The Shelter

The Shelter had opened. People were coming in. Brit and Ethan had spent all day organizing helpers and registering guests. The night passed quickly. Ethan checked the time and realized he only had a few hours before sunrise. Bidding all good night, he gathered Brit to him and returned to their resting place. “I’m proud of you, princess,” he told her. He was, in fact, most proud of her. She had worked tirelessly to ready the Shelter prior to it opening, and had worked beside him all day and even had taken initiative to greet the guests when they arrived frazzled and weary.

Brit gave him a warm smile and started to remove her clothing to get ready for rest. Ethan perched on the desk watching her silently. He noticed small things: The way her hand slightly trembled from exhaustion as she brushed her hair. The slight redness of her eyes as she washed her face. Ethan noticed that Brit was taking longer to respond when someone spoke to her. Almost as if she had forgotten, she picked up her hair brush again. Ethan walked behind her and kissed the curve of her neck while taking her brush. Settling her back against him, he started to brush her hair. Brit rested her chin silently on his knee. Only the sound of her breathing and the crackle of her hair as it was brushed could be heard.

Ethan shifted uncomfortably knowing she would not be so tired with his vitae. Another brush-stroke pulled her hair slightly. Her words telling him that she did not wish to share anymore once she was back as she was. His abdominal muscles tightened. Her asking why he no longer shared. He had swallowed hard before admitting that he was unsure whether he was meant to share. When Ethan realized Brit was not reacting in a typical way after having received his vitae, he wondered whether God had sent a message. “Who decides what is right for us, Ethan?” she had asked. His fingers caressed her hair. “I miss sharing,” she had told him.

Ethan stayed still for a while before turning her to him to make eye contact. “I wish to be right for you without turning you into something you should not be.” His fingers brushed her cheek, “Sometimes with your personality and traits, it is hard to distinguish between right and wrong.” He left it there for a moment pulling her closer until she was on his lap. Burying his face in her hair, Ethan kissed her neck. Brit turned to kiss him softly. One kiss led to another. Brit yearned for his closeness.

Brit could not get close enough since he had stopped sharing. She pulled away and processed his words while feeling him pulling her tightly. “You made me your wife. And that was right,” she whispered. Brit struggled to form the words she felt in her heart. “I love you, Ethan.” Her arms wrapped around his waist. More silence as she continued to process. “I am your wife.” Silence passed as they listened to one of the guests stumble into his room down the hall. Brit continued, “We should do what we want.”

Ethan kept her close on his lap and slowly caressed her skin, her neck, her shoulders and the sides of her body. He had started to share with her to shelter her when the city was sinking into chaos. Thinking of her words, he found that he too yearned for the closeness. He also yearned for her. Not just her blood, but her nearness. Her body heat. And he yearned for her to have every sense focused. “I want to do right by you.” Brit was relaxed on his lap. Kisses ensued as he went from her lips to her cheek only to slide down to her neck. His thoughts centered on her. Brushing his lips over her bruised bite marks, he thought that he had always just wanted the best for her.

The bruises did not stop him from biting down hard drinking of her as if his thirst was unquenchable. With each drink, he felt himself grow more relaxed and calmed. His fangs still long, he inhaled her scent running his tongue on the points. Uncertainty hung in his mind, but he pierced his tongue deeply almost flooding his mouth with vitae and savagely kissed her deeply leaving no doubt. Brit pulled back as the vitae jolted her senses that had been lulling due to the absence. Pulling him closer, she kissed deeply drinking and grew stronger with each swallow. Ethan knew that, like the building around them, his blood was not perfect, but it would make her safer.

When the kiss ended, Brit lisped, “Please do not push me away because I’m not what is expected in your world.” Ethan finished undressing her before taking his time to caress every inch of her. Pulling her close and tight, he found she wound around him like a vine. He was her husband and she was his wife. Sharing was their due.

Leaving Oz

Brit drew the picture. She changed crayons. She used the special ink that brought both motion and sound to the images. No matter what she tried, she could see the colors were not as wonderful as they had been. No matter how careful she was, the lines were not as sharp. Nothing was as good. She was no longer “better” and, what was even more disappointing was that she continued to slide from “better” each day.

Looking up at her husband who was going over the ledger to his newly opened shelter, she sighed softly. Ethan had become quiet and seemed slightly withdrawn during the past few days. While true that he kept her close, he drank less and did not offer to share with her. And so, she was fading in her enhanced abilities that made her better.

She stared at the page with her new drawing. A girl within a tornado made of flames. The flames crackled as they licked the girl’s skin and the girl seemed to glean energy from the fire. A girl she had met from the Voodoo Shop. The girl was pleased with the picture, but Brit found it lacking. She saw the difference that the girl did not. In time, Brit would not be able to differentiate. She looked at the other pictures in her book and tried to remember. She could tell which were done when she was better and which were done when it was her talent alone. Her fingers touched the pages for a while and she closed the book to simply watch Ethan.

She loved her husband, of course. She loved his patience, love, and gentleness with her but during the past few days, something had changed. On the derelict boat, they discussed the book he had selected for her to read. He looked over her drawings and grew quieter. At the end of the night, he hardly spoke at all. He told her that he was not angry with her. He said nothing was her fault. Even so, she felt his mood growing darker until he grabbed her and sank his fangs deep. Harder than he ever had and drank. Even after he stopped drinking, he kept his hold on her through the bite and toppled her to the floor of the boat.

The party raged on the pavilion barge next to the boat and Brit expected someone to board it. She laid on the bottom and was cradled in Ethan’s arms and listened to the music and shouts and laughter of the crowd. Normally, she would have enjoyed such things, but Ethan’s darkness clouded all of it. In fact, they seemed quite alone on the boat. Her throat hurt from the raw marks even if he closed them somewhat. The sharing would usually remove the bruises quickly, but without it, the bruises slowly healed over the next couple days.

On the third night, he engaged her in a game of chase as he often did before they were married. Even then, she felt a sense of playfulness about him was missing. He bit her as he chased, but not when he caught as he used to do. Brit ran and dodged. She could not lose him as she could before. Ethan said he was making it harder, but Brit knew it was due to the fading of abilities and attributes that sharing gave to her. She remembered long ago, after he had first shared with her, telling him that she had been better but it was fading. He told her not to worry about it and that such losses were normal.

Brit thought of the word “normal.” She knew that without his sharing, her state of normalcy was less than others. She realized during that first time that she could not think as quickly as others. She realized she could not think clearly as others either. It was the first time that Brit understood she was different and comprehended how she differed. It was an uncomfortable feeling. So many cared for her though and, when she told a few, they told her she had other gifts. Kindness was everywhere.

Looking back to Ethan, she watched. He was so beautiful in his movement. She watched the way his hair fell around his face like a black, inky frame. Would she notice it as clearly when she was normal again? She watched the glittery way the light reflected from his hair and the refined way he held his pen as he made annotations to his book. Would she notice the nuances of his actions tomorrow? Her thoughts were already shifting. She remembered the chase game where she so quickly winded and was unable to run any more. Would the games be as much fun for him when she could not run as far or as fast? And she noticed bruises on her throat when she bathed earlier. She had grown use to being healed come morning. Would he be able to sustain with her if she healed like normal? It was the last question that bothered her most of all.

Ethan closed his book and undressed to ready himself for rest. He helped her change and snuggled her to him quietly. Brushing her hair from her throat, he simply stroked the skin as if feeling her pulse beneath his fingers. He said nothing at all. He had bitten her earlier in the Shelter’s kitchen, but hard hardly been able to drink at all. The night was quiet and she could hear one of the inhabitants come in and stumble into his assigned room.

She wondered why Ethan stopped sharing. Pressing against him, she remembered the book. The things it said. Did he wish her to frenzy? To be a slave-like being? Maybe that was why he stopped. She never felt the urge to be either. While Ethan continued to drink slightly of her, and to stay near and close, she missed the sharing. She missed being better. She could still see in the darkness, but knew that ability would fade soon. It was less tonight than before. Soon, she would be ordinary again. No, soon, she would be herself again. She liked being better and she loved the closeness that sharing with him yielded but, once she was normal again, she hoped he would not share with her again. The feeling of her growing weaker and becoming less than what she could be made her feel more distant from him. The process of fading was unbearable.

A Fatal Addiction

Ethan had Brit seek out a selection of books. He paged through several before selecting one that seemed very old. Handing it to her, he asked that she read it when she woke before him. She took the book, excitedly at first. Quick inspection revealed her greatest fear: There were no pictures anywhere to be found. Additionally, the small print faded with time caused her to dread reading it. Try as she may, Brit could never understand why someone would make a book without many pictures or how others could read them. “Begin at page 180,” Ethan had said.

As her husband lay resting, Brit dutifully opened the book and stared at the page. She mouthed the words silently before reading them out loud twice: Once to simply say the words and the second time to attempt to comprehend them. Reading was hard enough on its own. Without the pictures, it was nearly impossible for her. She picked up a sketchbook and made sketches of paragraphs and then studied them as she tried to understand.

The first picture drawn was of a girl who was on a subway. A yellow-eyed, classic-looking vampire was pouring blood from a partially severed tongue in to her mouth. Written beside the flowing blood were the words “molasses-like” and “bitter.” Brit made big red X’s over a word and picture. A second picture showed a beautiful embraced Brit with her husband. Next to the picture were the words “molasses-like” and “metallic.” An arrow led from this picture to the next one.

The third picture showed Brit skipping rope. The rope cannot be seen and she is jumping much higher than one would normally. Beneath the picture, Brit wrote “ageless, stronger, better.” Like spokes of a wheel, Brit drew more pictures and wrote other short annotations. She had red question mark next to ‘ageless’ and large X’s over the words ‘slave, domitor, and blood bond.’ The words had no meaning to her. She traced them with her finger in hopes of gleaning understanding. Never before had she felt so slow. It was frustrating. She wrote another word from the book: Ghoul.

If not for the fact Ethan had asked her to read it, she would have stopped. The book was so hard for her to read. Each sentence had to be read over and over again and, even after drawing pictures to try to explain it, it did not paint a pretty image. “All it takes to push you over the edge is a single drop of blood.” She wrote it on her sketchbook and stared at it. She read more, “You hunger, you thirst, you bleed. You are not quite human anymore. You can frenzy at any moment.” Brit processed slowly and her eyes widened at the meaning. Using her necklace, she punctured her wrist and watched the bright crimson pool while she held her breath. The dark blood looked pretty on her skin and slowly oozed down her wrist. Involuntary reactions caused her to take a huge gasp of air as she waited for her frenzy to start while damming the blood drip with a finger. Her wound started to slowly close as she rubbed the blood drop on Ethan’s mouth. As it was absorbed, she figured she may frenzy later and wrote, “I’m going to frenzy soon” on the edge of her paper to warn him.

Brit poked herself repeatedly with her fingertip and wrote, “I feel human, I guess.” She shrugged and read more. Blinking, she realized that it meant that a vampire’s blood would cause her to frenzy. With a slight puff to her cheeks, she looked at Ethan so peacefully resting and picked up his hand. Using her necklace she poked his finger and waited. A small drop of blood appeared. She waited for her frenzy to begin while tapping her feet together. His finger healed rapidly and she pursed her lips. His blood reabsorbed into his body. With a soft sigh, she flipped the page hoping that she did not frenzy when someone was there to play or talk with them. She underlined her warning to him about the inevitable frenzy.

Turning the pages, she read a paragraph about a person saying how horrible the addiction was. Another flip of the page was a testimonial of another who had been abandoned by a kindred and could not leave his home. The book yielded page after page of unhappiness, desperation, and misery all due to vampires. Brit closed the book with a hard thud and stared at Ethan. Why would he ask her to read something so upsetting? The title was Ghouls: The Fatal Addiction.

Picking up her sketchpad, she drew a picture of Ethan drinking from her. The night seemed magical in that the twinkling stars, which were so bright and shimmering, caused the sky to be as bright as daytime after she used her special ink. Images moved on the page showing Ethan opening his wrist for her to drink. Brit smiled as the image looped the intimate scene allowing her to watch it. “I love sharing. It makes me better…but…I love sharing…because I love you,” she whispered. She set aside the book and watched him resting just as she had when he was in torpor. Her fingers touched him lightly as she thought of that time when he first was hers alone, but not yet a beloved or her husband. With a smile, she compared their rings feeling warm over the changes a year had brought. He was still hers alone and now she was his.

Brit picked up the sketchpad again to look over what she had drawn and written. She got her red crayon and made X’s over the words ‘slave, domitor, and blood bond.” Beneath the X’ed words, she wrote ‘wife, husband, and love.’ Under the word ‘ghoul’ she wrote, ‘beloveds.’ She set the sketchpad up so Ethan would see it when he woke. Rolling to lie half on him, she said, “Books without pictures are terrible, Ethan.” She kissed his lips before laying her head on his chest and tracing his lips with her finger. Perhaps she would sleep more, she thought. As she felt herself start to fall asleep, she raised her head again to look at him. “Don’t be mad when I frenzy. The book says it is not my fault.” Nodding, she adjusts the position of the sketchbook and snuggles up for an afternoon nap.

((Picture by Gweneth Lange))

The Renaissance Era

Frowning, Ethan examined Brit's hand. His thumb rubbed over the raised bump over and over again. It was the size of a pinhead. There was an obvious build up of skin beneath the surface. Bending, he observed it closer and felt his jaw set. "It doesn't hurt," lisped Brit. He acknowledged her words with a nod and reached for his dagger. With a steady hand, he shaved the offending blemish off and tossed the dead skin into the fire.

"A callous is unacceptable, Brit." Reaching for lotion, he rubbed it onto the fresh skin. "I do not wish for my wife to work so. There are others who can push mops." Brit protested that there was much to be done to prepare. Again, he acknowledged her, but his mind was made up. He did not wish for her to have work-hardened hands. "Work shall have to wait for tonight. We have an appointment."

The pair went to the bar where Ethan left her by the door to talk to a lady near the bar. After a few moments, the lady finished her drink and followed Ethan. They went down the street to where the beauty shop stood. Although in disarray, one station had obviously been somewhat maintained. Sliding Brit into the chair, both Ethan and the beautician discussed how to do her hair.

"That is not how it use to be, Ethan," said the beautician. "It was more poofed toward the front as it coming forward."

"Nonsense," said Ethan. "I remember it well." Both adjusted, teased and pulled Brit's hair. Ethan snatched his hand away once and glared at the beautician as if she slapped his hand. "Mind yourself," he growled but sat on the chair next to Brit's and held his hand. Silently, Ethan watched nodding or shaking his head as the beautician pulled all of Brit's tresses up and coifed it perfectly. Pin after pin was pushed into her hair. "What are you using?" said Ethan.

The beautician said, "Hairpins."

"You could use threads to secure the style. I think that mayhaps it would last longer. And it would be more accurate."

"NON!" exclaimed the lady. "Do not be so bold as to question. Threads are fine for when no one took the hair down for months." Brit owed softly as she pulled the hair up and pushed in another pin. The beautician continued, "Some of those ladies...by the time they removed their hairstyles, the hair was so matted we must cut it off and they wear wigs!" She pulled up another piece and said, "And once, a very regal baroness had a family of mice living in her hair. Not what we want now, hmm?"

Ethan folded his arm looking most amused as the beautician said, "Hairpins have been around since the 13th century. And Mme DeFortne' lost her head...but her hair stayed intact due to my hairpins!"

Chuckling, Ethan said dryly, "Now that is a fine endorsement for the humble hairpin."

"Oui!" The beautician worked quietly as Brit continued to peek in a mirror to see what she was doing to her hair. Finally, the lady stepped back and exclaimed, "Voila!"

Before giving Brit a mirror, Ethan stood to look over the fine hairstyle. "Ah, but the memories it brings." The beautician nodded and seemed to be caught in a few of her own. "Days of grace before the common riffraff declared casual dress the rule rather than the exception." Another nod of agreement. "You will powder it now?"

"You are, of course, joking, Ethan," replied the beautician. One glance told her he was not. "But that fashion....it does not transcend time as well as some others might!" He blinked at her. "Do you not remember? Powder sometimes smelled so stale. We tried to sweeten it with jasmine water...anything." Seeing Ethan's expression, the beautician said, "Very well." She gave Brit a cone to cover her face with and powder flew everywhere.

When Brit uncovered her face, the room looked foggy with powder. Ethan brushed off his jacket and the beautician was waving the air around her wildly. Brit looked in the mirror at her grey-white hair. "I hate it," muttered Ethan grimly.

"NON! I tried to warn you! And...and..." Ethan shrugged and the lady exclaimed a series of words as she pulled out the pins and started again. Ethan chuckled and said, "You do not mean such words." She gave him an annoyed look, but her mood started to brighten as she worked Brit's hair after washing all of the powder from it. When she finished, it was obvious the beautician and Ethan were pleased with the finished product.

Once Brit's hair was perfectly coiffed, they returned to the resting place. Ethan talked with her about the Renaissance era. Pulling out her make-up case, he took his time dragging the color-soaked brushes over her skin. He never like the lead on faces, but smiled as her natural color had a porcelain quality to it. Once completed, he sat back to enjoy the image she created.

Ethan spoke with Brit about the culture, fashion, and popular things to do at the time. Looking through the costumed gowns in the basement of the old theatre, he selected a dress for her to wear.

Turning her, he smiled. She would have been right at home in those days of grace. Brit asked, "So. Now what do we do now dressed like this?"

Ethan grinned. "What do you do? Well, now. You look pretty. I will show you how to dance a dance that was quite popular in its day. You make nice conversation, BUT you do not mop." He took Brit’s hand and led her through the basics of the dance.

Sanguini's

Brit sat across the table from Ethan and watched as others milled about. As she had now seen several times, the room was packed with many kindred. Unlike other times, there were more humans present and many as guests of kindred. “Don’t stare,” came Ethan’s familiar admonishment at such gatherings. Brit smiled up at him. Her hair had been perfectly arranged and her Laval-original dress suited her figure. Noticing Ethan’s frown, Brit glanced down at the décolleté and puffed her cheeks slightly knowing that Ethan would once again fuss with his new seamstress over his views on what should be considered proper for women in public. The proprietor greeted Ethan warmly and assured him as he had done with other kindred that tonight’s chef was a great improvement on the previous chef. Ethan replied, “I’m relieved, of course.” With a glance at Brit, he said, “My wife enjoyed the last meal here as I am sure many others did. However, the concept of garlic night offended my senses for days.”

“As it did with many others,” said the jovial man. “I stake the reputation of Sanguini’s that no chef will make such a mistake again.” Ethan practically flinched at the restaurant’s name, and he wondered why some primogen had not yet killed the kindred for being so open as to the cliental of the restaurant. It would have been easy to do based on the restaurant’s placement up high on a cliff.

With another glance to Brit, Ethan reminded himself that it gave him an opportunity to have Brit interact beyond her small circle of friends. Additionally, she looked lovely. “Don’t stare, baby,” Ethan reminded her again as he handed her a menu.

Brit accepted the offering and sat it down. She smiled up at him and said, “I know what you will have.” He grinned touching her bite marks lightly and giving her stray tendril a gentle tug. Noticing her paleness, he announced that he would be having a goblet of Jesus Merlot. Her look of confusion went unanswered as he gave her the menu again. She held it this time, but did not open it.

“I wish to know what you want?” Ethan said with a gesture that she open the menu. Brit opened it and flipped through the pages that had no pictures. Ethan watched her remembering her demands. While it was true that something had affected her, Ethan wondered whether she had preferences in things such as food. Brit continued to flip though the menu and inquired about the availability of French fries. “Rather than a side item, I wish you to select something from each of the section. If done correctly, you will have a proper eight course meal.”

Brit puffed her cheeks and continued to turn the pages. “I don’t know what to get.” Ethan opened a menu and scanned the items quickly noting with pleasure that garlic was thankfully missing from the menu. He suggested she find something she thought she would like by perhaps finding an ingredient she liked. Brit went back to studying the menu. When the waiter came, she read over to each item slowly prior to ordering. Brit stammered, “For the first course.” She gaze to Ethan as she said it hesitantly, “I’ll have this.” She held up the menu so he could see. He gave no indication of whether he felt the choice of seared foie gras with cherry sauce on crackers made of cocoa nibs was a good choice.

The waiter scribbled impatiently. Brit looked at the second section and ordered, “This…” Her lips moved before she read, “Roasted pear salad with chocolate-scented goat cheese and dribbled with the vinaigrette of chocolate and roasted pears.” Ethan’s eyebrow arched at the sophistication of the salad and his second eyebrow joined when the soup of pureed chestnuts with a chocolate cream swirled in was ordered.

Tapping his pen with annoyance, the waiter sighed deeply as Brit read the next section. Ethan’s eyes flashed red for a moment as he said, “My good man, have you somewhere else to be?” The words of the waiter stopped at his lips after glancing to Ethan. A polite shake of his head, he waited for Brit to order the cocoa and orange-braised shrimp for her seafood course. The pasta dish was to be squash risotto with sage and chocolate oil followed by a strawberry sorbet with flicks of chocolate.

Ethan picked up the menu and opened it as he heard Brit order the rib of pork rubbed with cocoa and herbs and drizzled in hazelnut oil served with chocolate-black olive disks and a white chocolate crème of baby carrots. He touched his lips to suppress a grin at the expected order of a “Love Goddess Cake”, which contained several layers of chocolate cake buffered by chocolate ganache filling and frosted with whipped crème.

The waiter left and Brit beamed at him triumphantly having ordered from each section. “Brit. You have managed to have eight courses of chocolate.” Ethan stood holding his hand out to her to lead her to the dance floor. Pulling her close, Ethan guided her far more slowly than the music could play to let Brit follow him in a perfect tango.

“Was the dinner not correct?” she asked. Her body pressed lightly as she stepped outside of his step to turn and step facing him again. Her dress rustled as she moved and he inhaled the light scent of her body happily noting that all was garlic-free.

He grinned. “No, baby. I shall look forward to soft, sweet, chocolate kisses.” He pulled her close again as he turned her in the slow tango brushing his fangs on her throat.

“I thought…you had sweet kisses earlier,” she whispered.

“I did indeed…but…like you, I will have a love goddess dessert,” he teased. She danced close to him and he whispered, “You did not think I went to all that trouble on your make-up for merely dinner and dancing, did you?”

He enjoyed her bewildered look and guided her back to the table where the foie gras waited. And he enjoyed her look when she bit into it finding it more than cherries with chocolate.

Wants & Needs

Ethan kicked the door of their resting place open and deposited a marginally-sentient Brit carefully on the plush fur rug. His demeanor could be described in one word: Irritated. Every little thing about the evening added another thorn in his side. After checking Brit’s pulse, Ethan punctured his own wrist and poured vitae into her mouth forcing her to drink before he sat back to muse how one evening could go so wrong and still end up fine.

When they woke, Ethan had taken Brit for a romantic walk along the beach. He felt it was time she observed more behaviors in others outside of their small circle. When they arrived to the beach, they first encountered a couple who were playfully sparring with swords. Ethan wrapped his arms around Brit and smiled while they both watched. When the male “captured” the female, Ethan was sure that Brit would see playful romance as the girl negotiated for her release. Rather than angel-kissed promises, the girl dropped to her knees and greedily unzipped the man’s pants using other oral skills. Seeing the questions start to form silently on her lips, he refocused her on other people nearby.

Among the others, Pieter told him of news in the city. Blueray and Picket were also there and handed an invitation for both Brit and Ethan to attend their wedding. Weddings would be an ideal setting for Brit to observe others, Ethan mused, if the wedding couple were not demonic in nature. As the happy couple rambled, images of mutual defilements on the ceremonial alter graced his thoughts. At the mention of the wedding activities, Ethan had troubled thoughts at merely considering what ingredients would actually be in the wedding cake. As Brit bounced over the idea of the wedding, Ethan tried to remember a demonic ceremony where people did not either end up naked or sacrificed. He would discuss with Pieter later.

Brit had to take her bicycle to the garage to get the brakes checked. Promising to follow her there, Ethan watched her peddle off as he wrapped up his conversation. When he arrived, members of the garage’s motorcycle gang were typically hanging out. However, rather than hearing loud music, seeing impromptu fighting, and smelling the thick scent of alcohol, he witnessed one crying for her family, another looking for a lost puppy, and a many others acting what was unconventional for people who live on a wild edge. He saw Brit wheeling out a vintage 1950’s Harley-Davidson. A light blue creampuff of a bike that looked as if it was never ridden but had simply been worshipped and gently polished daily with a diaper.

The atmosphere grew more chaotic as more of the gang’s behaviors seemed bizarrely altered as was his usually compliant wife. Brit made it clear that the motorcycle was hers and that she wanted it. It mattered not that she did not know anything about motorcycles. Concerned he sat on the back of the motorcycle until he realized that she was looking for peddles like one would find on a bicycle. Leaving her to flip levers and honk the horn, he slid off to watch the growing confusion. Joah appeared and questioned Brit’s purpose with the bike. He had no answers but tried to explain what he knew. Without warning, the motorcycle engine roared and lurched forward. Brit tumbled off the back as it zoomed ahead crashing into the bricks and caused sparks to fly while it scraped and screamed down the sidewalk on its side depositing paint and parts for a block.

Ethan and Joah ensured Brit was fine before assessing the damage of the prized antique and oddity of the crowd. Brit returned to the garage to find another motorcycle. After all, she had been told by one of gang that she was welcome to any that she liked. Joah followed Brit back into the garage after Brit casually discarded the second bike on the sidewalk and had returned to get one that better matched her outfit. Ethan observed the pattern of his wife who seemed to crave immediate gratification over any desire. He returned to Brit and tried to coax her off of the bike. While talking to her, he felt Joah’s arms slide over him prior to wrapping around his waist. Joah’s words reflected her actions. In addition to Brit’s demands and Joah’s exploration, Deb arrived to lament the demise of her precious Harley that continued to lay in pieces along the road.

Tempers were escalating and Ethan checked his guns before telling Joah that he and Brit would love to rest with her in the library. Joah giggled girlishly and let him drag her as he walked toward the north part of town while carrying Brit who seemed to want anything and everything that caught her eye. Once they reached the library, Brit demanded kisses while Joah flopped on a pillow waiting for the offered three-way “rest.” Ethan struggled to juggle both women and was thankful when Grr arrived. Joah’s interest immediately diverted by telling Grr that Ethan did not live up to what was offered. Grr was gentlemanly enough to compensate which seemed to placate Joah.

Ethan finally had opportunity to observe Brit without distraction. He knew it was only a matter of time before some would seek him to discuss the motorcycle carnage left behind. Brit returned his focus. Kisses were demanded and, when not given immediately, Ethan could feel Brit become agitated when there was not instantaneous compliance. To keep her calm, he gave her the kisses that she demanded and was sure she would be content. Once one demand was sated, another took its place. Minutes passed and Ethan found himself pushed back on to one of the cushions in front of the library fire with Brit practically melted against him. The kisses grew longer and deeper limited only by her need for breath.

Surreal, he thought. Joah and Grr were making out on the cushion next to them. Others had entered the library. None of it mattered to Brit as she pressed harder to feed her wants, which escalated her desires and, which each increased desire, a new demand was issued. More kisses. Deeper kisses. Ethan was unsure how her focus would change. He heard Brit say, “I…I want a feather. I want a feather now.” Lorne had come to the library as others had produced a feather and offered it to Ethan. Ethan did not take time to consider his bias of conjured items and nodded his thanks as he gave Brit the feather. She started to drag it over her skin before dragging it over Ethan’s neck. “I want bites,” she demanded.

Ethan heard her words while realizing people had been watching. Surreal. The word came to him again. Joah and Grr were still making out. Brit told him again, “I want bites.” Her tone clearly indicated that she thought they should have already been delivered. Pulling Brit away slightly, Ethan encouraged her to move to a darker corner. Rather than her usual compliance, she grew more insistent. Others questioned the move, and Ethan felt his mood darken. “This,” he thought, “had to be what it felt like to have a drunk date at the prom.” Unwilling to put on a show for the masses, he pulled Brit in and sank his fangs hard into her throat. She purred as her demand was met.

Ethan drank deeply, unwilling to wait for her next demand. Time, he thought. He needed time. He could feel her energy level ebb as he took more than he usually did and kept tabs on her heartbeat as she crumpled against him. Paler while he now looked more human. His fingers trailed over her face knowing that he would share of himself later and she would be better by morning. Nerissa entered with a handful of burning herbs and Joah immediately started to become more her old self. Brit lay like a sack of flour in Ethan’s arms resting. Picking her up, he took her home. Once there, he ensured she drank of him and pulled her so that her head rested on his thigh.

He was irritated. His fingers caressed her hair and he thought of how he would have reacted to such a night a year ago. The couple on the beach might have gotten them killed for behaving so sleazy. In his younger years, a demonic gathering of any kind would have surely had his company. He glowered at the memory of Deb swearing toward Brit with cause, and found himself growing angry at Deb’s actions even as he rationalized it easily. Then there was Joah all but rubbing against him. Many had died for less. His fingers caressed Brit’s skin. Then there was his beloved who had behaved with a child’s demands and a woman’s desires. In that memory, Ethan grinned and found that, as much as he wanted to be, he was not irritated anymore. With a chuckle, he wondered whether the years were mellowing him.

Feeling the sunrise near, Ethan wedged the door to make sure Brit could not leave before he checked her over; and then he pulled her close falling dormant and realized that he was more exhausted than he had felt in years.