she’d not quite understood its gravity before now. No, that can’t be right. She wasn’t in the hall when I gave Marlon my blood. She couldn’t have seen anything. If anyone had, it would have been Linette, but I could have grown a second set of eyes in my head and she wouldn’t have seen anything out of the ordinary, not as upset as she is. So why does she stink of fear suddenly? Is she afraid he’ll die? Keith had relatively little understanding of human anatomy beyond the knowledge his vampiric senses allotted him, and most of that involved the location of pulse points. The knife hadn’t entered anywhere close to an artery, he knew, though he supposed a vein or two must have fallen prey to Chrétienne’s knife because of the sheer amount of blood Marlon appeared to have lost. But looking at the man, Keith was fairly sure he wouldn’t expire – while his deeply tanned face sported a decided pallour, it was not one of impending death, and one like Keith knew such a shade quite intimately. His heart’s beat was strong and steady – and damning in Keith’s ears, for it made the hunger rise insistently to the forefront once more! – and there was nothing of the peculiar scent of failing organs about him, another instance with which Keith was most familiar because of his very nature. Still musing, Keith moved to the door, wishing he could simply walk

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out and leave the man to his convalescence, but there were words that needed to be said between them. “Marlon.” Keith did not look towards the man as he spoke; he could not bear to see the fear and wonder that coexisted there within his dark eyes. I had never wanted him to know. Oh, God, let me find Chrétienne quickly. Let me find him and let his death at my hands force all of this to become no more than some waking nightmare. How dare he invade my home? How dare he harm my servant? How DARE HE think, for even a fraction of a moment, that he is smart enough, swift enough, good enough, to end my life? And who made him judge and juror over the matter of my life? Keith’s hands clenched as he stood with his back to Marlon. And now he knows, because of that fool. The girl, the girl I could have managed easily, had she seen something, but not him! There were few people in this world that Keith had met who could resist the seductive pools of his eyes and the siren’s call of the vampire’s hypnotic stare – but Marlon was one of those few. Privately, Amaroq believed it stemmed from some deficiency in Marlon’s intellect, but Keith had always found that explanation unsatisfying. He took in deep, steadying breaths, and then turned to Marlon. He looked so much smaller under the white sheets, with most of his abdomen wrapped in thick bandages. He tendered him the cup of wine which Margot had left, but commanded the attention of his manservant with a single glance even as the first sips of the painkilling sweet wine slid down Marlon’s throat. After what had happened here today, Keith could not afford for the warning he was about to give to fall upon ears that could not hear, or a mind that was too befuddled to understand its gravity. “When you are well, you will return to your normal duties.” Keith rose and moved away from the bed as he spoke, turning back at the door. Marlon was staring at him, and he could read plainly the shock in his servant’s eyes, surprised that he wouldn’t deign to mention that which both men knew Marlon had seen. Keith smiled, careful not to show his teeth, and locked his eyes on Marlon. “I cannot make you forget what you’ve seen tonight,” he murmured gently, but his eyes hardened a moment later. “But I promise you this: If you betray me, Marlon, I will find you. And I will kill you.”

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Chapter Thirteen There is something truly insufferable about all of this, Javier decided. The excitement of the meeting with the vampire hunter at the beginning of the week had given way, as these things do, to a mundane luncheon he was spending with some of his father’s former business associates. His father had been a fine banker, and though he had never outright insisted that his son follow him in his footsteps, his contacts had seen to it that his son was well supplied with the opportunity to do so if he so wished. Javier sometimes believed that his father would have eventually – with gentle insistence – forced him into the lender’s business which had brought their family such prosperity, but doubted that he’d been thinking that far ahead to his son’s future before the Church had stepped in. Javier himself had been barely fourteen when the last of his family had been taken into the custody of the Church and murdered under suspicion of belonging to whatever religion it had been that the Church had decided to disfavor that particular year. Javier hadn’t paid any attention to things like organised religion outside of his family’s customs prior to the atrocities committed by the Church, and the only consideration he gave it now was toward the effect of spitting in their collective faces any way he could. The willingness to say what they wanted was, in the end, the only thing which saved me. Father refused to give up his beliefs; I wonder if he hates himself now as he burns in whatever hell holds on to the souls condemned by the Church? Javier chewed thoughtfully, though he’d long since lost interest in eating, and let the memories of that time come; he knew better than to refuse them entry to his conscious mind, for they always came anyway. He refused, so they took Mother and Rebekah, and even though he repented to try and get them back, they murdered him anyway. I spat in their faces, but I told them what they wanted to hear. Maybe if you’d lied to them, Father, like they lied to you when they told you they’d give you your family back, you’d still be here, and I wouldn’t have to be listening to your former partners droning on about how I should be honouring your name and following in your footsteps Javier gazed at the three men around his table, irritated by their false smiles and endless pressuring to place him in a position for which he had no personal desire. Such open wheedling

210 did not sit well on Javier’s nerves under any circumstances, but after the interesting beginning to his week, it was worse than usual. Javier enjoyed doing things – the scrape into which he’d almost gotten with Chrétienne de Sens being one of them – not sitting in some dim room, adding meaningless figures together only to take them away again. Such a job would probably suit Keith very well, he reflected, and then cursed himself for thinking of the vampire. He hadn’t even seen him in nearly a week, so why couldn’t he just forget the man? There was – could be – nothing between them, so why was his mind so insistent on bringing his – Beautiful -- face to the forefront of Javier’s mind at every opportunity? As one of the four men seated around his table spoke, he latched onto the man’s words with all the ferocity he’d seen Keith exhibit at the harbour. Again, it was a conscious effort to push the Frenchman from his mind, and Javier ground his teeth in frustration. If I see him again, I’m going to punch him hard enough to knock out those canines of his. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Javier?” One resplendently fat banker leaned back in his seat with a satisfied belch. “Your father’s kitchens have only improved under the stewardship of his son,” he added. Javier inclined his head stiffly and managed a weak smile as he shook his head in answer to the man’s question. Maybe I won’t knock Keith’s teeth out if he appears right now and scares the Devil out of this lot so badly they never return, Javier thought despairingly. He’s good enough at it, God knows. One look at those teeth of his and they’d never show their faces around here again. A real smile at the images his mind put forth appeared for the first time on Javier’s features, erasing some of the sickly cast more than one of his guests had noticed when they’d come calling that morning. He extended his glass to Iglesia, who refilled it with more of his family’s best wine. He inclined his head in thanks just in time to see one of the other men eyeing the maid in an unmistakable manner. Javier raised a golden brow. “Enjoying what you see, señor?” he asked, amused. He knew it was rude to draw attention to the man’s ogling at table like this, but perhaps if he offended them enough, the men would go away. And he’d never considered before anything about the way men gazed at women until he’d found Keith regarding him in such an uncomfortable manner.

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Briefly, he stole a glance at Iglesia. I wonder if the attention these men pay her causes her discomfort – or does she like it? Looking at his maid’s pretty, olive-skinned face, he found he couldn’t tell what emotions lay in her carefully-composed depths of her dark eyes. I like it … sometimes, he admitted, managing to grin wolfishly just in time as the man disparagingly remarked that Javier was so well-endowed when it came to physical beauty that it seemed to flock to him - even his maids were the prettiest young women the city had to offer. Javier watched Iglesia blush and turn away, busying herself with something else, and then his attention snapped back as the third man, easily as wraithfully thin as his compatriot who sat nearest to him was fat, grinned a sallow-skinned death’s grin. “I should think you would be more prudent, señor, in displaying such accoutrements as your beautiful house staff, or your wife should become as invidious a shrew as mine.” Instantly, the other two at the table fell quiet as Javier’s eyes flashed. “My wife, señor, has no reason to exhibit such envy over anyone who works within this household.” Well, that’s still true, at least, Javier thought, barely managing to suppress a wince. The thin man, someone with whom Javier had never really become well-acquainted, sat back in his own chair and pondered his host’s words, ignoring the warning signs the other two, who were still cautiously silent, had already heeded. “That is an interesting distinction you make, my boy. Please, humour an old man and tell me, is there someone without this household of whom your beautiful wife should be jealous?” he inquired. Before Javier could leap to his feet and brain the impertinent man with the decanter of wine Iglesia had left at his elbow, the corpulent banker who sat to the offender’s right laid one beefy hand on Javier’s arm. He released a booming laugh that sounded only slightly forced. “Good, sweet little Ofelia doesn’t have possession of a jealous bone in her body, Berekiah, and --.” “-- And even if she did, it would be far from any business of yours,” Javier ground out. “How dare you insinuate something like that, here in my very home?” He emphasized the last word with a sharp meeting of his fist on the heavy wooden table that made the dishes dance. Berekiah shrugged his birdlike shoulders, unaffected by Javier’s outburst. “Rumours fly, Javier, and we in the business of money are ever listening to the speculations of others, looking to make some profit from it.”

212 Javier scowled. “First of all, your speculations should only concern commodities and their prices; a man’s private life has no monetary value. Secondly, even if it did, it’s no business of yours, any more than what you do is any of mine. Finally, if business is so slow that you must listen to the prattle of empty-headed gossips in order to turn a profit, perhaps you should find another line of work.” He eyed the man’s wan face and sickly frame. “At least the Church would forgive you if you did.” There had been many stories bandied about that Berekiah had been subjected to the same sort of pious idiocy that had stricken Javier’s family, but his ordeal had been suffered in Lisbon, after a town had turned into a mob and gone about tearing Jewish men to pieces because one newly-converted man had questioned the sight of some make-believe miracle the Church had thought up in order to gather their mindless flock more closely to them. No one had brought it up publicly before now, because the memory of what the Church had done to others of his faith in previous years even here in prosperous Seville was still fresh, but Javier felt little shame. He stared pugnaciously across the table at Berekiah, watching as hurt, both real and imagined, flickered across his face before it was manfully pushed away. Javier would have driven the point home further, for there was little that stopped either his hands or his mouth once someone made the foolish mistake of enraging him, but his impassioned speech had dried out his throat and mouth. As he opened his mouth to speak, his throat clicked and then spasmed as a coughing jag cut off whatever other words had sprung to mind. Oh, no, not now, not here! He thought desperately, even as he bent, his arm coming up to muffle the wet, tearing sounds emerging from his chest. Andrés tendered Javier the cup of wine he needed, the elder man’s fat fingers dwarfing the cup, while the other two watched with a mix of concern and … Javier didn’t know the meaning of the expression which lay over Berekiah’s face, but he didn’t like it one bit. At last, the coughing fit eased as he drank, though it left him breathless – and thankful he was wearing black, he thought wryly as he surreptitiously wiped his lips on his shirtsleeve; he’d felt the sticky slick of blood strike past his teeth and stain his lips, but he didn’t want the others to see. He drained the cup offered to him and sucked in more trembling breaths, trying to force away the rushing sensation of the room as it spun in drunken circles about him. He knew it wasn’t from overindulging in wine; this was only his third cup, and it took more than double that, usually, to affect him.

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He winced as he swallowed, wondering how Keith could stand that awful, coppery tang; it was like sucking on a piece of greasy coin, he thought, and Keith drank it every night? “Are you all right, Javier?” Andrés asked gently. Out of the three, Javier could honestly say he liked the corpulent and normally jolly fellow quite well; he had always seemed to be some sort of benevolent uncle throughout his childhood, and such a position evidently had not changed in the last few years. “Si,” he replied hoarsely, and then cleared his throat again, trying for a stronger sound to his voice. “Si, I’m fine.” Again, he cleared his throat, and he saw all three men wince at the sound of it. “I’m healthy as my horses. Which reminds me – I’m taking Ofelia riding this afternoon, so while today has been quite pleasant, I hope you can understand that I do not want to keep her waiting.” “Oh, of course not!” Genial as always, Benito, who had been eyeing Iglesia’s charms so closely, rose first, tipping a wink to the maid in question as she re-entered the room to begin clearing the dishes. All of them knew she had been waiting outside for the sound of chairs scraping backwards, but Benito swept her a courtly bow and kissed her fingers. “Ah! My dear, you have come to say farewell to me personally! I should have known it was true love!” he gushed, his dark eyes dancing. Berekiah scowled, but Andrés laughed jovially, slapping his trimmer companion on the back with one vast hand. ‘Come, you knave, and leave Don Estas’ hired help to do their work.” “Please, break hearts elsewhere,” Javier added. Benito winked at him slyly. “Are you afraid of the competition?” Javier returned the wink solemnly. “Not from you.” Roaring with laughter, Benito raised his hands in a mock-gesture of surrender, and as the four men filed out into the sunshine, Javier blinked and stopped. There had been, for a moment, the shape of a vast, white wolf standing in his courtyard, and now it was gone, but he was sure he had seen him, and knew he had come across the canine before. Yes, Keith’s dog. That one he called el hombre lobo, that human-wolf of his. But how could he be here? He shook his head and turned to go in, certain his eyes had merely been playing tired tricks on him, glad of the heat for it created the excuse for a badly-needed nap. “Javier Estas!”

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Oh, what now? Javier thought irritably, the last syllable arching into an unspoken whine. He turned on feet that were almost too leaden to hold him, but what he saw chased away his weariness in a moment. A golden-eyed man stood between a pair of his servants, who had come around the side of the house and accosted him before he could reach the front steps. He struggled – though not too much, Javier noticed, as if he were trying to carefully restrain a great strength – when the servants took hold of him, but Javier’s gesture stilled them even as the golden-haired Spaniard glanced reflexively upwards to assure himself that the sun still rode high on its crest of blue sky. “I know this man.” Not well, he didn’t – and he was beginning to suspect he didn’t know him as a man at all, but it would suffice. Hope lit in the stranger’s weird yellow eyes, and Javier was reminded of the expression on a hound’s face when one walked by with a scrap of meat it could smell. “What do you want with me?” He blocked the doorway; there was no way he was letting this thing into his home, not with Ofelia in residence. Amaroq pitched his voice as low as he dared; he could smell the servants behind him still, and woe be to all of them if they overheard what he had to say. I need to talk to you. He cast the thought towards Javier, praying the man wasn’t too dense to catch it. Keith’s hurt and he needs you. I don’t know why, but he needs you. He’s hurt and he won’t feed and --. He forced himself to stop there because he was overwhelming Javier with the race of his own emotions. Aloud, he said that his Master needed to see him about a question of horseflesh, and it was quite urgent because the sale needed to be completed as quickly as possible to avoid other potential buyers from moving in. “What makes you think --?” Aware that he was reacting aloud to the other words Amaroq had somehow said over the top of the prattle about horseflesh, Javier clamped his mouth shut and wheeled on his heel. “Ofelia!” He roared, and Amaroq winced. When Javier’s beautiful little wife appeared, Amaroq could barely stop himself from licking his lips. She was a damned pretty thing. His attention was jerked back to Javier when he spoke again, however, and relief flooded through him at the Spaniard’s words, replacing the brief rush of arousal that had been carried on the wings of fear on which he had flown to get here.

215 “A customer of mine has a sale he wants my advice on – I have to go to him. I’ll be back for supper.” As he said this, he glanced at Amaroq pugnaciously, as if he expected the man to protest, but wisely, the yellow-eyed man held his tongue. Ofelia nodded and darted off briefly, returning with an armful of cloth and struggling under the weight of his rapier. He took it off her, wondering why she’d even grabbed the belt to begin with, but didn’t question it as he cinched it tightly around his waist, and drew her into a lingering kiss, more to show off in front of Keith’s servant than anything else. But when he released her, he liked how she looked, all flushed and tousled. “I’ll be back for supper,” he repeated, touching her face. “Stay inside today – it’s going to be terribly hot, I think. If I have time before dark, I’ll bring you home a present.” He winked at her, and she cast her eyes down shyly; Javier wasn’t sure whether he disliked that she never got excited, as some women did, over the idea of promised gifts, or whether he enjoyed it, but the result had always been the same. She would shyly demur, as she was doing now, that all she wanted was to be sure he would come home safe. He sighed and kissed her forehead again, then took the cloth she’d handed him and led Amaroq up the lane towards the gates of his home. “Hurry up and get out of my wife’s sight,” Javier muttered lowly. “You stink like a slaughterhouse, and you’ll frighten her. I’ll come to the house. Tell your master I’m on my way. Go ahead of me.” He didn’t want to see how the man had come across town; he half expected that the yellow-eyed stranger had not ventured out as a man at all, and he didn’t want to lay his eyes on so weird a feat. But at least the day is interesting again. Keith’s hurt? How? Barricaded in that house of his like he is, nothing can get in. I only got in the once because that pretty little maid of his was on the door, and I can charm the skirts off any woman walking in a moment’s notice. If it had been the man, I would never have been able to get in. So who got in? And how? It couldn’t have been the vampire hunter; I took care of him before he was even a threat! Well, I’ll go and find out, and I’ll tell Keith what I did when I get there – I’ll show him that he needs me more than I’ll ever need him. Javier shifted the burden of the cloak in his hands, wondering why Ofelia had bothered to give it to him, and then slung it over his shoulders. It wasn’t something he had ever owned; perhaps she’d thought it a horse blanket that belonged to the ‘client’ to whose house he was ostensibly headed? But I didn’t mention anyone’s name, and Ofelia knows a saddle blanket from a cloak. This is a man’s cloak – or what was left of one. He scowled as the

216 memory poked itself forward. He’d told her to leave the filthy thing, and she’d gone and wasted water on having it washed. “I can take that. It’s mine anyway.” Javier started badly; Amaroq hadn’t been so damned close to him a moment ago, he was sure of it. “Get away from me,” he snapped, and then stopped. “What do you mean, it’s yours?” He might have come to a full halt in the streets, but the flow of the crowds in the streets didn’t allow for both a pause in movement and a continuation of conversation. Amaroq’s eyes blinked sparks of candlelight at Javier, even under the hot bright afternoon sky. “It’s mine. I left it by accident when I returned your horses.” This time, Javier did stop, though he was rudely buffeted back into action by a teamster’s wagon train a moment later. “You did … what?” Adan and Abran… they had to have been brought back somehow. Amaroq shrugged indifferently. “Keith told me to see that the horses were brought back, since they were valuable to you. I don’t have any use for them, myself, but he liked the sight of you on a horse. So I brought them home. I forgot my cloak when I did it.” Javier set his jaw. “Then it was you in my garden that night, too, you ugly mongrel. I don’t know how it is you can even think about existing, but stay off my lands, and furthermore, stay away from my wife. Or I won’t miss next time,” he added, remembering the knife he’d thrown. This time, it was his companion’s turn to startle, and when his eyes flicked to Javier’s, the Spaniard saw that the other man looked faintly ill. “Yes, you will,” he replied, trying too hard for indifference that wouldn’t quite layer his words the way he’d wanted to hide the quiver in his voice. “You couldn’t pierce the side of a corpse.” “Did you want that put to a test, wolf?” Javier snarled lowly. “Because I think Ofelia would be very relieved to see your skin tanned and hung on a wall somewhere.” He took a moment to loosen his sword in its scabbard, noting that they’d already crossed the town and were headed towards the arching pathway that was crowned by the open gates of Keith’s home. “You won’t do that, because you’ve already lied to her,” Amaroq replied quietly. “You told her the ‘thing in the woods’ had been torn to pieces, and she would know you lied if you came home with my hide in your hands.” Besides, you know as well as I do that the wolf you both saw wasn’t white, he added silently, though he hid the thought from the brief link he’d

217 established between himself and the Spaniard. “Come,” he said aloud. “Hurry; Keith needs your help.” “If he’s hurt, he should…” Javier broke off. Should what? Call for a physician? I don’t think they’d like it when he decided to bleed them, instead of the other way around. He shook his head at Amaroq’s inquiring glance, and allowed the man to lead him into the house and usher him quickly up the stairs. The house was gloomier than Javier remembered it, and there seemed to be a sort of funeral hush in the air. He squinted around, then grabbed for the balustrade of the stairs as he missed a step in the crowding shadows that lined the upper stories of the house. “Why don’t you at least light some damned candles in here?” He demanded as he steadied himself. “Because some of us aren’t blind like you, and don’t need to waste the tallow,” Amaroq replied tensely. “Now shut up – and if you reach for one of those drapes,” he continued as Javier paused before what he assumed was a window, “you’ll come away missing that hand.” Javier’s teeth were a wicked gleam of fine white in the darkness, and Amaroq wondered how humans could be so strikingly stupid as to think that a smile was ever anything other than a display of savage aggression. “Afraid of sunlight, little wolf?” “I don’t know what he sees in you at all – but it’s certainly not your intelligence,” Amaroq replied tightly. “No, I’m not afraid of the sun. I crossed that square as easily as you did – or easier,” he added, noting the harsh wheezing sound of Javier’s breathing which only his ears could have picked up. He wondered about it, but then shrugged it off; Keith’s continued good health was far more important to him. “This way,” he grunted. “Hurry up.” Amaroq delved into the gloom somewhere ahead of him; Javier only knew where he had gone because of the peculiar scent the man carried, of wet earth and spoiled meat. He wrinkled his nose, and was about to say something when Amaroq pushed open a set of double door close to the end of the hall and ushered Javier forward into a room that was very, very familiar. That … bed… “As I recall, there is a bed in which you once wished we could lie together…” Javier shook his head hard and backpedaled, but Amaroq had accounted for this possibility and stood as sentinel in the dark embrace of the doorway.

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He turned, his verdant eyes wide with shock, and Amaroq almost felt sorry for Javier, but the moment of weakness passed as quickly as it had reared its head, and he crossed his arms steadfastly. “Go to him.” “No…” Javier breathed lowly. “No, not here. Not in this room.” Ghostly laughter floated forth from the shadows near the great bed, though its surface was not the tousled mess that figured in Javier’s recent memory. On it, there reclined a man, propped up on the many pillows for which there had been no use during the last time Javier had been within the confines of this room. The man was bare-chested and the room was redolent with the scent of fresh oranges from a recent bath, though Javier found the odor oddly cloying because of the tightly-drawn shutters which allowed none of the afternoon breezes to circulate. He came forward slowly towards the man and the sound of his fading laughter, but Keith’s eyes were not on Javier’s face. He turned and followed their gaze to the wolf who now stood guard at the door, and Javier shuddered a little to think that the animal had, only a short time prior, worn the guise of a man. I wish he would not do that so flagrantly. It’s … unsettling… “Is this the sustenance you think I need, Amaroq? His body will not heal me, unless you are admitting to your true feelings on the subject of he and I, and thinking – incorrectly – that my …” The midnight dusk of Keith’s eyes flicked briefly to Javier’s face and then centered themselves firmly on the wolf once more, “exertions earlier in the week would cause me not to know the difference between the thrum of his heart and that of some hapless unfortunate into whom I could sink my fangs?” Amaroq actually barked in outrage before he broadcast his thoughts so clearly that both men could hear each snarled word. I’m going to assume that bolt was tipped in something which has made you more ill than previously thought, for it’s the only way I could forgive that assumption you just made. I brought him so that you would help yourself – but not to him! The wolf was whining now, and the sound grated on Javier’s nerves more than anything else he’d ever heard. If that’s what you think, you can rot in hell with that hunter when I find him – I brought him so that you would see what you would be leaving behind if you fled – or starved! I brought him so that… Javier leapt back with an oath, stumbling backwards towards the bed. He had turned so that he could see Amaroq as the great wolf sat in the doorway, for the accusation Keith had flung

219 in the canine’s direction had given him pause to wonder at the true motives behind the wolf’s desire to bring him to the house. But now, Keith was crouched before the lupine’s snarling form, heedless of the gleaming teeth snapping in a soundless snarl mere inches from his face – and Javier had not seen him move! Before he could even pause to marvel at it, Keith had buried his face in the thick ruff of white fur and closed his arms around Amaroq’s straining shoulders in a grip that, Javier realized wonderingly, even the vast wolf couldn’t seem to break. He couldn’t be sure, because the pervading gloom of the room was so thick, and the guttering light of the single candle which had allowed him the brief vision of Keith sitting on the bed was so weak, but Keith’s shoulders, bare and white as a woman’s despite their breadth, appeared to be shaking with the force of some terrible emotion. Javier could hear the muffled sound of Keith’s voice buried in Amaroq’s thick fur, but he wasn’t close enough to make out what the vampire was saying, and he wasn’t foolish enough, he decided, to risk coming any closer to Amaroq’s teeth. At last, the vampire pulled slightly away, and Javier could just see from where he was standing that Keith’s face was streaked with what he would have called tears – except that they gleamed with a decidedly pinkish hue in the flickering candlelight. As Javier watched, Keith took several calming breaths and then glanced at Javier and tried for a trembling smile that fluttered and died on his lips like a newborn flame on a wet wick. Javier swallowed dryly as the man rose, then uttered a startled cry as Keith swayed and went back to his knees with a muttered curse. Disregarding Amaroq’s nearness, Javier moved to Keith’s side and knelt, carefully lifting the vampire’s arm over his shoulders. Keith gave a shuddering little cry and Javier glanced over at Amaroq, refusing to admit to the presence of the worry in his eyes. “What in God’s name happened here?” He demanded roughly, and Keith laughed quietly. “I’m surprised to hear you invoking that name, of all things.” He exhaled slowly, glad for Javier’s closeness, and fought away the vertigo swirling in his head. “Stop blathering. You sound like an old woman. What happened to you?” Keith laughed, and it had the dry, dusty sound of a tomb. “The hunter happened.” “You’re not making any sense,” Javier retorted, though the hair was rising to attention on his arms. “What hunter?” “Chretienne de Sens,” Keith grated.

220 Javier scrambled back fast, dropping Keith’s arm with a lack of care that made the Frenchman groan. “What did you say? Tha- that’s impossible. He couldn’t have gotten in here!” He insisted, projecting an air of bravado he did not feel. Amaroq’s eyes were tracking the blonde man with an eerie sort of accuracy, Javier found, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw in the great lupine’s gaze. He could look away – all that vampirism appeared to have afforded the great wolf was endless longevity, rather than some canine version of Keith’s hypnotic stare, but Javier knew Amaroq’s eyes were following him when he did, and he didn’t like it. He swallowed dryly, felt the tickle of a coughing fit beginning, and snapped hoarsely for wine. Anything to get him out of the doorway, even if I have to watch him change from wolf to man… He purposely shut his eyes and turned away, then drew close to Keith. “Well, if he did get in here, I don’t see why you got so worked up about it,” he grunted dryly, speaking as softly as he dared to try and avoid irritating his throat further. “He didn’t hurt you…” Even as he spoke, though, his hands were fumbling at Keith’s collarbone, searching for a wound on the bare skin that they did not find. Keith’s hands closed around his, and they were shockingly cold against Javier’s sun-baked skin. It is nearly enough to burn … Keith thought hazily, then shook his midnight hair from his eyes. “The hunter – Chrétienne – did come in here. He sliced Marlon open with a knife not a week past, and …” He gnawed on his lip. How do I make him believe what he did to me? Keith knew there was no visible wound to be found on his person any longer; though he was young as far as some of the other vampires he had known in his lifetime, his healing skills were directly tied to how well-fed he had been in the centuries before now, and up until Javier had turned his life sideways, Keith had always fed very well, with no more than a night or two between one sip of stolen blood and the next. Now, however, he was weak, and his body needed to replace the vampiric blood that had been both consumed in the healing process and lost during and after the crossbow bolt had penetrated his lung. He had not left the house at all in the days since he had been injured, fearing the return of the hunter. Even the cellars downstairs, with their inviting casks of blood stored amongst the wines Keith had gathered years ago, were too horrifying a place for him, he’d found. Chrétienne had been lurking in every shadow. Not to mention the fact that I will need those casks when I leave Spain – and if that hunter is here, I will be leaving very, very soon. I cannot drink from them now!

221 So Keith’s skin without – and vital places within – had healed, but very, very slowly, If he moved injudiciously even now, a week after the shot, a deep ache would crawl up his chest and down the arm on that side. But how do I prove that, when there is nothing to see? He could see me as nothing more than hungry – a young glutton, as I’ve so recently called him! Javier was watching him, and there was something within the younger man’s eyes that Keith found he did not like to see. Something that was both horrified and resigned, all at once, as though the boy thought he’d finally been handed the death’s sentence for which he’d spent the last half of a decade waiting. “But he did get in here, didn’t he?” He asked no one in particular, and then he was up, striking furiously around the room with his golden body as though he was trying to fling his anger away from him before it could burrow too deeply into his skin. “Damn him! I grabbed the cagafuego outside of your home almost a week past!” He hissed, clenching his hands. “I’d warned him to stay away! I warned him what would happen if I caught him still in the city again after that! I told him what I would do to him! Damn his smug hide to hell, I should have run him through at the marketplace, rather than settling for shipping him off to sea! I should have --!” Keith blinked. “You were… trying to protect me?” Javier stopped and whirled on him. “Of course I was! You can’t manage it yourself, so I have to do it. God knows what you did before me,” he added, recovering some of his arrogance as he warmed to his subject, “with men like De Sens running around.” Keith smiled, and there was the hope of the entire world held within its brilliance. “I don’t know, my Javier – I just don’t know.” Javier grunted and came back to his side, trying to avoid the midnight eternity of Keith’s eyes. “Where did he hurt you? Can that worthless dog of yours thread a needle, or do you need me to…?” He grabbed the candle, then stopped, his eyes flicking up to Keith’s face as he knelt by him once more. “He didn’t hurt you, then.” Something that looked like relief passed quickly over Javier’s face, but it did not flee before Keith became aware of its brief existence. He reached out and touched Javier’s face, seeing all too clearly now that the boy had only wanted to help him. Being angry over the removal of his chance at revenge would be foolish. And, I think, being overtly grateful to Javier for trying to protect me would be just as foolish. “He shot me with that

222 crossbow of his,” Keith admitted softly. “Hereabouts – he was trying for my heart, but he missed.” He indicated where the bolt had once lain. Javier stared at him, taken aback by Keith’s matter-of-fact delivery of what should have been his death’s sentence. “He … what?” My God, he truly meant it. He truly believed he was sent here to exterminate Keith… He truly believed that Keith is a monster, a beast one needs to hang over the fireplace in order to make sure it stays away from the stables… “But …” He shook his head. “But if he did – where’s the bolt? Where’s the wound? You should be dying, not kneeling here talking to me as if all he did was murder a few of your chickens!” It has been a week and no more – how can he heal so well, so fast? Javier swallowed against the rising urge to cough, gazing at Keith. He didn’t heal well, did he? No, he’s too pale, too … He looks sick, and he’s never looked like that before. Keith chuckled, amused. “I’m sure that if I’d had possession of such, he would have murdered them, too, so as to starve my servants out of the house.” “He told me he wouldn’t harm innocents…” Javier began, and Keith barked sardonic laughter. “What? And don’t get up…” He held out a hand to stop the older man, but Keith was already on his feet, pulling a shirt over his head and stalking to the door. The vampire kept his back turned so that Javier couldn’t see the encroaching pallour of his skin. “He told you he would not harm his version of innocents. He sliced Marlon – innocent Marlon! – from gut to ribs just for trying to protect his master, you know. And he would have done the same to you. What did you say you did with him?” “Cracked him over the head and threw him on a cargo ship bound for the New World.” “Though I hate to think of the fates of the captain and his crew, I hope he drowns at sea,” Keith replied uncharitably. Javier barked his own laughter as Amaroq, in man form, came in with a tray which bore a bottle of wine and two goblets, though only one of them was empty. Before the lupine man could open his mouth, Keith had snagged the full one and drained it to the dregs. Colour struck in twin blooms on his cheeks which flowed from there, down into the shadowy valleys his half-opened shirt formed where it lay against his chest, and Amaroq cocked his head at his alpha’s half-dressed state. “You must be feeling better. I’ll bring you more in a minute.” He glanced at Javier, seemed about to say something more, and then shook his head.

223 “How is Marlon?” Keith asked, wiping his lips with the back of one hand. “And no, no more.” “He’s back to work, but moving slowly. Margot says he’ll be fine, but wants to know if she should… help things along.” Keith’s eyes went flat. “I can’t believe she asked that, not after… The short answer is no, and the long answer is one I will not discuss in front of guests.” “Is that what I am?” Javier asked impertinently, drawing a second cup of his own from the bottle of wine Amaroq had brought in with him and savouring it. “For a Frenchman, you keep good wine,” he allowed, his eyes twinkling. “It’s certainly a better vintage than your manners are.” “Oh?” Keith cocked a brow and then laughed merrily. “I suppose my manners are only as polished as the company in which I display them.” Javier grinned.

“Which tells me you’ve been too many years with only a cur for a

companion.” He flicked his eyes dismissively towards Amaroq. “No matter what he looks like most of the time.” Keith and Amaroq shared a long look together, the meaning of which Javier could not discern, but then the man-dog was gone, and Keith was coming back towards him. And I’m falling into his eyes, Javier realized as he felt his lips part and his chin tilt upwards to meet a kiss he’d known he’d receive from the moment Keith had turned his head to approach. The worst – and possibly the best – thing about it was that Javier knew he did not want the kiss to end. He did not want to return to the reality in which he and Keith needed to exist as separate entities, because he knew there was no way for him to follow where his body – and possibly his heart – was desperately trying to lead him. Finally, he forced himself to pull away and looked down and away from Keith’s eyes in order to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry he hurt you.” He blinked. “You still didn’t explain…” “Vampires are harder to kill than you think, my Javier. Leave it at that,” Keith suggested, and tilted the younger man’s head upwards towards his own once more, though his lips did not descend a second time. Javier pulled his chin away. “Stop that.” He heaved a great sigh, then coughed a few times, and glared at Keith when he found the expression within the vampire’s silver-sheened eyes had

224 shifted from gentle lust to concern. “I’m not the one who’s starving, so stop looking at me like that.” “Starving?” Keith glanced at the small mirror near the bed. He didn’t appear all that pale any more, did he? “Amaroq said you wouldn’t drink, and you said yourself that you subsist off blood. I’ve only seen you have the one cup, and you’re eyeing me like I’m a well-cooked roast – a feeling for which I haven’t got any particular appreciation.” Keith’s answering smile was wicked. “I do not wish to eat you, my Javier – or, at least, I do not wish to suck your blood.” “You are --!” Angrily, Javier strode away to the shuttered window, and he saw Keith recoil from it instinctively. “Oh, don’t be stupid, Frenchman. If I was going to kill you, I’d chop off your head or something; I wouldn’t like to deprive myself of the opportunity by letting the sunlight do it, even if I did want you dead. Which I don’t,” he finished, aware that Keith’s automatic flinch had hurt him somehow. He paused and crossed his arms. “What I do want,” he murmured a moment later, “are answers, Keith.” “You’ve said that before,” Keith noted, a trifle shakily. God, how can it not be a sin to look upon someone so beautiful? “About what?” “Many things… But mostly, you and I, for now.” Javier took careful steps towards Keith, but stopped before he came within arm’s reach of the vampire, even though he was fairly certain by now that such a maneuver would not be enough to save him. “Where do I stand, Keith? You have shown me a world about which I’ve never before even dreamed… and I want it … but I have a world, too.” He remembered the sight of his wife’s breasts bobbling like fresh oranges in the bath. “And I owe it to the people in it to do more for them than simply leave them behind.” “I can – and will – wait forever for you, Javier,” Keith replied honestly. “I know of whom you speak… I will wait for you.” “Wait for me as I grow old beside my wife?” Javier demanded. “What sort of an eternity is that for anyone?” For a moment, Keith wondered which of them he was talking about, and then he decided it didn’t matter. “I will wait for you, my Javier. I will wait for you until the day you seek me out of

225 your own free will… and then you may go home to your wife and await the end of her time here on earth.” Javier stared. “Wait… you mean you can…?” Keith nodded gravely. “Yes. And I will. I will make you mine, my Javier, and you will share eternity with me.” “Then… she … then …” Javier’s mind tore wildly around the confines of his brain. “You could… you could bring Ofelia as well?” “I will not give her the gift of vampirism,” Keith replied with complete finality. “I will refuse you that, though it seems I can refuse you nothing else. You may take the gift from me, and do as you would – or…” He shook his head. “My point is, Javier, I will wait for you, no matter your decision.” “And what if my decision is to tell you to go to hell?” The Spaniard challenged, as Keith had known he would. Keith smiled faintly. “If it was, my Javier, you would never have attempted to save me from the hunter’s arrow.” Javier opened his mouth and then closed it, wondering how this midnight wraith of a man – and he does look like some sort of a ghost; I never noticed it before, but he’s thinner than I am, and his skin is so white. How does he escape notice? – could always seem to cut his tongue out at its root. “I didn’t like the way the man talked to me,” he protested, and Keith’s laughter rumbled, the low pitch of it tickling along Javier’s ears and reminding him, perhaps, of how it had felt as well as sounded. He swallowed dryly and consumed the rest of his second cup of wine without tasting the contents. “Anyway. I have to get back. I do not want my wife thinking I’ve been trampled by a marauding horse or something.” Keith turned his head and regarded the black silence of his heavily draped windows. “What time was it when you passed the square?” Javier shrugged. “An hour or so past high noon, I think. I was just getting up from luncheon with some of my father’s associates when your dog showed up.” His eyes met Keith’s, skipped away, and then dragged themselves helplessly back. “You will wait for me.” It was a statement, but Keith could hear the question in it as clearly as he could hear the thrumming of Javier’s heartbeat.

226 He rose – he had not dared to do so before, thinking that to rise above the Spaniard when he was already feeling vulnerable would have been a bad idea indeed – and moved slowly towards the golden-haired man, allowing him to see every step he took. He could have hid everything; he could have concealed how shaky he still was, how defenseless he still felt, within the dark and commanding aura he carried as a vampire, but he did not. He felt that Javier had come to him in his moment of need of his own free will, and Keith owed him something for doing so. “I will.” He chuckled faintly. “I wish I could say I wasn’t helpless against doing so, Javier Estas. You have consumed me… but that, I should think, is another story, for another time, if you don’t already know how it goes.” He managed a smile. “Go back home to your wife – do you need money to prove you’ve made a sale?” “I don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Javier retorted. “And I won’t take money from you for a sale I haven’t made. If you want to stay here in Seville and start a stable, then that’s fine. I can point you in the right direction as far as hiring people to build it, and then you can come to me for horseflesh after that if you want. But you’re not paying me for … things I didn’t do,” he finished weakly. Whatever else may pass between us, I won’t have you paying me for lying to my wife. Keith seemed to see what passed through Javier’s eyes as though the words were his own thoughts, and he nodded, turning his head to stare once more at the shadowed face of the curtains. “Bien sur, Javier.” Javier sighed in exasperation. “Will you always say my name incorrectly, Frenchman?” Keith chuckled. “For as long as I live, Javier,” he promised, and then allowed dark humour to enter his voice. “Of course, you know where Chrétienne is, so you could always see to it that such a time comes with comparative swiftness.” Javier made a rude sound that overcame Amaroq’s outraged, warning bark. “I wouldn’t give him leave to try. He got his chance and he failed – why should I let him ruin the opportunity again? I’m sure there will be others who will take as much offense to you as I do.” Keith chuckled. “If that’s the case, I think I will be safe, then.” Javier raised a golden brow. “Don’t count on it, Frenchman. Good day to you.” He turned, and though he was aware of Keith’s eyes on his flesh, – how could I not be? – he paused before the hunched form of the white wolf. “You left something else with your cloak,” he told

227 Amaroq quietly. “If you want to, come tonight – as a man – and fetch it. I suppose I should return it to you rather than sell it.” Then he was gone, and they heard his warm, honeyed chuckle as he imposed his considerable charm on Linette as she let him out into the forbidden daylight beyond the house. The sound of the great front door closing behind him echoed emptily in the quiet manse. Keith glanced curiously at Amaroq and then came close, wishing very much that the sun had already set so that he could both follow Javier home and find one – or a few – swift kills in the settling dusk of the night. “What did you leave?” Amaroq didn’t want to look at him, but at last, the yellow eyes raised to his old friend’s pale face. My cloak. He must have found it somewhere on his property. I have the cloak, but the clasp’s gone. “The medallion?” Keith closed his eyes briefly; his Master had given that to him long ago as a present, and he had attached it to Amaroq’s cloak as a gift in turn because the engraving on the back seemed to fit the wolf more than Keith felt it had ever fit himself, even if his eyes had already seen a thousand lifetimes. “Damn.” I think it’s the medallion he meant when he told me to come and get it… Do you want to come with me tonight? He didn’t invite you, but there’s no reason you cannot come, is there? Keith grunted, considering the idea.

Javier hadn’t forbidden him specifically, but he

wondered if it would be wiser for him to stay where he was. While going to his home had seemed a good idea the other night, he wondered now, in retrospect, if in fact it would have been. I cannot keep my hands away from him even for a moment – and even if I manage to master those impulses, I cannot control my eyes and the thoughts behind them. His wife is not imperceptive or unintelligent in her own right; she and her womanly wiles would see straight through to the heart of things without even a word, and I cannot do that to him. “I do not think it’s wise,” Keith replied regretfully. “Go to him tonight; I’ll stay here and work on those portraits. It will give me a chance to observe Marlon, as well. If he’s stealing from the cellars, I’ll have to put a stop to it.” Amaroq whuffed a lupine’s laugh. It will be a damned shame indeed if you saved him from that knife only to have to kill him after all, and I think you will if he’s getting into what I think he’s getting into. But if you are staying here, what will you do about feeding?

228 Keith’s smile was pale but predatory. “I didn’t say where I would be working on those portraits, did I? I don’t need more than a candle or two to sketch by, I shouldn’t think.” He chuckled lowly. “Go; I want to sleep a while.” There had been many days in Keith’s lifetime during which he had been perfectly content to allow Amaroq within the confines of his quarters even while the vampire passed the hours away within the vulnerable confines of vampiric sleep, but such times had never occurred after an attempt on Keith’s life, and Amaroq was perfectly content to let such matters remain as they would. His claws clicking on the finely polished floor, he padded down to the kitchen. As usual, it was bright and warm with the homey scent of cooking things; though Margot was not employed in a household which regularly demanded meals for its master, she made sure that the help – she chief among them – always ate well. Through the bright squares of sunlight which beamed through the windows, Amaroq could see Marlon working in the yard. Skirting Margot as she bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up breakfast dishes and preparing for the later meals of the day, he stuck his nose to the pane and watched Marlon’s muscles bunch and coil as he weeded and planted the back kitchen garden. I don’t see him flinching from the sun, and I’m sure that if he’d had enough of Keith’s blood down there, he would be feeling some sensitivity. Amaroq felt some himself, being what he was; though something in his pure werewolf’s blood stopped him from suffering the worst of the sun’s effects. He burned easily, and was prone to overheating if he spent too much time in the sunlight, but to him, it was not fatal. One of these days, someone will have to figure out exactly why that is, Amaroq mused. I think I would like to know. He sighed. This is getting me nowhere. The fact remains that someone has had some of Keith’s blood from the cellars this past week, and once Marlon’s wound was closed, he was itching to be out of bed. Keith hadn’t found anything odd about that, either; he had told Amaroq that, sometimes, a vampire’s blood could affect human’s in odd ways, which was why he had been so careful with Javier so far. Amaroq had escaped the conversation as swiftly as possible once it had taken that particular turn; he had never lain with a male himself, but that didn’t mean he was ignorant of how Keith went about it. He suppressed a shudder and returned his gaze – and thoughts – to Marlon.

229 “Wolf! Get your filthy nose off my clean windows!” Margot reached around with the spathe she’d been using and gave the wolf a hefty whack on the rear. Amaroq turned around with a yelp, baring his long, yellowed fangs, and Margot had time to see how sharply curved they were before the jaws which contained them were snapping closed on the tool still in her hand. Though he had moved a fair distance from the windows during the time Amaroq had been observing him, Marlon glanced up at the sharp crack nonetheless, and Amaroq caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. From where he was, he shouldn’t have been able to hear that… has he been supping Keith’s blood in the cellars or not? I don’t suppose I’ll be able to find out by checking the casks; Marlon knows how to cover and stop them the way Keith likes because I’ve taught him how… He spat wood and growled warningly at Margot even as his mind lambasted him for allowing Marlon even the possibility of getting into the contents of those flasks. I should have done it myself, but I’ve been so damned worried for Keith, and reorganizing the cellar on my own would have taken me too long… “You damn wolf-dog, you bit my spathe!” Margot stomped over to the cabinet in which she kept her tools and brandished another at him. “Now I have to use this old thing and clean the windows! Damned dog! Get out of my kitchens this minute!” If you threaten him again, Margot, you will lose your place in this household. Cease immediately. Taking advantage of the blind terror which Keith’s very audible mental threat had created in the hapless woman, Amaroq escaped the kitchens, pausing to shift from wolf to man as he approached the front entrance of the house. The vampire hunter’s stink was all around him in the foyer, and he wrinkled his lips away from his teeth in in lupine snarl of distaste. Once, he looked back at the stairs and into the darkness which danced across their uppermost reaches, wondering if he would find Keith there. Sometimes, after an invasion of his privacy, Keith would spend the daytime hours in the nearest available shadow to the entrance which had been breached as if watching for the attacker to come again. Telling him that, if a repeat attack was indeed a possibility, the invaders would surely not use the same method of entry more than once served no purpose; Keith would sit there all the same. He wasn’t at the top of the stairs today, however, though Amaroq had no reason to believe he had fallen immediately into slumber after warning Margot, either.

230 He sighed, and Linette’s giggle from the next room surprised him into turning. “What?” Straightening from her scrubbing work, she gave him a pretty little flip of her hair that made him wish Keith hadn’t warned him against chasing the servants’ skirts. “You look so sad,” she crooned. “Is it because Margot kicked your dog friend again?” Amaroq cocked his head slightly and chuckled. “No, pretty Linette. I’m only worried for Keith, that’s all.” Linette made a dismissive noise and knelt to her work again. “Nothing can hurt the Master.” Amaroq raised a silvered brow. “Oh no? What about the man who came after Marlon with a knife?” Linette’s airy façade shivered, as though she was trying very hard not to crumble into sobs. “Th-that was stupid Marlon, not the Master.” I wish she’d stop referring to Keith that way. It’s creepy. Conscious that his flesh was a riot of goose-bumps, Amaroq focused on Linette’s features. It wasn’t hard, pleasing as they were, but he didn’t like the threatening shine of tears he was sure he saw there. Dropping to a crouch before her, he tilted the gentle point of her chin upwards with his hand. “Stupid Marlon? I thought you two were… friends.” She tugged her chin away and looked down. “Not since he was hurt by that stupid man, we are not.” Amaroq frowned. “All right, I know a slice up the abdomen can make such activities as the ones in which you two frequently partake a rather… uncomfortable proposition, but he should be well on his way to healing now, or he wouldn’t be able to be out there, working in the garden…” Or helping me rearrange the cellar… Shaking her head, Linette went back to polishing the floors, adding more of the sharpscented soap she used than was strictly necessary. “We have not shared a bed together since just after he was allowed to return to work. Ever since he helped you with the cellar, he has been … different, and I do not like it.” I’ll bet. This is not going to end well. Gently, in case Keith actually was asleep, Amaroq reached for the vampire’s mind and found it papered with the hazy half-memories that sometimes

231 come in the form of dreams. He withdrew and sighed. I’ll have to tell him later. “Different how?” “He … he is rough now… And he does not want … well… that…” She had the grace to blush slightly, and Amaroq bit back the urge to laugh, one that was swiftly squelched a moment later by the sight of Linette’s hands going to the buttons on her bodice. He swallowed dryly, raising his hands to stop her, but she was already pulling the fabric away from her skin. Her breasts were pert and sweet as fresh cream in their complexion – mostly. On the sides, where fabric would be sure to cover them at all times, were ugly mottled bruises. Amaroq knew them for what they were – he and Keith had come across vampires during their travels together which hadn’t been quite as gentle or cautious as Keith was in the search for his sustenance, and sometimes, the marks left on the necks of their kills were quite prominent. In the middle of each bruise, Amaroq could see livid bite marks. They weren’t the two pinpricks with which he was most familiar, but rather like dulled puncture marks. Like Keith’s teeth would look like if someone sanded them down… Amaroq thought. He tore his eyes away and fixed them firmly on her face. “But if he’s not …” Amaroq felt the heat rise in his own cheeks and was glad to find that not all of his blood had migrated to a more southerly region of his body. “Not … lying with you, then where did these come from?” “He does not want the actual act,” Linette admitted, her own cheeks glowing slightly. While she was a brazen, earthy woman, she was mortified to be speaking of this sort of thing to her Master’s right hand man. “He just wants to bite… I do not like it.” “I’ll wager you don’t,” Amaroq murmured grimly. “Why don’t I help you finish up here and then…” “Please don’t tell the Master!” Linette begged, grabbing both of Amaroq’s hands. “I’m sure he’ll be angry at me and after the time he was angry at Margot, she told me never, ever to make him angry…” “Margot can be wise sometimes,” Amaroq murmured. “But what gave you the idea that he would be angry with you?” Sniffling, she swiped the back of her hand over her mouth like a child. “Because I didn’t tell him what Marlon was doing in the cellars… I caught him down there, drinking the Master’s special wine, the casks he keeps for visitors, just after you both cleaned the cellar and … and …

232 he told me not to tell the Master, and I should have because I’m supposed to be loyal to him, not Marlon, but ... but …” “But you love Marlon, don’t you?” Amaroq asked gently. “Linette, there’s nothing wrong with --.” “Love? Marlon?” She burst into bright laughter that was edged sharply with hints of hysteria. “No! I don’t love anyone, Amaroq, and I like it that way. The Master and that man who comes over sometimes can fall in love if they want to, but the Master will be left behind in the end. He will go back to his wife, where he is supposed to be, and he will leave the Master alone again.” It was odd to hear such a cynical thing coming out of Linette’s mouth, but Amaroq already had more than enough experience to inform him that humans – and their more preternatural cousins, he thought with a quick glance upwards – were fickle and strange creatures indeed. “All right, Linette. I won’t tell Keith. But I want you to stay around me today, all right, and not go anywhere near Marlon.” Solemnly, Linette nodded and scrubbed silently at the floor for a few minutes. When Amaroq took one of the other rags, she blinked in surprise. “You are really going to help me clean the floor? I didn’t know you knew how to do all of that.” Amaroq laughed. “I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or not, but yes, I know how to do all that. Keith taught me, to be fair, but yes, I do know how.” “Th- the Master taught you how to scrub floors?” Linette’s eyes seemed to swallow the rest of her face. “How would he know how to do that?” Because his Master liked to keep slaves, rather than servants… Amaroq thought grimly, though he dared not say anything aloud. “There are many things which Keith knows how to do that would surprise people, I think.” He set his mind to aiding Linette in polishing the floors and furniture then, deciding he would rather change the subject than risk entering into a part of the conversation where he might have to employ his terrible liar’s skills. Being a wolf, Amaroq was too keenly aware of how he and others expressed themselves with body movements as well as speech, and while it meant he could catch a man in a lie at any time, it also rendered him virtually incapable of telling untruths himself. He’d overcome some of it over the years, but not enough to

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warrant being successful at it himself, so he worked to discourage conversation, eventually helping Linette finish the entirety of the downstairs. When Marlon came in from the yard, it was almost sundown. Tensing at the sight of Keith’s once-affable servant, Amaroq listened for a moment to see if he could hear any sounds from upstairs, and, upon feeling no response to his quiet mental touch of Keith’s mind, he supposed the vampire still slept. “Why don’t you run me a bath, you two?” he asked them, supposing that it would be all right to have Linette in Marlon’s presence as long as he was there, and that it might keep the man from suspecting that Linette had bared their secret, such as it was. Apparently, his ploy worked, for Amaroq observed nothing out of place passing between the two of them as Marlon heated and carried the water for Amaroq’s bath, and Linette scrubbed Amaroq’s white-blonde mane of hair with gentle fingers which only warmed with the heat of the water after Marlon had left the room. But by the time his bathing ritual was complete, Amaroq felt a little better about leaving Linette in the house with Marlon still around, and he set out for Javier’s. Because Keith had fallen into slumber late that day, Amaroq didn’t think the vampire would be awake for some time yet. He could get to Javier’s house, retrieve the medal, and then be back in time to convince Keith to come out for a good, long hunt. And if he wants to be careful, I can lead him from person to person for a while. It’ll get him out of the house and he won’t have to worry about being caught for killing anyone. Such a method, Amaroq knew, was not Keith’s preferred manner of finding sustenance simply because it raised the risk of being discovered, whereas Keith could simply take – or find – one human in a relatively unpopulated area, feed to his heart’s content, and leave the remains for the forest animals later. Amaroq was still musing on this when he reached the drive which led to Javier’s home, so when Javier spoke from the shadows beside him, he could not hold back a yip of surprise. “You sound like a dog even when you look like a man,” Javier observed, and flipped something heavily towards Amaroq before he’d even finished speaking. “Here. You’re lucky I didn’t just sell it when my wife found it. Now stay off my lands.” Amaroq caught the medallion swiftly and slipped it into a pouch at his belt. “Thank you for returning it,” he replied, honestly glad to feel its weight again even if it wasn’t around his shoulders like normal. He started to turn away and then paused, flicking his yellow eyes back

234 over his shoulder at Javier. “Do you want to come and see him? I wanted to get him hunting, but …” An idea flashed in his head. “You know, you could wait for us to come back; it won’t take long, and you could help Keith with something while you’re waiting, you know.” Javier cocked a brow suspiciously. “What are you up to, wolf?” he asked lowly. “Come, come with me, and I’ll explain on the way!” Amaroq knew that if he’d had a tail, he would have been helpless against its furious wagging. “And if I’d had something else to do tonight, dog?” Javier asked, but he was already moving away from the wall. He was armed, Amaroq saw, and such a fact might have hurt his feelings if he hadn’t already sensed that Javier had expected trouble not because of himself but because of the conversation he’d had with Keith that morning. Or perhaps he thinks the hunter is still here? Reflexively, he glanced towards the harbour and saw that Javier’s eyes had tracked in that direction as well. “Do you think he got away?” Javier’s laughter was more of a coughed bark. “From Captain Gonçalo? There’s a better chance of you turning into someone I’d actually enjoy being around. Did you want to take me to Keith’s or not?” Amaroq knew better, but the words were out before he could close his jaws around them. “What about your wife?” It was, he supposed, an innocent enough question, but both men recognised it for the insult the werewolf had intended. Javier kept his temper level with some effort. “She’d probably enjoy a wolf-skin blanket very much, actually. Gracias for thinking of it.” He started to draw his sword, but a yawning door belched out a rowdy group of inebriates somewhere up the street, and he moved his hand away. “Let’s go, so I can get away from you faster.” So he does want to see Keith again. Good; at least something will come out of all of this, Amaroq thought, and turned towards Keith’s home. His eyes were drawn back to the harbour several times, however, and finally, in the middle of the square, he stopped. “Did you see the man put out to sea? With the hunter on board?” “My friends and I trussed him up ourselves. Even if Gonçalo didn’t leave port on schedule, there’s no way they’d let De Sens off the ship. Besides, it’s been a week, and I checked the harbor a few minutes ago; Gonçalo’s ship is gone. De Sens has probably suffocated in that box already anyway,” Javier grunted, unsure as to why he was bothering to placate the wolf’s fears.

235 But I suppose they’re really Keith’s, aren’t they, and I don’t mind the thought of … that. He was quickly learning that he didn’t mind the thought of anything Keith had to offer, of his body or his secrets. An eternity … I will never see the sun again, but Ofelia and I – and Keith – can be forever together. I will have eternity to make up for how terrible I have been to her… I will have eternity to find for her someone who will treat her like the queen she should have been. Javier would have happily killed the first man who tried to lay claim to the woman known as his wife, but what if the three of them were to visit some other country, where no one could know them, or know what had ever passed between Ofelia and himself? It was unfair to keep her chained to him – not if she could find happiness somewhere else, - and if he turned her into a vampire in a place where no one knew they were married, then no one could say he was abandoning her. And if she refused Javier’s blood, wishing instead to live out her lifetime… then Javier would wait for her before he left Spain with Keith. It’s only fair, he thought, and it’s about time I was something more than cruel to her. I wonder if that’s what Keith meant when he said he would wait? During their conversations, they had paused; at the thought of Keith’s name, Javier realized how eager he was to see the man again. He’d looked so pale and vulnerable this morning that it had taken all of the courage Javier could have mustered to have left as calmly as he had. “Let’s go, wolf. What did you want me to do at the house while you and Keith … do what you have to do?” Is it so very hard a word to say, my Javier…? Javier shook away the memory of Keith’s voice and focused on the man-wolf. Amaroq turned in mid-step. “One of the servants is stealing from Keith and --.” “So police him yourself!” Javier burst out. “What do I look like, a guard for hire? If Keith wants to keep his pretty things, he should hire more trustworthy people.” “Will you shut up and listen? It’s not his things the man’s stealing; we think he’s stealing Keith’s…” Amaroq looked around. The lane was mostly deserted now, and indeed, he couldn’t catch even a whiff of anyone following them, but it was better to play it safely. “Keith’s… stock. His drinks.” Javier’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ of surprise, and then he laughed. “I would be willing to wager that Keith is going to … permanently remove him from the household when he gets proof

236 of it, and that’s what you want of me, isn’t it? You want me to catch him in the act. All right, why not – but if I kill him, you keep Keith’s fangs away from me.” Amaroq allowed himself a faint smile.

“Javier Estas, if Keith wanted to bite you, it

wouldn’t be up to either of us to stop him. I only hope he won’t stop in time to make sure you stick around forever.” “Craven dog!” Javier spat, and then seemed to realize that the man-wolf was teasing. He quieted. “Has he ever done anything like this before?” “Well, yes… to me,” Amaroq admitted. “But because of what I am, it’s not the same, and anyway, he was very, very young then. He’s never fallen for anyone the way he has for you, if that’s what you’re really asking.” “I know that,” Javier murmured quietly, but there was no hint of his usual bravado. “I can see it in his eyes.” “Just promise me that you won’t start waxing poetic on me about his best features,” Amaroq begged. “There’s a reason I don’t know how to read, and it has to do with all that sappy poetry Keith reads.” Javier laughed. ‘Are you certain Keith wasn’t meant to be a woman?” He asked as they came up the winding drive. He glanced at the gardens. “You’ve been cleaning things out here.” He paused and coughed, then spat. “Mm, yes. That’s Marlon’s job, though it won’t be his much longer if you catch him tonight…” Amaroq replied lowly. “It’ll be a shame,” Javier murmured, bending to touch one of the sharp green spikes poking its head above the earth. “He has a good touch with the plants.” He didn’t dare say anything more than that; his own love of gardening was a well-kept secret, and he liked it that way. Perhaps it was Javier’s heartbeat approaching that had woken Keith and perhaps not, but when he took his first breath upon opening his eyes, he knew Javier was near. Wishing suddenly to meet them – for he knew Amaroq was with his golden-haired warrior – downstairs, Keith splashed water over his face and dragged a brush quickly through his hair as he dressed. Pausing only to pull on boots, he headed noiselessly down the stairs. As he reached the landing, however, he caught sight of Marlon, who was moving with equal silence down the steps ahead of him, and Keith’s eyes narrowed to dusky slits. An unreasonable fury boiled up within him, and all thought

237 of Javier’s nearness fled as he changed course, following Marlon’s silent passage through the halls into the kitchens and down the cellar stairs. I want to catch him in the act of drinking my own blood, Keith thought furiously. Then I wish to bathe in his. Had he passed one of the full-length mirrors hung on the walls in one of the other hallways, he would have seen the flickering arcs of weird amber colour in his midnight eyes and perhaps known that the source of his irrational anger towards Marlon was the first stage of his transformations into a wolf. But the walls were bare of any such reflective aids, and as Keith descended into the cellars a few steps behind Marlon, his anger was all he knew. How dare he steal from me after I saved his sorry life? How dare he do this to me? Keith didn’t stop to think that the very taste of his own blood could be habit-forming to a human, without even adding in the strength and power with which it would imbue someone until it was excreted from their systems through the usual methods. Had he considered any of this, perhaps Keith could have forgiven Marlon, but as things stood now, he knew only that his privacy and safety had been compromised and now, in the wake of that, he was being made into a victim of theft in his own house by a man whose life he had saved! Clenching his fists, it was all Keith could do not to simply leap at Marlon and tear out his thick throat as he wound his way among the cellar’s new set up. But he forced himself to wait – even to take a comfortable seat on an upturned barrel about three feet from where Marlon crouched next to a familiar cask. Watching as Marlon rooted around and withdrew a battered metal cup from a hiding place, Keith realized he could smell the cup – and the man – from where he sat, and that neither had bothered to bathe in the last week or so. He wrinkled his nose in distaste that was drowned by a fresh rush of anger when Marlon filled his cup with thick, crimson blood and then raised it to the ceiling with shaking fingers. “To you, Master,” he murmured shakily. “For saving my life and damning me. Oh, how wonderful it is!” “Yes,” Keith growled, deciding he had seen quite enough. If he was lucky, none of the cup’s contents would spill and he could drink it; though what he wanted now was Marlon’s blood - and his meat! I want his bones between my teeth! I want to tear out his throat, I am so angry! – rather than his own. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Using his vampire’s speed, he came swiftly to Marlon’s side, snatching the cup out of his manservant’s trembling hands. “But the speed… the strength… the power… of a real vampire is never to be found within that cask, Marlon. Even if you drank all of it tonight and finished off the

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other four casks besides, you would still never have my strength. You would be consigned, instead, to a human life of pure hell, did you know that? The sun would blind and burn you, but you would crave its light instead of the lonely darkness. Food would seethe and boil and tear apart your insides – but you would die of hunger you could never sate, all the same! I am a kind man, Marlon,” he continued, as the human opened his mouth to speak, “and I would never see you suffer so… I ask you one thing only – why is it that you dare to repay me in such a manner after I am kind enough to give you your life? I could have let that hunter rip you in half and bleed your miserable existence out on to the floor, and this is how you repay my kindness?” His voice was rising to ear shattering levels; Keith was aware that he could deafen and kill respectively with the power of his voice alone, but for once, he did not care. His hands were shaking, he noticed, and to avoid spilling the contents of the battered cup he held, he downed it in one swallow. Immediately, nausea struck him as his body, preparing for its shift from vampire to wolf, denied his blood its usual effects on his body and he fell away from Marlon, retching and heaving. Marlon stared, frozen, as his usually calm and quiet Master vomited his own blood – and then some, apparently – onto his clothing and the floor around him. His own stomach turned at the sight, and he swallowed, only now realizing that it would be wise to run while he still had the chance. Before he could, Keith pounced on him. He was still retching, but he snarled like a wolf between heaves, and Marlon saw, with a horror he could not describe, that his Master was changing right before his eyes. The worst of it was his eyes; they flickered from dusky-silvered blue to a terrible, hungry yellow as if all the insanity of a wild animal was held within them. Keith’s ability to speak was deteriorating, too, Marlon found; he was growling and spitting great strings of bloodied saliva even as his teeth, which seemed more numerous in their curved sharpness than he had briefly seen before, approached his face and neck ever more quickly. Footsteps on the stairs. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?” Javier’s voice rang through the cellar and then the young Spaniard was leaping over stacked casks and tripping over barrels in his haste to reach the vampire’s side. Amaroq was hot on his heels, and perhaps it was this which saved both Marlon’s life and Javier’s. He shifted in mid-step from man to wolf and tackled Keith, slamming him against a rack of wine and tried to hold his struggling form as bottles dashed themselves to death on the floor around them in a sparkle of glass and sweet grapes. Keith

239 struggled and finally shoved Amaroq away; the pain was striking now, making him weak – and worse, able to realize who stood in the cellar with him. No… Oh, dear God, no… Summoning up the last of his fury, he shot to his feet and snarled until he felt his throat tear. “You want to save his sorry life, then do it, but get out! Get out now!” His voice, powerful enough in its extremity to crack the rafters above their heads, blasted over the walls and brought the humans in the cellar to their knees. But Javier’s temper was not deterred. “I try to save you from the gallows and this is how you repay me?” He shouted, his own voice breaking. “Keith, you think for a damned moment that you’d escape notice if Marlon here went missing after everything I’ve seen him doing around town? You’re a God-damned fool who deserves to burn at dawn if you think that!” Keith’s entire body rippled with pain and he turned his head away with a terrible cry. “Javier, get out of here. Just GO! Anywhere but here! GO!” “Now you’re telling me to just go? You want me gone? Fine! I’ll get out, all right – out of this house and out of your damned life! If you come around me again, Frenchman, I’ll have you shot dead with twenty crossbows at dawn, and if any miss, I’ll come back and stick them in your steaming corpse myself! Rot, you ungrateful cagafuego!” He yanked Marlon to his feet and shoved him out before him as they went up the stairs. He stopped at the top and looked down with flaming green eyes that needed no torch- or candle-light to illuminate them. “I wish that hunter had killed you, D’Ameron, for it would have saved me the trouble of tearing out your heart if our paths ever cross again. You tell someone you love them and want them at your side forever – I didn’t know forever meant less of a day’s span, for you seem to be tiring of me already.” He spat down the stairs. “I hope you rot down here, Frenchman, though even that is better than what you deserve.” Keith’s knees buckled beneath him and he was helpless against striking the floor as his metamorphosis began in earnest, though the howl he sent to the heavens was not drawn forth by any physical pain. The sound of it rocked the house from rooftop to foundation, and it followed Marlon and Javier into the night as they fled Keith’s home like spurned lovers. Neither of them saw the two wolves which burst, not long after, from the confines of the side garden in which Marlon had been working that afternoon. Perhaps it was best, for neither did the two lupines see the men, as they had paused to rest – for Javier’s benefit – in the middle of the

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square, concealed under a toppling awning that hung askew as a forgotten leftover from that morning’s market. Javier leaned heavily on his knees, panting with the harsh gasps of a man who is drowning in the very air he breathes. Even in the relative darkness of the square, Marlon could see Javier’s struggle, and he laid one beefy hand on the man’s shoulder. “Señor, you are not well --,” he started, but Javier pushed him away and straightened furiously. “Never mind that,” he snapped hoarsely, spitting a thick flume of something which appeared much darker in the faint light than saliva ought, Marlon thought. “You won’t be safe from him if you stay here.” “The Master would never--,” Marlon protested, but once again, Javier’s upraised hand silenced him. He opened his mouth again to speak and then snapped it shut again. “Oh no?”

Javier demanded, gesturing sharply at the blood-stained mess of Marlon’s

clothing when his spasming lungs denied him the ability to say more. He coughed for a few more minutes and then took in several deep breaths. “He looked like he was going to turn you into dinner from where I was standing, and you regard that as him never raising a hand to you?” Marlon looked down. “I was stealing from him… and, after all he has done for me, he had a right to be angry.” But what was happening to him? I don’t think this man saw anything. I don’t think the Master wanted him to see anything. Javier grunted. “I suppose.” He turned and began to walk away, but turned back when he realized Marlon wasn’t following. Slowly, he was beginning to put together just what it was Marlon had been stealing out of those casks, and by the sound of things, he didn’t think Marlon was entirely at fault for have committed the crime that he had. To Javier, it was beginning to sound like the vampiric lifestyle was a compelling one indeed. It could make honest men into thieves… and married men into adulterers who would toss aside their wives and their lives for the merest promise of eternity. Oh, how I wanted it, too, Javier thought mournfully, and then his face tightened into fury again. But that’s what he wanted. I think no one can live with one of them very long before they give in, one way or another, to its call. Keith couldn’t – or maybe he didn’t want to – attract Marlon sexually, so it was his blood that did it. He must have given him some, and the blood must have gotten to the man’s brain… I have to get him away. “I’ll make you a deal if you come with me tonight,” Javier said suddenly. He’d seen how well the man had taken to gardening, and

241 his own household needed the help. “If you come with me, I’ll find you a place within my household as a gardener. But,” he added, forcefully enough to bring on another coughing fit that he suppressed by sheer will alone, “if I catch you stealing even so much as a flower – I will be watching you at all times – I will send you straight to the magistrate, and you’ll hang for it. Understood?” Marlon stared at him, perplexed. “Why would you do this for me, señor? You do not know me well, and I have just been caught stealing from --.” “I think we both know that it wasn’t really your fault, don’t we?” Javier interrupted quietly, and Marlon subsided, shame-faced. Javier nodded sharply. “Well? Are you coming?” “Y-yes, señor… Thank you…” Javier’s face tightened into a parody of a smile. “Don’t thank me – your fate under me could be worse than the one you just left behind, you know.” Marlon shook his shaggy head. “I cannot believe that, señor. You are kind to your servants, and the whole town speaks very kindly of you as a whole. I will be glad to work for you.” And he followed Javier as docilely as any faithful hound would, up the winding path to his home. Neither man saw the glowing yellow eyes that tracked their separate progress, nor heard the terrible growling whine that issued forth from the gaping jaws beneath those burning eyes. One part of that which watched them wanted nothing more than to throw itself at both men’s feet and beg for their eternal forgiveness; the other was an animal and desired nothing more than the flesh from their bones and the blood from their veins. Animal… only a beast… I am … a beast… Its thought were disjointed and confused; narrowing its yellow eyes, it tried for focus, and something in the yellow orbs faded to a familiar midnight blue. And I will … never see… him again… A quavering, puppyish cry released itself from between those slavering jaws, and then the heavy body was turning towards the shadows in which it lived and away from the lighted path of the men it loved.

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Chapter Fourteen Marlon had always enjoyed the warm expanse of a summer garden, and here in Spain, such a time was endless. It seemed to him that Javier’s mother country had been somewhat of a thief in the night, darting here and there in the beginning days of the world and stealing from the other regions of the world their blazing blue skies and baking sun, hoarding all of the golden sunlight for herself and her children, and for this, Marlon was thankful. For the first few days under Javier’s rule, Marlon had discovered that he was better suited to the shadier and slightly cooler hours of the day, but once the vampiric blood he had been almost helpless to ingest had left his system, he found he could once again take to the warm embrace of Javier’s fragrant gardens as though he had never been away. For his part, Javier had discovered a hard worker in Marlon, and one well worth his pay. Without Linette’s considerable charms to distract him from his duties, he could pour his heart and soul into his work, and Javier’s gardens flourished for it. By the time the fragrant blooms of the orange trees had ripened into fruit which had then been harvested, Javier’s household was filled to bursting with the wonderful gifts that Nature and a talented gardener could provide. As the weather had inched gently towards the end of the orange harvesting season and the spring had begun to roll around again, drying up the last of the winter’s brief rains, Javier’s household was glad of the gardens’ beneficences, for they were the only bright spot in that quarter of the year. Ofelia in particular was gladdened by the sight of the many blooms with which Marlon took great delight in festooning the house; it chased away the pervading scent of encroaching illness her husband was carrying with him a little more with each passing day. She had tried to bring doctors to him over the passing months; all were either refused entry or thrown out of the house, and by the time Javier had grown too ill to have such done, there wasn’t a one who would come near her household to try anything further. Each day, he would snap at her in his deteriorating voice, cracked and worn by the coughing spasms which took up most of the hours during which he was awake, telling her to cease her useless worrying. He was fine and soon, he would kick this stupid cold he’d picked up, from some filthy place or another, out to sea where it belonged.

243 Ofelia didn’t know much about medicine, but she knew the sight and scent of a dying animal when she came across one because of the years her family had spent in ownership of some of the farmland which stretched all over Spain. Humans are not so different from animals after all, she thought, trying not to weep at the sight of her husband as he lay, caught in the web of one of the naps which were seizing him more often these days. His lips had a faintly bluish cast to them in the late morning light, and she opened the shutters on their bedroom window, hoping the further influx of light would dispel the disquieting hue. But it was not to be; he struggled for breath when he shifted in his sleep, and instead of erasing the awful corpse’s cast his lips held, the light seemed instead to magnify it. Ofelia crushed her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob, and some sound must have escaped, for Javier’s verdant eyes, dull with sleep and illness, opened and fixed immediately on her face. To her surprise, he smiled and shifted upwards in his bed, though the movements caused the horrible, wracking cough he’d had for months to burst forth anew. She tendered him the sweet wine which was his only source of sustenance now; he never seemed to have any appetite for anything more. Even the most tempting of meals were too difficult for him to swallow, for coughing fits often struck at any time, and Ofelia had at last given in to his demands for nothing more than wine after the third time Diego had pounded something free from his master’s torn throat and blocked airway. That had been three days ago, and Ofelia despaired of ever again seeing her husband, once well and strong, as anything more than an animated carcass of a man as it waited for its brain to realize what the rest of its body had known for weeks. Even his smile was not the same; stretched over the drum-tight flesh of his cheeks, it resembled the grin of a corpse. But his eyes, dull though they were with sickness, were as soft and quietly gentle as they had been on the first morning she had woken in his arms as his wife. She pressed her lips together and grasped for control over herself; he would be angry if she cried, and for him to fly into a fury now would only be a waste of what little energy he had left. “Javi?” she asked carefully, deciding that one word at a time would make it easier for her to maintain a grip on the tears which threatened behind her lashes. “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you, cara …” He cleared his throat and spat into the basin which was ever present at his side; she saw that it was once more caked with bloodied

244 phlegm and reminded herself to scold Iglesia anew for not scrubbing it after she’d helped Javier with his clothing that morning. He struggled for breath that wheezed in his dying lungs. “Would it … make you happy if we… went to that …” He struggled for air, fighting against his drowning lungs and the ever-present urge to cough them clear. “To Grenada?” For a moment, Ofelia knew only confusion, and then she recalled a conversation Javier must have overheard. In Grenada, she had been told, there was a monastery which could cure all manners of ills, and though she had not yet been brave enough to bring it up to Javier – knowing, or so she thought, what his answer would be – she had filed it away in her mind as a seed of hope to which she could cling. She stared at Javier, her dark eyes trembling with surprise, and he gave a dusty, terrible laugh. She wet her lips, hating the dying sound of his mirth and yet warming to the sight of his smile as she had always done. She didn’t ask how he had known of Granada; most probably, he wouldn’t tell her even if she did. “You – you wish to go?” Another horrible laugh turned into a deep coughing fit that left Javier heaving for breath, but he was still smiling. “No. I do not. I want nothing more … than to lie here with … you until I have … beaten this thing. It is important … to you, cara. And I … have not been …” Coughs took over the end of his sentence and he looked helplessly at Ofelia, perhaps hoping to see understanding in her eyes. As it had always been, it was there. Ofelia’s face softened – in fact, it trembled and threatened to crumble into tears – and she took his hands even as he struggled against the terrible hacking sounds which were slowly destroying his lungs. “Javi, no,” she crooned, and then the tears were there, streaming down her face. She kissed his brow and then his lips; both were hot, with sweat and blood respectively. “You – you have loved me in the best way you know how…” she insisted, fighting against the sobs which broke through into her words. “You do not have to do anything for me. If you want to see if the monks can heal you at the monastery, then we will go. I want you to be happy, my Javi – that is all I’ve ever wanted.” Tears gleamed in his eyes then, but she knew he would damn himself to hell before he would let them fall in her presence. He looked down at his hands on the coverlets, then at the teak box he’d given her so very long ago – anywhere but at her face, for he felt that if he stared at her tears any longer, he would simply fall apart. “Tell the servants to … begin preparing… for the trip, then.” He coughed hard, spat, and then sat up. “Write to the … the… monks…”

245 She bit her lip. “I already did,” she admitted shyly, then brought her hands up before her face as if to protect herself from the gathering storm of his displeasure. “But only to see if they could take you … If you say no, we will not go. I will not even mention it again,” she insisted hurriedly, her words tumbling over one another. Javier shook his head, smiling faintly. “I do not know what to think of you, cara. You are always prepared; I will give you that much. Prepare the house, then.” He paused here, and she realized it was because he had no idea about the preparations that would need to be done for such a journey. Wisely, she didn’t inform him, but simply waited. “Do ... whatever it is you need to do,” he finished, his eyes skipping away as he fell back against the pillows. To be truthful, Javier didn’t want to think about how tiring travel would be; he wasn’t even sure he could stay astride a horse for such a distance, and some part of him murmured that it might be best for him to simply die here, rather than halfway across the country in some inn. What hostel is going to accept a dying man anyway? They would probably stop for the night at monasteries and the like, or make camp along the way, he realized, and he hated the thought of either option. Though he had maintained aloud for the last three months that he could beat this … this … whatever it was, his brain already knew what his tongue would not admit. He was a dying man, and if he was going to be taken from this earth before he was finished with his life, he wanted to be in his own home when it happened. As Ofelia rose and left the room, he listened to the sounds of her skirts rustling and was tempted to call her back and tell her to forget the entire idea. As he opened his mouth, however, the image which struck him was the sight of her tears and how bravely she had tried to deny her worry, her fright, over the possibility of losing her husband. What is she going to do, if I die? Who will take care of her? I’m not doing a very good job of it while I am alive – but if I am not here, what then? I must do this for her. If I cannot get well on my own, then I must do this for her, because she will feel that, even if it doesn’t work, she will have tried and she can comfort herself with that. Javier had as little faith in a monk’s healing skills as he did in those of the physicians she had attempted to have paraded through here, but he knew Ofelia thought differently. Perhaps there was something to her belief. Even if there wasn’t, it would make her happy, he thought, and if he was going to die, then this was the least he could do for her while he was still alive.

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He turned his head and listened idly to the sound of Ofelia snapping orders and smiled at the curt tone in her voice. Perhaps she would be fine on her own. All which he possessed, because they had no children, would go to her and he had long ago assured himself that his accountant would see to the proper dispensary of financial matters, so that she would not have to. She will be lonely, he thought, but she is lonely now, with only a dying man who was, prior to his illness, more interested in lying to her and bedding another man than he was in coming home to her, so what difference does that make? Javier paused. He hadn’t thought of Keith in weeks; the last time he had, the memory of that peremptory command, as though he were no better than that mongrel-man with whom Keith lived, had broiled his blood within his veins. No anger came now, however. I miss him, Javier realized. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could say goodbye to him. I don’t know what we would have had together… but we might have had something, and it won’t happen now that I’m dying. It was the first time he had allowed himself to consciously think the words, and he bit his lips to forestall the angry tears which sprang childishly to his eyes. It wasn’t fair that he would be faced with the wonder of a world like Keith’s and then denied it because his own body turned traitor on him! It wasn’t fair! He pounded the bed in frustration, stopping only when he heard Diego’s footsteps approaching the bedroom door. The last thing he wanted was for his manservant to see him weeping like a child. He scrubbed at his face and drank more of the sweet wine Ofelia had left by his bedside, but he needn’t have bothered; Diego’s footsteps continued past his door without stopping. Taking in several deep breaths, he fought for calm and stared out the window instead. Marlon passed beneath the open sill, unaware of his new master’s scrutiny, innocent of the fact that the sight of him made Javier ache with the memory of Keith. Javier clenched his fingers into fists and took several deep breaths. Well? He asked himself. What are you going to do? If you want something… go get it. HE told ME to leave; why should I go to see him? Are you so weak that you can’t resist him? Are you scared you’ll fly back into his arms if you do go and see him?

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No! He protested, feeling foolish to be having such a conversation with himself. Briefly, he looked around, as if to ensure that no one else could hear what he was thinking. That isn’t it at all. He told ME to go, that’s all. You are a coward, and you know it. He deserves to know you’re leaving and might never return – it will serve him rightly for telling you to leave like that in the first place! – and the only reason you’re not going is because you’re afraid you won’t be able to leave him if you do. Coward. “I am not,” he ground out furiously. “I am not!” He’d go and see Keith, he decided; he’d wait until the household was asleep, and he’d sneak out, that was what he’d do. And damn anyone who tries to stop me, even Ofelia! He turned over and forced himself to sleep on and off the rest of the day, figuring he would need his energy if he was going to make it on his own across the town without aid or interruption. When the supper hour came, Javier even forced himself to eat, knowing he would need the sustenance. It seemed to please Ofelia as well, though he noticed that her eyes were somehow guarded, as if she knew somehow that there was something more to the re-emergence of his long-lost appetite than he was letting on. By the time the household was retiring for the night, he was convinced that she knew of his plan to slip away, and he wondered if it would come to pass at all. But Javier hadn’t taken into account that caring for him was exhausting. Past his own inconveniences, he hadn’t truly thought of the toll it was taking on Ofelia, until he saw her tapping something into the wine she was taking to bed with her. He looked up, frowning. “What is that?” “A sleeping draught,” she replied softly. “I want to be sure I am rested for tomorrow. Would you like some, Javi? It might help you…” “Diego gave some to me at noontide,” he replied hurriedly, suspecting that he wasn’t lying. From noon until almost the supper hour, he had slept hard, and felt more aware now than he had for some time. Perhaps it was because he felt he had something towards which he could work. Or perhaps it’s because you know you’re going to see Keith again. “Anyway, I don’t want … to take any more yet. If I can’t sleep, I’ll call Diego … or Iglesia and …” He paused to catch his breath and forestall another coughing fit. “They can give me some more.” Ofelia drained her cup and set it aside with a little grimace that had nothing to do with the taste of the drink.

248 Javier laughed softly. “What?” Ofelia’s eyes dropped to her hands and then rose shyly. “Iglesia …” She shrugged. “I would feel better if … if you took it from Diego.” Again, Javier laughed, a little more loudly, and the sound of it carried to the hall, where Diego and Marlon were working on shutting up the house in preparation for their master and mistress’ absence. “She’s not so bad, is she?” “She … she is lazy, and does not care to measure things correctly in the kitchens…” Ofelia’s heart had leapt at the sound of his laughter, but she never knew how he would tolerate a conversation with her about the staff. Javier shrugged. “If you think she’s a problem, terminate her.” “I don’t want her to hurt you.” Looking down, Ofelia toyed with the coverlet. “I know I worry too much, but if she gave you too much of this medicine …” A yawn broke into the rest of her sentence, and she blushed furiously. Javier laughed, reaching out to squeeze his wife’s fingers. “Which appears to … already be at work … I see your point, cara. Don’t worry. I will ask Diego… If I need it.” In fact, Javier didn’t feel as if he needed sleep’s healing touch at all, and it was almost an agony to lie still first while Ofelia drifted into the safety of her dreams, only to await the heavy silence that foretold the end of a household’s activity. He slipped free of his bedclothes after he was assured of Ofelia’s slumber and dressed in the quiet dark while the servants were still awake. Javier lay under a light sheet next to his wife in a parody of calmness, listening to the muted sounds of the kitchen help cleaning up, and the stable men chatting amongst themselves and thinking about how best to slip away. Earlier, he’d supposed that the easiest way to go would have been straight out his gates and down the path into town, but now, as he lay next to his wife, he began to wonder if that was the wisest course of action. I’m thinking too much. I sound like Keith. Keith. I miss him. I didn’t realize how much I missed him. He turned over – carefully, though there was no need for his caution because Ofelia was deeply asleep – and rested his head on one hand, staring out at the velvet shadow of the night. He gazed out for some time, and perhaps another man would have been lost in his contemplations, but Javier simply drifted along, caught somewhere between waking and sleeping, without thinking of anything at all.

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He became aware of himself again only when he realized that silence had stolen into the house to join him, and his first thought was that it would be good for him to go now – to get this over with, he thought with a grim smile that held more heartbreak in it than he knew. But as he turned, sliding his lean legs free of the bedclothes, pressing his still-bare feet to the cool boards of his bedroom floor, his wife moved. Javier froze. She hadn’t come awake; oh, no, the sleeping medication she had taken some hours ago had been strong, and all she had done was shift slightly in her sleep so that she lay facing him. The moonlight, coming through the unlatched shutters on the window, framed her face in light that would perhaps have been too cold on another woman, too severe, but not for Ofelia, and Javier’s breath caught. Without being aware that he was doing it, he tucked his legs back up on to the bed and brought one trembling hand down to cup the line of her cheek where the moonlight stretched its silver limbs. Mi Dios, but she’s beautiful, he thought helplessly. And all she’s ever wanted is my happiness? He shook his head. Sometimes, I do not think I will ever be able to understand you, Ofelia. They had been similarly reared as children; their families’ position in society and the relative closeness of the community they inhabited had ensured that they would meet, and they had. Javier’s eyes clenched in a faint smile as he pulled forth a hazy memory of taking her little fingers in his hands for the first time and kissing them. I gave her an apple that day, he remembered. Like the one I gave to Keith – I cut it in pieces with my little dagger, the one that Father gave me on my birthing day that year. That’s what she was talking about when she told me about the marketplace! Mi Dios, she remembers all of that… We were no more than children! They’d met – played – on and off after that, especially the summer that her father had applied for a couple of loans from his father in order to expand the farmland from which the Gaelano family drew most of their income. She’d had that irritating nursemaid around her still for a few years, but Javier had learned quickly that the best way to avoid the cumbersome woman was to fill her full of the sweet wines for which his father’s cellar was well-known, and wait until the combination of summer’s warmth and the alcohol in her belly dulled her brain into slumber.

250 Then, they could escape to the back fields of his father’s property and watch the clouds and play their children’s games. In later years, as he grew into a man, and she, a woman, her brothers were the champions of her virtue, much to Javier’s displeasure. Her brothers were harder to avoid; they couldn’t be put off by too much wine, but Javier had always been good at assessing people – it hadn’t taken him long to learn that her brothers’ heads – and overbearing attentions – could be easily turned away from the subject of their little sister’s chastity by the presence of a couple of flirtatious maids. Gabriela, he thought with a sad little smile. When his parents had been murdered by the Church just after he’d turned fourteen, she had been sent away, and he’d never seen her again. But by then, Ofelia was already a woman, and their children’s games had been swallowed up by the amusements of young adults. The two of them would sneak away, though not to his father’s fields any longer – mostly because it would not be until after Javier’s marriage to Ofelia almost two years later that they would be returned to their rightful owner, rather than the Church who had taken his father’s life. No, they had found hidden places on her own family’s lands. Part of Javier wondered if he’d instigated that because he’d wanted to be caught, as they had been the year he’d turned seventeen. They hadn’t been watching the clouds anymore – oh, no, there had been far more interesting things to watch along the crevices of Ofelia’s own body that day – and by the time her brother had found them, alerted perhaps to their presences by Ofelia’s startled, shuddering cry at climax, it had been too late to take back the act – and too late to hide its evidence. And the evening she came to me, her face wracked with bruises from her mother’s slaps and her own tears; that was when it all went wrong. Ofelia had come to him on her own to tell him of the life he – they! – had begun in her womb, to warn him that her brothers were coming in the morning – either for his skin or his family name. Once more, Javier had been forced to stand in the vestibule of the great chapel the city boasted, though this time, it was not to the churchmen’s God he was lying, but the woman who, a scant hour later, would become his wife. That was when the gossipmongers had begun spreading their rumours, insisting that Javier’s womanising ways – for Ofelia had not been the only woman

251 with which he’d shared intimacies, oh, no! – would continue despite the binding vows he had made in front of a God in which he only claimed to believe when the priests were in earshot. But I didn’t, Javier thought, swallowing against a tightening in his throat that had nothing to do with his illness. Even if it’s the only thing I can say I did for her, I didn’t commit adultery on her. Until Keith. He uttered a soft little sound and closed his eyes tightly; when he opened them again, his vision was veiled with tears. I can’t leave, he realized. I can’t. Not after everything she’s given me – not after the four years of hell through which I put her, through which she stood by me, bathing her wounds – the ones I put on her body and soul! – by loving me far more than I could ever have loved her. He shook his head. I can’t leave her, not tonight. Maybe I’ll just … write Keith from an inn or a hostel or a monastery somewhere along the way. It isn’t like he’s come racing after me in the last three months anyway; before, I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the man, but now When I’m dying … Now, it’s like he was never here in the first place. Again, Javier shook his head, angry that his thoughts kept wending their way back to the midnight-eyed vampire. He touched his wife’s cheek again and gave a great, quavering sigh that was audible to the man who stood watching, through the crack in the bedroom door. Marlon had heard Javier moving around in there, and it had been on the tip of his tongue – and the ends of his knuckles – to rap on the door and request that Javier at least send word, somehow, to Keith that the Estas family was leaving. But something in the rapt expression of the man as he had sat there on his marriage bed next to his slumbering wife had stilled Marlon’s tongue. He could see that Javier wasn’t going anywhere, not tonight; there were no words that Marlon possessed which could change the blonde man’s mind. Not even if he was strong enough to make it across the city to Keith’s home, in enough time to catch the vampire either before or after his hunting time and before his daytime sleep. Marlon frowned as he watched Javier remove the clothing he had slipped into, noting the sound of his laboured breathing and frequent stops to rest. If he cannot do it, Marlon decided, then I must. The Master – and here he paused, for was Keith his Master any longer? Was it not

252 actually Javier to whom he owed allegiance now? Either way, he decided, it didn’t matter – it would be best for both of them if Keith were made aware of the Spaniard’s plight, - must know of this. I do not care if Keith strips the life from me; after what I did to him, it is the least I deserve. He must know. I’ll slip back tomorrow, after the train is on its way. I’ll say… I’ll say I want to make sure the gardens are well-covered and tended to, or that I forgot to cover some of the trees or something. The Lady will allow it – she knows how I love the plants, and Javier will not care. Marlon swallowed, and wished for some of the sweet wine he could see Javier carefully sipping now as he rested from the exertion of undressing himself. The moonlight gleamed on his skin, bleaching it as white as the skull which Marlon knew lay just beneath, and if he’d wanted, Marlon could have counted the knob of every one of Javier’s ribs. Dying men care about very little. He took a deep breath and moved down the hall, determined to get some sleep – tomorrow would be a long day for him, though he spared not a moment of regret for either the thought of the Herculean effort to come nor the possible loss of his life that could be his rewards at Keith’s hands for daring to return to him. This task he must fulfill, Marlon felt, was too important for any of that. I must bring them together, Marlon thought. Even if it costs me my life. I owe the Master that. The following morning brought Ofelia springing from their bed with a light step and a smile which her husband had not seen in some time. He smiled in answer to it; when her face lit from within in such a way, how could he refuse to acknowledge her loveliness? But Javier did not share in her newfound energy; he was exhausted practically before the undertaking had begun. While he had not slept particularly badly next to his wife; while he had not woken with his spirits at some terribly low ebb because he had not been to see Keith as he had intended, merely watching the muted rush and hurry of the household around him served to drag all of the life from him. He ate little to break his fast and stared around the home he had made his own, certain that he would never look upon it again with living eyes. It is a depressing thing, this going away to die, he thought, leaning forward as he stood, in the shade at the side of the house, with his hands on his knees to spit flumes of thick, phlegmy blood. But Ofelia’s eyes were light this morning, and her orders to the servants were crisp and

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sure; it was as if she believed, somehow, that this was the end of some terrible nightmare rather than only the beginning. Javier felt the low, gnawing anger at the unfairness of it – how will she feel when she returns home with my shrouded body, to bury me in the family plot on the hill, next to our son who never was? Will her eyes sparkle so then? – but it was buried beneath the weary acceptance which reigned and told his thoughts to clear out, that he would be leaving this place for the very last time today whether he liked it or not, and finally, he simply acquiesced to it. The family carriage, small but comfortable enough despite its years of disuse, was rolled out and Javier’s calmest horses were hitched to it. He scowled, and spoke up for the first time that morning when he noticed that most of his stable was not in residence. “Where are Adan and Abran?” he asked Ofelia in the rough growl his voice had taken on in the last few months. She looked startled and then glanced back over her shoulder. “They are in the stables still, along with the Arabians. Marlon has … Marlon has agreed that he will stay behind to see to them until we return.” Javier ground his teeth, trying to force his jaws to remain closed around the mouthful of invectives his tongue wished to spit. Is she blind? Stupid? Delirious? There will be no ‘we’ returning here – just her, and Adan never liked her enough to let her sit him without my presence! Damn her and her stupid hope, her damned faith! Why can’t she let me die here if I must die? He opened his mouth and he was so certain such words would begin to fall on his ears that he began to cringe away before realizing that all he was saying to her, in the curiously soft, pleading tones of a lover, that he wished to bring them along – for he would wish, once he was well, to return to his home astride his favourite animal. Ofelia’s eyes brimmed with sudden, glad tears and the sight of her dying husband split and blurred itself before her. Hastily, she wiped her face before he could snap at her, and hurried to tell Marlon of the change in Javier’s decision. Marlon had come across the chance to stay behind – and hopefully, the opportunity to tell Keith of what was transpiring – quite by accident. The two stable-boys were, at best, mere boys and prone – or so he had noticed during his time here as a gardener on Javier’s staff – to playing rather than working. Innocently, Marlon had inquired about the fate of the stables during the time that the bulk of the household would be elsewhere, only to learn that most of the horseflesh not

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needed for conveying the household would stay behind. Feeling as though his sometimes-slow wits had been firmly kicked into motion by some unseen boot-heel, Marlon had hinted that it might be a wise idea for more than one man, perhaps not necessarily associated with the stables, to stay behind and act as security for the Master’s valuable horseflesh. After all, he had reasoned, the Master would not want his competitors to come swooping in like vultures the moment his carriage was out of view, would he? So, shrouded in the cool of the stable now, Marlon attempted to get Adan, skittish from all the activity and the nearness of a mare who was going into heat, to warm to him, and that was how Ofelia found him. “Marlon, there has been a change,” she told him, her skirts rustling as she raised them to keep the chaff from attracting itself to her hems. Startled, he barely had time to sketch a quick little bow before she was coming over to the stall in which Adan danced. “Senora?” “Yes. I am going to need you to come along after all; you will need to saddle Adan and Abran. Javi – my husband – wishes them to come along, and I think you are better suited to handle the horses than the other groomsmen. They know the stables here and …” Pausing, she cast her eyes away from his face, but when her gaze returned, her dark eyes were resolute. He could see that she wished to ask him no questions, but that she felt her words needed to be said all the same. “I think it would be safer for you to leave the city. Your addition to this household was not an unwelcome one, not in this time of my husband’s needs, but it was a strange one, and I think it would be safer for you to remain with us.” Oh, mon Dieu, no, not when I cannot get away to tell the Master… No! His mouth worked, but no denial of her words came forth; she took his silence as the guilt which she had already secretly assumed he bore, and nodded faintly. “Yes, I think it will be much safer for you. Find our saddles, please, and then see if you cannot bridle them. It will be nicer for Adan, too, instead of being tempted by the fillies,” she added decisively, and that, Marlon thought with sinking terror, was that. She was gone again before he could do more than gape. With a deep sigh, he turned to do as he was bid, wondering if he could slip away come nightfall. I’ll have to – and perhaps this is for the best. After that hunter, I’d never be able to get in by daylight anyway, and what good is it if the Master really does slumber by day, as he’s always told us he prefers? Now, of course, Marlon knew why Keith did such a thing, and he

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decided he preferred life as it had been, before he had ever come into such knowledge, but there was no returning to that innocent time. After my … betrayal, Keith will have banned me from the household, and they will have watched for me to come back. Even after all this time, I think they will still be watching. Even if Margot and Linette, – his heart ached at the memory of her – have forgotten me, or whoever he hired to replace me has been convinced I won’t return, Amaroq wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be able to get past Amaroq – and certainly not that dog of his, either. I’ll have to wait until nightfall, but God help me if I cannot get away and return before then… He shook his head, burying his fingers in his work, surprised at how easily it came to him to think while he did it. But I must try. Javier did not go to Keith last night – but Keith must be informed. Even if nothing comes of it, Keith must know that Javier is dying. All throughout the day, Marlon’s thoughts remained on how best to get away from Javier’s entourage and come back to Keith. He’d tried to slip away once, but he’d caught Javier watching him from the carriage window, his once-tanned face thin and white with weariness. Reluctantly, he’d turned back to his duties and tried to forget about the notion entirely, but it simply would not leave him. It was not, in fact, until they had been settled at the monastery which lay some four hours’ ride outside of the city, that Marlon thought he even had a scant opportunity. They were stopping fairly early on this first day, he heard the other servants saying in hushed tones, so as to allow Don Estas as gentle a trip as possible, and for this, Marlon said a quiet prayer of thanks, though he did not know at the time what the extent of his good luck truly was. He found out just after the supper hour had begun. Because of space reasons within the building, he was told to bed down with the horses after supper that evening and with every word the old monk had spoken, Marlon’s heart had lifted. This was his chance, and he could not afford to let it pass! He forced himself to agree without allowing the monk to catch a glimpse of his eagerness, for he knew that would seem strange and may even get back to Javier, who would forbid, Marlon knew, such a return to Seville immediately if he suspected Marlon’s reasons for even a moment. Perhaps an hour after sunset, Marlon seized his chance; the other servants were attending to the last of their duties and would not see him leave – if he was lucky, the monks would be at

256 prayers and wouldn’t see him, either. He saddled Abran as swiftly as he dared; the gelding wasn’t used to anyone other than Javier or Ofelia handling him, and there were more than a few tense moments spent in a frantic dance around the stall. He wished furiously for even a hint of the gentle command his Master – though even he was not certain to which man he was referring – seemed to have over all animals, but that was not to be. “What are you doing there?” Marlon’s heart jerked in his chest and he turned, his hands slackening on the bridle he held. That sweet voice sometimes followed him into his dreams, but it was a shock to hear it burst into reality. Linette? Mon Dieu, how can she be here? He shook his head, turning to face the lovely young woman standing in the doorway of the stable. “I …” That is not Linette – Linette is lovely, but she doesn’t have hair like dying firelight… Marlon cleared his throat. “The horse, he is restive… I thought to let him walk off some of his nerves before I settle in with him for the night.” He tried for a winning smile, but he was not possessed of Keith’s ethereal charm or Javier’s powerful charisma. “In the dark.” It wasn’t a question. The woman was long and lean, but what was most remarkable about her was her dress – she wore the riding habit of a man, complete with breeches, Marlon saw, as he attempted not to gape foolishly like the oaf he was. She passed under the guttering torch in the stable and he saw that her skin was very white indeed. Something tingled along his memory – some stolen image, perhaps, from a time and a life which had never been his – but it was gone before he could capture it in his fumbling hands. “Ou- Si, in the dark. I am not going far,” he protested. “Only to walk the nerves from him, so I may sleep without being kicked in the head.” She threw her head back and laughed, though he noticed she kept the sound pitched low. Marlon choked at the glint of the torchlight on the woman’s teeth and must have gibbered a little, for she fixed him with a cold stare. “Oh, do be quiet,” she snapped, drawing closer. “Do you really think I’m foolish enough to slake my thirst in the very dooryard of these men of God? No, I am not,” she continued, answering her own question. “No more than your Master would be – but I do have something to ask of you.” Cringing, Marlon drew back against Abran’s heaving flanks, dancing back with the horse as the animal sensed his fear and reacted. “Wh-what is that?”

257 “The man you seek – is his name Dante? Or Arbois? He went by both at one time.” Now her eyes were pleading, Marlon thought, not predatory. Dumbly, he shook his head. “I do not know anyone by that name, señorita.” It was not the answer this strange woman wanted and he knew it; instinctively, he cringed away. “The man I seek is my Master – or, was,” he corrected, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the woman was smiling, her blood-rouged lips tucked ironically inwards at the corners. “Could not resist the lure, could you? When did he give of you his blood, young man?” She drew forward even as she dropped her voice; there was something hypnotically beautiful about the way she moved, but it was tinged with a haunting familiarity which withdrew just enough of his concentration to allow his mind to overcome her subtle attempts of control. Wordlessly, he shook his head and backed away into Abran. She is taking away my time! I must go, and … He drew in a quick breath as she parted the space between them with no more than a flicker of movement he barely saw. She paused for a moment as she loomed before him, and then laughed – it was when she did so that he recalled what it was which seemed so wonderfully recognizable about her. Linette moves like that, especially when she is most aroused, Marlon thought, and squirmed uncomfortably as his body reacted. She raised a slim brow. “I cannot capture you with our gifts, but I could seduce you because I look like a housemaid with whom you’re acquainted? I am at once delighted and disgusted.” She shook her head. “Enough. Tell me what I wish to know – what is your Master’s name?” Marlon sealed his lips together. “I must – I must go now. It is to my master that I must go, and his names are not those which you gave me. Please, señorita,” he pleaded, stumbling over the Spanish words Keith had insisted the household learn before they had come here, “please, you must let me go.” She drew her chin up, tipping her head slightly backwards; the movement was somehow snakelike in its swiftness, and Marlon misread her expression because of it.

Fumbling, he

withdrew the knife he wore at his side and brought it upwards, aiming the point slightly south of the deep valley of her breasts. He wasn’t quite sure where her heart might be, but he thought it

258 would be a good place to start. “I must go, mademoiselle,” he repeated, slipping into his native French without realizing it. “Please stand aside for me.” As she twisted her lips contemptuously, the expression on her face made Marlon think that she would deny him, but she stood aside. He knew she did not fear him; like a wolf can smell the presence of fear, Marlon could smell its absence on this woman who stood before him. “I am sorry I could not give you what you wanted,” he said simply as he swung up over Abran’s back, forgoing the heavy saddle he had used all of that day.

His bones groaned

alarmingly, and he winced to think of the long ride ahead of him, but he knew he could do no less than this for Keith. It does not change the dishonour I did him – but if it changes anything, it will have been worth it. Baring her fine, sharp fangs up at him as he passed her on the skittish gelding, the woman glared at his passage, and then appeared in front of the horse as Marlon guided him carefully out of the stable. “I will impede you no longer if you give your Master this. Should he be the one I am seeking, it will be well – if not, I am out nothing more than a few drops of my blood.” A tiny bottle flashed through the night air and though Marlon made no move to catch it – as startled as he was by the vampiress’ appearance before him, he could not have reacted even on instincts – it fell neatly into his hand nonetheless. Raising his head from his bemused study of the little vessel, Marlon might have hailed her, but the woman had vanished as neatly as she had appeared. For a moment, he looked at the space she had so recently occupied, but when Keith’s face passed through his thoughts, he pushed all notion of her away. He put his boot-heels to Abran’s sides, understanding without knowing how that the woman would not return, and let the swift horse carry him off into the night, towards Keith.

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Chapter Fifteen Perhaps it was the close air of their room, scented with tallow instead of the familiar glow of orange blossoms. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was surrounded by the men of the same God who had evidently decided that people who followed a faith different to those who wore the Spanish crown were ‘expendable creatures’, as Javier had once heard. Perhaps it was Ofelia’s obvious comfort and belief in the notion that these men of God – though they would not be the same ones with which Javier’s encroaching illness had forced them to bed tonight – would make him well again. Perhaps it was none or all of those things, but the result was the same. Javier was weary to the very middle depths of his bones, but still, he lay awake beneath worn, clean sheets, watching as his wife slipped into the same slumber for which he was so desperate. Somewhere, he heard the whinny of a horse, and thought, for a chilling moment, that Keith’s wolf had followed them somehow, but when no alarm was raised, he shrugged the thoughts away and turned over. He had been restless all evening despite his intense lethargy – one so profound that they had stopped here, at this monastery a mere four hours out of town, rather than continuing on and risking more harm to Javier’s declining health. He had protested, of course, but when his arguments had dissolved into a coughing fit harsh enough to result in vomiting, Ofelia’s terrified tears had decided things nicely. Slipping out of bed, he moved slowly to the other side of the room, wincing at the deep, throbbing pain in his chest and back which had been his constant companion for more time now than he cared to admit. He breathed – as best he could – slowly for several minutes, finding that if he bent slightly at the waist, he could allow his lungs to open past the sludge in which they appeared insistent upon drowning. When he could not deny the coughs any longer, he let them come into the heavy folds of an old shirt; nothing would come up any longer to stain it, though the sounds were loose and wet in the dying depths of his chest. His eyes flicked to Ofelia, but she slept still, her hair loosely fanned over her arms and breasts as she curled towards the warmth Javier had left behind.

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The night before, he had been filled only with a yearning to return to her side and give her the warmth her slumbering body sought, and he had thought – then – that such an urge had come from the knowledge that, very soon now if he understood the signals of his own body, he would no longer be around to provide that feeling of security for her. But if that were so, why then was he so reluctant to return to her side tonight? That sentiment had not eased; in fact, if he could have described the feeling as a physical sensation, he would have said that it was pressing even more heavily on him tonight than it had been at any other time. He swallowed dryly and grabbed for the wine cup she had left by his bed, hoping against hope to find it both full and not laced with any sort of sleeping powder. Eugh, God, maybe it would have been better if it had been – anything would have made that wine taste better, for it certainly couldn’t have made it taste worse. Grimacing as he swallowed it down and quietly set the cup aside, he dressed himself with fingers that shook only partly from weariness. Something’s wrong, and it must be with Keith. All day, I have been thinking about him, and the thoughts have come with this… this terrible … something attached to them. It leeched out any pleasantness which might have been associated with the memories, this vague and dark unease which infiltrated him as insidiously as had whatever was killing his lungs, and all Javier Estas knew was that he had had enough of it. There was little to nothing he could do to save his lungs, he thought grimly, but he was certain he could make that four hour ride on horseback. He would just go back to the city, he would find Keith, he would tell him goodbye – as I should have done in the first place; and then maybe these stupid womanish feelings of dread and guilt could just go away! – and that would be that. And perhaps they’ll even have God Himself present at the Abbey to welcome me back tomorrow morning, he thought derisively. He knew there would be no simple goodbye when it came to explaining things to Keith – wasn’t that why he had elected to stay by Ofelia’s side last night, instead of running to the man? I owed her that last night in our home, he thought stubbornly, glaring at her sleeping form. But I owe myself this thing tonight. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I want to tell him goodbye. He didn’t know why Keith should deserve such a thing, not after the way he had so summarily – or was it desperately? Like he had something to hide? – dismissed Javier and

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Marlon from that cask-filled basement the last night Javier had laid eyes on the vampire, and so he told himself it was not for Keith, and that it had never been. And it isn’t, he insisted even as he held his breath and stole from the room, down the plain stone corridors of the monastery. I’m saying goodbye for me. I just want him to know what’s going to happen to me. I owe me that much. That decided, he took a deep breath and wrapped himself in his riding cloak, pausing only once, to touch Ofelia’s face and grab a lantern, before vanishing into the hall without a sound. He passed outside without being stopped by anyone; it was, he thought, spooked by the eerie silence, as though the place had somehow passed from a house of the living to one in which he was sure he himself would soon be taking up residence. It was a short – and dark, for he didn’t dare to light the lantern he carried yet - walk from the monastery proper to the stables, but by the end of it, Javier was gasping for breath he could not manage to suck into his lungs, and at first, he thought the high, desperate sound of it was the reason behind Adan’s nervous behavior. The big stallion screamed and tossed his head as Javier approached, but the blonde Spaniard didn’t think it was his presence which had unnerved the animal; he’d been hearing noises from the stable as he’d left the shelter of the dooryard. Frowning, he gripped the hilt of his rapier. “Is someone here?” he demanded, his voice coming forth in the barest rasp of a whisper. Irritably, he cleared his throat – eliciting a short round of coughing – and tried again. “Is someone here?” Only Adan’s nervous whinnying answered him, so he gave up, screwing his face into a scowl even as he murmured soothing noises to the equine as he stamped about in his stall. Once he had the horse calmed, he went for the bridle he used, and it was then that he noticed Abran’s tack was missing. He spun on one boot-heel and glared into the thick darkness; he’d only lit one of the torches nearest to Adan’s stall, and the gloom was close in here. Who in God’s name would steal a gelding? It can’t be one of the churchmen – what use would Abran be to them anyway? They’d have been better off stealing Adan. No, someone’s left the place. But why? And who? Whoever it was, they didn’t take a heavy saddle – maybe I shouldn’t take one. What if I need to tie myself? He was beginning to toss aside any illusion of his own strength; it had taken him the last quarter of an hour, judging by the crawling shadows on the wall, simply to fetch and bridle Adan, which had once been so simple a task that he could have done it in half the time, without stopping for breath. Now, every movement was an agony as it jarred the heaviness in his lungs and back; even standing straight for any period of time was a torture.

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So it was that Javier dismissed the idea of a heavy saddle for the horse; as weak as he was trying not to admit to being, he wasn’t sure he could lift the thing, and if he grew too feeble, he could simply cling to Adan’s mane. Besides, the faster I get this horse out of here, the faster I can get back. They’ll know I left, but if there is a God worth worshiping, He’ll let me come back before Ofelia’s awake. Part of him knew that was far from likely, and he wondered if that was why he wanted to leave now, while he still had a chance of being able to travel such a distance in so short a period of time. Abran’s disappearance had begun to completely slip Javier’s mind as the inexplicable urgency of his own situation began to crowd in anew again, and he struggled atop the great animal with sweat blinding his vision. I have to get to Keith, he chanted silently as he urged the horse out into the night and drove him with barely a whisper on to the main road that led back to Seville. “Go home,” he rasped, and Adan’s ears pricked immediately. As soon as he was allowed, he took his head, and Javier allowed it, knowing Adan could sense any obstacles before he could. By the time one hour had passed away, Javier was draped over the horse’s back as though he was part of the tack he had not bothered to lay over the horse. The horse’s ears flickered backwards once or twice at a sudden hitching stop in his burden’s breathing, noted only because of how close the respirations were to one velveteen point, but he continued on nevertheless, because his Master had said to go home, and home was where he would go, whether the human on his back died on the way or not. Meanwhile, Abran’s rider stumbled wearily through the lanes of the city, praising whatever God there was left to listen that he’d gotten here before the main gates had closed for the night. Marlon had walked the exhausted animal through the heavy gates of Javier’s home, thankful that Ofelia had thought to bestow a key to their stately locks upon his person. Once within the grounds, he nudged the tired animal towards the stables, but Abran had merely stood where he’d been led, his head hanging as he panted. Desperately, Marlon looked towards the gate and then towards the suffering animal. There was no help for it; Abran had to be tended to, and besides, if all went as he hoped, Javier would be well again soon through the benefit of Keith’s blood – Marlon had taken enough of it from that cellar before being caught to understand at least some of its healing abilities, so if he could just get

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to Keith and tell him where the dying man was, all would be well! But Marlon could hardly think that Javier would look kindly on such gross negligence towards one of the members of his stable as thanks for his service. So, reluctantly, he stole into the stables, which were dark and still, and returned with what he needed to rub the horse down. He chose, knowing that at least two of the stable-hands were still in residence, to minister to the horse outside so as to better avoid waking them, and when Marlon felt he had done as much as he could to cool and tend Abran, he filled a rude bucket with the grains that the stable-boys had been using for the pregnant filly in Javier’s stables and attached it to the animal, whispering thanks at the sight of the full drinking trough that sat outside the stable. All this time … All this delay. Keith won’t even be home now, I imagine – he’s probably gone out with Amaroq – how am I supposed to find him in this city? Harried by the frightening notion that he had come all this way for nothing, for he was certain that Javier would die within the space of a few days, and there was nothing for him to do but be back at the monastery before morning came, Marlon fled the grounds and vanished into the milling crowds of the city. He must be home, Marlon prayed fervently. He must be! It seemed to take him half an age to cross the market square and head towards the quiet lane which led down to Keith’s home because it was close to the supper hour, and the last of the day’s market was closing for their evening meal at the same time that the night time stalls were opening. It seemed he was hailed and pulled and touched from every direction, but he merely shoved through, fighting to reach Keith’s home before the vampire vanished into this thrumming mess of vitality for his evening sustenance. Had Chrétienne De Sens been there, he would have told Marlon already that such a notion was a lost cause; Keith had learned to quit the house as soon after sunset as his vampiric sleep would allow it and wander the streets until the tumult had silenced, for going out either within it or after its passage had been, he believed, what had garnered him the hunter’s notice. But De Sens was not there, and so Marlon came to the closed gate and hammered on it with both fists until Amaroq came around the side of the garden with Margot at his side. Oh, it has to be him, doesn’t it? Now he’ll drive me off, and all is lost for certain! Oh, let Keith be inside!

264 They’d been doing something with the herbs Marlon had planted around there before his disgrace; Marlon could smell the sharp odour on their clothes. Amaroq came forward with a snarl that seemed oddly at home even on his human features, and Marlon sprang back with a yell. “Please!” He cried. “Please, I have to see the Master – I have to tell him --.” “Keith isn’t here,” Amaroq replied sharply. “And even if he were, you know he’d kill you for returning here, after what you did. You’re lucky I don’t. Get inside, Margot – I can handle him.” Margot, who’d raised the rolling pin she’d had clenched in one beefy hand, cast a last glance in Marlon’s direction that, the poor man thought, might have contained some sympathy, but his attention was diverted from her broad and usually good-humoured face by the sound of the gate creaking open. He came forward at once, but Amaroq stopped him with a low, warning growl the likes of which, Marlon decided, he never wanted to hear issuing from a human’s throat again in his life. “I have to tell the Master something -,” he began again, but Amaroq cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “No, Marlon; you’ll tell Keith nothing if I can help it.” “So he is in there!” Marlon burst out angrily. “You lied a moment ago, then – Amaroq, I must see him, please!” Amaroq shook his head. “I didn’t lie to you – he has gone out. He’s gone over to the Estas household, to talk things over with Javier. And it’s a good thing you’re not there, too, Marlon, because he hasn’t found it in him yet to forgive you, even if that’s not what the rest of us want.” He allowed the man a moment to comprehend the meaning in his words; when no understanding came forth, Amaroq sighed. “All of us miss you keenly, Marlon, but Keith feels you betrayed him and --.” “Oh, never mind all of that!” Marlon cried furiously, though he was warmed by the thought that Linette might miss him still. “Don Estas is dying, Amaroq, and whatever hatred the Master bears me still, he can keep against me forever, but I have to tell him! Don Estas has gone away to the monastery at Granada – that’s where his wife is taking him to get well, but we all know he’s going there to die.” “And you’re telling me you came from Granada in one night?” skeptically.

Amaroq demanded

265 “No, the doña saw that he wasn’t well, so all of us stopped for the night a few hours out of town – the monks, they brew beer there and raise Arabians. Amaroq, please, the Master has to get there tonight! Don Estas is dying!” Amaroq frowned. When he’d last caught wind of Javier’s scent in the square a few months back, there had been illness, yes – but none more taxing than anything that had been carried on his skin at any other time. Marlon wasn’t lying, though, and he wore the desperate slick of weary fright over his person that told Amaroq that even if the truth would turn out to be another matter entirely, Marlon fully believed in what he was saying. His yellow eyes narrowed, and he made a quick decision. “Come, then. We’ll find him together and hopefully, I can stop him from killing you before you have your say.” Swiftly, Amaroq slid out between the wrought-iron gratings of the gate and hurried down the path towards the market square, hoping to catch Keith before he made his way to the quiet grounds of the closed-up Estas house. He’s… gone. He … left. Where could he have gone? He has taken his wife and half his stable – where could he have gone? On some voyage, perhaps, some journey? Keith circled the quiet house silently; he’d come over the walls by way of his preternatural gifts after no one had come to his call at the gates. The stables were set far back on the grounds of the estate; he moved towards them now, sensing a heartbeat or two still within their walls, but stopped as a scent came drifting towards him from the house. He paused, lifting his nose to the sky and wishing – if only for a moment – that his wolven cycle had not yet passed, as it had barely a month prior, so that he could be more certain of the faint, sick smell he had caught. Distracted by it, he moved closer to the house; where he might once have enjoyed the fine elegance of the home, he ignored its beauty now and focused on the elusive scent, but nothing more came to him. Discouraged, he moved towards the stable, from where Javier and he had taken their night time ride which had ended with the tangle of their bodies in Keith’s great bed for the first – and only, Keith realized with great regret that went further than the physical – time. He has gone – he has taken his family – his family! – and he has left. Perhaps only for a time, but then, I think the message is clear. He did not come to me in these past months, nor I to him, and now he is gone. He has not been gone long, so perhaps I could catch him, but to what end? He did not come to tell me that he was

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leaving, so I can only interpret that he did not want me to know where he was going, that he wanted no more to do with me than the last heated words he spat at me on those cellar steps. Stifling a cry, he whipped away from the sight of the stables, where he might have recognised Marlonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s scent as having so recently come, and headed back towards his home with an aching heart. I will go, then, he decided heavily. For what more in Spain is there for me than he who does not want me? My fierce Spaniard, may God protect you wherever you are and â&#x20AC;Ś be happy, my Javier. Even if it is not with me. But it was not towards the house that he drifted; had he, he may have met Marlon and Amaroq on their way, but as he wished to meet no one in his state of shocked grief, Keith cloaked his own presence from all around him, excluding even Amaroq from being able to sense him. He would walk, then, he decided, through the city until he felt able to return to the home, and then he would begin the process of closing down the house. He would not be able to leave until he had received correspondence from the noble who had allowed him to let the home in the first place all those months ago, this he knew, but he could at least get started on the process of closing up the one home and finding another. He did not know where they would go, he and Amaroq; perhaps he would simply furnish Margot and Linette with enough money to seek their own livelihood somewhere once more, and wander about the world for a while with Amaroq, as they had done in the years before he had settled in France with his current household. The eternity of a vampire meant that he had much open to him, after all; many more opportunities could be visited and whims satisfied because of it. But what is the point, when there is no one with whom I may share them? He took the roads opposite those which Marlon, and later, Javier, would travel, avoiding the edges of the city with its gates and shadowed corners because he wished to feel the dull savagery of his hunger, using it as a whip with which to lacerate himself for forcing Javier away from him - for overreacting to Marlon - for not baring his heart to Javier when heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d but had the chance! He walked amongst the tangle of humanity in the city as it wove this way and that; it was only as the dinner hour ended and the streets became more silent by the moment, the steady thrum of heartbeats which surrounded Keith dulling and softening behind the cover of thick doors and walls, that he finally gave up and headed back towards his home.

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He had walked the full distance of the city and now came upon the rear of his home and its lands by a way he had not taken before; lost in his thoughts as he was, it was only once he had slowed his step to approach the house that he heard the faint and struggling patter of a dying humanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heartbeat in the side garden.

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Chapter Sixteen Javier only realized that he must have somehow dozed off when the low, blunted clop of Adan’s hoofs changed to a sharp tapping as the horse reached the cobblestoned drive of the city limits of Seville. He stirred and sat up slightly on Adan’s back, coughing as he fought for the breath his lungs did not have the capacity to hold. He leaned over and spat, wincing at the sight of his own blood on the cobblestones, then considered his options. The main gates were guarded and closed so late at night; if Javier wanted to get in and out without being noticed, he either had to wait for and join a party of late-coming travelers, or enter through one of the postigos, which allowed for the arrival of the goods which were constantly flowing in and out of the city. Weighing both choices, he tossed aside the notion of joining some late-coming party, for it both lacked in immediacy and held an added risk – should any of the party notice how ill he appeared, they might either call for the apothecary’s presence if they were kind, or refuse him entry on fear of contagion if they were not. “No,” he whispered, wiping a weary hand over his face. “No, if I wait … I will not wait. I am tired of waiting. I will wait to die, but not to do this.” He bent his head to Adan’s ear once more and whispered commands, barely having to tug his mane this way or that to direct him, a fact for which he was most grateful by the time he had chosen the path through which he would enter the city. This postigo was situated on the corner of the calle Feria, where the street faires would enter and leave during festival times, and Javier thought it suited him quite well. There were no festivals occurring now – the next would be the Semana Santa, or the Holy Week – and the posito’s only occupants were those who were involved in the removal of the city’s refuse. Si, Javier thought, this will do well. Now, where is Keith’s home from here? Swaying on his feet as he dismounted and led Adan through the low opening once its yawning maw was free of other people, it took him longer than it should have to gain his bearings, and longer yet to convince Adan to head back to the family home without his rider. In desperation, he looked up at the sky as his laboring lungs spasmed and another coughing fit overtook him – had he gotten all of this way only to lie dying before he could finish what he’d come to do? “Be damned … if I … will…” He grated through clenched teeth, forcing himself away from the wall against which he’d been leaning. When a few late revelers burst from this

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tavern or that in their drunken revelry, he shied away as though he was a felon rather than a respected member of the community; feverishly, he had come to the decision that anyone who saw him here would immediately detain him – or, worse yet, return him to the monastery from which he had escape – before he could finish the task he had set himself here. Keith … he thought weakly, stumbling through the alleyways and winding lanes, flattening himself against walls and cringing into the shadow of the trees whenever any movement, man or animal, came to his ears. If he’s … not home … I’ll … kill him myself. A grin as grim as a death’s head stretched tightly over Javier’s features as he at last espied with his wavering eyesight the looming gates of Keith’s home. By some good fortune, one of them had not latched itself precisely to its twin when pulled closed for the night, and the servant whose duty it had been to do so had decided that tonight was a fine time for him to be lazy about his work; silently, Javier thanked whichever of the womenfolk in Keith’s service it had been, for he knew better than to believe such laxity either of Amaroq or Keith himself, and he stumbled within the courtyard. Immediately, the scent of growing things – fresh flowers and fruited trees – covered his senses and he looked around in puzzlement, wondering how it was that the garden, which had been patchy with half-finished work when Javier had last walked through it, could have come to such readiness so well in the months since he had last come. Staring about, feeling the night air swirling dizzily about him as his air-starved lungs fought to draw breath, he stumbled forward and crushed some fragrant bloom underfoot as he felt his knees give. He struggled to breathe in the sweet scent, glad that he could at least die in the embrasure of a garden even if it was not his own, and fought to gain a few steps toward the door on his hands and knees. His mouth opened to form a word, his blue-tinged lips parting, but before his body could push out the name which had sprung so easily – too easily – once more to his tongue, the darkness claimed him for its own and he lay still amongst the quiet garden. “It’s no use, Marlon,” Amaroq panted as he rejoined the disgraced human in the center square. “If Keith’s still here in the city, he’s hiding it from me, and that means he doesn’t want to be found. We’ll search until sunup and find nothing. I can only assume he’s been to the Estas house already and drawn his own conclusions.”

270 Impossibly, hope sprang into Marlon’s eyes. “Do you think he’d be able to follow Javier – his scent or something?” Amaroq winced away the urge to laugh, though he had to admit that Marlon’s comment had come a little too close to home for his liking. “Keith’s a vampire, not a dog, Marlon.” Most of the time, anyway. Thank the forest god that his cycle’s past; his sense of smell won’t be as keen now. If the boy’s gone – well, good. No need for Keith to know he’s gone off to die. I’ll convince him to move on in the morning. “And four hours’ distance is still a lot, even for a carriage to have traveled. He can’t hear his heartbeat, not from this city. He wouldn’t even know where to start looking.” “Then we have to find him, Amaroq – we have to! Keep looking!” Marlon pleaded. “You know him best – you could find him anywhere! I’ll keep looking around here, in case he comes back, and I can tell him.” Amaroq paused a moment, gazing at Marlon’s desperate expression, and then sighed, nodding heavily. “Appealing to my vanity normally wouldn’t get you anywhere, but you’re going to insist on this, so I suppose I owe it to Keith – not to you – to give it a damned good try. I’ll be back before dawn, because if I haven’t found him by then, I won’t manage it.” Amaroq turned and slid into the shadows that adorned the long drive beyond the gates, hurrying to conceal himself from Marlon’s prying eyes before he took his wolf shape and began the hunt anew for any whiff of Keith’s scent. Marlon turned away, berating himself for the womanish tears of frustration he felt welling in his eyes and telling himself that he was merely tired. It had, after all, been a very long night. Perhaps he would find Linette and try to talk things out with her while he waited for the Master to return. If, that was, Margot would let him in. Maybe he could sneak in the back. Those windows never closed all the way, and more often than not, Linette forgot to shutter them anyway. Occupied with trying to enter the house in the next hour, he failed to notice the approach of the staggering shape which came again to earth in the flowering garden just inside the house gates. He walked within forty feet of the man who labored there twice as he passed around and around the house again, looking for a way in, and indeed, when his attention was diverted from

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this task, it was not by any sound the fallen figure had made; Marlon did not gain knowledge about the man who lay dying in his former Master’s garden until it was too late. It was the swirl of a cape which caught his eye, the whipping fabric catching the eye of the moon and reflecting its diamond-cold light in a rippling sheen which brought out the cloth’s base colour – one which closely matched its owner’s silver-gilded dusk-blue eyes. Keith didn’t pause a moment to think when his eyes registered the familiar shape which lay in the crushed remains of the front garden; he merely gathered Javier’s body to him and crooned softly, praying harder than he thought he might ever have done so before that there was still life in him yet. Let there be enough for me to save him, my God, and I shall ask of you nothing else for the rest of my eternity, he promised, tipping Javier’s head back and recoiling slightly at the scent of death which hung from every laboured breath the man took. His lips were almost purple now, and what air he managed to suck in rattled his lungs with a terrible whistling sound that Keith thought he might never forget so long as he lived. He shook the young man gently, wondering if he was too far gone to open his eyes but determined to try for some form of permission before extending the Spaniard the very same gift he himself had been given three hundred years before. It was not that he required such acquiescence to make a fledgling, but the first time he had attempted it, Keith had thoughtlessly rejected the notion of waiting for such niceties, and he hadn’t heard from his own brother in a hundred years as a result. He wasn’t going to go through that again, he decided, and shook Javier a little harder. “Wake up, Javier. Wake up.” “Get … your hands… off me.” The voice barely deserved being called a whisper, so weak was its tone. But their sentiment was so harsh and unexpected that Keith nearly did let him go before catching sight of the faintest smile on Javier’s lips. “You think … I can go back … to my wife … once you’ve got your … hands on me, Keith?” The dying man shook his head. “Can’t – shouldn’t have.” He began to cough, and Keith feared he would not possess the breath to say the words needed of him if he lasted much longer. He shook him, perhaps a little more roughly than he’d meant, for the boy groaned with the last of his breath and Keith muttered a sharp oath. “Never mind all of that, Javier – do you want to die here tonight? Do you want to give up and die in a garden of flowers? Or do you want to go back to your wife a hale and healthy man?”

272 “Dying … in your garden … wouldn’t be so bad…” he replied, and Keith began to think that all was lost for both of them when Javier’s eyes came back to him. His mind had evidently just processed what Keith had asked him. “My… wife?” He shook his head. “Came to… see you, idiot.” You came to me, my Javier? Oh, God, he came back to see me! “Let me give you the Gift, Javier.” Keith spoke very rapidly, leaving no time for more questions – Javier’s heart was beginning to fail as his body began the last tasks of shutting itself down for good. “Let me give you health and strength and speed for all eternity, if only you say you will let me stay with you. Please, Javier, please …” He was weeping, he found; his tears were falling on Javier’s face as he gathered the boy to his own breast and sobbed the words. “Please – I do not care if you bring your wife over to be with us – I will show you how to give the gift to the world if that is what it takes, but please…” “Keith…” It was amazing that so soft a sound could have the power to stop Keith’s frenzied words, but it did, and he stared at the dying young man in his arms and watched as the boy smiled. “Is talking … all you ever do? I came to …” Javier struggled for a moment with both words and breath, but pushed onwards all the same. “I came to say… goodbye… but…” Here, he paused again, fighting for breath his lungs would not allow him. “But not if … you’re offering … something better. Just… act… For once… no talking… Just … act…” Keith’s lips stretched to bare the fangs which normally hid behind them, and he gathered Javier close to his body and lifted the dying man gently within his arms. One last swipe of Javier’s hand gathered a couple of low-blooming flowers, of which Keith took no notice as he followed the walk up to the great door of the house. All was silent around him as he pulled back the heavy portal save for the stuttering beat of Javier’s heart, so when Marlon’s hands came out of the darkness to tug on the swirling fabric of his cloak, Keith found himself badly startled and took a moment he wasn’t entirely sure that Javier had to compose himself before turning. Amaroq wasn’t lying, Marlon thought with a terrible sense of heartbreak and dread. The Master will not even turn to me! But I must – I must tell him! “Master, please, you must listen to me – Don Estas, he is dying, they – his family – they are going to Grenada, and he will die there, Master, please! He is sick, you should go to him!” What would it take to make the man turn

273 around? “Master, please, I came back only to tell you… You can have my life, but please, he is sick, he is at the monastery outside of town! Oh, why do you not turn to me – do you not hear that he is sick?” At last – long last – Keith turned to his former servant, his face composed and quiet as he stared down from his considerable height. “Yes, Marlon. I am aware.” Marlon’s mouth gaped open, freed from its tight moue of fear as he goggled at the sight of the man in Keith’s arms. “I – I .. Oh…” He turned as if in search of someone, and Keith saw from Marlon’s flickering thoughts that he and Amaroq had banded together to try and find him tonight – all this, when Javier had come directly to him! His heart beat against his chest once more with a joy he had thought he was long past feeling, but nothing of this showed in his face as he waited for Marlon’s eyes to return to his. Javier’s breathing was rattling in his chest, but Keith had not yet heard the audible change which precedes a man’s final moments, so when Marlon did look around again, Keith felt calm enough to smile faintly. “Please, excuse us both for a while, Marlon. Wherever Amaroq has gotten himself off to, it is not any of your concern, but there are duties for you within the kitchen, which most certainly are. No one shall give you any trouble. Please leave us.” “But I … I …” Marlon began, and stopped. As understanding dawned in his swarthy face, Marlon stretched himself in a bow more elegant than the vampire had previously thought the human capable of managing. “Yes, Master,” he murmured, his head still bowed in silent respect. “At once.” He moved past Keith, through the open front door, and followed the hall to the kitchen entry, at which he stopped and looked back as Keith began to ascend the stairs. “Master?” Keith didn’t bother to open his lips to speak. Yes, Marlon? “Thank you …” Keith gave no answer, nor did he stop before he had entered the dim room in which he spent the days he chose to sleep. Both Javier and he, Keith thought, would spend their days here now, but only if he acted now. He laid Javier on the great, curtained bed, smoothing back from his brow the Spaniard’s wild mane of hair, which was tangled and filthy from his hard ride. Keith wondered where the

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boy had found any of the strength to come as far as he had; though he was inclined to doubt that Javier had managed to ride home to Seville from Grenada in one night’s span, Keith knew that most men, were they as sick as Javier, wouldn’t have been able to ride at all. The closest place to stop for the night outside of Seville which would have accepted a sick man would probably have been the monks, and I’m certain Amaroq mentioned once that they were nearly a half-day’s ride outside of the city. He shook his head as he stripped the linens from the bed and pooled the coverlets on the floor. It was into this mess of blankets and scent that he lowered Javier and then himself, curling the younger man close to his chest. One of Javier’s hands came up and pushed at him, weak with fatigue. “I am not… good enough to … to sleep … on your bed … now, Frenchman?” Hitching breaths which rasped and rattled sharply in Javier’s chest came between the words, punctuated now and again with deep, rumbling coughs that brought a bloody froth to Javier’s lips. At the first of this, Keith bent and kissed the blood away, feeling his body clench in the grip of bright, fiery wonder when Javier’s lips tightened and responded, as well as his dying body could do so, to Keith’s caress. But now was not the time for such dalliances. The brackish tang of Javier’s death lay close on his blood, stretched atop the sweeter strain of his lifeblood as oil sits atop water. Keith glanced down at the Spaniard once more, opened his mouth to speak, and then shook his head. No. He is right. There was a time for words – once. Now it is past. He pressed Javier’s head close to his own, brushing away and holding back the tangled mane of Javier’s hair. “It will not hurt … long…” he promised, and those were Keith’s last words on the subject. He bared his bright fangs and sought the fluttering artery in one side of Javier’s neck; for a moment, nothing happened, but Keith was used to this space between beats and though he thought that it most often must come about as a result of surprise, he felt he would probably never know with any certainty. Then Javier’s blood was rushing between his lips, and he sucked at it greedily, not because he was feeble with thirst, but because he was desperate for the images which were contained within it. He savoured, as he had done on the long-ago night of the duel between them which had followed the event of their first meeting, every flickering moment Javier’s memories contained, refusing to turn from any of the images, even when they contained Ofelia’s pretty features. His thoughts of her were suffused with a terrible regret, Keith found, and yet, there was a fierce love

275 there – could it be, Keith thought, that he was lucky enough to find that Javier’s regard for her stretched no further than that of a close friend or gallant protector? I will find out, he thought grimly, tearing himself away from the onrush of visions contained in Javier’s blood as he felt the young man’s heartbeat, which had already been fluttering, begin to skip and slow further as his body faltered towards the black divide which separated the living from the dead. He would find out, Keith thought gloomily, because he had promised Javier he could bring Ofelia into the darkness of the night which Keith himself inhabited, if he so chose. Keith had supposed that, while not the easiest situation for himself, it had been the most palatable – and possibly, the safest - choice for Javier. Aside from the notion of abandoning his wife, which Keith was at once pleased and resigned to note that Javier had immediately decided against, the Spaniard’s only other choice was to await the natural end of her life – during which time he himself would never change, and surely, he would gain notice because of it. It’s how Chrétienne found me, I’m certain, Keith thought grimly. While he had by no means remained in Seville for the decade it took to gain such notice, he had no doubt that his extended stays in French villages had been exactly what had tipped the hunter off. A man who did not alter with the passage of the years was most easy to recall – and even if he moved on before the townspeople realized he did not change beneath the onslaught of time’s hand, it was not hard to find someone who recalled his particular description. At all costs, he had to save this young man – and those he loved – from that fate. But for now… He pulled his right arm away from where it had been cradling Javier gently, feeling warmth bloom in him that had nothing to do with the change his body was wreaking on the blood it had recently ingested. When he had moved, Javier had stirred and fretted softly, and Keith wondered how the boy could even be alive enough to think, much less to register that someone in whom he found comfort appeared to be leaving him. “No, my Javier,” he crooned reassuringly. “I am not leaving you – not ever.” He tore the pulsing skin of his own wrist into shreds, pressing the wound against Javier’s own mouth before the blood could fall, and he encouraged Javier to drink swiftly, lest the wound close once more. He forced blood past the Spaniard’s lips, feeling the tight band of anxiety which had been winding ever tighter around his heart since Javier had begun to take his last breaths, clench further when the boy didn’t at first respond.

276 When at last he did, the sudden clamping of Javier’s lips and teeth, the eyeteeth of which were already sharpening so as to forestall the swift healing of the wound in Keith’s wrist, the older vampire jerked almost hard enough to loosen Javier’s grip, but the young man actually gave chase to the wrist that had been clamped to his mouth, made avaricious by and for the taste of a vampire’s blood. Keith’s lips parted in a bubbling laugh of joy that quickly shifted into a gasp as Javier’s hands came up and clutched tightly to Keith’s arm. If he keeps going like this, he’ll bleed me dry, Keith realized, but didn’t make an attempt to pull away until he recognised the swaying rush of his own body’s demand for blood. He blinked away the slashes of sparkling colours which were blooming in his vision, and set his jaw, grimly holding on. I can give him more than this. I have been hunting recently, and I fed well earlier tonight … Keith, enough. The command within his mind was as unexpected as it was quiet, and Keith’s eyes jerked up in the direction of his chamber door only out of habit, for he knew that there was no one there to see. Javier still fed hungrily within their bower of blankets and linens, and the hall beyond his bedchamber stretched off into the darkness of the night without pause. Amaroq? He felt himself slide slightly as Javier drained him further, and he bore more of his weight down on his left hand as he reached out for Amaroq’s mind. Yes, it’s me, Keith. You’ve given him enough. You know you have. Keith gritted his teeth and shook his head. No. He must be strong, Amaroq, as strong as you and then some. I knew when to stop. He doesn’t. Don’t kill yourself for him, Keith. Don’t make him feel what you felt when the Master perished. Keith shuddered away from the memories, managing to block them from Javier’s mind just in time, and fought to pull away from the Spaniard’s grip. “Javier,” he pressed. “Javier, enough.” When no answer came, nor any lessening of the force being exerted on his arm was felt, Keith tugged – hard enough to turn Javier’s head around on his neck. “Enough!” Javier bared his newly-grown fangs at his maker and might have come at Keith in the hunt for more of what the older vampire was denying him, but then his body, which had been quiet beneath the onslaught of the healing vampiric blood which flooded it, reacted at last. “Oh!” His

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back arched in perfect rhythm with his outcry, but his eyes, their jade hue flaring with a preternatural loveliness, stayed fixed solidly on the older vampire. He threw his hair out of those eyes without breaking his gaze away from Keith’s, though when the darker vampire moved to comfort him, Javier pressed back and away, drawing his lips away from his lengthening fangs in a hiss that was only half-born of pain. Keith subsided and watched as Javier’s vampiric body lavaged itself quite forcefully; though some part of him felt rejected, he knew Javier’s reaction now to be similar to his own when he took his wolf’s shape. The thought of his canine transformation froze him – had he changed the boy too soon? Would he suffer what Keith did with every changing of the lunar cycle? He thought to ask Amaroq, but he wasn’t sure if even the werewolf would know; Amaroq himself had once said that he was not as his own kind had once been – his shifts were not tied to any waning or waxing of the moon, but were of his own volition, as Keith had come to see in the handful of centuries he had spent with Amaroq. There’s no way to know for sure until your change comes, Keith. Amaroq was mounting the stairs, Keith heard, and judging by the way he moved, he was carrying something quite heavy with him. I will watch him, but I think you’ll know when your time comes close. I suppose it’s too late to ask you if you’re sure about this. Please, say nothing to him about the change. If I can have but one secret from him, let it be that. And it’s quite a bit too late to ask me much of anything, Keith replied, watching as Javier bent himself almost in half, listening to the hissing whistle of his breath as the last of the pain of ‘passing through the veil’, as Keith’s Master had called it on Keith’s own first evening as a vampire, released him from its grip. His eyes had never once wavered, the French vampire noticed with some sense of pride, and smiled gently. “My strong, proud warrior,” he murmured, reaching out a hand slowly, as if Javier was some untamed animal who might bite and hold fast if provoked. How do you know he isn’t going to bite you? Amaroq asked grouchily as he kicked the door open the rest of the way and came in with Keith’s copper bathing tub in his arms. He’d carried it full of steaming water all the way up the stairs, which was a task even Marlon could not have performed without assistance, and at its sight, Keith felt such a wave of affection for

278 Amaroq overcome him that he was rendered nearly speechless, though Amaroq’s question had a chilling effect on him. The first taste of living blood in the moments after the final dying pains had subsided and the fangs had fully grown out was all-important, determining what the vampire’s body would most crave and need in the eternities which would come after it – but circumstances sometimes determined that it was not human. Keith had met with vampires whose first taste of blood had been other than that of a human’s, and while those which existed on animals were often seen as lesser beings in the vampiric community, those who had taken on such an eternal lifestyle were generally left to themselves. There had, however, been others whose first kill had not been of a human, or even that of a warm-blooded animal; instead, the newly made fledgling had taken from his or her Master in the moments after the change, enough to drain the older vampire to the point of starvation. Keith wasn’t sure if the penalty of death which the vampiric community then imposed on such creatures was punishment for the crime of supping from one’s own for vitality – for they were nearly helpless against continuing to do so after the fact; human or animal blood, while it would sustain their bodies, would leave them emotionally unsatisfied – or whether it was for the crime of murdering the one who gave them eternity on the very night of their changing, but it didn’t matter. If he allowed Javier to taste either of Amaroq’s blood or his own now that the alteration of the Spaniard into one of the night-walkers’ kind was complete, he would be hunted mercilessly until his life was ended by the very community into which he had just been introduced. And Javier was very, very thirsty. Keith could feel that thirst, scratching with dry, terrible fingers against the back of his own throat. He, too, was badly in need of blood for his own sustenance, but this thirst was the all-consuming first craving of the newly changed vampire, not the sullen clamour of his own body. “Javier, don’t even think about it,” he warned, restraining the stiffening young man as Amaroq shoved the bathtub into the center of the room and tore one of the last clean blankets that remained into strips to use for wash cloths and for toweling Javier’s filthy body dry. Keith clamped down more powerfully when Javier gave no indication of having heard his words. “Javier, I mean it. You need to bathe, and then we may hunt. Only then. If you bite Amaroq now, you’ll spend the rest of your eternity having to listen to him, you know,” he

279 threw out desperately, and relaxed only slightly when Javier’s bright green eyes turned on his dusky ones at last. “Why should I have to listen to him?” He rasped. “He is a dog – a man and a dog in one body. I don’t have to listen to anyone – not feeling like this!” After the weeks and months of his illness, feeling even the last vestiges of his human’s strength being sapped away, this sudden influx of perfect health and power that now pounded through his veins made him feel somehow monstrously alive, as though he could conquer anything – or anyone! – at all. Keith smiled. “You would not like the answer to that,” he promised, and with a neat flick of his hands just as Javier rose to his feet as if to come at Keith’s faithful manservant, Keith yanked the coverlets that were still bunched beneath Javier’s feet, and, as he stumbled, swept him up into his arms before the blonde man could react, and unceremoniously dumped him into the tub, reeking clothes and all. Javier swallowed more than a mouthful of water and came up retching and spitting epithets the likes of which brought vibrant colour to Keith’s cheeks. “You damned cheating bastard!” he spat, splashing at Keith. “What did you do that for?” Keith wiped water from his face. “Because you stink,” he replied simply. “Now let one of us bathe you – the faster you are clean, the faster we can go out. I am as thirsty as you are, and if you make me wait overlong to slake my thirst, it will be all the longer before you can quiet your own – you have my word on it, my Javier.” “And what makes you think I need you – or anyone – to show me what to do?” he challenged, but Keith noticed he was submitting – for now – to Amaroq as the homolupine began to strip him of his clothes and wash the vomit and filth from his flesh. Keith raised a brow. “Do you like the sensation of vomiting so much that you are so inclined to do it again so soon?” “What makes you --?” “And where will you go?” Keith continued ferociously, without waiting for Javier to finish. “Will you burst into the first house in which you catch the sound of a heartbeat, to steal the life from a sleeping child? Will you take from some unhappy peasant directly in view of the city’s guard? Will you flee from my house this night and possibly wreck such a horror on your wife, Javier?” He let it hang there as Amaroq continued bathing Javier in uncharacteristically mild

280 silence. Keith waited for no more than a heart’s beat, and then continued. “If you would not do any of these things, then you must let me show you, my Javier. There are tricks to be learned, and things to see – let me show them to you. Besides,” he added, tossing his last ace down on their figurative card table, “there are things you must learn about the process unless you wish me to be the one who embraces your wife as she crosses the veil.” By the expressions building on Javier’s face, it was well that vampires were not, by their nature, prone to the same weaknesses of the heart or brain as humans sometimes were, because if they had been, Keith was sure something vital would already have exploded in Javier’s body. He allowed his lips to curve in a gentle smile, to show Javier that his words had only been couched so to get his attention, and evidently, the ploy worked. Javier stared at Keith for a moment with his eyes wide, and then burst out laughing. “You sly, cheating French bastard,” he choked, spluttering briefly as Amaroq peremptorily pushed his head down into the water so as to wash his hair. “You’d no more lie with my wife than I’d bed him.” He jerked a sopping thumb in Amaroq’s direction, which the werewolf neatly avoided as he finished scrubbing Javier’s neck and chest. “Can I get out now?” He asked, his tone slick with a meekness Keith found he didn’t trust. “I’m starved.” Keith passed a glance over at Amaroq, who dropped his cloth and stood back. “He’s clean enough,” the werewolf reported. “He probably needs another bath just to get the grit of this one off his skin, but you’re only going to get filthy again when you hunt, so…” He lifted his hands in a shrug and watched as Javier stepped nimbly out of the bath – and slid on the polished surface of the floor. Laughing, Keith stepped forward to catch Javier just before his fledgling would have struck the floor, and that was what Javier had been waiting for him to do, he found, as Javier neatly straightened from the false slide he had initiated, gathered Keith up under the arms, and dunked him into the filthy vat of water. It would have been a fine joke, Keith thought, if the depth of the bath had not allowed for the retention of enough water within it still for the surface of it to close over his head. The moment it did, the black, cold dark of the night on which he’d met his future Master returned to him, and the fear associated with that memory consumed him completely. He shot from the bath and Javier’s hands, slamming his back up against the solid embrace of the wall farthest from the

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copper basin as he could get, clawing away the dead, thick, cloying weight of his soaked hair from his face as fast as he could, dragging as much air into his lungs as possible. Again, he heard the crunching of the snow beneath his boots, and the low, warning groan of the icy surface of the lake which lay beneath his feet – he had not heard it then, because he had been too immersed in his thoughts to notice his danger. But I noticed it when I went through that ice – oh, I noticed it then, but it was too late for anything! Until a hand that was easily as white as the ice under which he was floundering helplessly had smashed through the thick layer with perfect ease, the sharp shards drawing blood that sparkled black in the moonlit night, but though Keith had looked later, there had been no wounds to see. He had descended, feet first, into the frigid waters with a shocking splash, immediately weighed down by the weight of his clothes and the weapons he wore. Held beneath the waters by their weight, he struggled with clasps and buckles, suffocating as much in the cloud of his own hair as the water itself. He had been struggling beneath that half-frozen pond’s surface, over which he had unwittingly crossed, for a quarter of an hour, fighting first to pull himself through the hole he had created, and then, when the ice collapsed beneath his weight and drove him under, to get back to the spot through which he had fallen – in his growing fright and confusion, he kept turning the wrong way, and had been sure he would drown, tangled in his own hair and whatever other slimy things lay at the bottom of the water, when the man had come. His Master had dragged him free of the pond and had saved his life, but even his timely intervention could not erase from Keith’s mind the remembered fear of that night. Even now, after three hundred years and more had passed, he could not bear to have his head fully submerged by water – any water – without feeling that he would easily succumb to a madness that was worse than the wolven one he suffered through with the dying of the lunar cycle. Even the thought of it now was enough to reduce him to a shivering version of his former self, and he pressed his back against the wall in frantic reassurance. For a few moments, he did not even see Javier as the golden-haired fledgling shouted his name and came forward – still gloriously nude, though Keith could barely process that fact past the panic in his mind – until he knelt by Keith’s side.

282 “What’s wrong with you?”

Javier demanded as he stopped, still dripping and soapy,

directly in front of Keith. He made some attempt at speech, but instead of words, his response came out in shuddering gasps that were frighteningly similar to a man’s sobs.

Angrily, Keith exerted not an

inconsiderable amount of force over his terrified mind, and drew in several deep breaths, gagging as his nostrils flared around the damp, mineral cold of the lake water’s scent, rather than the sharp musk of his own fear and the fading sweat of Javier’s skin. I am glad that Javier drank so deeply of me now, he thought faintly as his stomach churned and a ripple of spasmodic shivers worked their way up to bloom coldly in his cheeks. I should hate to choke when I swoon, for I think that is what I am doing … He closed his eyes tightly, hoping for the nauseating dizziness to pass, but instead, it merely increased, until sounds and colours bled into one another and flowed away from Keith at some impossibly great speed. Not in front of him! Dear God, not in front of him! It was the sound, rather than the feel of the blow, which brought Keith back to himself. Javier had simply opened his callused hand, still rough with its years of human toils, and brought it to lie against Keith’s cheek in a stinging slap that left Amaroq snarling in warning. “Oh, shut up, whelp,” Javier replied sharply, taking Keith by the chin. “Now. What is the matter with you? Is your blood going to do that to me?” “Do …?” Keith echoed softly, trying to follow where Javier’s thought process was headed. He blinked and shook his head. “Oh… No.” He drew his knees up to his chest and looped his hands around them, ignoring the tearing stretch of fabric; his clothes were soiled and probably ruined anyway. “No, I …” He hitched in another deep breath; for a moment, he thought he was about to fly to pieces a second time, and then the hysteria passed. “Good,” Javier grunted. “Because I’m not sure being well and strong again is necessarily a good trade for being turned into a frightened woman. What is the matter with you?” “I drowned.” Keith found that, if said quickly, his mind didn’t get a chance to latch on to what his tongue was saying. “When I met the one who turned me into a vampire, he – I – I mean …” He was shivering again, he noticed, his fangs clattering together like an old woman’s arthritic finger-bones. Keith sucked in another deep breath and released it as Amaroq came around to attempt to dry his hair. He allowed it, taking comfort in the rough scratch of the coverlet-turnedtowel against his scalp; it gave him something on which to focus. “It’s how I met the man who

283 changed me,” he explained shakily, after a moment. “But I have not forgotten the fear of … that night. You must be thirsty, Javier,” he added, before any silence could fall between them. “And we have much to do before dawn comes.” “What happens at dawn?” Dios, I have to get back to Ofelia. What am I going to say to her? She’ll think it’s witchcraft. She will have to meet him. My God, she’ll have to meet him. What am I going to do? He shook the thoughts away; they would do him no good. And he was thirsty. Mi Dios, he was thirsty. It lacerated his tongue and burned his throat in a manner he had never before experienced, consuming all thought or emotion with its relentless demand. He swallowed, half-glad of it and half maddened by it. Keith gave a wintry flicker of a smile. “We sleep, Javier. You will know when the time comes,” he assured him, pushing himself to his feet and pulling the young Spaniard up with him. He had turned to seek Amaroq, but the man-wolf was already there, his arms laden with a change of clothes for both men. They dressed swiftly as Keith spoke in a quiet, firm murmur of the things Javier would have to learn how to do. “You will be surrounded by heartbeats wherever you go,” Keith told him at one point. “It will come close to driving you mad, but you must learn to control yourself, or you’ll be caught and burned alive.” “Heartbeats? You mean, I’ll be able to hear people?” Javier pulled over his head a longsleeved doublet whose buttons groaned over his broader chest, and fumbled with the clasps on the jerkin Amaroq handed him. “Your clothes don’t fit, you skinny wraith,” he complained, though he noted that these fit better than the others he had borrowed so long ago. I suppose I lost weight … I don’t know how much, but it’s still not enough to make these fit… Keith smiled faintly. “Do not blame me for your long years of gluttony, my Javier.” He drifted over and tugged Javier’s hands aside before gently stretching the fabric across the muscled expanse of Javier’s chest, chuckling softly as he popped the buttons into their holes and neatly pulled the jerkin into place. He settled the collar of Javier’s linen shirt beneath that of the doublet, shaking his head when he saw that the sleeves dangled well below Javier’s wrists. “My hose might not fit you, either, Javier,” he murmured, tucking the fabric in. “Have we …? Ah, thank you, Amaroq.” He took from his manservant a handful of pretty silver pins, clenching some between his teeth as he made swift alterations to Javier’s clothing.

284 “You look like a tailor.

Where did you learn to do this?” Javier remarked, shifting

uncomfortably. “Why do we hear heartbeats?” “I have learned many things, my Javier,” Keith replied around a mouthful of the pins. “Stretch out your arms. Merci. We hear heartbeats because it helps us to find sustenance, I would imagine. Or to alert us to the appearance of a human we might otherwise have not been prepared to face, as during the day. When we sleep,” he continued, kneeling and darting the remainder of his silvery pins into the cuffs of the hose Javier had slipped on, “we are as the dead; we do not breathe or move, and it is only our subconscious recognition of a human’s heartbeat which warns us in time of one’s approach. Many have died that way, or so I have been told, in approaching a vampire during the daylight hours. Had you remained human, I would never have allowed myself to sleep near you.” “But now…?” Keith shrugged as he rose and gave Javier a critical once-over. “You will do, considering we’re not going to be showing ourselves off. Now, you will sleep as I do, without breath or physical movement, locked in your dreams until nightfall.” He cupped Javier’s face gently. “You will be safe.” “But my wife will not be.” Javier swallowed hard. “Ofelia…” “All the more impetus for you to explain things to her in private and give her the gift swiftly, Javier, if that is what you desire.” Keith spread his hands. “If you do not, I would suggest finding separate sleeping quarters from now on, for as a fledgling, you will sleep regardless of your desires on the matter. It is a defense to keep you from wandering outside during the day.” He turned and moved past Amaroq, headed for the door and dark stairwell which lay beyond. “The sun – and fire – will burn you to ashes. It is a pain like none you could ever imagine, my Javier,” Keith continued as he led the quiet way down the stairs. “Sunlight is lethal to you now – you would probably burn to nothing within a matter of minutes. The longer your life, the more resistant you become, but I have not yet escaped its pain, as I found out not long ago.” Javier scowled. “Weren’t you the one just telling me that vampires can’t go outside during the day? Why did you do that?”

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Keith laughed humourlessly and dragged his hand across the latticed and shuttered windows. “I didn’t go outside. I chased Chrétienne down these very stairs and lunged after him without thinking. These shutters were wide open.” He shuddered at the memory of the pain, and Javier seemed to hear Keith’s scream echoing in the halls of the house; his hand groped for a sword which did not lie at his side. Amaroq silently handed the weapon over to him a moment later and Javier noticed with some relief that it had not gone into the bath with him; Keith must have unbuckled it at some time before Javier’s wits had been returned to him. My wits, he reflected. No, not just that – everything. I owe this man my life. And … this life which he has given me, it will be different, but … He turned his head and gazed at Keith. He made me make the choice to live or die, but I do not think he understood that there were a thousand – perhaps even a million! – other choices all wrapped up in that decision. I did not merely make the decision to live, I made the choice to … to kill… I made the choice to give up this life I have built for myself, because how can I stay here, when he himself is the target of every gossip the town over because no one has seen his face by daylight? By living, I have promised to build a life of lies – which starts with my wife. He swallowed and followed Keith numbly into the dark, his right hand wrapped around his rapier’s hilt. “Mi Dios, there is so much to learn,” he murmured, and startled badly when Keith huffed a low, breathy chuckle that somehow raised all the hair on Javier’s arms at the same time it affected parts of him that were decidedly not reacting out of fear. “Oui, my Javier – which means you had best learn quickly.” In the darkness, Keith’s hand reached out to steal his fingers into the embrace of his oil-smoothed palm for a brief squeeze. “Do not worry. I will be here to guide you. Ask me anything – and I will answer it.” “Drink first,” Javier muttered. “How you can still be talking is beyond me.” Keith’s laughter was more apparent this time, as they turned down a wide boulevard which led away from the city center. Instinctively, Javier glanced at the high clock which boasted of the groaning coffers of the cathedral which loomed beside it, startled to find that the face displayed a much later hour than he had supposed. “When is dawn?” he asked in a rough whisper, and Keith chuckled again. Javier’s hand tightened on his weapon. “Frenchman, if you saved me from the grave because you wished for someone to laugh at, I swear that I will make good on De Sens’ threat to see you dead. Stop laughing at me.”

286 “Then stop taking every chuckle in the dark as a personal affront,” Keith replied calmly, “and you might realize that I was not laughing at you at all. You’ll know when dawn comes, Javier, because you’ll be falling asleep on your feet. I told you that before. This way.” And he led his fledgling into the dark.

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Chapter Seventeen The steady thrum of a thousand drumbeats was echoing faintly in Javier’s ears as they walked, but he could not place the sounds’ direction, if indeed there was a single one to be had. He gazed left and right, finding nothing but the quiet shadows of the tree-lined streets, and was about to ask Keith when he realized what the true nature of the sounds were. He paused, and looked up, with some amount of horror, at the high gates of a slumbering house, where a sleepy guardsman leaned against his rapier as he stared with glassy eyes at the leaning wreck of a poorhouse which squatted in filthy disrepute along the shadowed edge of the very same street. Mi Dios, I can hear his heart! His heart! Yes, cari, Keith hissed in the rising panicky silence of Javier’s mind. I told you that you would be able to. That way, he cannot sneak up on you, as those two voluers are trying to do right now. To your left, Javier. No, do not look; they will see it. Come. He continued moving ahead without slowing until he had managed to increase the distance between Javier and himself to a measure of three yards or so, and called back to him, aloud this time. “Come, I am tired, señor, and the hour grows late. I wish to settle this debt between us before the sun rises, so I may avoid the wrath of my wife.” “Knowing your wife, there will be no avoiding anything to do with her waspish tongue,” Javier replied easily, picking up both the line of Keith’s thinking and the pace of his own travel accordingly. He would want to draw the pickpockets away from the sight and hearing of that guard. “I wager the money-purse I owe you will be turned into jeweled combs before the noontide bell if she has her way.” He patted the side of his hip as though, alongside the rapier, which faced away from the thieves’ line of sight, there lay a satchel of money. Keith uttered a long-suffering sigh. “Silks, combs, dresses and petty baubles are the only antidote to her poison tongue,” he agreed, “but with the way you play cards, señor, it is, at least, a cheaply bought tonic.” Cagafuego, Javier spat in the silence of his mind, unaware that Keith could hear him. How far does he have to take this game of his? “Why don’t we take a short cut?” He suggested, pointing to a southern-facing alley gaping like a rotten tooth against the white, moonlit buildings surrounding it. “Your house isn’t far if we go that way.”

288 They’re armed, Javier, and they are nearly directly behind you now. Do you hear them? I can smell them! He thought, suddenly aware of the miasma of old sweat and sour wine coming to his nostrils from somewhere behind him.

My senses… Mi Dios, can I know

everything? Smell them, hear them – what difference does it make how you discover them? But Keith’s heart had jerked in his chest, and not because he believed Javier had already picked up on the talent which most vampires possessed for telepathy.

Why was the sense of scent his first

reaction? Why didn’t he hear them? Mon Dieu, he’s like me, isn’t he? Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, what will I say to him now? I have to get him out of this city and away from his wife before he changes – merde! Why is he so upset? Javier wondered, turning his head slightly in order to catch a glimpse of the footpad behind him. While he could not hear Keith’s guarded thoughts, Javier could feel the roil of Keith’s upset as it drenched him, sticky and cloying like the syrup of a rotted fruit. Oh, there was so much more he could experience now! His senses were more alive than they had ever been; to see the man stealthily approaching him, Javier found he barely had to move at all, and his vision was a thousand – a million! – times sharper than it had ever been before. He could count every fiber in the man’s threadbare doublet if he wanted to, but he did not. What he wanted most, he found, and to which end his body was swiftly beginning to direct him, lay directly beneath the surface of the man’s skin. Can I do this? Will I do this? Will I be able to stop myself? You had better hope you can, Javier, Keith replied, and Javier wondered how it was that the men behind him did not hear the Frenchman, when he was speaking so clearly. You will feel the heart begin to slow to its final stop, and that is when you must cease to drink. Try to go for his neck, but the wrist will do. He’ll simply have a hand free with which to fight you – and he will fight. Why does he think I do not know that? I am killing him, and he thinks the man will not fight me? How will I know when the heart stops? Will I feel it? I won’t know until I bite him. Can I do this? Mi Dios, I’m so damned thirsty… His body overtook his scattering thoughts and shoved them aside, Javier found, for it was only a moment later that he was rounding on the first of the two – no, there were three; they were

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outnumbered, but Javier was past caring and somehow understood that it was a fact of which Keith already had prior knowledge – and lunging at the man as though he were partaking in the sort of bar-room brawl his social standing usually left to coarser folk, even if his temper sometimes wished otherwise. He had briefly considered that he might not know what to do next, but his mind had been shoved out of place by his body’s demands; it had taken over for the time being, and it knew very well what it wanted. With a snarl, Javier’s lips flared apart to reveal his newly elongated eyeteeth, and he ducked his head to strike at the thrumming source of blood in the man’s neck before either party was aware of it happening. For a moment, no liquid burst forth, and Javier wondered if he had somehow missed the man, so he dug in deeper with his teeth, raking the wound he had created until it was wide – and then the blood rushed forth. Without thinking about it, he fastened himself to the man’s neck like a limpet – like a vampire, he thought with rising, wondrous horror – and drank as though to drown himself in the man’s blood was the closest thing to divinity he could ever hope to reach. Now, it is the only way he will have that closeness, for we are forever apart from God. The boy is a living contradiction – such a poetic turn of mind, and yet, he abhors men of God and their verses. Dare I hope that there is romance in that turbulent soul of his? Keith smiled faintly at the train of Javier’s thoughts even as he neatly grasped the footpad who had turned at the sound of his comrade’s short cry – he cut that off very neatly, but he is making a mess of the man’s neck if I am unmistaken. Young glutton – and slammed his hand down across the man’s raised arm, shattering the bone and sending the short dagger, which he had intended to sink into Keith’s back, skittering off into the filth of the alley. Keith’s nostrils flared in distaste even as he bent from his considerable height advantage and crushed the man to him; stabbing a man in the back was the worst treachery. He bit and dragged forth the first gush of the man’s blood by force, drinking more out of physical need than any desire to drown in the flood of images his gift brought to him. His body craved it and – Javier, remember Javier, is he drowning? Is he stopping? Keith fought aside the glut of impressions crowding his senses and focused on Javier, continuing to drink merely because his great thirst demanded that he slake it. He had nearly forgotten the boy in the first crush of visions

290 which came with even a mouthful of a human’s blood, and he realized that Javier may have been caught up in it. He was not reassured by the sight which met his eyes. The golden Spaniard was bent over the filthy footpad like a lover, cradling him as Keith had so often cradled his own victims, his lips mashed around the seeping gash from which the blood, judging by Javier’s rapturous expression, was still pouring forth. His eyes were tightly shut, and Keith tried to sift through the confusion of sensory attacks which pummeled his mind from both sides, – both those from the blood of the man from whom he drank and from Javier’s assailed his mind as he reached along the mental link which Javier apparently did not realize he now shared with Keith – finding it one of the most difficult things he had yet attempted. Even more difficult than courting me? Javier’s eyes opened, fixing solidly on Keith’s even as he drank. The blood was flowing into him, lighting new pathways in his brain and mind, showing him more things than he thought even Keith could ever do, and all he wanted was to drink himself senseless. I can talk to you this way; I can reach you, touch you, know you… FEEL you… Mi Dios, Keith, I am so alive! The rush of Javier’s joy atop everything else was too much for Keith; he pulled away from the whirling maelstrom of emotions and pictures, trying to re-center himself, and the third man, which Javier had sensed but Keith had not, so lost had he been in trying to corral Javier’s reactions, darted forward and flung himself at Keith. They hit the filthy cobblestones of the alleyway hard and skidded; as the human groped for his rusty sword, Keith was already shaking away the effects of the blow. His previous prey, already devoid of a goodly third of his life’s blood, was lying insensate some feet beyond their struggling forms … No. He is more still than even that, Keith thought regretfully. The man’s blow wrenched his neck, damn him. I wasn’t finished. He bared his teeth menacingly, but the man’s attention was on the short blade he was drawing, and Keith barely had time to avert his head from a downward blow that could easily – and unluckily – have left him in possession of one less than two eyes. Javier probably would not have stopped his blissful draining of his first kill’s blood in time before the staggering last beats of the man’s heart, for he hadn’t even noticed that the man’s struggles had grown weak and nonexistent, so lost had he been in the drinking. But when he had

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felt the sudden bite of shared pain in the back of his skull, it had been as bright as the first ray of winter sunlight, shocking his senses back into the present. His hand had gone up to the back of his head and he had whipped around – to see no one behind him. “What --?” He started, and then the low cry of the third footpad, as Keith’s downward chop separated the bones of his arm, gave Javier’s ears a reference point, and he caught sight of their struggle. “Keith!” Keith twisted his head around, struggling for a foothold from which he could gain enough traction to launch away the man atop him, and tried to see Javier. That was alarm; did he drink too much? Oh, Javier, I told you, I warned you… His dusky blue eyes, un-focusing as he reached for Javier’s mind, suddenly flew wide as the point of the man’s sword came down once more, catching him in the join of his shoulder and neck. His hands came up then, tearing at the weapon imbedded there, and Keith barely had time to wonder how it was possible that he’d managed to survive three hundred years when he had come close to having his vampire’s weaknesses exploited three times merely in the span of this year. With a choked snarl, he tore the sword away and dragged the man up against his face; though it was not the most comfortable position from which to drink, Keith did not care for such trivial things as comfort at that moment. He drank with all the ferocious greed of his young fledging, never allowing the man he held as much of a fraction of a chance to get away. His teeth and lips stayed fastened to the voleur’s throat, allowing gravity to do some of the work of draining the man even as Keith clapped a hand to his own neck. The man fought, Keith found – and quite savagely, too. For the most part, Keith could ignore the blows the man rained on him with his fists and legs as he twisted and wrestled to break free of the French vampire’s implacable grip, and the times he managed to land a square hit were coming fewer and further between. Keith would have thought nothing of it until luck scored the man an unwelcome duo of blows; one flailing fist caught the healing wound at the side of Keith’s neck, and filthy fingers tore blindly at it for a purchase they would never receive, but the second blow, Keith reflected, was infinitely more insulting. One knee came up as hard as the ragged man could manage, and Keith didn’t quite have time to guard himself before the joint in question rammed itself directly into his genitals. Only this pain, so intimately horrifying to a man, was enough to stop Keith’s incessant suckling of the man’s lifeblood. It bloomed in fiery tendrils, as though a phoenix was resurrecting

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itself in his very body, consuming all meaning except the knowledge of this agony he was suffering. His eyes wide, he jerked away from the man, glad that he was already on the ground, for he knew his legs, which he was struggling even to fold up in some manner of protection, would never have held him. The man was too weak to rise to his feet, but he had managed to gain his knees, and now he was shuffling about in the filth which coated the cobblestones for the short sword Keith had sent skittering away. He managed to set his fingers on it – had, perhaps, even closed them around the hilt of the weapon, though Keith could not be sure of this, through the haze of his pain – and then Javier loomed behind him like some golden, terrible angel. He took the man by the shoulder and wrenched him around hard enough to separate the man’s clavicle; even distracted as he was, Keith heard the tearing snap as the bone broke. Before the man could draw enough breath to scream, Javier’s fist struck squarely between his eyes, crushing the man’s nose and sending what was left of his blood spattering to the grimy pavement. Keith closed his eyes as he heard the man’s neck snap back with a wet, tearing thud. Well, there goes the rest of him. Damn. That’s twice now that the boy has interfered with my prey – well, almost twice, he allowed, thinking of the would-be rapist he had murdered in the woods months before. Perhaps I should do as some of the Master’s female companions used to do, he thought, grasping delicately in the dark of his memories for faces and nothing more; he did not want to remember much of that time. They would allow their fledglings or companions to overfeed, and then they would drink from their companions. He had wondered how this wouldn’t have been considered a vile breach against the rule which denied vampires the right to feed from their own sex, but he supposed it had to do with consensual parties being involved. Will Javier consent? Would he … protect me? As the man’s body crumpled to the ground, Keith grunted and shifted carefully; the screaming of his abused testicles, which had taken the square brunt of the man’s knee, had subsided to a low moaning, but it wasn’t pleasant to think of rising quite yet. His hand cupped the wound in his trapezius muscle; it was barely oozing blood now that it was so close to having healed itself, and gently, Keith flexed his shoulder, gritting his teeth at the deep ache which still radiated forward. Damn.

293 “What would you do without me?” Javier asked quietly, quirking a golden brow upwards with an arrogant little smile. “How have you hung on this long? Does your dog hunt men for you?” “If you’re going to be insulting, Javier, you’ll find very quickly that I am not in the temper to suffer it for long.” Keith took a deep breath and rolled to his feet in one swift motion, bending only briefly at the waist when his testicles throbbed in protest. Javier laughed delightedly. “What can you do to me?” He challenged. “You can’t cheat to win a duel now, Frenchman – I’ll finish what that man started if you try.” “This, from a man who cheats regularly at cards?” Keith rejoined as he straightened carefully. “You sound like you are opposed to cheating – or does it only matter when it’s you who are losing?” Javier growled and swung at him quickly, but Keith had been expecting the blow, and caught his fledgling’s wrist before he could strike. He tugged Javier close to him with a low hiss, almost as unsure of his own intent as he was uncertain of what Javier’s next move would be. He still thirsted, and the idea of sharing Javier’s blood was appealing to him – tempting enough, in fact, that his lips had begun to slide away from his teeth, perhaps in preparation for a swift bite, when Javier leaned up and kissed him. It was no swift, paper-thin brushing of the Spaniard’s lips, either, Keith thought dimly as his body changed course from preparing to hunt to exhibiting arousal. It is dizzying, he thought, these sudden reversals and changes, but Mon Dieu, I would not change it for anything. His arms raised and wrapped around Javier in a desperate attempt to foil any probability of the boy pulling away, but Javier appeared to have no such intent. Instead, he deepened the kiss, biting gently at Keith’s lips and licking at the blooms of blood his sharp fangs created. Con … sensual … Keith groaned to himself. Mon Dieu … He tried to kiss back, tried to push Javier backwards in a show of dominance, but Javier had been right in one thing – they were equals now, and he was the better fed of them at the moment, besides. He pinned Keith’s hands above his head, lessening his grip only when a grunt of brief pain filtered through his lips from Keith’s, and pushed until Keith’s back met a wall. Javier drew back only once, and Keith saw that he was smiling, his lips swollen not with fighting, but with kissing. “Now,” he whispered, his

294 breath slithering gently against Keith’s cheek as he drew close enough to touch his brow to Keith’s, “now you will see that you cannot get away from me.” “It was you who wished away from me,” Keith replied, but Javier’s lips crushed down on his to silence him. “You gave me this eternity,” Javier continued breathlessly a moment later, as he broke apart from Keith once more, “and now you will see that you cannot make me go anywhere. You sent me away before; I did not wish to leave you that night any more than I wish to leave you now. You cannot be rid of me, Frenchman,” he finished, and Keith saw, through a haze of arousal, that Javier was most assuredly serious. The arrogant light had fled from his eyes, the swagger had drained from his hips, and instead, only a dangerous solemnity remained, the likes of which Keith had not seen in plenty before in Javier’s aspect. “I made a vow to my wife that I intend to keep until her … death,” Javier added, and Keith only noticed that his eyes had turned slightly away from Keith’s own when they returned, hot and perhaps too bright, to his features. “But I made a vow to you … that will last longer.” “I do not ask that of you …” Keith began, but Javier silenced him again, with one rough hand instead of his lips. “No; you asked only if you could stay with me,” he affirmed. “For eternity. But I cannot …” Here, he struggled, but Keith did not know how best to aid him, so he merely continued to be silent, reveling in the taste of Javier’s kiss still on his lips, the preternatural heat of his fingers, and the very closeness of him. Javier took a deep breath. “I cannot lie with you and Ofelia – that would be breaking the vow I made to her.” He did not say the words, but Keith could see, within his eyes as clearly as he could hear Javier’s thoughts, that to give up being with Keith was too great a price to pay, even for his honour. Keith’s heart tripped once and then twice in his chest at the very notion, but Javier was not finished speaking. “But when she … dies, as you explained to me that I have died, and that you have died… then I can no longer be married to her.” His speech was increasing, his words tumbling over one another in his growing fervor. “We can leave Spain – she can find someone, somewhere else, in a place where no one knows that we were ever married, who will … who will …” Here again, he stumbled, and Keith heard Javier’s voice growing thick.

295 Gently, he cupped Javier’s cheek. “Who will love her as you cannot,” he finished. “Javier, even though you may think it so, there is no crime in not loving someone who loves you.” He laughed, a ragged, bitter sound. “Ofelia does not love me. She thinks she does, because she knows it is expected of her, and she has tried very hard to fit the confines of what is expected of her. If my father had done half so well, my entire family would still be here.” Keith winced in sympathy, but he knew better than to say anything. Instead, he glanced around at the litter of dead men near their feet, and tucked a corner of his mouth up into itself. “We need to hide the wounds,” he murmured, and then let his eyes flicker back over Javier’s face. “And then, I think, I would be very much interested in finding out how it is you plan to … keep me.” Something of that same light which flared in Keith’s eyes was alighting in Javier’s own. “I think you already know, Frenchman,” he whispered. “I’m going to wear you out until you beg me to let you sleep … and then, when you wake up, I’m going to start it all over again.” Images struck Keith’s mind, then, and he knew in an instant what they were from the scent and feel of them; they were Javier’s memories of their first – and last, Keith realized with a pang – tangled journey between the sheets of Keith’s bed. He could see himself through Javier’s eyes, could even see the rings which Javier still wore on his left hand as they had glittered in the firelit bedroom of that long-ago night, when Javier, still human, had wondered how best he could return to Keith the pleasure that Keith had so recently given him. He was, in fact, so focused on chasing those images that he did not feel Javier move away from him and attend to one of the dead men until he asked a question. “What do I do?” “Hm?” Keith shook his head and blinked, startled to find Javier no longer standing before him. His dusky eyes flicked down and settled on the Spaniard’s golden form, kneeling in the alley’s muck next to one of the corpses. “What do you mean?” Javier turned a narrow glare on Keith with the barest twist of his head. “I thought you said you were going to teach me everything – how can I learn when you do not know? No wonder you need me to come to your rescue.” Keith ground his teeth and sucked in a calming breath, determined not to rise to Javier’s bait. He watched as his fledgling’s verdant eyes crinkled in his handsome face, shivering at the

296 sound of his husky laugh, but jumped when Javier’s hand, faster than Keith had considered it possible for his new fledgling to move, cupped itself at the tender apex of Keith’s groin. With his genitals still grumbling over the abuse they had taken, he flinched at the thought of a harsh touch, but, soon finding there was not one to be had at Javier’s hands, arched forward when the Spaniard’s fingers pressed gently into the cloth there. His dusky eyes met Javier’s, and as he looked down, he saw that Javier was smiling faintly. “I should not tease you,” he allowed, by way of an apology. “But you make it too easy, Frenchman. Help me avoid the gallows – what do I do here?” Keith gazed at the shattered mess of the man’s face and shook his head. “There’s not much to be done for him – his neck is broken.” “I punched him in the face – how in blazes did I break his neck?” Javier crouched and delicately turned the man’s face towards his, wincing in agreement a moment later. “I did break his neck – Dios, you didn’t tell me I could do that.” “Why do you think I’ve never actually struck you, Javier, as angry as you’ve made me in the short time I’ve known you?” Keith replied quietly. “We are ten and twenty times again stronger than a human. I could have easily killed you in that duel that night – it is only your own gift with the blade which saved you.” Javier turned his head from the sight of the man’s distorted neck and ruined face. “Would you have killed me? I called you out, after all.” “You never decided the rules of the duel – you did not tell me whether it was first blood or death. Since it was not a formal duel, I assumed it was not the latter – and the answer to your question is no. Even if I hadn’t been captured by the sight of you already, cheating at cards is not a sin which is worth death, in my eyes,” he finished lowly, crouching low to lay a hand on Javier’s shoulder. “Come, we’ll take him with us.” Javier blinked. “What? Why?” Keith shrugged, moving over to the second body and biting into the base of his thumb so as to heal the oozing rift in the skin which had once covered the man’s neck. “We can’t leave him here – there are not enough marks for any authority to safely assume he was party to a brawl, and even if they did, no one has --,” he paused as he hefted the third thief, wincing at the rancid scent of his clothes, “heard anything of the sort.” He lifted the man to almost eye-level and threw him

297 as hard as he dared against the opposite wall. As the dead man’s head struck the brick with a wet crack, Javier made a choked little sound. “What – Keith, what are you doing?” “Managing to make this look as much like a brawl as I can,” Keith replied calmly, delighted to find a fair quantity of blood left in the man. It was rough, but it was the best he could manage at the present time. What else can I do? I need to teach him – quickly – to be careful of his strength. The people of Seville are going to be quite nervous if they think there is some madman visiting the poorer sections of the city and murdering at will in various gruesome ways. Keith moved to the corpse from which Javier had fed, and tapped his fingers against his hip, thinking. “Give me your sword,” he demanded without turning, extending his right hand for the weapon without ceremony. “What? Why? You can’t practice swordplay with a dead man.” Keith smiled faintly, and decided to let that one pass. “Just give it to me, Javier. I don’t carry weapons when I hunt, and I need one.” Reluctantly, Javier handed the rapier over, noting that Keith handled the sword with respect even as he used it to slit the man’s leg open, high up towards the groin, in a wound that Javier knew should have been gushing blood. But there was little left in the man’s body now – Javier had fed well from him before Keith’s struggle had interrupted him. Recalling this, Javier turned his face away, setting his jaw against a faint roil of nausea that seemed strangely foreign to him now. When he looked back, the man with the broken neck was missing from the tumble of bodies in the alley and Keith had dragged the man he’d sliced in the thigh over to where he himself had been grappling only a few minutes before. Keith’s cuffs were damp, Javier noticed, and he smelled oddly of the harbor – had he dumped the man’s body in the river? Averting his eyes from the spectacle Keith was continuing to create, he decided he didn’t want to know. But he moves them about as if they are no more than chess pieces. How often does he have to do this? “Not often,” the Frenchman grunted as he straightened. “Amaroq and I do not often hunt together, and when we do, we take turns. Which might be a fine idea in the future,” he added, “until you get a grasp on your new … abilities. There are only so many times I can play chess with dead men before the authorities begin to wonder what is going on. Do you need to feed again?” Javier swallowed again. “Not if I have to keep looking at that, I don’t.”

298 Keith chuckled wryly. “You’ll get used to it, you know.” He approached Javier slowly, his eyes intent on the golden Spaniard’s face. Mon Dieu, he is perfection. And I thought he was beyond beautiful before. But the Gift… it has given him so much … more … Javier narrowed his eyes, watching the elder vampire’s approach, abruptly aware that no part of his surroundings mattered, save for Keith’s movements. What is he up to? Wait – I know that look. He bit the insides of his cheeks to prevent the smile which brimmed there. He wants me. I wonder how it feels, to want with bruised balls? It can’t be pleasant. His smile widened, breaking past the restraints his new eyeteeth were attempting to place on it, and stepped forward to meet Keith halfway. He did say, though, that he – we – heal very quickly, he mused. Perhaps I can help that along … Events were moving far too fast for Javier to truly wrap his head around them, and he had learned that the best way for him to handle such a feeling was simply to throw all cautions aside and react to the sensations of the moment, allowing the rest of it to work itself out along the way. So he gave in to the urge his body, now that it was sated and coming to grips with its newfound strength, was loudly insisting he attend to with little delay. He understood these feelings, fully comprehended the mechanics of courting – after all, as he had deduced upon the long-ago night of the chess game, courting a man wasn’t so different from pursuing a woman. It was wild and savage instead of perfumed and gentle, yes, but in the end, the sport was very much the same. And there is no master better than I at such a game. Javier advanced the rest of the way towards Keith and pushed him back, all the while allowing himself to slide up until only the very tips of his boots remained to ground him. This gave him a slight height advantage over the taller vampire, and he intended to use it to its fullest extent. His hands pressed flatly against the cool stone wall against which he had pinned Keith, further blockading against any thought of escape. Javier had no doubts that Keith could most certainly free himself if freedom was what he wished; in the precarious position Javier held, he knew Keith would be more than aware that it would take very little force to rock him back on his heels to allow the vampire time enough to slip past him. “Perhaps not,” Keith replied, as if answering his very thoughts. Javier jerked a little, and nearly did fall backwards. Leaning forward at the last second, Javier recovered himself and managed – if only barely – to glare down at Keith. “What are you talking about?”

299 Keith smiled secretively, and reached up to touch Javier’s face, but the younger man quickly batted the hand away and wound his other arm around the back of Keith’s neck before the Frenchman had time to protest. Javier’s lips closed the space between them and he found Keith’s mouth already open and willing against his. For a moment, he believed it was only so because he had caught the elder vampire as he had begun to speak, but as Javier deepened the kiss, he realized that such a notion was not the case at all. A fevered memory of their tangled bodies on a satiny sheeted bed came to him suddenly – So, he was once the submitter. I wonder which he likes best? – and he felt his own knees buckling with desire. In revenge, he savaged Keith’s lips with his own until the darker vampire groaned his passion. Abruptly, they were moving again, the winding avenues whipping past at impossible speeds, the tumble of dead bodies in the alleyway forgotten. But this time, it was different, Javier thought, for he was not being carried in Keith’s arms – he was running alongside him! And I am keeping up! His speed – it is mine! Abruptly, he yanked on Keith’s hand, not wishing to wait even the handful of seconds he was sure it would take them to cross the square and retire to Keith’s home as it waited silently amongst the untended gardens. Instead, he shoved through the unlocked gates of his own home’s high walls, amazed that the sleepy servants whose slumber their passage was undoubtedly disturbing, saw nothing more than a blur of colour before they had vanished into the silent tomb of the house. Javier turned, as if expecting them to come in after them, sucking in lungfuls of air he found he did not truly need. Mi Dios, how fast we ran, and yet I am not even as breathless as a healthy man! Keith had turned his back on Javier and was pulling the heavy bar over the door. “They should not stir now; I have convinced them that it was only a dog, scared away by the noise of the gate, which I must admit, I am surprised to have found lying open.” Javier shrugged. “There is no one here to dock it from their pay; what do they care?” Keith’s eyes narrowed at his words. “The household expects that you will not return.” Javier met Keith’s eyes grimly. “I aim always to provide the unexpected,” he replied flatly, then paused. “My wife – she believed the monks at Granada would make me well again. She believed I would return home. None of the rest did, but what do they matter?” He turned his

300 head and spat disgustedly; when he returned his gaze to Keith’s again, the elder vampire was watching him sadly. Javier scowled. “What – why do you look at me that way?” Keith shook his head, and then drew in a startled breath as Javier shoved him back against the wall near the stairs. As his back hit the cold stone of the walls, he grunted and opened his mouth to protest, but Javier silenced him with another savage kiss. “I don’t want secrets, Frenchman,” Javier growled lowly. “You don’t keep things from me. Tell me why you were looking at me that way just now.” Even if he does not want secrets between us, I cannot let him know of the wolf in me, Keith thought grimly. If I am lucky, he does not bear its curse. I waited! I waited – perhaps too long, but I could not bear to lower it on to his shoulders, and if this was the only chance I had … He raised his eyes to Javier’s and opened his mouth to speak, but his words were arrested by the sight of a portrait which hung on the wall behind Javier. Javier turned and followed the line of his gaze when he realized what had caught Keith’s attention, and he shook his head with a wry smile. “You have to know who that is,” he replied, to Keith’s silent gaze. Keith swallowed. “Of course I do. When was she painted?” Javier pushed away from the wall and turned on the portrait. “A month or so after our wedding day.” Keith’s gaze crawled across the walls. “And why is there not one of you beside her?” Stepping further into the shadows which streaked at a sharp angle across the wall, he tried to avoid looking at the lovely, youthful woman who stared down at him so somberly from her high perch on the wall. The metallic scrape of flint against steel brought Keith’s attention away from the portrait; Javier was standing before a broad, dark cabinet, lighting a long taper, which he carried over and held high. Keith leaned away from the guttering little flame. “You’ll howl if that wax drips on you,” he warned. Javier scowled at him. “Are the French so feeble that they wince away from a little hot candle wax?” Keith shook his head. “Remember what I told you about the sun, Javier – the same applies to fire. Anything hot – you will be doubly sensitive now.”

301 “You wanted to see mine,” Javier interrupted before Keith could ascertain that he had forgotten the elder vampire’s warning in the face of everything else that had happened tonight. “It’s there; you just couldn’t see me in the dark.” Keith turned his head obediently as his fledgling pushed gently at the quiet darkness in the house with his dancing little flame, then caught his breath with a little hiss. Javier tilted his chin slightly, one golden brow rising quizzically as shadows and light bathed his face in turn. His eyes, a dark, almost mossy green in the faint light, blinked once at the portrait and then returned to Keith’s form. Mi Dios, he wears his heart as openly as a woman, he thought, allowing his eyes to travel over both of the paintings on the wall. Something in his gut stuttered at the sight of Ofelia’s youthful features, cast in their serious prison, and he frowned at the picture. She should have smiled. But then, I suppose she might have known, even then, that she had no more reasons to smile … He shook his head. No. She could not have known what was to come - she was happy then – she … “She is – or will be – happy now, you know,” Keith murmured. He swallowed dryly, his eyes still fixed on the portrait of the wild, golden man he had so recently made his own. Mon Dieu, I long for him. He is beyond perfection – I must have him, and yet, how can I when his thoughts return to his wife? How is it that I can share him with her? He thinks that she does not love him and will gladly find another if given the chance, but he has never before tasted of her thoughts – of the secrets she holds within her mind – as I have done. He had felt it then, on the single night in which he had come to her to inform her of her husband’s continued presence within the realm of the living, and though he had not delved closely into the extent of her thoughts – such a process would have been undeniably ungentlemanly, and was he not already committing enough of a crime by seducing her husband away from her? – the sheer force of her concern and regard for Javier Alvares Estas had been stitched into her very essence. Keith’s mouth set in a grim line. He will know it when he takes her across; I cannot save him from that knowledge. I may have been able to guard from him what I did not wish him to know, but his wife, she will have no recourse against it. He wiped a hand across his face, glad to see that Javier’s sharp eyes had turned aside. I can only give him comfort. His eyes narrowed to dusky slivers of twilit sky in his shadow-tinged features. But it is not comfort I wish to give

302 now –I want him. And I have him – Javier is mine, for all of the eternities the vampiric gift can grant us – so why should I stand aside when I want him so? Setting his lips in a thin line that made him more reminiscent of his twin brother than he would ever know, Keith grasped the thick cloth of the doublet Javier wore and turned him away from the portraits. “Your artist did well,” he murmured, “but the painting is a pale version of the real man.” Again, one golden brow rose towards Javier’s hairline. “Compliments, Frenchman? You are wooing me – I am no woman, who needs to be told little lies in order to soften and open for you.” Moonlight shattered over Keith’s smile, highlighting the sharpness of his fangs. “No,” he agreed. “You are no woman, my Javier.” Javier’s lips curled slightly into an exasperated smile. “Will you ever pronounce my name correctly, Frenchman?” “Will you ever stop referring to me by my nationality alone - Javier?” Keith countered, further reducing the sound of the last letter of Javier’s name. Javier smiled. “An impasse, then. What do we do about it?” Keith shrugged, casting his eyes over Javier’s form in an open and most obvious invitation. “I do not know – and with you standing here before me, I do not care,” he finished, his hands tugging at the material of Javier’ borrowed clothing. When he spoke again, his voice was a growling whisper, his accent so heavy atop his words that he almost sounded intoxicated. “I want to see you ... I want to taste you. I want you to know how, why, and what I feel about you – I want it to consume you the way you consume me …” Javier’s lips parted and he turned his head slightly in the direction of the portrait hanging on the wall. Mi Dios, what was I thinking, bringing him here? Ofelia’s laughing eyes and solemn smile were staring down on him as, long ago, the crimson-clad cardinals had glared down at his father over his refusal to recant the sins of his heresy. She can see into my soul … Mi Dios, I … Keith’s hands were cool and mildly forceful against his jawline, turning Javier’s face back to his, devouring his lips in a searing kiss. With a wordless moan, Javier’s eyes closed as he submitted; when he opened them again, Ofelia was still watching from her high place on the wall. Mi Dios… he groaned to himself. Mi Dios, I cannot make him stop – even if I could, I would not.

303 I … love him. He turned his head forcefully away from Keith’s insistent lips and glowered at the portrait, balling his hands into fists. I love him, do you hear that? I cannot love you this way – I cannot! You need … you deserve … better than I, Ofelia … and I will see to it that you are given that chance, but for now, oh, Dios, oh, God, for now, just let me have him! Keith pressed his hands into the hollows at Javier’s jawline, shivering a little at the close feel of the bones there. Oh, I came so close, so close to losing him … why did I not go to him sooner?

Why?

In his anguish, he sought comfort, pulling Javier tightly against him in a

shuddering embrace. Javier held still – perhaps in startlement – for a moment within the confines of Keith’s clasp, and then he rained biting kisses across the join of the elder vampire’s neck and shoulder, drawing blossoms of blood in some places that were as quickly licked away as they were brought to the surface. Keith uttered a sound that Amaroq might have classified as a whimper, and let his head fall back, closing his eyes against the intrusion of the moonlight. His lips parted from one another with harsh little breaths that might have contained some form of curse or prayer, but Javier was not listening. It was not enough for him to simply kiss Keith, Javier thought feverishly, nipping a steady downward trail towards the collar of his clothing. He bit the cloth, tasting the dust and sweat of the night, and then his hands were tugging at Keith’s, making him aid in ridding himself of the clothing whose clasps and fastenings were mildly unfamiliar to Javier. “You want this as much as I do,” Javier growled. “So help me!” Clothes tumbled to the rug-littered expanse of the foyer’s floor as Javier forced Keith back towards the stairs. Still struggling with the ties on his breeches, Keith was unprepared for Javier’s continuing approach, and went down heavily against the stone risers of the stairs which led up into the darkened sleeping chambers of the house. He turned, trying to break his fall with his hands, and then Javier was upon him, pinning Keith’s hands against the dusty stairs and pressing his body against him. Keith could feel his fledgling’s desire even before he had rid himself of his breeches; Javier’s manhood thrummed like a hot, heavy heart against his own genitals, and Keith arched his back, grinding himself against that heat with all the mindlessness of a rutting beast. Javier laughed, a low, smoky sound reminiscent of his dying days when laughter had been a luxury even he could not have afforded, and tugged away. “I’m going to take my time, I think,”

304 he informed Keith with an evil smile that sent lances of heat striking upwards from Keith’s testicles to pool hotly in his belly. “And then I’m going to make you scream.”

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Chapter Eighteen Grinding his teeth, Keith wriggled against the twin vises of Javier’s hands, but the younger vampire managed to hold him fast, though their skins were rapidly slickening with sweat. Closed up as it was, the inside air of the home was moist and heavy around their naked skin. Keith bared his fangs in a wordless snarl, nearly wrenching one wrist free, when Javier ducked his head and, releasing the grip he had previously exerted on Keith’s wrists, pushed Keith’s legs apart with both hands. “Non!” Keith cried, but his hands did not come up to pull Javier away as the golden haired fledgling took the Frenchman’s stiffened cock into his mouth and sucked as hard as he dared, surprisingly cautious about the length and sharpness of his new teeth. Javier groaned as the taste of Keith’s body fired his own arousal anew, but was determined to follow through with his promise. There was so much to feel and taste and … Javier’s head was whirling with the sheer deliciousness of it. Every breath he took seemed pungent with a thousand scents he had never before been able to detect; every object upon which his eyes settled was brighter or more clearly defined than he had ever seen before. Strength poured through his veins as though Keith’s gift of vampirism had been the iron crow used to pry open the shuttered tomb of his own body’s potential; he had never before felt so alive, so wonderfully able to experience the world – and it was all because of Keith. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into the prickle of hair waiting at the base of Keith’s erection, resolving to make sure Keith knew exactly what he had given over to his new fledgling. He has given me strength and abilities I have never even dreamed about before, Javier thought, and what better way to thank him than this? His hands splayed out to curl around the sharp curves of Keith’s hips, and he drew his head backwards, dragging his tongue and teeth along Keith’s length with exquisite slowness. He tightened his lips and gums as he came to the head of Keith’s cock and then released it with a slick, wet sound which thundered through the empty house like the sound of a thousand heartbeats, all thrumming at once. He grinned as Keith at once arched forward and yet fell back on to his elbows at the same time, too overtaken by the tight, hot pleasure of Javier’s lips.

306 “I want you,” Javier whispered to him, leaning forward over the slick, naked expanse of Keith’s body; he laughed as Keith’s eyes slid downwards to the proud form of the erection Javier was sporting. “In case you could not tell. And I’m going to have you – one inch at a time.” Mon Dieu, yes – oh, my sweet God, yes … Keith thought as Javier slapped his hands down on the stone stairs and leaned over the bare expanse of the Frenchman’s chest. His dusky blue eyes closed tightly as Javier’s lips and teeth nibbled around the flat planes of his male nipples, but he forced his lower body to stay as immobile as he could possible manage as Javier’s tongue moved away and down, tugging and teasing at the sweat-damped curls of raven hair which dusted Keith’s chest and tapered into a neat, clean point at the juncture of his navel. He shivered as Javier tongued the dark crevice, tossing his head slightly as a whimpered groan passed his clenched lips. At once, the sensation ceased, and Keith opened his eyes to find Javier watching him with a curious smile. The fingers of one hand caressed the faint, shining trail his tongue had left, and he laughed softly.

“You actually like that, don’t you?” His fingers brushed the semi-circular

depression and his verdant eyes watched the tip of his finger vanish into its soft darkness raptly as Keith tossed his head and shivered in delight. “I wonder, do you like it because it reminds you of … other things?” It was a question that did not need any answering, and both of them knew it. Once more, Javier bent his head to the column of dark, bristling hair which descended to Keith’s navel and reveled in the notion that he could taste and see every single one of them in such perfect detail. Experimentally, he lifted them with his tongue and kissed them down again with his lips, fired anew by the sounds Keith made. Oh, mi Dios, I want him. I want to bury myself inside of him until there is nothing left and … He paused and turned his head slightly, narrowing his verdant eyes towards the gloomdraped hall which led to the kitchens. We will need something … more, if I am to do that. Javier’s memories of the last encounter he’d had with Keith’s body were hazy on specifics which did not immediately surround recalling the exquisite pleasure he’d experienced – but he was certain that he did not want this to end in some rough tangle of yanked flesh and strained limbs. Recalling, not without some pain, his wedding night with Ofelia, Javier remembered that he had spread olive oil over her shivering womanhood with his tongue, feeling the dryness brought

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on by fear being replaced by its warmth slickness, and wondered if the same tactic could not be used on Keith. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Ofelia that night, one on which she’d been too afraid even to undress before him, despite having shared, on multiple occasions, in situations far more intimate than merely undressing for bed, and she had been trembling and dry as a result. So he had vanished to the kitchen, and … He paused, shoving all thoughts of Ofelia from his mind. I cannot think of her while … while I … He shook his head. I cannot think of her. Beneath him, Keith was regaining some of his composure as Javier’s thoughts distracted him from the pleasurable torture he had been delivering to Keith, and he followed Javier’s gaze with his own. Thinking the younger vampire had heard something, he reached for a heartbeat or sense of some other, unwelcome presence, only to find nothing which spoke to him of intrusion. He frowned. The boy is having second thoughts. I am not sure I could have been so brave as he, to bring a lover into the very home one shared with one’s marriage partner.

I can

understand his distress, but Mon Dieu, if he does not stop my heart with wanting him! “Javier?” He questioned quietly, reaching for his discarded clothing. “What is it?” Javier’s eyes returned to Keith immediately. “Stay there – and don’t dress, or I will take the stuff off with my teeth, and make you walk home naked,” he threatened, his fangs baring in a grin that melted Keith’s worries. He could fairly smell the arousal pulsing forth from Javier – he’d paused, yes, but only in contemplation. Keith swallowed, his own desire for the joining of their separate flesh taking the place of his heartbeat, thundering in his ears, and merely nodded, watching as Javier moved off into the darkness. When he returned, he was carrying something in a little dish that he brought to Keith’s side and placed down carefully on the stone step. Keith frowned at the dish; in the darkness, he could not be completely sure of the contents, but Javier merely smiled and dipped his fingers in, allowing the liquid to roll over his skin. “Oil from our olives,” he explained quietly, and then bent forward until his face was inches from Keith’s. “I told you that I will go slowly … that I will make you beg. I was not fooling you.” Keith felt himself slipping into the depths of Javier’s verdant eyes, and he welcomed the rushing sensation of falling with open arms. “I could drown in you, and happily so,” he murmured in reply, reaching up to cup Javier’s cheek.

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Javier snorted and pulled his face away slightly, not certain he wanted to duel with words tonight. “Then why are you still talking?” Keith’s lips crept upwards in a slow, teasing smile. “Because you haven’t dragged the breath from me yet, my Javier.” Javier’s answering smile was as lupine as anything Keith had ever seen crossing Amaroq’s face. “That sounds like a challenge, Frenchman. I accept it wholeheartedly.” Abruptly, his lips were crashing down on Keith’s, the dish of oil pushed aside on the stair as the two men, one dark and one light, slammed into one another, each straining to somehow discard their separate state and become one with the other. Javier bit and sucked at Keith’s lips even as his arms tightened around Keith’s naked back and his fingers twined in Keith’s hair. Mi Dios, he’s stronger than he looks – the power I can feel in him, it’s incredible. His fingers pressed at the knots of muscle across Keith’s shoulders and back, his lips pressing harder against Keith’s jawline even as he feathered his tongue lightly across and just inside the French vampire’s lips. Javier felt the low vibration of Keith’s groan against his own lips rather than hearing it; his auditory nerves appeared to have been drowned by the crashing thunder of his own passion. His hands coasted down Keith’s back, cradling the slick warmth of his body, half lifting him from the stair as they came to the swell of his buttocks, which he grasped gently in either palm. Briefly, he broke the kiss, laughter warring with the lust in his eyes. “You’re a skinny old man, you know,” he informed Keith. “Starting tomorrow, I’m going to make you feed as often as I do, so I can fatten you up.” Neglecting to point out that their diet and physical state would render such a thing completely impossible, Keith merely raised an eyebrow. “I can think of much better ways to be spending my time with you, my young glutton. Besides, if we did that, I have the feeling that the world would be devoid of humans by the time the century is out, and then what would you do?” Javier’s answering grin was wicked. “I’d start on your dog.” Keith opened his mouth to reply, but before he could even draw a breath, Javier’s hands splayed, gently parting his buttocks. Slowly, the half-slick couple of fingers the Spaniard had dipped into the olive oil slipped forward until they met the opening which lay between them. Keith gasped in place of speaking, and Javier chuckled, reaching for the discarded dish with his right hand and moving it to Keith’s opposite side. Javier dipped his fingers into the oil, allowing

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the green-tinged liquid to spill gently over his palm and slide down his wrist, opening and closing his hand to speed the process. With the other, he cupped Keith’s hip, and something in the touch was so unspeakably tender to Keith that he felt a thickness born of pure joy rising in his throat. When Javier’s oil-slicked fingers entered him, however, all thoughts of anything save the fire consuming him from his loins and spreading outward over every other inch of him, completely fled. “Ohh-oh!” he cried, trying to press forward and down to further accept those two workcallused, wonderfully intrusive digits. Javier laughed – and withdrew them. An evil smile stretched over his face as Keith tossed his head and whimpered, shifting his position so that his legs were parted as widely as his frame would allow. “I told you that you would beg, Keith,” Javier murmured. “You wanted it of me, once – and I haven’t forgotten.” “I cannot have you that way, but if it is what you want of me … Mon Dieu, Javier, please …” Javier’s laughter rose in the dark confines of the house. “I told you – I’m going to explore. You will just have to … wait.” He punctuated this last work with a lingering, sliding kiss that began spilling its fire into Keith’s mouth but soon slid its way down the arching contour of his neck and stopped, briefly, over Keith’s left nipple.

Javier shifted so that he knelt more

comfortably on the first riser of the stone steps, placing his face perfectly parallel to Keith’s chest as his tongue lashed the pebble-like bud and then moved away, crossing the light expanse of ebony chest hairs which shone silver in the flickering moonlight that poured in from the windows, and licking gently at the rise of Keith’s ribs and abdominal muscles. The skin beneath Javier’s tongue shivered and jumped as he moved ever southward, but Keith did not protest nor back away. Javier chuckled, pausing to admire the lean lines of Keith’s body. “You like this torture, don’t you?” He didn’t have to ask; the low groans and gasps with which Keith had been helplessly punctuating Javier’s movements had told the Spaniard exactly how much he did enjoy the younger man’s ministrations, but he wanted Keith to admit it, wanted to hear it for himself. Keith tipped his head back, drawing in calming breaths. “Oui. Yes …” he breathed.

310 Javier leaned forward and drew strange patterns along Keith’s chest wall with his lips and tongue. “Oh? Well, if you like this so much … then perhaps I shouldn’t bother with anything else …” Keith lowered his head again, slanting his eyes towards Javier’s. “I would suppose that would depend on what else you had in mind.” Javier’s smile was wicked. “I could cover you in my seed,” he whispered, knowing that every word would travel to Keith’s ears. “I could force you to your knees and make you suck me until I was ready to burst – and then bathe you in it and lick you clean.” He’d done such a thing with Ofelia a few times during their marriage, but he didn’t intend to give Keith the satisfaction he’d ultimately allowed his wife. No, I don’t think I will let him come yet … I want to see what he will do, instead … Javier’s lips turned upwards in a wicked smile. He does like to submit … I think I like it when he does it … but only him. It brings out a fierce side when he dominates me, something in him that … calls to me. He calls me his fierce Spaniard, his warrior – but I think he could be a warrior, too. Keith shuddered, imagining the scene Javier’s words depicted, and then turned his head slightly. “And what of afterwards, when I wear your scent instead of your seed, and you are no more satiated than before? I can only imagine that the scent of your lovers’ skins have driven you as wild for more as has the act of burying yourself within them.” Javier raised a brow. “What makes you think I cannot satisfy myself far better than you could ever manage?” He dipped his head, reveling in the new swiftness with which he had been gifted, and caught the head of Keith’s cock between his lips. His hands crooked downwards and cupped Keith’s testicles gently, one finger stroking the slim, flesh-covered divide which defined each one. He fought to control the smug grin which threatened to spread across his lips and divert him from his task; pleasuring a man was a difficult thing to do when one was smiling, he noticed.

A woman could be caught – gently – between one’s teeth and licked while one

attempted to regain control over one’s facial expressions, but not a man. Especially not one as well-endowed as Keith, Javier thought. Perhaps a lesser man, but Keith … he does not fit that category. He drew more of Keith’s member past his lips, feeling along its length for ridges and curves, feeling his own arousal climbing swiftly towards a fever pitch.

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He closed his eyes and drew calming breaths through his nostrils, wondering that he should ever have to fight for such a state. When he had lain with Ofelia, it had taken no more than a toss of his head or a sharp clenching of his teeth over his lips in order to maintain a grip on his own body. But with Keith – with Keith, he felt as if he could simultaneously make love forever and explode into a thousand fragments of orgasmic glory within seconds. Every sensation his body felt was multiplied when he touched Keith’s form; every nerve in Javier’s body sang and burned with a sweeter fire than he had ever experienced with any of the numerous other lovers he had entertained before marrying Ofelia. Javier released Keith’s cock from his mouth and nudged lower with his lips and tongue, tasting where his hands had been caressing. The taste of sweat was sharper here than higher up, and he thought at first that such a thing should have been unpleasant; to his new tongue, his amplified taste-buds, it was a glorious meeting of musky and salty-sweet tones. He lapped at the thin crease, sucking gently at the skin of Keith’s scrotum, feeling Keith both suck in breath that carried a divine mixture of alarm and intense pleasure and exhale in bursts of half-words that might have been unintelligible to Javier, except that he could hear his brain screaming in that very same language. Smiling, he rose again to his knees and ran his oil-slicked left hand over the full length of Keith’s manhood, massaging the oil on his palm and fingers into the heated flesh. Keith sighed in pleasure, and Javier quickly bent his head again, licking at the tiny slit at the tip of Keith’s cock. Keith bucked his hips, his eyes widening sharply. “Ja-Javier!” He cried, gritting his teeth against a groan when Javier’s lips, vibrating with suppressed laughter, wrapped gently around the head again. There was a soft sucking sound as Javier pulled away, but Keith had little time to protest; Javier’s fingers, heavy with a new coat of oil, had returned and were industriously massaging their way below Keith’s proud erection. Again, Javier cupped the delicate sac which held Keith’s testicles, feeling their heat pulsing into his hands, then reached behind with his left hand. “Lie on your back,” he instructed Keith, his voice a hoarse whisper of arousal. Aching to be filled, Keith settled himself more firmly on the stairs and stretched out as Javier had insisted, raising his buttocks off the stairs. For a moment, he fully expected Javier’s hands to crack down on his waiting skin as, long ago, his Master’s hands had struck his flesh in similar situations, but no such blow came. Instead, Javier’s fingers eased once more into the dark

312 crevasse, gliding in up to his second knuckle, and twisting slightly within Keith’s depths. Keith threw back his head, tossing his sweat-dampened hair away from his face, and panted Javier’s name. The blonde Spaniard smiled. I can make him call my name for eternity if I want to. I can make him beg … but I don’t know how much longer I can hold on …. He pulled his right hand away from Keith’s body, making certain that the fingers of his left hand continued their explorations even as he did so, and closed his right hand around his own jutting manhood. Oh, mi Dios, I am glad to already be on my knees … Javier groaned as he inexpertly gripped himself with his non-dominant hand, slathering his aching prick in oil. He felt his pleasure building, felt his testicles drawing up tightly to his body and then gave a breathless little cry as the sensations subsided. He sucked in several harsh gasps that culminated in one sharp note as he stared down at his fingers, which still weakly caressed the darkening, circumcised head of his penis. Blood? There’s blood there. I remember something … He glanced up at Keith, his eyes still distant, tracking down the elusive memory the sight triggered. My dream! I dreamed of coming like that, of spilling not a man’s seed, but blood … “Keith …” He was pleased that his voice trembled with nothing more than arousal, and, as if to reward himself through pleasuring his lover, he pressed the fingers of his left hand a little deeper into Keith’s depths. Keith strangled on a cry, but detected something in the layers beneath Javier’s tone and forced himself to reply. “Oui? Mmh – I do not know what your question is, but you will not have it answered intelligibly if you keep doing … oh, yes, that …” Javier chuckled lowly, though he was reeling from Keith’s apparent ability to read him despite the distractions of his body. “I …” He clamped his teeth down on his lips, sucking hungrily at the blood his fangs brought forth. I will not sound afraid. I will not. Keith is not afraid – and I am sure he can smell it. He knows it is there, so it must not be … “…Anything of which to be afraid?” Keith smiled and shifted, gasping a little as Javier fingers, which had not yet come free of his body, shifted within him and stroked something deep inside. Awkwardly, he drew Javier close, careful not to twist the arm buried beneath him, and with the arm he had used to draw the Spaniard against him, he reached down and gripped Javier’s proud, straining erection, gently coaxing another drop of blood from its tip. Javier shut his eyes tightly and panted, but Keith waited until his lover’s ardour had cooled before he spoke. “It is all

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we produce, my Javier. It is no cause for concern. What is such a cause, however, is the fact that I am quite sure I am going to be the first vampire who expires from pure desire.” More perturbed that Keith had plucked the very thoughts from his mind than he had been over the sight of the blood, Javier focused on gripping Keith’s engorged manhood in his slippery free hand even as his fingers twitched and sought the smooth roundness they had just about touched before.

“If you’ve never experienced this before, your past lovers have been

disappointing you. But that’s all right, Frenchman – you have me, now.” Javier grinned. “You won’t want anyone else ever again.” “You are exactly who I want – now, Javier!” Desperation and dominance warred in Keith’s voice. “I want you in me, as deeply as you can. I want you against me, around me – I swore to myself that I would have you, and I will not wait any longer!” Javier let one corner of his mouth lift slightly, cocking his head. “And what makes you think I’m ready to let you have what you want?” The intimate heat of Keith’s body was abruptly removed from the fingers of Javier’s questing left hand, as the elder vampire sat up and pushed Javier onto his back on the floor. Before the Spaniard could stop him, Keith had pinned Javier’s arms to his sides and wrapped his mouth around Javier’s jutting erection. He sucked as hard as he dared, until he felt Javier’s hips come helplessly off the floor, and then released his swollen shaft, mouthing the tender sac which curled tightly to the base of Javier’s blood-darkened member. He released one testicle from his mouth with a soft, sucking pop, and spoke before he began nibbling on the second, timing his words so that they were punctuated by Javier’s cries. “You are more than ready, my Javier. I want you to split me apart and fill me. I want you to come until you cannot breathe because you are too busy crying my name. And I want to do the same to you.” With a snarl of which even Amaroq might have approved, Javier bunched his muscles and shoved Keith away, pinning him to the stairs a moment later. “You want all of that, then, Frenchman? You’re lucky I’m going to give it to you. No one tells me how I’m going to make love – I tell them! The difference between you and I is that I don’t use words.” The little dish of olive oil, which Javier had carried back from the kitchen when he had been taken with the notion of starting slowly and building up, crashed unnoticed against one of the

314 lower steps as Javier’s left shin caught its edge. Its contents draped their dark stain against the stone, but neither man cared. His wrists clamped by Javier’s oil-slicked hands, Keith could not move his upper body without a struggle, but his lower body was another matter. Pulling his legs up as closely to his body as he could, he set his feet firmly on the stair closest to his buttocks, raising his hips wantonly into the air and arching further when Javier’s hands met his hips and tugged him backwards. Keith’s groan as Javier sank deeply into his body seemed to be made of the very same breath which Javier drew in as he felt Keith’s inner flesh close around his. For a moment, he feared he had hurt Keith, but as he exhaled, preparing to draw out, Keith’s body clamped around his cock. “Oh – Keith – Dios - !” “Call me whatever you like, Javier Estas, but don’t stop.” Had the words been couched in any other tone but the shuddering, sighing groan on which they were carried, Keith knew that Javier might well have ceased – merely out of spite. “Please, don’t stop …” He’d had no need to add the final words, but he had been helpless against doing so. He closed his eyes tightly, reveling in the feeling of being filled, of being consumed from the inside by pleasure. My fledgling – my fierce warrior. He is mine – always. I can have him this way for eternity if I want to … Oh, Mon Dieu … He groaned aloud again as Javier’s thrusts increased their tempo, as Javier’s hands drew him closer. Keith opened his eyes once, wishing to see a balustrade against which he could balance his feet to allow him to feel Javier’s hips between his legs, but it was not to be. Instead, he settled his feet more firmly, lifting his hips up a little higher to allow Javier easier re-entry; his rhythm had shifted so that he entered Keith in long, deep strokes that felt as though they counted eternities between their beginning and end. Releasing Keith’s wrists and ceasing the thrusting movements of his hips, Javier reached down with his left hand and caught Keith’s straining manhood, wrapping his fingers around its circumference and pumping with frantic suddenness. The reaction was immediate – and exactly what he’d wanted. “Ah ... ah, Javier, don’t – I want to …” Whatever else Keith had been planning to say was lost as his body decided to rudely interrupt.

315 Javier’s right hand slapped down onto the stair near Keith’s cheek, supporting him as he leaned in closely. “Don’t you worry about what you want, Keith,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shelf of Keith’s chin and sliding up his jawline. His teeth nibbled at Keith’s lips, and Keith reached instantly to meet them, groaning as Javier’s kiss seared a fiery path down from his lips to his groin. Drawing away, Javier gave Keith a somewhat breathless smile. “As I was saying – don’t worry about what you want. I know what you want. It’s this …” Once more, he curled his hand around Keith’s thrumming erection, tickling the bared slit and tugging gently at the folded-back foreskin Javier himself did not have. His thumb rotated until it could stroke the thick vein which swelled on the underside of Keith’s cock, and his fingers opened and closed until their grip was solid. He pumped him quickly, hoping to forestall any further objections Keith might make by inundating him with bursts of pleasure. He’s close, so close – I can see it in his face. He wants this – and I want it. I want to feel him on me. Keith threw his head back, heedless of the hard stone which met the back of his skull, and knew the fight was lost. His hips bucked up once, twice – and halfway into the third rise, he felt his legs give out as his orgasm overtook him. “Javier!” Javier groaned as the evidence of Keith’s orgasm struck his torso and chest, matting in the golden hair which curled there. Dios, but the man was beautiful. He watched, his eyes soft with arousal, as Keith’s face flexed and shifted with the peak of his pleasure, but his left hand never stopped its furious pumping. Those eyes of his – I wonder if he’ll open them again before it’s over? He’s snarling, scowling as he comes – do I look so fierce? He would tell me I do. I wonder if he knows what he looks like? Oh, Dios, he’s clenching around me … Mmm. To distract himself, he changed the rhythm of his caresses, starting slowly from the base of Keith’s shuddering manhood, his thumb smearing streaks of blood down from the flaring slit as he slid back down from the summit once more. When Keith’s eyes did open, they did so with a low, shuddering cry of satisfaction the likes of which Javier had not heard even from Ofelia in years. The sound made him glow from somewhere deep within, and it carried with it a sensation more satisfying than any orgasm. He pulled away from Keith, ignoring the whispered plea which entreated him to do otherwise, and

316 took Keith’s member in his mouth, lapping at the slit and tasting for himself the bright colours of his lover’s pleasure. “Dios!” When the images – the sensations – struck him, Javier released Keith from his lips and stumbled back a step, still rolling about his mouth the taste of Keith’s blood – the only seed, he’d said, that a vampire produced – and stared at Keith, whose drowsy, post-orgasmic expression had been only vaguely affected by Javier’s startlement. In fact, the single brow Keith lifted in Javier’s direction appeared to move sleepily, as though it was taking all of Keith’s effort to focus on doing anything at all other than reveling in the shuddery bliss Javier’s fingers and body had wrought on him. “Is something the matter?” “I … I can see – feel – what you feel!” “Oui,” Keith affirmed patiently. “When you fed earlier, it did not bother you. Why does it do so now?” “It – it … it does not,” Javier stammered, glancing down. “But I … didn’t think I could see your thoughts.” He loves me. He … I could feel it. It was like being wrapped in his arms. Oh, God, it was … beautiful. Keith smiled. “I can see yours,” he replied gently. “Over time, you will learn to guard from others – or myself – the things you wish to hold closely to yourself.” Javier blinked. “You were not guarding anything from me then,” he insisted. “No,” Keith agreed. “I was not. Why should you not be privy to my feelings about you? I do love you, my Javier. I believe I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.” Javier made a rude noise. “No one falls in love at first glance – unless, of course,” he amended, his lips stretching into a sensual smile, “they were to see me completely nude. Then I could understand it.” Keith chuckled. “You proud peacock.” He reached out and pulled Javier close, tonguing at the splatters of his own blood which marked Javier’s body. “You know it’s true, which makes it all the worse.” “No – it’s all the better,” Javier insisted, but his voice was hoarse now. He tipped his head back, his breath beginning to come in harsh little gasps as Keith lapped gently at the drying evidence of his own pleasure. He squeezed his verdant eyes shut, but forced them open a moment later, clamping his lips between his teeth as Keith’s lips settled over his nipples. As he tried to

317 pull away, the nibbling increased to a sharp, warning bite, the sting of which Keith’s tongue, once Javier had stilled, quickly soothed away. “Don’t,” Keith insisted quietly, following the trail of dark liquid that blazed a haphazard trail down Javier’s chest. “What makes you think I can help it?” Javier demanded shakily. “Mi Dios, where did you learn to do this?” Keith’s smile was faintly sad. “In another lifetime. What does it matter? The only lover I need is you.” He actually believes that. Mi Dios, the man is driving me mad. It didn’t even feel like this as a human. Oh God, oh God, I do not know if I can stand this. “Enough!” Javier cried as Keith’s mouth dipped to its lowest point and tugged at the wild, curling thatch of hair that marked the location of the prize which Keith had been seeking. Keith captured a few strands of Javier’s pubic hair between his lips, tipping his head back slightly. He did not bother to release them to speak. When it concerns you, my Javier, even eternity will not be enough. Uttering a low, anguished sound, Javier shoved at Keith’s shoulders, pressing him back against the stairs and pinning him there once more. This time, however, Keith’s arms were not left immobile, and for a moment, Javier thought he had made a mistake, that Keith was going to push him away and continue his impossible torture, but he did not. As Javier slid home into the slick warmth of Keith’s body, pressing forward until his groin was pressing lightly against Keith’s testicles, the elder vampire’s hands came up and closed around Javier’s upper arms in a powerful grasp that only served to move their separate bodies closer. Javier gave an inarticulate cry and Keith laughed shakily, releasing a shuddering breath as Javier filled him again. Javier scowled, pausing in mid-stroke. “What’s so funny now?” Keith shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied, opening and closing his hands in a rhythm similar to Javier’s earlier thrusts. “I am happy, Javier – and it has been a long time since I have been able to claim such an emotion as my own. Take me – possess me as you would, my Javier, for I gave myself up to you months ago.”

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Javier grunted and shifted his hands, molding and massaging the skin beneath his fingers, tracing the outline of Keith’s muscles. “If I do it, will you be quiet?” Keith chuckled and shook his head, the midnight wealth of his hair whispering over the cool steps. “No – you make my very soul scream in pleasure simply to behold you, my Javier.” “I’m not interested in making your soul scream, you skinny bag of bones,” he replied, but his words carried no malice. As he thrust, however, he watched Keith’s face. The elder vampire did not think he was reading his expressions in order to gauge the growing storm of his passions – no, Javier was far wiser on the topic of bedroom courtship than even Keith had anticipated, and though he was willing to admit that the French vampire was his first male lover, Keith was well aware that it had been an easy matter for Javier to simply translate his abilities between the sexes. So it is not for reassurance on that aspect which causes him to look at me so – oh, mon Dieu doux, I think he is going to kill me with wanting him … Keith’s lips parted in a wordless groan only to find that Javier was crushing his mouth against them, stealing the breath he had begun to release even as he plunged even more deeply into Keith’s body. Keith’s eyes closed, his internal dialogue scattered by the rebuilding of his pleasure, the approach of a second orgasm. He wouldn’t come, he promised himself. Not until I can bury myself in his body as he is doing to me. But oh, mon Dieu, if I do not die first, I will be surprised. Javier ground his teeth together, tossing back his mane of sweat-dampened hair, gripping Keith’s shoulders tightly for balance. He released a sharp breath as he felt Keith suddenly clench around him as though his smooth, slippery opening was actually a woman’s body as she clamped her walls around his straining cock in the first throes of her orgasm. But it wasn’t a woman – no, it was Keith, and --. Oh – oh, if he does not – ah, I can’t bear this … Compressing his lips together as tightly as he dared, willing his body not to give in to the desire which threatened to consume him, Javier groaned and lowered his head to meet Keith’s lips again, already knowing it was too late to deny his release. His eyes opened wide as he came, his lips peeling back away from Keith’s mouth, and the elder vampire took that opportunity to raise his head to kiss bitingly at Javier’s chin, to tongue the sharp points and curves of his teeth. Javier dimly felt his knees buckling, but let himself fall, too far gone in pleasure to care.

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Chapter Nineteen As Javier’s blood burst forth into Keith’s body, the French vampire’s eyes and lips closed tightly, as if he was afraid that to leave them open would mean he would lose some instance of the imagery that now flooded his mind even as Javier’s orgasm flooded his body. He did not even dare to exhale, wishing to hold in the glut of visions and emotions which were currently consuming him. All of Javier’s passions were crowding in on Keith’s mind, and he drowned gladly in their warmth. He could detect the boy’s passion for this life Keith had returned to him, could taste the spiking desire his own body held for the body, could sense the fears he harboured and the uncertainties he was entertaining about what was to come in the later days of this new life he had been given, but most of all - and this was the notion to which Keith gave himself completely, reveling in its presence and beauty as he had experienced nothing else in the last three hundred years – he could sense the boy’s love for him, despite his unwillingness to admit the words aloud, as it deluged him with its heady heat and overtook his very soul. When Keith could bear to open his eyes and lips again, when the images had faded into the quiet, warm whispers of thoughts in his brain rather than the screaming deluges of their untamed imagery, he knew he had wept, but thought that, perhaps, he had not been the only one. Saying nothing, merely sighing in sheer satisfaction as Javier withdrew and turned from him, Keith waited for the proper moment. When he did spring at the younger vampire from behind, he was surprised to find there was no struggle in Javier. He knocked the younger man easily to his knees and had brought up his hands, expecting a fight, but instead, he received only laughter – alongside a most fetchingly willing backside. He ground into Javier’s body, forcing the blonde man to bear both of their weights on his forearms, and then proceeded to bite gently at the side of his neck, feathering little licking kisses into the soft skin behind his right ear. “What are you doing, you lusty old goat?” Though his question was punctuated with laughter, whatever else Javier had been about to say was swallowed by a strangled moan of pleasure as Keith bit gently at the lobe of his ear, moving up to suck gently on the thin frame of

320 the auricle a moment later. “Oh … oh …” he replied helplessly, and Keith chuckled, the warm breath which carried the sound ruffling the damp curls of Javier’s hair. He had learned this particular trick, Keith reluctantly recalled, from a woman whose physical countenance had, eerily, been very similar to a woman with whom his twin brother had later fallen in love. Both women had been remarkably dedicated to their craft, he recalled wryly, though the woman in Keith’s memory had never served to rouse in him, even with the most ardent of application, the response that a man could. And I do not think many men – if there are even any – can cause me to feel the way I do when he is near. His body shuddered as he ground against Javier’s backside, his silver-tinged eyes opening wide and tensing with the overwhelming resurgence of his desire. Gently, he guided himself until the tip of his erection was nudging pointedly against Javier’s body, still dropping hot, nibbling kisses along the younger man’s neck and ears. Slowly, slowly – but how can I bear it? His member was still glossy with a slippery combination of oil and his own orgasm, but he did not want Javier to suffer pain. Gently, he pushed forward, continuing to lick and tease at Javier’s neck and ear, delighting in the low, whimpering groans his ministrations brought forth. Javier lowered his head until he was staring at the backs of his hands, his low, panting breaths punctuating the fragmented thoughts in his mind. Keith … Oh, mi Dios, this feels so good – I don’t want it to stop! Please, please, I want him inside of me, oh, God, oh … He gave a harsh groan of satisfaction as he felt the head of Keith’s penis slide gently past his only opening, and another at the resulting warm fullness its presence provided. “Oh, Dios – Keith – Oh, don’t – don’t stop …” Emboldened by Javier’s request, Keith moved forward, allowing more of himself to slowly fill Javier. At the first sign of resistance, he stopped, his slippery member moving fluidly within the tight, hot sheath of Javier’s body, but only up until the point he had been allowed. Sucking in breath slowly between his lips, Keith squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and, arching carefully forward over the powerful width of Javier’s shoulders, he leaned down, searching for the delicate skin which lay at the base and sides of Javier’s neck. “Slowly, Javier,” he whispered, ensuring that the breathy whisper of his words struck the sensitive center of Javier’s ear. “Gently. I do not wish to hurt you – causing pain is not an aphrodisiac of which I am fond.”

321 “Oh, Dios, don’t do this to me, Keith,” Javier begged. “I watched you heal in a matter of minutes from a sword-thrust that would have killed me two days ago – go ahead and rip me open if you want to – just please don’t stop … Oh!” Keith chuckled lowly. “My Javier, I have no intention of stopping,” he replied as he released the section of very soft skin on which he had just been suckling. It was an interesting reaction for a man to have, he found – Javier had seemed to be on the very verge of a violent orgasm when he had at last pulled away from that secret bounty of velvet skin which all humans possessed, tucked away just behind their ears. Fascinated, Keith licked at the fading red blemish which the tight seal of his lips had created, and was so absorbed in the smooth texture of this hidden place he had discovered that he was unprepared for Javier’s response. Javier slammed his body back into Keith’s as hard as he dared – recalling just in time that Keith’s testicles had taken at least as much of a drubbing as the rest of him in that alleyway, he had pulled back on his strength just in time, but he had been determined to get what he had wanted out of Keith – and he had wanted very much to be completely filled. “You know, it’s fortunate for us both that I expected that out of you,” Keith ground out, his lips tickling and teasing at Javier’s neck and ear again. “Or else, you would have ended up tossing me backwards across the room.” “It’s – oh – not my fault if you cannot take a hint, Frenchman,” he panted, closing his eyes and hissing breath between his teeth as he ground back against Keith’s groin. Oh, God, yes. He fills me; he splits me – oh, God … “Did all of your past lovers have to write instructions out for you?” Keith gripped Javier’s hips and bit gently at the curve of one of his shoulders. “If you insult me, I shall simply take my pleasure without you – do not think I am incapable of delaying your gratification until dawn, when you will be helpless against falling asleep.” Dawn … Javier thought. I do not think I am capable of thinking that far ahead, even if it is only a handful of hours away. Keith had taken from him all sense of reasoning, and had left him only with the ability to react to the visceral pleasure which assaulted him from all sides. He tipped his head back, feeling the back of his skull brush Keith’s brow as the French vampire covered his neck in a thousand biting kisses. His hands, warm and smooth, covered the rise of Javier’s shoulders as he leaned down into the rhythm he was beginning to create. He had held on

322 to the reins of his passions long enough, he decided. “Touch yourself,” he demanded, tightening his grip on his lover’s shoulders. “I want you to make yourself come – I want to hear it!” Javier turned his head, startled, but his left hand was already wrapping around the steady throb of his erection. To be so ready again in so short a time was the hallmark of a young man, he knew, but even Ofelia’s body had rarely served him well enough to allow for something this swift. He groaned as he caressed himself, dragging his curled hand up from the base, balancing their combined weights on his right hand as Keith thrust deeply within his body. For a time, he moved slowly, trying to guess and match Keith’s own strokes and quickening tempo, but as he felt Keith filling him and pulling back, as he heard Keith’s low groans of rising passion, he found that the demands of his own body could not be satisfied for long with such antics. “I want to hear you come,” Keith insisted again, but this time, he was breathless with the toll of his own impending orgasm. “Javier …” The Spaniard’s only answer to Keith’s request was a wordless groan as his left hand gripped the darkening head and length of his shaft, sliding his wrist up against the underside. He leaned forward into the building of his orgasm, forcing Keith to drop his hands so that they gripped Javier’s hips for purchase, his hand a sliding blur over his own body as he caught and held his breath, reaching for the zenith of the pleasure which seemed to always arch towards some higher point right as he thought he had conquered it at last. Panting, Keith drove deeply into Javier’s body, unsure if he would be able to time his release with Javier’s own, and gave a harsh cry as Javier’s shoulders suddenly hunched and the fast, thrumming slap of his hands over his own flesh stuttered. Oh, mon Dieu, oh, God! Keith felt all of his control slide free of the restraints he’d placed on it, and, as Javier clenched around him, helpless in the throes of his own orgasm, Keith threw back his head and thrust madly forward, filling Javier with further hot spurts of fluid with every movement. Their cries, and the slap of their bodies meeting and pulling back crashed together against the walls of the silent house until Keith leaned against Javier’s back, his body relaxing into a state of near somnolence in its satiation. He remained curled against Javier’s broad body for some time, relishing the feel of their forms melded together, but it was not long before he became aware of his surroundings once more. As comfortable as I am, he is not safe here. Even if those

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windows are shuttered, who will defend us if someone should walk in upon us by day? I will not be awake long past the time when he sleeps, I do not think. “Mm,” Javier protested as Keith pulled away. Even that single syllable sounded satisfied, Keith thought, and smiled with secret pleasure. “Come,” he prodded gently, laughing when Javier shook his head and lowered himself to his forearms. “As fetching a sight as you are in that position, my Javier, those windows are not nearly covered well enough to suit my purposes for the day. Besides, I refuse to sleep on a floor with you when there is a very comfortable bed waiting for us just down the street.” “Mm?” Javier glanced up, blinking. “Frenchman, if you can move again so soon after what we have just done, then you were doing something incorrectly.” Keith raised a brow and pulled Javier against his chest. Electing not to rise to Javier’s bait, he merely shook his head and tucked his chin gently atop Javier’s head. Words built behind his lips, words that he knew Javier was not ready to hear, despite have tasted of their secret as they lay within Keith’s blood, so he remained quiet, wishing simply to hold Javier close for as long as the Spaniard would allow it. Eventually, Javier did shove at the constriction of his embrace. “You said something about a bed, Keith. Take me there.” Keith’s eyes roved appraisingly over Javier’s golden nudity as he rose and stepped over to the jumbled pile of their discarded clothing. “Are you growing weary already?” Instinctively, he glanced towards the windows which faced east; though he could see no stars to define the true lateness of the hour, the horizon was still reassuringly dark. Javier flashed a wicked grin over his shoulder as he pulled on his breeches. “No. I want to try out that bed of yours with these new senses you’ve given me.” He let his eyes drift slowly over Keith’s form, raising a sardonic brow. “Besides that, you’re more likely to scream my name if I make you feel safe first. I don’t like distracted lovers.” Keith burst into warm laughter. “You wretch – you know as well as I do that it was you who was the distracted one.” “And you know why,” Javier replied quietly, disappearing into the fabric of his linen undershirt. Upon re-emerging, he didn’t immediately meet Keith’s eyes, studying instead the gritty and filthy forms of their doublets and collars. “These are --.”

324 “No one will see us, as swiftly as we can move,” Keith assured him. “Amaroq will launder everything when we return.” Javier acknowledged his words with a brief nod, laying the discarded clothing over one arm after stepping into his boots. He took a deep breath before forcing his eyes to meet Keith’s. “When will we go to see Ofelia?” By dawn, she’ll know I’m not there any longer, if she hasn’t woken already. Can we get to the monastery in time?” Keith considered it. Having no working knowledge of the exact location of the abbey, he was forced to work from what little he had gleaned from others about the home of the monks, and he shrugged uncertainly. “I am not precisely sure – how long did it take you to come here?” Javier opened his mouth to answer and then shook his head. “I … I don’t know, either,” he admitted. “I know that we left just after breaking our fast the first morning, and that we stopped at the abbey perhaps three hours after noontide, but we were in a carriage then and could not move quickly.” “Marlon’s ride probably took him the better part of two hours,” Keith mused, slipping his clothing on as he considered matters. “He rode as hard as he could push his horse, judging by the look of him earlier. We could probably make that distance within an hour.” He settled his shirt and bent to fasten his boots. Javier stared. “An hour?” Keith glanced eastward again. “Oui, and I would say we have perhaps three at our disposal before dawn. I do not wish to sleep within the confines of either a grave or the abbey cellar today, however, so I would suggest that we wait until tomorrow night.” Javier shook his head. “I cannot believe that we could move so quickly, and yet, it will not be fast enough. Keith, I have to see her tonight – she won’t rest until I’ve been found, and that might bring danger to you, if we have to make up some lie about how you cured me in front of an entire search party.” “Mm.” Keith glanced around the room uncertainly, his eyes drifting over everything and nothing as he pursued his thoughts. Perhaps this dalliance of ours was a terrible idea, but I could not have waited for him another moment – and I do not think he could have waited, either. Not that it matters. “Amaroq could get to her before dawn, I am sure …” Keith began, but Javier cut him off.

325 “Are you insane? I’m not letting that dog of yours anywhere near Ofelia! It will be bad enough once she has to live with him, but before she knows what he is? And how do I know he wouldn’t eat her? You have only his word that he wouldn’t harm her – what good is that? He is not a man – he is an animal! No – you send that dog anywhere near her, and I’ll go myself to fetch her – and I’ll get there in time to make sure there’s a knife point with his name on it waiting for him when he arrives.” Javier took in a breath as if to say more, but Keith interrupted him. “Everything else he has done for you and I tonight placed temporarily aside, Javier, Amaroq is not an animal. He takes the shape of an animal, but he is not one.” Keith moved closed and took Javier’s face between his hands, forcing the younger vampire to look up at him. When he continued speaking, satisfied that Javier’s attention was focused on him, his voice was very soft. “Amaroq would never, ever harm an innocent person, Javier. He’s not like a wild dog, prone to leaping for the jugular the moment the notion seizes him.” “You didn’t see him the night he came to my damned house,” Javier groused, pulling away from Keith’s touch and stalking to the same dark-paneled cabinet from which he had earlier drawn his flint and steel. “He was staring in my damned window – at my wife, I might add – when he broke a pot on the wall and it woke me. I threw a knife at him and missed by a couple of inches. He looked … wild. The stupid beast scared my wife into fits for days,” he muttered, rummaging in one of the drawers. Keith prayed that the house was dim enough so that Javier could not see the growing pallour on his face, and swallowed hard before he spoke. “He was probably just curious to see where you lived. He wouldn’t have hurt either one of you.” I would not have hurt either of you – not if I could have helped it. Once more, he found himself wishing he knew how to express the darkest of his secrets to his fledgling, even while the rest of him - the rational part – told him that sharing such a thing with Javier now – and perhaps ever – could only result in the suicide of their burgeoning relationship. Javier’s only response was a rude sound as he stalked into the darkness of the rest of the house, leaving Keith without even the guttering of the single candle for company.

Pacing

nervously, Keith turned his head to listen to the fading sound of his fledgling’s footsteps, not daring to follow him through the silent halls of his own home.

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Presently, Javier returned, carrying a piece of fine vellum pinched between his thumb and index fingers at either end of the thin sheet. Setting it down on the smooth surface of a sideboard, he vanished once more into the darkness, obviously unconcerned about Keith’s presence near the missive. When he returned with a pair of candles, he raised a brow at the sight of the elder vampire still standing near one of the windows, where his tense movements had brought him. “Did you read it?” Keith turned, startled, and watched as Javier carefully held the letter over the twin flames, allowing the bit of heat they provided to aid in drying the ink, before he turned to rummage in the cabinet once more. “No,” Keith replied quietly. “Why would I?” Javier chuckled. “If our current situation was reversed, and you were writing a letter to your wife, I’d steal the first opportunity I had to make sure you weren’t telling her to bring the Guard down on our heads after dawn.” When Keith blinked in surprise, Javier threw back his head and laughed, even while he carelessly sanded the scatter of words on the page before him. “You have too much trust in you, you know that? It’s no wonder that hunter got in your home, if your servants take their examples from you.” Keith sighed. “I don’t need to read the private words between a man and his wife, Javier, to know that the last thing on your mind is the idea of bringing the Guards down on both of us. I trust you because I …” He paused, watching Javier’s face close against the words he was sure were about to come tumbling free of Keith’s tongue, and smiled faintly. “Because I know you, Javier Alvares Estas. And I know you would never participate in such an underhanded scheme. You might cheat at cards, but you don’t cheat when people’s lives are on the gaming table.” Slowly, Javier’s face relaxed into an expression which hinted at teasing. “No,” he agreed affably. “But then, my parents brought me up as a Spaniard, not a Frenchman.” Keith snorted. “You are a wretch. Would you like me to have Marlon send that? If he leaves now, he should make the abbey just after sunrise.” Javier nodded and folded the letter, tucking it into the sleeve of his shirt as he picked up his discarded clothing. “Marlon’s a fine choice. Ofelia knows him and she trusts him. Will he … say anything indiscreet?”

327 Keith’s smile was very faint. “I should think he will not. Given his recent return into my household, I do not think he will wish to upset the fragile peace which has descended between us.” Javier frowned for a moment, leading Keith out of the house and stealing quietly along the drive leading to the high walls. When he spoke, they were clear of the gate, which Keith had opened as noiselessly as possible, but his voice was still very soft. “How much did he steal from you that night?” “Marlon? Oh, it is not how much, but that he did it at all,” Keith replied calmly. “In total, he drank about a cask’s worth, over a short period of time.” Javier grunted. “If one of my servants got caught drinking my family’s wine, whether they took one glass or ten, I’d turn them into the magistrate before they knew what to do with themselves.” Keith turned and gazed down at Javier, one eyebrow rising. “So why did you take him in that night? I assume, since he knew of your illness, that he was under your employment for some time. Which means you not only saved his life that night, but his livelihood as well. Why?” Javier shrugged. “Because you … were not yourself that night.” And if I ask him why he was not, he will not tell me. I can see it in his eyes. I will find out, Keith. You cannot hide anything from me now. But you can have your secrets – for now. “If you had been, you wouldn’t have done that to him – or me,” he added pointedly. Keith sighed and ran a hand over his face as though to wipe away the patina of weariness which draped itself there. “No – I was not myself that night, and for my words and actions towards both of you, I offer apologies. Perhaps, someday, I will explain why, but not tonight. We have much to do before you sleep.” “Such as sending this,” Javier agreed, indicating the letter he carried carefully on his person. “Hopefully, Marlon is as fine a rider as you say, and can get there before dawn, before she wakes.” “He got here in time to warn me of your arrival,” Keith replied. “He simply couldn’t find me within the city before you came to me.” Javier shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as it doesn’t bring half the city looking for me once dawn breaks.” Companionably, he moved with Keith across the square and down the winding

328 path to Keith’s borrowed home, turning swiftly only as the sound of a heartbeat met his sharpened senses. He might have bared his teeth and sprung at the owner of the sound, but Keith hailed the shadow coming towards them before he could. “Marlon.” “Master?” The breathless tone in the swarthy man’s voice could have been surprise, Javier thought, or perhaps exertion. As the human drew closer, he realized he could smell the sweat gathered on Marlon’s skin, and the fragrant scent of the woodchips scattered over his clothing. He had been chopping firewood, Javier supposed; still amazed by the sheer amount of knowledge he could process within seconds about anyone they met, he glanced at Keith as he spoke to his manservant, wondering when all of this became as commonplace as sitting down to luncheon had once been for Javier. Still engaged in this line of thought, he started when he realized both men were watching him expectantly, and he realized he had missed most of their conversation. He nodded at Marlon, clearing his throat. “Take this to Ofelia as soon as you can – if you get there before she wakes, make sure it’s the first thing she reads, but don’t disturb her unnecessarily. Once she’s read it, I want you to escort her back to the city. The rest of the household can come back once we send word for them. Make sure she knows that.” Marlon dipped his head in acknowledgement and took the letter, tucking it away, but paused as his fingers encountered a foreign object. Withdrawing it, he blinked at the little bottle in his usual manner before recalling the exquisite stranger in the stable. “Master!” Both Keith and Javier, having grown used to being hailed in such a manner, turned their heads, but Marlon was holding the small object out to Keith. “Master, this was given to me for you. At least, I think it is for you. A woman accosted me while I was leaving – and, Don Estas, I returned Abran to your stables and rubbed him down after our ride. He was feeding when I left him,” he added before turning back to Keith once more. Javier nodded in thanks, attempting to curb his impatience. The man obviously thought the delivery of that tiny vessel was of some importance to Keith, and after what he had tried to do for both of them tonight, Javier wasn’t going to say a word against the man. Keith was frowning.

“Did you know the woman, Marlon?” He could taste Javier’s

growing eagerness for Marlon to be on his way, but something in the way the moonlight struck the contents of the glass vial made him curious.

329 Marlon shook his shaggy head. “No, Master – but she thought she knew you. She wanted to know if your name was Arbois or Dante.” Keith rocked back, Javier noticed, as though the man had slapped him instead of simply uttering a couple of names. He frowned as Keith struggled for a moment to speak, his scowl deepening at the faint catch he detected in the older vampire’s voice when he finally managed to do so. “And – and what did you tell her?” Marlon shook his head again, puzzlement crowding his homely features. “I told her I knew no one by that name, and she tossed me this. She said that if you were not the one she sought, she would be out no more than a few drops of her blood, and then she vanished. I think she was angry with me for not telling her what she wished to know – I would not identify you, Master, not to … not to someone I do not know, even if she …” He shrugged helplessly, and Javier was the one to rescue him. “Even if she was like we are?” He grinned at Keith’s startled expression. “Spaniards use the brains they were given, Frenchman. How many vampires are there around here?” Keith shrugged and slid a sidelong glance in Marlon’s direction which spoke to Javier of secrets the older vampire was not comfortable revealing in front of his human servants. “That, I cannot tell you without searching them out. But we keep to ourselves for the most part. Thank you, Marlon, for your circumspection.” He slid the bottle into one of the small pocket-like pouches which adorned his belt. Javier nodded at Marlon. “Go, and bring my wife safely home.” Marlon frowned. “You would have me bring her back to your estate, Don Estas? I thought you would –.” “Yes,” Javier interrupted. “Bring her home. Should the two of you arrive before … before we are ready, simply tell her that I will arrive as soon as I can. Go.” He watched Marlon vanish around to the back of the house, and frowned in Keith’s direction. “Where is he going?” “Amaroq found a horse for him,” Keith replied distractedly. “He didn’t want to risk either Adan or Abran, considering the amount of riding that both animals have done tonight, and your Arabian is too precious, surely. So Amaroq hired one of the ostler’s horses.” Javier made a rude noise. “That man skinned you of your money. His prices are disgusting, and his horseflesh makes burros look swift.”

330 Keith smiled faintly. “I’m sure Amaroq did not allow himself to be treated so poorly. Come.” He led Javier up the drive into the yawning doors of his home; before Javier even had time to look around at the half-familiar sights, he was ascending the stairs and Keith, already down the hall, was opening the door to the bedroom there. When Javier entered, Keith’s back was to him, and he was examining the object Marlon had given him. Removing the delicate stopper, he inhaled gently near the lip of the bottle, and then cautiously extended his tongue when no scent was forthcoming. “How do you know that isn’t poison?” Javier asked, leaning against the doorway to watch. Keith shrugged in answer. “If it is, I do not think it will do much to me. I have not ingested poison in quite a while, however, so I cannot tell you for certain. Are you so familiar with the tools of assassination, then?” Javier grunted. “No. It just looks like something my wife keeps in the house to scare away the rats. The shape of the bottle reminded me.” Keith tapped the contents gently against his lips, and Javier found he could not watch Keith licking the droplets away, for the sight of it highlighted the presence of the comfortable bed which lay within this room, and made him think of the myriad of activities they could be doing within it – none of which involved sleeping. Uncomfortably, he glanced away. “Why are you doing that?” Keith stared off at nothing for a moment, his eyes somehow blank and empty, as if he was using them not to gaze upon the world around him but instead upon some other place which lay at an impossible distance from his bedroom. At last, he shook his head and set the little bottle aside. “I assume the woman wished something of me, but I am afraid I do not know her. I believe she has me mistaken for … someone else.” He shifted his eyes away when he said the words, and Javier pounced, one brow rising. “Who else could she think you are? Not many men around here look like you.” Javier crossed his arms, watching as Keith fingered the bottle he had set down. He smiled. “Non, you are right. I … My twin brother is … as I am,” he replied. “I have not spoken to him in a very long time. It is easy to mistake us, I suppose, and she must have thought I was him.”

331 “But she never saw you,” Javier pointed out, narrowing his eyes. “How could she mistake you when the only person she saw was --?” He turned and stared at the closed chamber door. “Did she bite him?” Keith’s smile widened approvingly. “Very good, Javier – but non. If she did, she left no evidence of it. Non, there are more ways for a vampire to gather information about someone, especially from a human, who is defenceless against us. I imagine that she did as I have impolitely done to you a handful of times – she read Marlon’s mind and saw me – thinking I am my brother within its depths.” Javier snorted. “Marlon’s mind is not something I would consider to have much depth.” Keith raised a sardonic brow, but elected not to reply. He and Amaroq think the same about Marlon. I do not think either would care to know that, though. “Sit with me,” he invited instead, amused when Javier shook his head and pushed gently at the shuttered window. “I hate waiting,” the younger vampire groused, turning away from the portal and pacing. “When will it be dawn?” Keith allowed his eyes to roam over Javier’s form, avidly watching the ripple of his fledgling’s flesh as his muscles bunched and relaxed beneath his clothing. “Soon enough that it is not wise for you to exit this house. As it is, I think we will have to leave Spain after you explain things to your wife.” He studied his nails as Javier whipped around, hot words bubbling to his lips, and held up his fingers. “Non, hear me first. If you remain here with your wife, whether you bring her across the veil as a vampiress or not, things will change for you. You will not be seen by daylight, and do you not think that dangerous for both of you? Did you not have guests the very day the hunter came for me?” “Amaroq needs to keep his mouth shut,” Javier grumbled. “Si, I did.” He looked past Keith, and heaved a sigh. “I do not object to leaving Spain myself,” he admitted, lightening Keith’s heart with his words. “But so much change on Ofelia all at once …” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Life has already been hard enough for her.” Keith smiled gently and rose to gather Javier into his arms. “I think she will be glad merely to see that you are strong and well again, cari. And you are that. Let the rest come as it will. She will understand. Then – together – we can see the world.”

332 “The world …?” Javier questioned, turning again towards the shuttered window. He reached out and touched the wood which shielded him from the lightening sky outside, glancing back at Keith, who smiled to see the rising hopes and long-crushed dreams springing to light once more in Javier’s eyes. “Si,” Keith replied quietly, reaching out to touch Javier’s face. “There is much more in this world than the four corners of Spain – and if you – or Ofelia - wish to see all of it, then that is what we will do.” “How much of the world have you seen?” Javier’s voice was a mere whisper; he was breathless, Keith thought, with an excitement so infectious that the elder vampire felt himself responding in kind to it in a way he had not in nearly three centuries. “I have seen some of it – but even I have not lived long enough to see it all, Javier. The world, it changes every day. There is always something more to see – especially if there is someone with whom I can share it.” He drew Javier into his arms. “That, I think, is the crux of a vampiric existence.

To walk the world, to watch it change even while we ourselves are

unchanging – it is a wondrous thing, but much more so when there is someone with whom we can share it.” His eyes met Javier’s. “And if your wife wishes to share it with you, then I will share it with both of you.” Javier frowned. “I cannot ask you to do that, Keith. Ofelia – no. She … I think, like me, she wanted to see more of the world, but …” He shrugged uncomfortably. “She did not get that chance.” “Now, she will. Both of you will – you can experience it together,” Keith replied gently, but Javier shoved violently away at his words, dragging his trembling hands through his sunlit hair. His skin was still the deep bronze which spoke of the thousands of days he had spent in the summery light of Spain’s temperate climate, though Keith knew it would not remain that way forever. He will always be my golden warrior, though – my fierce, furious Javier, Keith thought. The whole of his soul was suffused with a sensation that was more than wanting, more than desire – it traveled deeply through the fibers of his body, penetrating every part of him. “Javier …” he began, but his fledgling raised one hand to still his words.

333 “I …” Javier shook his head, his mouth working around words that would not come. He swallowed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath which he exhaled as slowly as he had drawn it into his lungs. “My wife … I …” He pressed the palms of his hands against his face, digging their bases into his eyes. As he drew in breath to speak, Keith gently pulled his hands away, his soul aching at the heartbreak he saw reflecting in Javier’s verdant gaze. “Keith, it … Keith, I care for my wife. In my own way, I love Ofelia. But … it is not ... love. She does not make me feel the way you do. I … I want to share that eternity – to explore the world – with you. Not her. But I cannot abandon her … I can only damn myself for not being able to feel the way I should about the woman I married!” Again, Keith drew Javier to him, pressing his face against the folds of his linen shirt. Cloth whispered and he shivered as he felt Javier’s hands wind beneath to press against the cool expanse of his moonlit skin. “Javier – my Javier – it is not up to anyone to be the decider of who they will love. No person, human or vampire, could ever hope to command – to control – in whose arms they will fall prey to love’s bite. Someday, you will find a woman who captivates you as much as I have captivated you now – of that, I am very sure.” He smiled faintly as Javier glanced up, angry denials coming immediately to his lips. “You --” With a fingertip, Keith silenced him. “I do not know if I am as you are, as prone to enjoying the company of a woman’s bed as I do a man’s. I think I am not, but then – I do not know. For now, I have captured your heart, and for now, that is enough for me. I have forged a bond with you that is unlike anything I have ever experienced before, my Javier. Amaroq is my eldest and dearest friend, but there is something in you which defies explanation – something in your very heartbeat which called to me above the beats of an entire populace the night I entered this city. That call is impossible to ignore, and though our relationship will shift even as time ebbs around us, I will never, ever be able to forget the feel of your hands as they closed around my heart.” Javier managed a faint smile. “It was not your heart I was reaching for, you know. It was somewhere lower.” He snorted with laughter, but laid his head against Keith’s chest. “I … cannot explain what you create in me,” he admitted at last. “I have felt lust for people from the time I was an eleven year old boy. I lust for Ofelia. Her body excites me still. I think a lot of

334 people said that would change after our marriage – or, perhaps, after she lost the children – but …” He shook his head, and closed his eyes briefly; for a moment, Keith shared in his grief for the progeny he had never known and never would, but then Javier swallowed and pushed the thoughts back into the deep shadows of his mind. “But it never did. I have always enjoyed being with her – she is intelligent, and sees much more than the people around her think that she is capable of doing. And even you must admit that she is lovely.” “Oui,” Keith agreed. “She is lovely. But for me, she holds no more appeal than the portrait of her in your home – she is very beautiful to admire, but does her comeliness reach into my soul and speak to me? Non.” “That is what I mean,” Javier whispered, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. “It does not speak to me, either. I married her because when I did, she was carrying our child. I had to provide a name and a home and a place in the world for this life I had helped create. Ofelia … She is beautiful, gentle, intelligent … but I do not love her. I do not think I ever did.” “Javier, you have committed no crime …” Keith murmured. “You are powerless against love’s whims – or its lack of them. It is not your fault. And you have said that she has a similar manner of thinking towards you, haven’t you? You have sheltered her, provided for her, and cherished her to the best of your ability. When I offered you the choice to enter my arms and take your place at my side while we explored this new world together, your first thought was that you could not leave her behind.” “How is that fair to you?” Javier burst out, raising his hands to push at Keith’s chest. The elder vampire held him fast. “Javier, I strode into your world – a place that, though it may not have been warm with mutual love, was at least tranquil and pleasant – and tore down every wall I could find. I have frightened you, needled you, altered you so completely that it amazes me how quickly you have responded to all of the changes I have brought down upon you – and your thoughts are on the unfairness of my situation?’ Keith shook his head wonderingly and grasped Javier’s hands in his. “Javier, you do not love the girl. You may not even love me.” He found that if he said the words swiftly, they had less time to wound his heart. “But you have given me this chance to love you. I cannot make you love me – any more than your wife could make you love her, if that was her design. It is impossible.”

335 Javier was silent for some time, staring down at their intertwined hands. “I have never felt the things which you make me feel about anyone. I know I am young,” he added before Keith could reply, “and I know I have not seen as many years as you have. But if something called to you that night … It was calling me, too. The difference is - you know how to listen.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, and Keith could see the weariness growing at the corners of Javier’s eyes. Dawn was coming – or perhaps already had – and it would not be long before Javier would not be able to resist the siren’s lullaby call. Javier drew in another deep breath and tipped his head back to look up at Keith. “I love you,” he said simply. “I love you, Keith. I know I am young and have not seen the world, but …” Keith touched Javier’s lips gently with his own to silence him, and left them there as he drew the golden vampire into his arms. Still locked in that same embrace, he turned and carried him to the bed, and it was only in order to pull back the coverlets and slowly remove Javier’s damp linen shirt and gritty breeches that he finally released Javier’s mouth from his kiss. Disrobing swiftly and leaving the clothing where it fell, he slipped under the soft linen sheets and wrapped his body around Javier’s, curling him into the crook that his right shoulder created. “We will see the world together,” Keith whispered, his breath tickling the curling hairs that pressed damply to Javier’s brow. “But it will change nothing about how I feel for you, Javier Estas.” “I love you,” Javier murmured sleepily, and Keith chuckled softly despite the emotions he felt welling in his dusky eyes, because Javier’s tone had been almost pugnacious in its declaration. “The world can go hang.” Smiling, Keith listened to the spaces between Javier’s breaths. They were widening, the silences between each exhalation and new inhalation growing longer. At last, with a peculiar little catch in his throat, Keith heard the sound for which he’d been waiting. He leaned over the bulk of his own shoulder, careful not to stir the man who lay against it, and kissed him lightly, tasting, as he did so, the last breath of Javier’s first night of vampiric existence. It whispered against his face and, though Keith waited, another one did not follow its escape into the quiet atmosphere of their bedroom. “I love you, too, Javier Estas,” Keith murmured into the silence, closing his dusky, silver edged eyes. “I love you, too.”

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Chapter Twenty It was his signature and his curiously leaned letters, formed by the odd tilt of Javier’s left hand as he held the quill, but there was something within the words of the letter which Ofelia Estas held in her hand which suggested of something … more, something which she could not quite place as she sat on the edge of her very empty borrowed bed, from which her dying husband had somehow crept without so much as stirring her. Marlon had given her the letter not a quarter of an hour before, and she had been staring at it ever since. Upon her first reading of the missive, her heart had tangled itself somewhere between her mouth and throat at the thought that, in the hours which had ensued since its creation, Javier – her Javi! – may already have succumbed to the illness which appeared to be eating him from the inside, but as she’d given word to the servants to prepare her clothes, she’d read the letter a second time, and then a third, noticing … something. She knew not what it was, but its very presence was enough to give rise to a small bloom of hope in her breast. “Doña,” Iglesia murmured quietly as she brushed and plaited Ofelia’s long, tumbling locks, “forgive me, for it is not my place to ask, but … where is Don Estas?” Ofelia compressed her lips into a tight line, folding the sheet of vellum more tightly against her side. “It is not your place,” she agreed quietly, and let silence hang between them for a few seconds in order to reprimand the girl. At last, though, she could deny Iglesia no longer, and sighed. “Don Estas has gone home. Marlon accompanied him late last night. I was to stay behind until morning and then follow him.” The Don, then he is really dying! Tears pricked at Iglesia’s eyes that were swiftly blinked away when her mistress turned to her. “Of course, doña,” she replied, hoping the quaver in her voice would be overlooked. For an instant, something trembled in Ofelia’s dark gaze and Iglesia was nearly privy to all of the fears and tensions bowing her mistress’ shoulders, but Marlon’s blunt-fingered knock startled them both into turning, and the moment passed. “Doña Estas?” He questioned in his quiet French accent. Iglesia had been unsure of how to approach Marlon since his strange inclusion in this household – he had simply shown up one morning, and the master had said he would take over the gardening duties on the side and front

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gardens of the house. He had not been formally introduced to the household, as she had during her first days with the Estas family, and he always seemed to keep to himself. The master, before he had become very ill, Iglesia recalled, had watched over Marlon at his work in the gardens on the days that he had been home, and his expression had always been one of quiet despair, as though the unobtrusively mysterious Frenchman’s presence was terribly paining for him. Now, she studied him with intensity, wondering what part he was playing in all of this. She chewed her lip and spoke up before Ofelia could reply to Marlon. “Perdon, Doña?” “Si, Iglesia?” Ofelia glanced back at her servant expressionlessly. “Do you want us to … to follow you? To come with you?” Ofelia’s eyes closed briefly in a terribly telling expression of the strain under which she was operating, and she sighed. “No, Iglesia. I will be fine. Marlon will protect me and see to my needs until … until I send word. Everything has already been arranged with the monks here. You will spend your time in services. I will send word before the end of the week is out, and preparations will be made then for … for the return of the household. Please leave me. Attend to your prayers, Iglesia, and pray for your master to be well again.” Iglesia nodded, though she knew that if her mistress was returning to her husband’s side instead of bringing him back here to continue their journey, it was too late for any such thing. “I will, Doña. I promise.” Ofelia smiled her thanks, and it was that smile, so lost and terribly sad, which tore down the last of Iglesia’s resolve not to weep in front of her. Choking on a sob, she fled the room, pushing past Marlon as he timidly raised his hand to announce his presence anew. Ofelia turned her face away from him. “I am ready, Marlon.” Beneath her plain black dress, she wore – for the first time in her life – a pair of her husband’s riding breeches. She knew he would see them as he assisted her to mount her horse, but she found that she did not care. The household’s servants would be busy elsewhere, and she did not mind if this French thief saw that she had stolen and altered a pair of her husband’s trousers so that their ride back to the city could be made in some manner of swiftness. She strode out into the sunlight, glad that Iglesia had thought to plait her sable hair into a functional, severe braid. To further compound the indecency of her wardrobe, she had foregone any sort of head covering or veil, wishing for nothing which had frills or useless bits of frippery to fly into her face. As she moved, she felt a passing but

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wicked sort of pleasure at the tight embrace of the cloth which wrapped her legs and waist in its embrace beneath the stark folds of her simple linen dress. Exiting the monastery, she made her way to the stables immediately, ignoring the protests of the sleepy-eyed monk who tended the horses. Marlon hurried ahead of her, attempting to placate the man in his clumsy Spanish over his shoulder as he did. When she stepped into the cool dimness of the stables, she saw that the horse on which Marlon had ridden to reach the abbey with the letter her husband had penned was standing quietly in the center, already saddled. She considered it for a moment; there would be less commotion if she simply allowed Marlon to sit her on the animal and direct the horse’s motion himself, but she also knew that he would wish to spare her some of the rigors of travel, and she was in no mood to dally. “May I borrow this horse, Brother?” She asked respectfully, pointing at a beautifully shod Lipizzaner stallion whose coat shone with similar markings to the Arabian male her Javi had brought home for her. She blinked away tears at the memory of his face and how he had fairly danced with delight despite the shadows that had been lurking in his eyes even then, and focused on the breathless young monk. “He shall be returned to you in perfect health, I assure you. My husband is Don Estas – he buys much of your horseflesh for his own stable.” “Doña Estas, he is a stallion and …” He glanced uncertainly at Marlon. “You would not rather ride him, señor?” Marlon shook his head. “The Doña is a competent rider, señor. She rides well - better than most men I have seen. Please saddle the horse for her.” “Give this to the abbot,” Ofelia added, pulling a small but weighty coin-purse from the sash at her waist. “In thanks for his generosity. I will send word to him in three days’ time.” She pushed it into the Brother’s hand before moving over to the stallion and whickering softly at him. The horse snuffled her fingers, seeking a treat, and the two men saw the brief brilliance of Ofelia’s smile as she produced a slice of custard apple from a side pouch of her dress. She turned back expectantly. “His tack, please, Brother? I assure you that all will be returned undamaged. But please, hurry!” Stammering, the hapless young man did as he was bid, returning laden with tack which, Marlon saw, Ofelia actually managed to arrange on the horse faster than the stable-hand did. Once the horse was led out into the sunshine, and Marlon had reached for her hand to assist her

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into the saddle, she turned and smiled at the young man, who was still stammering helpless warnings in Spanish about the horse tended to take his head and that it could be dangerous for the Doña. She reached out and touched his shoulder, then made the sign of the cross. “God will protect me, or He will call me home,” she said simply. “Who am I to defy the Will of God?” In answer, her horse danced eagerly, and the stable boy shied back. Swiftly, Marlon boosted her into the saddle, and Ofelia would have laughed at the startlement on his face when he felt the breeches beneath her skirts if worry had not already gnawed its way through her soul and made such things impossible. When the stable boy had drawn back into the safety of the barn, she lowered her feet properly into the stirrups and pushed up her skirts, revealing the lengths of her scandalously clad legs. “Hurry, Marlon,” she urged. “Before the abbot comes! I do not know what he would say if he saw me dressed so, and I have no desire to find out. Please, I want to reach Javi as soon as we can!” Marlon nodded and threw himself into his saddle only to yank the reins hard in surprise as Ofelia thundered past him, bent over her swift stallion’s neck as though she were trying to become one with the animal. Hurriedly, he put his boots into his horse’s sides in order to keep her in his line of sight. He would be hard-pressed, he found, to continue doing so on this journey which he had made much more slowly by comparison, leery of laming his horse on some hidden obstacle. But now, the sun was pouring brightly over the fields and roads, reflecting sharply off the bright tack of Ofelia’s horse and throwing strands of firelit gold into the sable darkness of her hair. Marlon bent low and urged his horse to catch up, seeing that Ofelia had already put a goodly bit of distance between them. Oh, Javi, why did you leave? Ofelia cried as she wrapped her knees up and bent forward a little more over the horse’s neck. Trusting the horse, she closed her eyes in prayer, clasping her hands until the nails bit into her knuckles and made them bleed. Please, Heavenly Father – I know I am a sinner. I know I am not worthy of the man whom You, in Your Grace, call home to You because You cannot live without his light any longer. If I had a choice in this, even though I know it is selfish, and that I am not worthy of You because of it, I would gladly keep him here with me forever. But if this is Your Will, please let me reach him so that I may say goodbye! Please!

341 It had been two hours past dawn when Marlon’s discreet knock had first woken her, and only moments after that when she had discovered Javier’s absence from their bed. It had taken the better part of two hours to get everything settled with the servants – Ofelia had come close to screaming at the delay. Though Marlon, trying in his own sweet way to ease her worries, had said that Javier was as well as could be expected and was resting comfortably with a friend, so much time had slipped away from her! The sun had arched its way well across the sky before they had reached the gates of the city, and had begun to inch towards its cloudy bed before her horse’s weary hooves were clattering over the cobblestoned road leading into the city. “Where is he staying?” she demanded of Marlon as soon as she had dismounted on the lane which led to the gates of their home. “He is not in our home, surely.” “Non – non,” he hastened to assure her, sliding wearily from his own animal and beginning to walk the tired horse over to a trough of water across the street. Ofelia glanced in the direction of the Estas house and shook her head. “This way.” She fumbled for the pouch at her side, her fingers cramped from the long ride, and limped over to the gate once she had found the heavy key. The locks slid back with an ominous, empty sound which brought tears of exhaustion to her eyes, and then she was pushing at the heavy metal portals with all of her strength. Marlon hurried over to help, and soon they were within the silent expanse of the Estas family grounds. “Gil!” She called, and Marlon heard a graceless crash come from the direction of the stables. He winced, catching sight of a similar expression on Ofelia’s face as he did, and had to bite his knuckle to hide a smile despite the blanket of weariness which lay over every inch of his body. A moment later, the stable-hand’s bushy head appeared around the stable door, his hands fumbling defensively around a pitchfork still cluttered with hay and manure. “Doña! Where … you … you have come back! Where … where is the Don? Have the brothers at the abbey made him well again yet?” “No, Gil,” she replied quietly, her voice gentle. “No, not yet.” She looked away from him as his face fell, then directed his attention to the two horses she and Marlon still held. “Please, Gil – I need you to give these two the same attention you would give Adan and Abran, were they here.”

342 “But Doña, they are here! Adan, he was nuzzling me awake this morning because he was hungry, and Abran, he was out here in the yard when I got up! They are like magic, these horses! They keep appearing out of the very air!” Ofelia didn’t understand what the boy meant by that, though she understood that Marlon and Javier had each ridden one or the other on their separate trips back from the abbey. “It is the Will of God, Gil,” she murmured quietly. “Please – see to these two horses.” “Of course, Doña, right away!” He came forward and extended his fingers to both animals, letting them sniff him and crooning to them as though they were fretful children. He was still doing so as Ofelia led Marlon out of the grounds on the same path they’d taken. She walked away from her marriage home in silence, only speaking once they had reached the shade of a relatively quiet tree-lined lane that was heavy with the sweet scent of oranges. “Where is he, Marlon? I want to see my husband.” Reflexively, he glanced towards the sky. “I … I am afraid …” “Take me to him, Marlon. I must see him.” Her tone brooked no argument; it held, he realized, that same, quiet note of barely controlled emotion that Keith’s had once held. Stealing a glance at her eyes, he saw that her face trembled with the strain of holding back her tears, and awkwardly, he patted her arm. “Si, Doña. I will take you to him. It is this way.” Briefly, Ofelia covered her face with her hands, but when she lowered them, her eyes were dry and her mouth was set. She took his arm without hesitation as he led her down the lane towards the shaded, tree-draped mansion where, unbeknownst to her, her husband dreamed away the last fragments of the day in the embrace of a vampire, and prepared herself to say goodbye. She was led to a fine house that had, she thought, been commissioned by a German noble of some wealth when she and Javier had first been married, but when he had gone traveling with his wife, the home had stood empty for some time. She had heard, of course, the various rumours which surrounded the mysterious young Frenchman who had come to stay there in the last halfyear, but Ofelia had long since learned not to take stock in things which only the idle enjoy repeating. After all, what man keeps a wolf for a servant? But something about the stories niggled at her until she reached back into her memories and matched the tales to a face. Of course! He came to me when Javi got himself bashed on the head during that duel! He had

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come to her home completely unannounced, insisting that he meet with her to appraise her on the state of her husband’s continued good health. Despite the fact that he had been utterly polite – and, though she would only admit this to herself, more urbane a gentleman than even her husband – she had not liked the young French man. There had been something about his eyes, she remembered, shivering despite the warmth of the sunlight which splashed down on the garden path. He had been excellently dressed and was obviously from a family of some wealth, but … But he looked at me as though he could see into my soul and steal it away in the night if he wanted to, she thought, wrapping her arms around herself and hoping that she would not have to meet him here today. She would have to see him at some point in time, of course, for she had to thank him for taking Javier in after his reckless decision to flee back home. For a moment, she allowed her mind to entertain where her husband might have been found by this young gentleman. Perhaps he was out for a stroll and saw my Javi collapsed by the gates of our house or … perhaps he was near the gates of the city, having supper at the Inn, and someone called for a doctor when they saw how sick Javi was, and he heard the cries … Oh, my Javi, my Javi, why did you leave? She might have had to endure more of her imagination’s cruel vistas if a servant-girl hadn’t come around the corner of the house just then and flung herself towards Marlon with a happy little cry. Startled, Ofelia stood back and, quickly averting her eyes when she saw the couple embrace in a far more personal manner than good friends might, she caught a slight movement at one of the windows on the upper floor of the stately home. Javi? Ofelia thought, her heart swelling with hope. Javi, is that you? She didn’t see how it could be, not as ill as he’d been when he left, but if his bed was near to the window, perhaps he had heard the girl’s outcry and, reaching for the curtain, had seen her standing down here. “Please,” she pleaded in the direction of the young couple. “I need to see my husband …” The sharp sound of the bolt on the front portal as it drew back and the door opened made all three of them jump. A man stood within the shadow of the recessed front door, flinching back from the glint of the sunlight as it reflected its dying western light off of the key at Ofelia’s belt and the dagger Marlon wore on his belt.

344 Ofelia’s hands flew up to her mouth to stifle a cry of dismay. It is the man! Oh, sweet God, he is here! Narrowing his dusky eyes against the fading glare of the sun as it sank behind the house, Keith had never been more thankful that his house’s front entrance faced almost completely east, and that its recessed doorway gave him more than ample room to hide away from the bright glare. No sunlight fell upon his skin this way, but he was acutely aware of the sun’s presence still in the sky and he wished to be inside as soon as possible. “Please, come in, Doña Estas. Linette, please return to your duties. Marlon, escort the Doña inside, please, to the parlour, and then see about finding her something with which to refresh herself.” He shrank back as they approached, Ofelia noticed, but she did not think the retreat had come about because of their presence. She glanced back over her shoulder at the bronzed light of the setting sun as it pooled over the lawn, and thought it might be the light of which the tall man was so wary. Such an impression was further cemented when she found that, though the house’s shadows were swiftly being erased by the light of more candles and torches than she herself had ever owned over the course of her lifetime, the windows remained as they had been upon her approach to the house – shuttered and curtained tightly against any flicker of outside light. As Marlon led her to the room set aside for her use, she glanced furtively around, looking for any sign of her husband. She thought she caught sight of his riding cloak, with which he had absconded upon leaving the abbey, hanging on a rack near to the door, but the sight which assured her heart that, whether alive or dead, he still lay within these premises, was not cloth but three half-crushed blossoms. They had been carefully swept up and laid on a table near the staircase rather than placed gently into a vase after being picked from one of the gardens outside; had Ofelia been anyone else, she might have decided it was that oddity which had directed the line of her gaze towards them, but she knew as well as any servant the hallmark of what she privately termed ‘distracted cleaning’. These blooms – they were a favourite of Javier’s, and he was always tucking them into folds of his clothing or snagging them from people’s gardens. Ofelia knew without having to be told that a maid – perhaps even the girl who had so amorously greeted Marlon’s return – had been in the process of sweeping the floor when she had been called to some other duty and, not wishing to leave the pretty little flowers where they lay, had scooped them up and laid them where they

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now rested before darting off to fulfill whatever new task was being set upon her. Most probably, the girl had intended to set them in a vase somewhere so as to avoid any further bruising to the delicate petals. They were hardy little flowers, Ofelia knew, resistant to the long dry spells which their country’s climate forced its fauna to endure, and she thought that Javier’s love for them probably came about because of that very quality. Javier was attracted to strength and beauty, and these flowers, she thought, briefly touching one of the fragrant blooms in passing as Marlon pushed open the door to the parlour, embodied those two things more than she herself ever could. As he settled her gently into a chair, she smiled wearily at him and touched one of his hands, as filthy as her own from their hard day’s ride, in thanks. “You were good to our family, Marlon,” she murmured. “I thank you in my Javier’s place, since he will not be able to do so.” It is well, Keith thought as he entered the room, that I came in when I did. For he had seen Marlon’s guilty twitch at the sound of Ofelia’s words, and knew that Javier’s wife had seen the man’s movement as well. He did not know if she could fathom the meaning behind Marlon’s surprise, but he knew that he would have to intervene to avoid the possibility of Marlon being forced to answer questions which had neither truthful nor satisfactory answers. “Doña Estas,” he announced in his smooth, quiet voice, bowing slightly in her direction. Behind him, Linette scurried about with a tray of sweet wine and a various selection of little finger foods, most of which Keith couldn’t even identify. Ofelia seemed pleased, however, rather than puzzled, so he relaxed slightly. “Please,” he encouraged, “refresh yourself and rest from your hard travels. I take it that you had no delay?” Ofelia regarded Keith for a moment as he cautiously moved across the room and took a seat across from her. He is moving strangely – not slowly, but not quickly, either; it is as though he must concentrate on every step. There is something else happening here, something beyond my Javi’s illness. How did he come to know this man? How did this man come to take him within his home? She had noted, on the single occasion of their prior meeting, that he spoke excellent Spanish despite his obvious French heritage. Though I do not know, truly, how obvious that fact is – he is very tall for a Frenchman, and so pale! And those eyes – I have never seen anyone with such beautiful blue eyes … “Please,” she pleaded, nodding to the young servant girl as she poured

346 the wine and set out a handful of the tapas on a beautifully decorated serving dish, “your courtesies are much appreciated, but I wish very much to see – to see to my husband.” Keith inclined his head.

“For now, he sleeps, attended by my manservant.

He is

comfortable, mada – Señora, and I wish for you to have a chance to know what has occurred here while you rest.” I need to distract her quickly, for Javier was not boasting about the intelligence which lurks behind her great dark eyes, he thought, resisting the urge to glance at the curtained windows facing the street in order to check for the soft-footed shadows of evening. Javier would wake soon after nightfall, but he knew he had to keep Ofelia away until then. I had rather wished I could have woken with him, he mourned, but there is no help for it. Javier is right – the poor woman has been through quite enough. Ofelia took a swallow of wine more because she wished to show civility than out of any desire to quench her thirst, though she noted that the vintage was excellent – a French wine to compete well with any Spanish one which had ever graced their table. “All that matters to me is that my husband is being well cared for,” she insisted. Keith, if she’s being that much trouble, just overcome her. You know how. She’s not Marlon, and she is very tired besides – it won’t take much more than a whispered suggestion and she’ll sleep until night comes. Amaroq’s grouchy mental voice hailed him quietly from his place outside Keith’s chambers, where he guarded Javier’s sleeping form as assiduously he had looked out for Keith’s over the years. Just in time, Keith stopped himself from shaking his head in answer to Amaroq. I cannot – what more questions would she have upon waking if I did? I know I tread upon dangerous territory here, but I do not want to lie to her, and I daresay that Javier will not want me to, either. No, I will tell her what I can of the truth, and leave the rest to him. Has he stirred? Not once. I’ve stuck my nose in a couple of times in the last few minutes, and nothing. But the sun’s not gone yet. You probably have another half hour before he wakes. Thank you, Amaroq – please be careful of him. I do not wish for you to come to harm. The werewolf’s silent chuckle was wicked within Keith’s mind. It won’t be me coming to harm if he tries to bite me, and you know it. Let him try. I would rather he not, Amaroq, please. Simply be careful – you are both precious to me. “Your husband is receiving the best care I can give him, Doña Estas,” he assured quietly, hoping

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that not too much time had elapsed between her last words to him and his conversation with Amaroq. Some of her resolve crumbled at the gentleness within his voice and she found that, with a horror dulled by sheer exhaustion, she was going to cry in front of this strange man with his princely manners and mysterious handsomeness. “I …” Her lips trembled, but she could bring no more than that single syllable into the air between them before her vision was blurring and tears were lashing her cheeks. Keith’s heart ached at the sight of her distress. I cannot endure this, he thought. She is a barrier to what – to whom! - I truly desire, but I cannot stand here while her heart breaks and do nothing. He drew in a deep breath. “Senora – Doña Estas, I have a story to tell you that, I think, shall ease some of your suffering. I think it will confuse you – and it may even frighten you – but it will calm your pain. That, I can promise.” He rose from his seat and came to her side, kneeling to diminish the great difference of height which otherwise lay between them, shaking from his sleeve a bit of monogrammed linen which he handed to her. Her great dark eyes, translucent with tears, swam up to his and for a moment, he could see why Javier had been drawn to this young woman. She was lovely, even – or perhaps especially – in her grief, as all of her inner vulnerability rose to the surface and bared her gentle soul. He pressed the bit of cloth into her fingers and moved back, watching as she wiped at her tears. “Will you listen?” He asked gently. In her thoughts, just audible to him because of her nearness, he caught a whisper of Javier’s growling human voice. Ofelia, you never finished your story … My … story? Gasping a little both from the intimacy of the situation around which those overheard thoughts revolved and from the physical reaction the remembered sound of Javier’s voice elicited in him, Keith rose and retreated to his chair. When he had settled himself, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair in order to ground his thoughts, he smiled gently at Ofelia. “I wish to tell you how I met your husband.” Her eyes, which had drifted down to her fingers as they twined around the handkerchief in her lap, flew up to his. “Mon … mari, monsieur D’Ameron?”

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For a moment, the sound of his native language on her tongue completely stymied him, and then he laughed, careful to hide all evidence of his fangs as he did. “Oui – I did not know you spoke my language, senora. You speak it very well. But – thank you for the courtesy – I am comfortable in Spanish.” Ofelia smiled faintly, her cheeks flaring with a mingling of pleasure and embarrassment at the praise. “You speak it very well, Don D’Ameron,” she replied, feeling that, though she did not know him personally, the honorific seemed very much at home before his name. She cringed for a moment, thinking he might find it impertinent of her to have titled him in a language that was not his, but when he smiled, she relaxed and bade him to speak. Keith closed his eyes briefly at the meaning behind her almost fearful shyness, then drew in a deep breath. “The first night I had entered the town, I stopped at one of the tapas before travelling to the home I had arranged to take here, and your husband was gaming with some associates at one of the tables.” He paused to sip from his own wine glass, which had been already filled when his serving-girl had brought in her tray of refreshments; Ofelia noticed that it was a fine goblet, made of polished silver, its bowl studded with beautiful gemstones. She immediately catalogued it as a family heirloom and was not disturbed in the least, as her husband had been, when she found that he was drinking a different vintage to her own. Certain wines, she had learned over the years, were best in certain cups, and this man obviously had his preferences. “Javi – my husband – likes to play cards. He is very good at it,” she assured him earnestly. “He brings home a good deal of money when he plays well.” Keith watched her over the rim of his glass. Does she know that he cheats when he plays? Most probably not; I have never seen a woman playing cards. I should not disillusion her, I think. “Undoubtedly,” he agreed. “The game they were playing that night looked interesting to me, and when I saw that someone was leaving, I offered to join them at table. It seems,” he added with a wry smile that concealed his teeth but not the gentle self-deprecation he wished to convey, “that I should have stood aside and watched a while longer, for I misread the rules of the game while I played and accused your husband of cheating.” Ofelia’s hands flew to her mouth, nearly upsetting her goblet. Steadying it, she stared at him. “I … I am amazed, then, that you are still here to speak with me,” she admitted. “My – my

349 husband is very, very good with a sword.” And if there is one insult he takes to heart, it is being accused of cheating. Keith inclined his head with another sardonic smile. “I will admit that you are right, Doña Estas. He is most capable with a blade. But so am I. You remember that I came to you afterwards and said that he would rest at my home to recover from the blow I felt I had to deal him – it was either that, or lose my own head,” he added wryly. “I am rather fond of it where it is. While he was here, he told me of his stables, and because I am interested in acquiring horseflesh of my own, he found a willing student to whom he could pass down his excellent stores of knowledge. I have not yet found the time to put the intelligence to good use, but the wealth of information he has passed to me in the last half year has been a gift of incomparable value; when I saw that he was suffering so upon his return to the city, I immediately took him in for the night.” Ofelia drank the last of the wine in her cup and gently wiped her mouth. She had not eaten much more than a bite of the tapas Linette had brought, Keith noticed, and it was because his attention had moved to her seeming lack of appetite that she was able to glance up at him and catch him by surprise. “That is a touching story – and if some of it is true, then I thank you for your kindnesses,” she murmured. “But – please forgive me – I must question why you are lying to me now.” Keith blinked and sat back, startled into a silence that was broken a moment later by husky laughter. “If you had only been born a man, Ofelia,” Javier chuckled from the doorway. “You could have owned half of Spain. How did you know he was lying?” “Javi!” With a choked cry, Ofelia flung herself out of her chair and into her husband’s embrace. Still laughing, he caught her and held her against him for a moment, releasing her only when he gained notice of the sad smile on Keith’s features. Gently, his verdant eyes closing for a moment in grief, he pushed Ofelia away and tilted her head up to his. “We do have a story to tell you, cara,” Javier informed her. “That much is true. But it isn’t about how we met. It is …” He pursed his lips, and Keith could hear the murmur of his thoughts for a moment as he altered what he had planned to say. “It is about how he saved my life.” Ofelia’s dark eyes were narrowing in confusion; a frown marred the smooth expanse of her brow, and Javier wiped at it gently with his fingertips. “I do not … understand …”

350 “I know, cara – I’m not sure even I understand all of it,” he admitted, his lips curving into a gentle smile to which, Keith noticed, she immediately responded. “But I’ll start, and you can interrupt me with questions all you like.”

It was something all three people in the room

instinctively knew she would never do, but Javier said it anyway. “I’ll try to answer them as best as I can.” Wishing to avoid being privy to what appeared to be a very intimate conversation between Ofelia and Javier, Keith rose, setting aside his empty glass. When Javier’s eyes met his, he indicated it. “I’m going to fetch you something to drink, Javier. I’ll come back.” He didn’t know why he offered this last, for he did not intend to stay past the pouring of his fledgling’s drink. Frowning, Javier nodded and turned back to Ofelia as Keith slipped hastily into the cool, dark quiet of the hall. Covering his face with his hands as he leaned against the far wall, he tried to shut away the memory of Ofelia’s eyes turned up so lovingly to Javier’s face. I do not know if I can bear this. I do not know if he shall be able to bear this. Once he finds out how much she loves him – what will he do then? He cannot live in her world any longer, but at the same time, he will not abandon her. This, Keith knew as clearly as if Javier had uttered the words himself. A woman cannot be seen as able to care for herself even if he did set her adrift with enough money and a well-thought out story to allow her to practice a false widowhood in some other city; he would have to see that she is married again, and she will not do that, for she loves him. But if he gifts her with eternity, as he wishes, and she cleaves to his side… How can I bear it? Keith swallowed and made his way down the hall towards the kitchens. Mon Dieu, how will I last, being by his side for the rest of time, knowing that I cannot have him? He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. I do not know how I will, he told himself sternly, but I will, because I love him. I love him – and no one can take that away from me. Glancing back over his shoulder only once at the parlour door which he had drawn closed behind him when he exited, Keith vanished into the shadows of the hall.

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Chapter Twenty-One Ofelia sat back, trembling, as Javier knelt at her feet, his rough hands gently caressing her chilled fingers. She shook her head, pushing back from him and tugging her hands free. “No. No, Javi,” she insisted, looking around for some place to flee. Helplessly, she shook her head again. “No. These are – I don’t know what that man has given you, but you … you are very sick. You do not know what you are saying. That man, he --” “That man saved my life, cara,” Javier replied forcefully. “He did for me what no physician or Godly prayer could ever do. Those monks at Granada couldn’t have saved me,” he continued roughly. “Keith said I would have died the very night I came back here. I am not sick, Ofelia, but I was – and Keith saved me.” “Keith …” she murmured, and flinched a little when Javier jerked his head back at the sound of his lover’s name on his wife’s lips. “You say his name so easily, as though you have known him as long as you have known me.” “I … it feels like I have, sometimes,” Javier replied uncomfortably. He knew he would have to tell her everything about his relationship with Keith eventually, but for now, he needed to focus on merely making her believe the reality of his situation. It was so easy for me to accept it, he thought dazedly. What am I supposed to do now? He glanced at the closed door of the parlour, wishing that Keith had stayed in the room. Javier was not a patient person, and explaining the manner in which things worked had never been a strong suit of his. But Keith can explain everything – all he does is talk! He would have the words to calm her and make her believe us. I know he would. Why did he leave? “Keith saved me,” he repeated, trying to ground himself. “Keith has healed me. He – he changed me, Ofelia.” She smiled suddenly, and there was something wistful and terribly wise hidden in that simple expression. “I know,” she murmured. “He is the one, isn’t it? I … I do not understand how you can love a man, my Javi, but … he is the one I’ve been waiting for, isn’t he?” Javier gaped for a moment, backpedaling in order to rise to his feet and loom over her. The height difference made him feel calmer, more in control, and he took a steadying breath. “Ofelia, what are you talking about?”

352 Still wearing that heartbreaking little smile, she shook her head. “You love him, Javi. I’ve been waiting for you to find someone who would take you away from me.” “Don’t be foolish!” Javier roared, heedlessly grabbing her by the shoulders. He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth before releasing her with a terrible little cry, recalling too late that he was much, much stronger than he had been. “Ofelia, Ofelia, I’m sorry …” Instantly, his touch was gentle as he pulled her against him, rocking her as he squeezed his eyes shut against the sharp, hot tears which threatened. Seeing her here was bad enough; never in a thousand years had he thought that she would come to him. Javier had imagined that they would meet somewhere quiet on their home’s grounds and that he would have been able to set the tone of the evening and command the flow of the conversation. But it was not to be. When he had woken alone in Keith’s great bed, he had been confused, unsure of what was half-hazy bits of misremembered dreams and what was the reality. When Amaroq had pushed through the chamber door unannounced, carrying a flask in one hand, Javier had bitten through his tongue in surprise – and something in his own blood had brought a million images flooding back to him even while the bright, sweet taste of his own blood distracted his taste-buds. He was strong and well again, healed from the destructive illness which had been eating at his lungs – and he was beset with a craving so terrible that he thought he might expire despite everything if he did not satisfy it. He’d swallowed the contents of the flask fast, intending only to slake that terrible thirst, when the images of Keith had struck him. As though he had been looking through Keith’s very eyes, he had seen his lover shaping clay with his fine artist’s hands, and then laughing with some well-dressed people as he conducted some sort of business transactions with them that seemed to involve objects of the same type as the one he had been crafting on his potter’s wheel. More images, too many to count, had followed, and through all of it, Amaroq had simply watched. He hadn’t said a word, not even when Javier had dropped the flask from his nerveless fingers. Finally, Javier had been forced to demand of him what he’d wanted, and when the dogman had told him that his wife was downstairs, he’d felt his heart – if, that was, it still beat in his chest; he wasn’t sure of even his pulse at the moment – clench up with horror. Terrified, he’d bolted from the room after dressing in the clothes which someone – probably Keith, he thought now – had left out for him, only to hear the soft purr of Keith’s smooth voice

353 answering someone’s question. He’d paused on the stairs, some distant part of him amazed that he could hear such a soft conversation as clearly as though he were standing in the same room, listening curiously for the voice of the second speaker, when Ofelia had answered. Up until then, he had been trying to deny Amaroq’s words, but when he heard her speak, Javier knew it could be no one else. He had not even realized he had left the stairs and gone to the doorway of the parlour until he had spoken. Now, he was faced with the reality of his wife, who cringed before his eyes. He pressed her head gently to his chest, burying his lips in her hair. “I’m sorry, cara, I’m sorry …” he mumbled, but Ofelia was not listening. Her mahogany eyes wide, she jerked away from his chest, gasping as an entirely new sort of fright descended upon her. “Javi – Javi, I can’t hear it! I can’t hear your heartbeat! Why can’t I hear your heartbeat?” Javier took a deep breath, trying to force himself into some semblance of calm. “Keith is a … vampire, Ofelia. You … do know the word, si?” When she nodded slowly, he continued before she could react any further. “He … To heal me, cara, he had to make me into a vampire. Like him. He has healed me, Ofelia. I promise you that he has. I am well, I am strong – I will never get sick again, I will never get hurt …” Well, not much anyway. I wonder if Keith’s balls still ache? Aware that Ofelia was staring at him, he groped for what he’d been saying and continued speaking. “I cannot die now, Ofelia. I cannot … I cannot get old, or infirm. I will remain like this – for always. Do you see? Do you understand?” Once more, she shook her head, but Javier could see now that she was merely overwhelmed rather than captured in some state of terrible denial. “I … no … Javier … Things like this … no …” “But they are possible, Ofelia!” Javier insisted, grabbing for and pressing her hands against his lips. “Look – I will show you! Together – you and I and Keith – we can be together, young, forever! We can see the world together, Ofelia – we can go wherever we want, and do whatever we want! You always talked about all the places you read about in your stories – now we can see them! Let me show you, Ofelia! Let me … let me give you this gift of strength and … and life! It’s glorious, Ofelia – it’s like nothing you have ever experienced before! Let me give it to you!” He is so earnest, so happy … Ofelia thought, tilting her head to one side. Whatever this miracle is, it has made him happier than I have seen him since … since before we were married.

354 He is … alive … somehow … I do not know how a man could be alive without a heartbeat, but he is. Oh, Monsieur D’Ameron, thank you for giving this to him. “Javi …” she began, but it was too late. She uttered one soft cry as Javier crushed her against him, baring the white skin of her neck with one swipe of his hand, and then his teeth were sinking into her skin, bringing forth the blood which lay beneath. At first, he was too absorbed in the notion of what he would show her and all the things he could teach her to pay any mind to the sensations and images which deluged him, but when a memory of her little teak box struck him, he reached for it, dragging more and more of her blood into his hungry body as he did. Keith’s blood, on which, he understood, he’d supped tonight, had also contained within it the memories of the last moments of Javier’s human life – so he knew what to do. I have to drain her – and then I replace her blood with mine. She will be my … fledgling. I can do this. I can give this to her! I can give her everything she ever deserved to have! When the image of that box, containing the false bottom and the little vial of poison he’d found quite by accident one evening when he’d gone to put away one of the pretty necklaces he’d had fashioned for her as a present, floated past him, he grabbed for it – and suddenly knew the reason behind its presence. No, he thought, and it was his turn to shake his head in denial – which widened the gash he’d made at her throat. More blood burst forth and her fists came up weakly as she uttered a choked little sound he was too far gone to hear. No – mi Dios, no. If … if I tell her I’m in love with Keith, she’ll drink it? She’s going to kill herself? Oh, Ofelia … why? As though his silent question had been the final ingredient necessary to unlock the secrets of Ofelia’s heart, emotions bombarded him as nothing had ever struck him before. The night before, he had felt Keith’s love for him trembling along his veins with his first taste of the elder vampire’s blood, and that had been enough to stun him. The maelstrom contained within his wife’s blood, of her passions, her fears, her great and weary sadness, was so great that Javier felt himself choking not on the blood which contained it but on the sheer, savage volume of the sensations. She loves me. She … she loves me that much. Oh, Ofelia – no. Not me. Cara, no – you can’t. You can’t …

355 Aware that he was sobbing, he pulled away from her neck and shook her gently. “Ofelia, no,” he gasped, her blood trailing heedlessly from his lips. “Cara, no … You … you …” “Javi,” she murmured weakly, and to his astonishment, he saw that she was smiling. She knows … She knows and … and … Mi Dios, she wants to die! “Ofelia, don’t you dare! Don’t you dare! Oh, you stupid woman! You don’t love me! You can’t! Not after the way I’ve treated you! Not after the things I’ve done to you, what I’ve made you suffer!” The years of their marriage had been suffused with even more beatings than he remembered, he found, as her blood rocketed through his body, depositing its terrible burden of memories into his brain. There, where he had slapped her hard enough across the face to send her reeling into the corner of the bed where she cut her eye, and there, where he bit and yanked at her hair during a rough bout of sex, where he had used her instead of making love to her, until her scalp bled. Again and again, the images struck him from within the confines of her eyes, where he could see his misdirected fury and terrible temper in full relief. His hands came up to protect his own eyes as he saw those same hands bunching and coming for her jaw, her breasts, her ribs and torso; they pressed tightly against his own ears to block out the sounds of his furious words when she’d broken something or directed the servants incorrectly. With a terrible cry that reached to the very highest rafters in the house and brought Keith running from the cellars, Javier crushed Ofelia to him, sobbing like a child. “Ofelia, Ofelia, Ofelia,” he chanted, her name muffled by the clouds of her satiny dark hair that drifted around his face. She wants to die – she wants to die to set me free. Well, I’m not going to let her die! I won’t! Savagely, he pushed her hair away from the wounds on her neck and uttered another rasping cry at the sight of the torn skin of her neck. Blood ran in thick streams down her neck and over her shoulder, staining her clothing a deep and terrible crimson, and Javier felt his gorge rise at what he had done. As Keith burst in through the parlour door, Javier staggered away from his wife’s body, falling to his knees a little distance away, retching until Ofelia’s blood poured forth from his mouth in a rush, splattering over the polished floor and staining the threads of the thick rug. “Javier! Mon Dieu, what is the matter? What’s happened?” He glanced around for Ofelia and uttered a sharp curse. Releasing Javier’s shoulders and the veil of his golden hair, Keith swept Ofelia into his arms, testing for a pulse on the unblemished side of her neck. “Oh, no. No,

356 no, no. Javier, you need to feed her – you need to feed her your blood now! Javier!” he roared desperately, but the Spaniard was past hearing him. Frantically, Keith tore into his own wrist and pressed it to Ofelia’s mouth, but her head lolled weakly to the side, as though she were a child refusing to finish her supper. Again, he turned her face to his, and once more, she turned it away.

Though her

movements were weak, she was persistent in her refusal until, not knowing what else he could do, Keith forced his wrist against her mouth, holding her head with his free hand so that she could not turn away. Still, she rebuffed his blood, clamping her lips shut and waiting with all the patience of a dying saint, as if she knew that she would win out in the end. When Keith pulled away to slash his own wrist anew again, she turned her head away from him. “Javi …” she croaked, her eyes staring at some vision visible only to her. “Javi … I love you … Javi …” As Keith tried once more to push his own blood past her lips, even allowing some to trickle down across her mouth in the hopes that she would swallow it without thinking, she gave a convulsive little shudder and smiled as she stilled in Keith’s arms. Her final heartbeat struck his ears with a thundering crash – and then he knew she was gone. “No …” Javier whispered weakly. He’d turned to them, Keith saw, his golden hair matted with spatters of his wife’s blood and his clothing stained with more of the same. “Keith … Keith, please – do something – help her! You helped me! Help her!” Gently, Keith lowered Ofelia to the floor, pushing away the silken mass of her curls and pressing the bloodied skin of his wrist to the site of the horrid gash in her neck. When he pulled his wrist away, only smears of blood were left, and fastidiously, he wiped them away with his sleeve. “I can’t, Javier – she would not take my blood. I tried to give it to her. I did everything I could to make her drink from me, but she would not. She … Javier!” With a terrible snarl, Javier had thrown Keith aside as easily as he might have tossed an apple, sending Keith crashing into the chair Ofelia had occupied before Javier’s appearance. As he pushed himself up on his arms, Keith saw Javier tearing at his own wrist, shoving it up against Ofelia’s unresponsive face. “Drink it!” He screamed. “Drink, curse you!” “Javier, stop!” Keith struggled up and yanked him away. “Javier, it’s useless! She has to drink from our blood before her heart stops! It’s too late, Javier – she’s gone.”

357 “NO!” Javier roared, heedless of the damage his preternatural vocal chords could do to anyone within listening range. He shoved at Keith’s restraining hands, his fingers reaching for his wife’s body. “Keith, no! She loved me, Keith! She loved me! I can’t let her die – I can’t!” The storm of his grief broke then, and he buried his face in his wife’s hair, wailing like a lost child. Grimly, Keith turned him away from Ofelia’s corpse, pressing Javier’s face to the curve of his shoulder, and held him. He said nothing, but he held Javier as tightly as he could. “I killed her, Keith … I killed my wife…” Javier sobbed. “She loved me – oh, God, Keith, if I had only known how much she loved me … I hurt her so much … and now I’ve killed her … Keith, what do I do?” Keith smoothed Javier’s hair back from his face. “I will take care of it, Javier. You go with Amaroq – go up to the bedroom and wait for me there. I will take care of everything.” Amaroq came forward out of the darkness of the hall. There were heartbeats there – Marlon, Linette and Margot had all come at the sound of Javier’s scream – but neither vampire paid them any mind as Amaroq wrapped Javier’s arm around his shoulders and half carried him up the stairs, into the gloom of the second floor. Keith glanced at his staff. “Begin closing up the house,” he murmured. “Pack whatever is necessary of ours and leave the rest – I will write to the owner of the home.” “What will you say, master?” Linette asked, staring at the seeping bloodstains spreading over the floor of the parlour. Keith shook his head. “I do not know. Replace the rug tomorrow while we sleep, Margot – Marlon, I want this one burned. Linette, I want the floor scrubbed once Marlon has removed the covering. Then, I want all of you to begin to pack. I am leaving Spain tomorrow night, with Javier. The rest of you can follow behind. Amaroq will guide you to me, just as he did before. Now go – I have things to which I must attend before dawn.” Silently, they parted for him as he rose with Ofelia’s body in his arms and he saw that they were already setting themselves to their tasks as he exited the home. He paused only once before he left his home with all the speed a vampire can muster, knowing that no one must see him bearing his terrible burden. She will like these, he thought as he placed the three blooms Ofelia had spotted on the low table near the stairs. And I do not wish Javier to see them. Not tonight.

358

Grimly, he went on his way. His arms never once grew heavy with the weight of his burden, but it was as if all of the deathly stillness of her, which had amplified itself a thousand fold as it always did with the deceased, had somehow wormed into his heart, to press its heaviness there rather than taxing his physical body. The woman meant less than nothing to me … but somewhere inside of him, she captured a piece of his heart which she has taken with her this night. A piece I will never be able to reclaim. But surely he had known that, Keith reflected as he passed once more into the silent tomb of the Estas house, climbing the stairs against which he and Javier had ground out their passions and cried out their need. Their scent, tangible in the air to him alone because of what he was, brought bittersweet memories back to him that he was helpless against suppressing. Now, truly, the boy was his, but at what price? Climbing up the stairs with a slow and heavy tread more suited to the dying wisp of a man that Javier had been before Keith had given him the dark gift, the dusky-eyed Frenchman laid on the bare bedframe the body of the woman in his arms. She had been still and small within the confines of his arms; left alone on the stripped bed, she looked frail and ghostly, as if he had carried no more than the last, fading vestiges of her spirit here to this home, to this room she had shared with her husband. With the man she had loved so much that her last gift to him was to free him from her very presence. Gently, Keith reached down and cupped Ofelia’s cheek; the warmth had drained from her much faster than it would have under other circumstances; if Javier had not already forcibly expelled her blood from his body in a rush of terrible self-loathing, it would still be warming his insides. Keith swallowed, hearing his throat click dryly in the looming silence of the house. I am not sure I could contend with that sensation if I was Javier. He blinked hard, trying to erase the stinging heat pressing at his eyes as the mention of the golden Spaniard’s name brought forth the terrible memory of that last, desperate wail as Javier had buried himself into his wife’s hair. Unconsciously, Keith touched the spot on Ofelia’s blood-grimed tangles where Javier’s face had rested, where Javier’s tears had diluted some of the last mingling of their separate fluids as

359 man and wife. He shook his head. “I know what I must do,” he murmured to the corpse, shivering a little at the sound of his voice, ghostly in the silent house. “I must protect you both. It is the only way I can apologise for this great and selfish wrong I have perpetrated.” He turned and fled into the shadows of the hall, heading down the stairs at a stumbling pace which might have been a run if his own feet were not tangling beneath him. He was passing the shadow-draped portraits hanging on the wall when he heard the whispered voice. Its cadence was soft, its tone pleasant, musical and dreadfully familiar. Almost directly beneath Ofelia’s serious features, Keith stopped, his head raised as in wolven fashion, listening to something to which he was certain only he was privy. He is free now. Free to love, as he should have been able to do years before. Let him love you as he could not love me. Give him happiness … A low sigh, carried on air far colder than even any breath he himself had taken for the last three hundred years, drifted past his face. Shuddering, Keith fled into the warm, enveloping darkness of the night outside and began his hunt. It was not blood for which he searched, however, but a man. No specific member of the human race, he thought, but someone who resembled Javier in length of bone and width – for Keith very much intended that bones would be all any curious magistrate would be able to recover from the fiery bier he was going to create for them. He tried the stables first, but, finding no one, he reluctantly left the two young men sleeping in their beds. He would need them alive later – perhaps to take the blame and certainly to report what little they would know. Quietly, without waking them, Keith began to impress upon their sleeping minds what he wished for them to halfremember: they had seen, from a distance, Ofelia and their master returning home, and when she had told them that all was well and that they would be moving on in the morning, they had returned to their beds. Most of the town was aware of Javier’s unpredictable temperament and his habit of reaching for – as well as acting on – anything which captured his fancy. Grown querulous in his illness, Keith figured that it would not be a hard thing to believe that Javier had wanted to come back to the house in which he had first bedded his wife, in which he had been born, one last time before his journey into death, or so Keith had insisted. Perhaps it would be, but by the time the flames would be put out and the bodies – or what would be left of them – were unearthed and properly attended, Javier and the truth would be hundreds of miles away.

360 It took him the better part of an hour to find a man who was roughly Javier’s height and had approximately the same number of teeth. He had spared no thought to the fact that this man, much wealthier than the common thugs and thieves on whom Keith usually preyed, had been locked inside of his home. His wife slept across the hall from her husband’s half-empty bed, the flush of her sated body half covered from Keith’s eyes, as he had stood silently in her doorway, by the presence of her illicit lover, who would be awake and gone before morning. It had taken no time, and only a slight struggle, to turn back and remove the unwitting husband from his home, then drain his blood into one of the large, slim flasks Keith had designed himself on his potter’s wheel. He could not bear to drink this man’s blood, to immerse himself in the memories and images he would find within, not with Javier’s grief staining his mind and the scent of his fledgling’s dead wife all over him. But Keith had the idea that hunting would be sparse in the coming weeks of their travel, and he needed to prepare for the onslaught of Javier’s fledgling gluttony after the young Spaniard emerged, as he would eventually, from his cocoon of grief. Once the man had been drained of enough of his blood to ensure that he would be pliable, Keith carried him back to the Estas house, moving still at the fastest limit of his vampiric speed to ensure that no one passing on the street would see him. There were few enough denizens of the night on the streets to even warrant such precautions, but Keith knew – quite intimately, he thought, shifting the body in his arms so that he could touch his own chest fleetingly – what being lax had almost cost him in the last few days. When he had reached the silent tomb of the Estas house and deposited his quarry next to Ofelia’s body in as close to a lover’s embrace as his grief-weary mind could create, he exhaled deeply and stood back from the bed. Perhaps it was the moonlight glinting on the shining teak which caught his eye; perhaps it was a half-heard whisper from some god that Keith himself had not yet forsaken. Perhaps it was nothing more than simple chance, but whatever it was, when his dusky eyes fell upon the smooth wood of Ofelia’s jewelry box, Keith knew that Javier had to have it. I will not give him the poison within it; he could do nothing more damaging to himself with its contents than cause himself to spend a night vomiting blood into a chamber-pot, but it is not something he needs to see. Not now. Possibly not ever.

361 The image of that bottle had been within Ofelia’s blood, Keith was certain of that; Javier would need no physical reminder of what she had planned to do to herself, for the memory would be burned in his mind for centuries to come. The pain of it would dull, as had most of the many agonies which Keith had endured over the last three hundred years, but it would still be there, and Keith would not have Javier’s wounds torn open by its physical presence. In fact, I don’t think I want him to see these things I will take. Not yet. Perhaps not for a great many years, Keith thought, pressing the box under one arm. He left the two humans, wrapped in their eternal sleep, in the shuttered bedroom where Javier and Ofelia had shared so much of their life together, and moved once more down the hall. He removed only two more items from the house before he stole away and began, using his vampiric abilities, the process of reducing Javier’s childhood home to ashes. It took a great deal of concentration and effort; he had to start the fire quickly and heat it savagely, so that the bodies within would be mostly unrecognizable by the time the flames were subdued. He focused on that bedroom first and then spread the fire with his mind as simply as he had also created it, fanning it with the vampiric abilities his Master’s blood had given him. He used no fuel; such a thing would have been even more suspicious, he had decided, and left only once the back wing, where Ofelia lay, and front room of the house were firmly alight and billowing with smoke. He paused once, to settle his stolen keepsakes more firmly in his hands, and to commend Ofelia’s soul to heaven, where he knew his own would never belong. When Keith returned from his mission, he found his own house in a flurry of urgency that was very similar to the one that would be occurring shortly at the home which now burned less than a mile from where he was standing. “Take these,” he instructed Amaroq, who had come wearily down the stairs at his soft call. “I want them wrapped and hidden from Javier for a very, very long time. I think he would want me to keep them for him.” Amaroq took the two portraits gingerly from Keith, frowning at the teak box which sat atop them. “What’s this?” Mindless of who might see, Keith was beginning to strip off his smoke- and blood-stained clothing. Reflexively, he glanced eastward, where smoke was beginning to rise behind the elegant gates of a mostly-empty home. Atop the pile of his clothing, he tossed a little bottle which bore the careful mark of a chemist. “Javier will want it in time,” he replied, then gestured at the pile.

362 “Burn that – the bottle as well – and don’t inhale the smoke. I don’t know what inhaling rat poison will do to you, my old friend, but I do not want to find out.” Amaroq nodded, and nudged the bundle into a corner, to be picked up later. “He’s asleep, I think,” he informed Keith, just before the vampire could draw the breath to ask. Keith smiled tiredly in answer and climbed the stairs as Amaroq vanished up the hall with his master’s newest acquisitions. For a while, Keith merely listened to the cacophony of a household rapidly closing itself up, focusing only on the more distant shouts and crackling of flames when they increased to a roar as Javier’s home, with Ofelia within it, burned around her eternally-sleeping body. It was only when he heard movement from the bedroom at the end of the hall that he went in to see that Javier had pushed away one of the heavy drapes and removed the tight shutter which had barred the eastern-facing window to the room Keith had most often slept in during his stay in Seville. “Why did you burn it?” He asked hollowly. “You should be lying down,” Keith replied, coming to his side. He didn’t pull Javier away from the window’s vista, but instead joined him there to watch the smoke rise in silence. Javier didn’t turn away from the window when he spoke, even when Keith pressed his head against his own bare chest. He didn’t even seem to realize that Keith was nude. “Why did you set my home on fire?” “To wipe the slate for both of you. People saw her come into the city, Javier – Marlon said they entered by the main gates, and the household you left behind are going to come looking for their master and mistress sooner or later. People know she came back, and they probably heard from her that you were here somewhere. I had to do it this way. This way, they will assume that she had returned here after you and that you wished to spend one more night in your home before returning to the monastery in the morning. During the night, a candle fell and began a fire in your bedroom – the pair of you died in your sleep. I have already informed your few remaining household staff of that exact story. When authorities ask, as they will, that is what they will say.” Keith shrugged. “It is not hard to convince people this way. It will be one of the things you learn, in time.”

363

Javier shook his head numbly, and Keith thought that would be the last of the matter, but his verdant eyes whipped up suddenly. They were terrible to behold, swollen and bloodied with his grief. “How will they believe I was with her? I’m here!” Keith smiled. “I told you last night – I do not like to play chess with dead men, but I am good at it nonetheless. Come, Javier – you and I need to change.” Gently, he guided him away from the window, pulling the drape closed and moving to his clothes chest. “While you have something to drink, I have a letter to write to the man who let this house to me and then …” “Then what?” Javier asked, in a tone which indicated he merely asked out of habit, rather than any desire to know. Keith turned as he pulled on a fresh doublet. “Then we leave Spain – forever, if you’d like. There is an entire world we can see together. Do you want to come with me?” For a moment, Javier turned away, staring back at the window as smoke from his family home rose blackly into the night. When he looked back, Keith was holding out his hands. He was dressed in the same outfit he had worn the night Javier had first seen him, and he seemed to be a flickering midnight wraith, wrapped in dusky silver-edged cloth which held a similar hue to his eyes. Javier’s throat worked soundlessly; too many images were blurring in his mind, and he felt as though he was being swallowed up. “Together?” he asked hoarsely. “And we would never have to come back here to Spain?” Keith shook his head. “Not unless you wanted to, my Javier. We can go as far away from Spain as you like – and I can teach you everything. All I ask in return is that you let me stay with you, my love.” “Forever …” Javier murmured, staring down at the rings he wore on his left hand. When he looked up, tears were creeping down his cheeks – the tan of which, Keith noticed, was fading already, but he thought that might have been a trick of the wavering moonlight – though no more stood waiting in his eyes. “Yes,” Keith encouraged. “Forever, my wild, fierce warrior. All I ask is that you let me wake up beside you every evening – will you do that for me?” When Javier shook his head, he knew what he would see in Keith’s eyes, so he made sure to bring his hands up and grasp Keith’s tightly within them. “Frenchman – Keith – you talk too much. I know what you want of me.” He drew in a hitching breath that spoke of more tears to

364 come, but not yet. “And, try as I might, I couldn’t give it to Ofelia. But I can give it to you. Besides,” he continued, trying for a smile that could not manage to reach his eyes, “someone has to make sure you don’t kill yourself the moment you step out of bed, and I wouldn’t trust that dog of yours to be able to save his own tail, much less protect yours. So you need me. And … I want you. I want to be with you.” Javier’s eyes met Keith’s squarely. “When do we leave?”

THE END

365

Author’s Bio M. Peters lives in Florida with her fiancée and their two cats. This is her first novel, although she has been writing since she was very young. She has traveled around England and Scotland, but someday hopes to visit Paris with her fiancée, who has been the love of her life since they were in high school together.