Alone

Brit stretched out curling her toes before snuggling back against Ethan. “Maybe it will snow outside. It is getting cold enough, I think,” she said. Ethan grinned down at her noticing that she had dressed in her bathing attire that he had obtained for her when they went on the cruise. Brit plucked at the skirt and seemed lost in thought. “Perhaps I should have worn something more.”

Pulling her closer, Ethan reached for a blanket that lay near and wrapped it over her. Brit's clothing choices always interested him. Tonight’s choice made him wonder whether Brit made her decisions based on memories rather than requirements of the world around her. As she cuddled against him, he felt her body heat radiate beneath the blanket. Taking advantage of her short sleeves, he stroked her skin gently. “Perhaps,” he replied. “But it matters not for now, Brit. You look charming.” Shifting slightly, he picked up a book and opened it, “Tonight, I thought it would be enjoyable to share a poem or two.”

“A poem. Like a story that rhymes ?” she asked as she looked curiously at the book. “Does it have pictures?”

Ethan pulled her head to his chest and shook his head slightly. “Poems often paint the picture in your mind. That is what makes them special. They need not to rhyme. Close your eyes and just listen to the words.” She turned toward him laying her arm across his body. Ethan blinked and pulled her closer musing that she fit like a missing piece of his puzzle. His fingers adjusted her hair so he that he could see her face.

Seeing questions form in her mind, he placed a single finger to her lips. “Shhh. Just listen.” Brit kissed the fingertip and smiled up at him causing him to give her a single nod before he opened the small brown book and read, “Alone by Edgar Allan Poe.” Looking down, he noted that she seemed to look at the book as if it yielded pictures. Flipping the page, he read:

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.”

Brit looked up at him at the pause at the end of the stanza. “It rhymes maybe a little bit,” she commented. He nodded and waited patiently to see if she had gleaned any insight within the poem. Brit processed. Brit liked thinking about things when he was near. He never rushed her and never grew impatient. “Is it a boy that is talking?” she inquired.

“It does not say, Brit, but I do not think it matters.” Her body had grown warm beneath the blanket and his fingers enjoyed the feel of her soft skin. Brit processed more and could almost feel his presence within her mind which caused her to smile up at him. “I agree, baby. Different.” It was a captured thought and he grew more secure that it belonged to her. Satisfied, he continued to read:

“From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.”

“Is sadness and joy the same to him?” Ethan did not reply and so she asked, “Does his heart love both?” Brit tilted her face up to see whether his expression gave any clues.

Ethan shrugged closing the book slightly but marking it with a single finger. “Poems mean different things to different people, baby. There is no right or wrong answer.”

He felt her confusion as she stumbled for black and white understanding. She pressed her head back blinking. “I think,” she lisped hesitantly, “his heart loves both sadness and joy.” Sensing that her thoughts had churned the verse and, now was waiting for more, he reopened the book and read:

“Then – in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:”

Silence followed for over 30 minutes. Her thoughts went over the words carefully. Ethan closed the book again so he could fully focus on Brit as she mulled over the words. Within her mind, he saw her dart from one path of understanding, come to a dead end, and back-up to run down another. Turning so her back nested in the crook of his arm, she ventured, “Maybe..the things that confused him as a child still makes him wonder.” Ethan touched the shell of her ear and waited for her to complete her thought, which came 24 minutes later. “Maybe, he remembers when he was little to help him explain stuff now no matter if it is good or bad?”

Ethan gave her an approving caress and said, “Does that make sense to you?” Brit thought it over and nodded to him. He grinned, “Then maybe that is what he meant.” She seemed satisfied with his response and leaned against his chest to hear the next verse. Ethan continued:

“From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,”

Ethan started on the following part when he was interrupted by Brit asking, “Do you miss the feel of the sun?”

Her question caused him to pause. Though he had not thought of it in years, he caught a glimpse of a memory of himself as a small boy whose skin was browned by the summer sun. The dew-kissed mornings and red-sky evenings were such a distant memory. His fingers trailed down her arm as he responded, “I believe we all miss what we no longer have. And often we desire what is absent from us.” Seeing her thoughts start to divert toward his response, he kissed her on the top of her hair and finished the poem:

“From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.”

The last stanza hung in the air. Brit processed and an hour passed. “His life was hard. And he was not like others. And good and bad all was part of his life and he needed his childhood memories to understand…because…because.” She nibbles her lower lip. “He was still the child maybe.”

Ethan could feel her struggling to comprehend within her mind. When frustrated by lack of connection, she would press against him as she processed. Her toes tapped when a connection was made. It was all very interesting to him. Brit whispered, “He saw demons and darkness where others see heaven and happiness, maybe.” Ethan cocked an eyebrow at her comment. “Maybe he felt neither joy nor sorrow as a child. Maybe his life grew difficult…but…he was not like anyone else.” Looking up at him, she lisped, “Alone.”

Ethan felt pleased that she seemed to be able to justify the title. With a glance to the book, he placed it aside. The book reflected parts of his life well. His fingertip lingered on it for a moment as he thought darkly that other parts of it fit well too. Brit’s voice pulled him from the musings. “You are not alone anymore, Ethan.” Her words pulled memories that he was happy to leave long dormant.

“Neither of us will ever be alone again, Brit,” came the quiet reply. Brit smiled snuggling happily against him -- oblivious to dark inner demons that can work within one’s mind.

Virtuous Women

Ethan took Brit to the rooftop to get fresh air. Together they watched people come and go along the street below. The night air had grown crisp hinting at cold weather, but Ethan felt at peace enjoying the unusual tranquility of the city. With Brit snuggled in his embrace, he felt all was right with the world and then he heard it. The shrill remark from a woman in the shadows of the alley across the street, “You bloody bastard! I should kick your ass for cheating on me with that sow!” Ethan’s arms tensed and he glowered in the direction of the shout.

“The lady does not sound happy,” lisped Brit. Her head turned up toward his face as she commented. He smiled tersely down to her and stroked her cheek. “It sounds like the pig girl maybe found a beloved?”

The second part caused Ethan to grin. “I do believe that the woman is cross with the one she calls her beloved.” More comments from the woman followed, all were peppered with expletives. Brit blinked and Ethan growled low, “And, do not mistake this, Brit. That is no lady.”

With a tilt of her head, she said, “Do you know the lady…er…um….lady, or are you guessing she is not a real Lady?” Nibbling her lower lip, she asked, “You sometimes say that ladies are not Ladies. How can you tell?” It was one of life’s greater mysteries about her husband.

Brit’s question caused Ethan’s dark mood lift as fast as it descended. His arms tightened around her and he pulled her back playfully giving her a loving smooch on the cheek. He began to explain, “See, Brit, vulgar people use vulgar words. Take that ‘lady’, for example. She called him a ‘bloody bastard’, did she not?” Brit nodded and Ethan hinted a grin at her attentiveness. “Indeed, she did. I used to hear that word often from vulgar people. ‘Bloody bad work. The bloody bad day.’ It seemed that they knew what a bloody day or week was; but a virtuous woman should not know what a ‘bloody’ thing is.”

Ethan turned Brit to him and walked her to the wall that outlined the rooftop. Sitting on the small walled perimeter, he turned her so he could pull her down on his lap. Stroking her arm, he continued, “Moreover, a virtuous woman is delicate and should not want to know anything about such examples; for they would be disgusted or appalled should someone mindlessly slaughter a lamb or a bird in front of them.” Ethan’s voice trailed off a bit as he added softly, “At least….that is how it use to be. And the world was better for it, I believe.”

Brit seemed troubled. Nibbling on her lower lip, she processed his words as he stroked her cheek. 'Virtuous' seemed to be what he wished her to be. There was a problem and so she whispered, “I know what blood is, Ethan. And I’ve seen many harm others. Am I not virtuous?”

“Brit, of course, you are virtuous! You are always bothered when someone harms another. And I’ve not known you to sit and watch harm come to others for amusement. That would be vulgar and an act of someone not virtuous.” Pausing, he asked, “What does virtuous mean to you?”

Brit said softly, “To be nice? To be honest?”

Ethan nodded pleased with her beginning comprehension. “All of those, baby. Chaste, good, righteous. See what I mean when I say that a virtuous woman would not wish to watch torture and harm for amusement? It would simply not be nice,” he explained not quite believing that he used the word ‘nice’ as a basis for understanding. Brit nodded. Ethan brushed Brit’s hair with his fingertips letting her process more. “Think of what the woman said, Brit. She also told the person that she would ‘kick his ass’.” Ethan shook his head again and continued, “Virtuous women would not speak of anything vulgar, especially not of bodily parts left best not seen in public.” He adjusted his sleeve and commented, “It is unseemly.”

Brit asked, “Unseemly?” Ethan pondered how to explain and traced her lips with his fingertip as he considered how to answer.

“Unseemly is not suitable for the time and place.” He paused to let her think on his words.

“You mean…like when you said not to take my clothes off in public?” Brit spoke slowly and was pleased to see him smile with approval of her connection.

Ethan gave her a loud kiss on the cheek as a reward. “Precisely, Brit. That would be obscene, hence ‘vulgar’.” His finger traced her lips and tapped her nose. “I once heard of a young woman who teasingly greeted her old classmate with ‘hello, you bawdy whore!’ Now, this would clearly not be a comment from a virtuous young lady. Do you see why?” Brit blinked blankly to him, which pleased him no little. With a nod, Ethan gave a satisfied “hmm’ and explained, “A virtuous woman should not know anything about these things. Not bawdy or whores.”

“Ethan,” Brit said, “I’ve heard you use that second word before.” She blinked silently and he saw the wheels turning. “You called Marie Antoinette that word!”

Tapping his fingers on Brit’s side, he coughed politely and said, “Indeed I did. But we are not discussing virtuous men, now are we? No. Virtuous men are trustworthy and honest. Virtuous women are good and clean. They are chaste and honest and gentle. Like you, Brit.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he saw her mind continuing to process. She asked, “But…what if I accidently learn those words?” Her voice seemed alarmed.

Ethan chuckled, “You simply do not say them in public and, if you must say them, you would say them alone with your husband. It is simple to stay virtuous, baby.” His arms hugged her reassuringly.

More processing as she rested her head on his shoulder. “And you have stayed virtuous for so very long,” she marveled. Her long lashes blinked rhythmically as she continued to process. “So do you call men ‘virtuous, Ethan?”

Ethan scratched his chin and ran his tongue over his fangs as he thought how to respond. “If they are saints, yes, Brit. For the rest of us, we shall stick to the word ‘worldly’.” He slid her off of his lap and said, “Let us go inside.”

Narcotic

The moment Ethan’s eyelids parted, he searched for Brit in the darkness. His vision quickly became flawless again and he hinted a smile finding her nestled by his side. Inching closer to close the gap the daytime sleep had put between them, he laid his right arm on her upper arm gently brushing back the strands of hair that veiled her doll-like face. He studied her to ensure that all was as it was prior to their rest. Satisfied, Ethan beamed for a moment while touching her face. His thoughts were clear: “Nobody can take better care of you than me. Nobody.” Withdrawing his hand, he touched her chest feeling her breathe evenly in her sleep. Her chest rose and fell evenly as she slept as he lay there unblinking and marveling at he wonder of His creation that he was blessed with.

Two weeks ago, Ethan had taken Brit to the church and watched as she performed her nightly prayers. Many were milling about the streets. He could feel the question before she asked it. “Ethan,” she lisped softly. “Our door is locked lately. It did not use to be so,” she said.

His footsteps sounded firm on the street as he escorted her home. They passed someone who frequented the church steps but rarely entered. “Yes, baby,” Ethan replied. “I thought it prudent to lock the door so no one could enter our resting place while we sleep.” Glancing down, he nodded once and kept a firm hold on her hand. “I do want to keep you safe, of course. And comforted,” he added in a lower voice.

Brit needed to run to keep up with him. She countered, “But…Ethan.” He seemed to be speeding up. She ran along beside him and continued, “It was locked to others before and not to me. But now. Now, it is locked to me.” Ethan was almost to the steps and she ran again to catch him. Clasping his arm, she whined, “I cannot go get cookies!”

At her words, he turned abruptly and looked at her intently holding up a single finger to her lips. “There is nothing that you need that I cannot provide, Brit. Nothing.” His jaw clenched slightly, “Anything you can get while away from me, you can get the same or better with me.” Ethan’s voice dropped to a whisper as he caressed her cheek, “There is no need for you to be away from me.” Turning, he walked toward the steps again to their resting place. Opening the door, he let her walk in ahead of him. Following, he said softly, “And I want you close. So close. Everything else is secondary.” The door closed and did not re-open again for her.

So you face it with a smile

There is no need to cry

For a trifle's more than this

After two weeks, Ethan was far from running out of stories. On the contrary, he found that he loved reminiscing and knew that Brit was interested in from where he had come. Ethan enjoyed Arles in 1888. The artist community that thrived during that year brought enlightened, lively conversation among witty, clever, and talented people who wore bright colors. Ethan smudged the deep blue kohl around Brit’s mossy green eyes and stood back appraising his work. “Van Gogh,” he told her, “used to drink absinthe in the Hôtel Restaurant Carrel in the Rue de la Cavaleirie when he was not crying over some love lost to a prostitute.” He went on to describe how odd it felt to him to view the old Roman Arena and remember when such were used, or to touch the medieval gate and remember it new.

Brit loved when Ethan talked of times gone by. She could not imagine her husband frequenting parties of artists and writers. Similarly, she could not imagine Ethan in many times of his life. Among the more perplexing were his descriptions of the fall of Constantinople and the Crusades. Also confusing was his role in seeking those who acted against God: The power of the demonic influences was lost on her. Brit loved his descriptions of when he first heard a truly modern pipe organ or saw a man-made object fly.

Ethan noticed that Brit seemed more focused on the changes of culture and inventions than politics and war. Getting a bit of midnight blue to darken her outer eye corners, Ethan dabbed carefully noticing the enhancement to the whites of her eyes. So perfect, but fragile, he thought. Brit was such a precious gift, but her fragility caused Ethan more concern with each passing day. As his brush stroked on color, Brit looked up at him and he paused as if caught in a spell. The brush slowed. She was his to love and to protect. Brit was his wife, he thought. Ethan’s lips parted and he blinked feeling God would wish what he was thinking. The brush touched her eyes gently and Ethan knew that Brit would never age another day; and God would approve else he would never have brought her to him.

Will you still recall my name

And the month it all began

Will you release me with a kiss

To be sure, there was much to consider. He finished painting her face and turned it left and right slowly. Perfection was important when one was meant to never change again. Ethan’s fingers ran through her hair and he examined the ends to ensure they were perfectly trimmed. Moving her hair to behind her shoulders, his fingers ran over her neck. To heal the bite mark or not? In turning her, their reason for being was no longer important, but his vanity admitted to enjoying them on her throat. Unable to resist, he bent his head to feel them with his lips. His fangs lengthened and he could feel her pulse throb beneath her skin. No more sicknesses, Ethan thought. No more worries, he reassured himself feeling his fangs rub her bites.

Brit’s head tilted at the touch of his fangs. One hand went behind her head and another gathered around her and pulled her securely against him. Breaking the skin, the small crimson drops welled and he tasted her sweetness. How would her blood change, he wondered? His fangs teased open her bite marks allowing the blood to trickle into his mouth. Sweet, like candy. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the flavor and closeness. He had all night. No need to hurry, he said to himself. Brit’s arms went around him and her fingernails caressed his back. Fingernails, he remembered. Healing the wounds, he pulled away to examine them. Smiling up at her, he leaned and carefully licked the wounds healing her bite marks completely.

Have I tried to draw the veil

If I have - how could I fail?

Did I fear the consequence

... dazed by careless words

Cozy in my mind

Using the cosmetic file, Ethan ensured that her fingers and toes matched and were filed to pristine perfection. Beauticians, he mused, should be the most learned theologians as they had so much time to muse. As he filed, he thought of changes she would have to learn. Feeding. His chylder learned quickly enough, he thought, which was good as she had become such a wanderer. What if the same happened to Brit? Could she survive and feed? To be sure, she had no issue drinking from him but who was to say she could partake blood from others. His eyes flashed crimson at the thought, but he had to come to terms with the concept that drinking from other sources may mean survival.

Also, if he had to leave town for a while, who could care for her? She would be a fledgling. A chylder as well as his wife. So loved. Would an enemy target her? Ethan was not so naïve to not know that answer. Plus, in his world, he really should ensure there was approval to insure she would be protected without him. At one time, Nikita could have been a reliable back-up, but she had not been seen in months. Pieter would tend to Brit, if needed, but Ethan was unsure he wanted to risk the exposure to what Brit would see in the Pit. As for Omega, there was also risk of unwanted exposure. Ethan took a deep breath and let his mind refocus. Perhaps turning her was not the best plan. Yet.

Chorus: I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

Now you shaped that liquid wax

Fit it out with crater cracks

Sweet devotion- my delight

As the pendulum swung the other way, Ethan pulled her to him again. He loved to drink from her and had grown to anticipate the taste of her blood. Metallic after she ate mushrooms. Salty after seafood. Sweet after cookies and such. But it was more refined than the obvious. Her moods and biological responses also flavored her blood. Again, he wondered whether Brit’s blood would change so if she were like him. Ethan’s mind wondered as he kissed her hand again before gathering her hair and starting to brush it. He made a mental note to order strawberries coated in a rich layer of pure dark chocolate.

Another kiss of her hand, Ethan slid a white chemise over her head and remembered his earlier thought: Brit would not age another day. There were two ways to achieve such things. Perching on the side of the desk, he rolled up his sleeve. Brit watched how his hair framed his face. Seeing her glance, Ethan gave a playful wink and brought his wrist to his mouth breaking the skin. Shifting, he pulled her to where she sat between his legs and held his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.” Her mouth felt warm against his wrist as she drank from him. He felt her body respond to his blood down to the strengthened heartbeat. Pulling her head back to the edge of his shoulder, he watched the pulse under her skin and felt her drink wondering whether she found his taste as intoxicating as he found hers.

Oh, you're such a pretty one

And the naked thrills of flesh and skin

Would tease me through the night

Ethan kept his wrist to her mouth. He knew she did not require so much, but wanted to share of himself with his wife. Brit was his wife. His eyes darkened at the recent interference of so many friends. Deep within, Ethan knew Brit’s friends meant well. Those such as Joah. Kissing Brit’s temple, he noticed that she had stopped drinking. How dare Joah tell him that he was wrong in his choices regarding his wife! Ethan licked his wounds and continued to think. If Joah were not bad enough, Omega also started to question his choices regarding Brit. Flexing his wrist, he struggled to keep his talons in check. Rage welled up within and, with a sudden animalistic growl, he quickly transitioned Brit to laying back on the desk and hovered his fangs over her throat. Again the thought to change her. Make her more like him. Give her a life-long connection.

Ethan’s body trembled causing Brit to look over to him in confusion. She could not see his face or his red-glowing eyes. He longed to drink deep of her. To feel her crumple and revive her while he held her. His. She would be completely his then. His fingers shook as he drew her near and scratched her throat with the sharp tips. He could hear her heart dare him to drink. The angry energy of being questioned caused him to growl as he quickly pushed her to the desk. Brit’s look of surprise gave him a brief pause. Rather than seeming alarmed, she relaxed back looking up to him and her sense of calm soothed him. Rather than finding brick to destroy, his talons stroked down her body ripping and moving the fabric aside. A slight screech of metal on glass could be heard as he leaned over her and kissed her tummy. Soft caresses yielded a tranquil feeling as he sought, selected and sank his fangs into her skin and drank.

"Now i hate to leave you bare

If you need me I'll be there

Don't you ever let me down"

..dazed by careless words

Cozy in my mind

He felt her body respond and enjoyed the way the taste of her blood changed as he drank. It was a struggle to drink slowly. It was a greater struggle to stop. Ethan’s talons retracted and his eyes became normal again but still he drank miniscule sips. Each sip, he knew he would care for God’s creation. With each caress, he knew he would protect his wife. Brit’s fingers entwined in his hair as she felt her fingers and toes grow colder. Still he drank until her heartbeat quickened. Even then, he kept his fangs embedded in her without pulling more blood.

Brit’s breathing was the only sound in the room. Ethan removed his fangs once he felt himself again. Music played close by. He knew that she would never let him down, but he also knew that she would never be parted from him. Ethan’s body ground against Brit’s as he kissed her lips. Giving her a soft caress, he bit her neck again returning her bite marks.

Chorus: : I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

No, Ethan thought. He would never let her go. Picking her up, he laid her back on the coverlet of their resting place. It had been two weeks, but Ethan had no desire to leave the room. He had all that he needed in the room and could requisition anything Brit needed to be delivered.

And I touched your face

Narcotic mind from lazed Mary-Jane

Brit felt Ethan's fingers again on her face. He had arranged for Annika to bring her food, but she was content subsisting on his vitae. “You will eat properly tomorrow, Brit,” Ethan whispered. Not tonight, he thought.

And I called your name

Like an addicted to cocaine calls for the stuff he'd rather blame

It had been two weeks. And Ethan noticed that Brit did not seem to care whether they stayed in. He wondered if she could endure watching a sunrise on a DVD one frame at a time.

And I touched your face

Narcotic mind from lazed Mary-Jane

If someone had asked, Brit would have been surprised how much time had passed. Cold, tired, and content is all she felt and so she rested.

And I called your name

My cocaine

While she rested, Ethan thought again of those who meant so well and knew that none could care for his wife as he could.

Chorus: : I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jsj-37UrxeM