Chapter Two

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Betham allowed him a sip of her wine, smiling leanly as he groaned and sank back into the threadbare chair. She settled on top of him, grinning as she fingered her favorite pair of muscles in his abdomen, ruefully fiddling with the drawstrings of his trousers, but he dropped his own liquor glass and shied away—

The half-full shotglass hit the floor and shattered harshly, clear liquor spreading slowly like alcoholic blood amid the broken crystal. Betham almost shuddered as she met his sapphire eyes, eyes that were only just barely clouded with drink.

“No more, Betham,” he said tautly, narrowing his eyes.

“Andar—”

“Don’t do it to me any more, Betham,” he said coldly, taking another sip of the clear, strong liquor. “Don’t lie to me any more! Why in the name of all the merciful gods did you come back, when you had everything you could have wanted in Yhragan?” he said.

Betham’s own eyes flashed in sudden anger at the insult, and she defiantly met his eyes, eyes that were almost too dark to be blue. “You mock me,” she said tightly, barely able to spit the words out.

“What reason have I not to?” he said daringly, finishing the fifth shot he’d taken since he’d brought out the liquor. Sweat was starting to glaze his face from the alcohol…

“I came back for you, damn it!” she practically shrieked, shoving him back a bit deeper into the chair in her anger. He seized her wrist dully, shaking his head. His eyes were calm.

“You never loved me, Betham,” he said, shaking his head and swaying slightly with the liquor. “You never cared a damn about me, and you and I both know it—“

“Don’t you dare say who I cared about!” snapped Betham, eyes blazing.

He pushed her roughly away. “You never loved me, even though I would gladly have given you my own bloody heart on a silver platter, if only you’d ask!” he snarled, standing up as best he could when his mind was choked with drink.

Her nostrils flared. “I loved you, Andar, gods damn you! I loved you more than any other I’d ever seen, touched, loved in my life—”

“You loved me so much you left me to die, choking on my own blood, or don’t you remember?” he bellowed, hurling another empty shotglass at her. It struck a wall and shattered as she screamed in rage.

“I showed you how much I loved you, again and again, and you might have loved me back, once, long ago, before you turned so gods-damned cold!”

“Blame yourself!” he shouted, this time swigging straight from the liquor bottle. He could barely stand, he was about to throw up, but he didn’t care. “For three days now, you’ve expected me to shelter you, feed you, love you, even as you lie straight to my face!”

“Bastard!” she shrieked, unable to find anything better to throw back.

His hands were shaking, his vision blurred. “Don’t ever tell me you love me! Don’t lie to me any more!” he yelled, taking even more drink straight from the bottle.

Betham opened her mouth, but he only swayed dangerously, drunkenly pointing at her as he staggered. “No more,” he said. “No more… no more lies…”

He passed out, dropping the liquor bottle with a startling crash.

- -- - -- -

Betham, grumbling to herself the whole time, managed to heft him up into the bed in the back room, and then she gently laid a rag soaked in cool water across his forehead. He didn’t even stir, only lay with his lips slightly parted as he slept on, engrossed in drunken dreams.

“You always drank too much,” she said wistfully, rising and leaving the room.

- -- - -- -

He woke groggily the next morning to the scent of warm sweetbread and fresh terrafruit, groaning with the slight hangover. Running a hand through his dark hair, he sat up and squinted, wrinkling his nose. Betham had never cooked before…

He could hear her talking, and abruptly he sat up and rolled out of bed, still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the previous night. He groaned as he stumbled into the lavatory, splashing cold water on his face to try and dull the remains of last night’s liquor settling over his senses—

“He’s awake,” said Betham’s voice, sounding alarmed. “Go. You must go. Quickly.”

A male voice grunted and there was a swift rustling of belongings gathered, some polite farewells... Andar hastily stumbled into the small parlor, frowning. Betham was alone.

“Morning,” she said sarcastically. “Sleep well?”

He gave her a scathing look. “Who was it?”

“Who was who?”

“The voice,” Andar pressed. “Whom were you speaking with? A man, a man’s voice, I heard…”

“Andar, you must still be hung over,” she hastily explained.

“I heard it!” he said, taking both her shoulders and shaking her slightly. “I heard him, he just left—”

He pushed past her, to the door, peering out into the streets. No one walked there save a few matrons on their daily errands and some streetrat children playing roosterball in the streets.

He turned back. “Who was he?”

“Andar, you’re drunk,” Betham protested lamely.

“Who?” he snapped, pointing to a tray on the end table. “If you were speaking to yourself, then why have you set out two glasses of wine?” Sure enough, there were two fluted glasses, one chipped, one still half-full of white wine.

“It was a friend of mine, nothing more,” she said hastily, defiantly meeting his eyes. “A friend I haven’t seen for a long time, all right? He stopped by to… to say hello,” she finished, glaring at him.

“And I suppose he knew you were staying on at my house when you’ve been gone the last three years?” challenged Andar.

“I had told him the places… the places he might find me,” she snapped.

“And I was one of them?”

“Yes,” she retorted. “He knew I was leaving Yhragan to come back and find you!”

“So a lover in Yhragan, is that what it is?”

“No!” hissed Betham, eyes livid. “He’s not a lover, and he’s never been!”

Andar’s lips were tight, his eyes smoldering. “The least you can do,” he said coldly, “is to ask a man before you go handing out his good wine.” He turned away and stalked out of the room.

- -- - -- -

“I still want to know, Betham,” he said softly, setting her wine glass on the night table, “why you came back…”

“You want me to tell you again?” she whispered, grinning, shrugging out of her silken robe. Andar’s breath caught in his throat as she slowly pushed him up against the headboard, hands easing down his body like water down smooth rock—he gasped.

“Betham…” he said quietly, groaning. She slowly massaged her fingers into his neck, his shoulders, the tense muscles that she alone knew well.

“You want to know just why I returned?” she whispered again, burying her face in his neck, fumbling with the tiny silver clasps of his shirt. He stopped her, a firm hand on her wrist.

“No more, Betham…” he practically gasped. “No more seduction, not when I want an answer…”

“This is your answer,” she said simply, grinning wolfishly as she pulled him a few centimeters closer by his collar, settling atop of him.

He shuddered involuntarily, but did not protest as she unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it with teasing slowness from his shoulders. Andar moaned slowly, breathing suddenly through half clenched teeth.

“Do you remember?” she said slowly, smiling as his trousers fluttered to the floor, just after each of his boots. With the same tempting slowness she pushed him one more centimeter up, with his back to the headboard, her on top of him. Once again he gasped her name.

“Betham…”

She kissed her way up his neck to the place where she’d first bitten him. He moaned again, softer… “You remember,” she whispered, smiling to hear his breathing, feel the light glaze of lust-born sweat on his pale skin.

- -- - -- -

He woke the next morning not alone in the bed, Betham’s delicate hands cradling him, her pale cheek against his shoulder. Sighing, he slowly sank back into the pillows, still tired despite the night’s rest. He couldn’t roll out of bed without waking her, and that was something he didn’t exactly feel like doing at this hour.

She stirred in dream or nightmare, rolling halfway over. Andar groaned quietly and rolled out of the bed, hastily dressing and continuing dully through his morning routine. The little house that Andar had barely been able to afford just out of the slums of Khiran was quiet this morning, the only sounds his slight rustling movements or footsteps or a call to another from someone out on the streets. Sighing, Andar pulled the thick green drapes together over the windows, grimacing at the sunlight.

He stumbled into the kitchen, opening a cabinet and pushing past the dishes to where the pitcher of pure blood was supposed to reside. He groaned as he saw that it was distinctly empty, only a few round beads of scarlet in the bottom.

“Damn…” he grunted, looking dubiously at the pitcher and then to his cloak, hung halfheartedly on its little hook by the door. Hastily he dug around for a spare bit of parchment, cursing mildly under his breath as he pulled one out, searching for a pen.

He sighed, and cautiously extending the tip of a finger he pressed it gently against one of his sharpened canine teeth, so that a tiny red bead of blood had formed. Absently biting his lip for a moment, he frowned, leaned over, and dragged the bleeding tip of his finger across the parchment.

Gone out

Will return around noon

After glancing around, he hastily added on,

Pasta in cupboard if hungry

He grinned at the irony, sucking at his bleeding fingertip. If he didn’t know exactly what she was up to, she wouldn’t know what he was doing either.

- -- - -- -

The streets were nowhere near as crowded as on the market day, which was like a blessing to Andar. Pulling the hood lower over his face, fingering a single silver dinah restlessly in his pocket, the young vampire sidestepped a fleeing thief, carefully making sure the man’s hands made no contact with his body. After a quick check to make sure that his precious dinan were all still concealed on his person, he continued on.

A woman with a mass of slick chestnut curls and impressive display of cleavage standing outside an inn smiled a bit seductively at him. “Good sir, wouldst you care for a hot meal, warm bath, and a… good rest within the Inn of the Blue Dragon?” She curtsied, and he grinned, politely kissing her hand.

“Any other night, ma’am, I would accept,” he said curtly, returning the look. “But alas, I have places to be. Perhaps tomorrow night I could find a room in your good inn and perhaps a warm bed as well.” He smiled leanly, dipping his head in a courteous bow.

“Very well, sir,” she said, grinning. “Tomorrow. May the winds find you well.” She curtsied again as he went off.

Andar found himself sidestepping several of the same odd people from yesterday as he slipped into one of Khiran’s main streets, avoiding eye contact with any beneath his favorite black hood. Once more the midsummer heat in the city was almost blistering, and Andar found himself hating the sun more deeply than ever.

“You!” The voice was deep, gruff, and horribly familiar, even as someone viciously seized the back of Andar’s collar. The young vampire choked, startled, and then felt himself turned around as something hard slammed with considerable force across his face.

Andar crumpled cursing, desperately twisting to avoid being trampled in the suddenly busy street. Dark crimson blood poured from his nose as the same strong something seized the front of his tunic, snarling—

Andar looked up into livid dark eyes and with a horrible sinking feeling recognized the scruffy, hardened features of the burly man he’d skirmished with in the streets two days ago.

“I’ll KILL YOU!” the man shouted, bringing a practiced knee hard into Andar’s unprotected stomach. Taken by surprise, Andar doubled over as a woman screamed, staggering back and knocking over two or more people. The man roared like a bear and came charging head-on.

Andar dodged desperately, breath suddenly short, knowing how awkward things would become if the man tried to strangle him and he didn’t die… vampiry was a rather hard thing to explain to terrified onlookers. He hit the ground and rolled into an instinctive somersault, striking something hard and wooden—a fish vendor’s stand—and cursing as he stumbled to his feet.

“Running so soon, you little bastard?!” the big man practically shrieked, elbowing his way viciously through the crowd. Andar’s predatory instincts took over instantly and he bared his teeth and snarled, losing his usual clipped manner in a very sudden and rather nasty turn.

“Come and die,” he said coldly, sapphire eyes glinting fiercely. The man’s own deep brown narrowed sharply as he roughly pushed a woman aside and lunged for Andar—

—who nimbly sidestepped him and gave a dry laugh. “Come now, bear, I’m over here.”

“IN THE NAME OF ALL GODS I WILL LICK YOUR BLOOD FROM MY HANDS!” the man bellowed, turning with unexpected speed and striking Andar with bruising force clean across the face. Andar tasted blood in his mouth as he staggered a step back—not the most noble dodge in the world but enough to keep him from having his nose crushed in—and he winced, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“Bloodlust,” he muttered to himself, taking advantage of the man’s sudden heavy breathing to step backwards into the crowd. It was not like him to hide like this, and frankly he shouldn’t have stood among so many bare-necked people due to the slowly rising craving for bittersweet blood.

The man stopped, looking around him and cursing as people pushed past him, not stopping to watch them brawl. Fights were not uncommon in this sect of Khiran, and out of the corner of his eye Andar caught the motions indicating that another one was beginning to simmer just on the other side of the street.

His senses were keening, the sunlight from above was starting to become unbearably bright. Each scuffle, rustle, cry and shout from others in the street made him wince—why were humans so damn loud? His breathing picked up, each and every thing in sight was defining itself—the freckles on that child’s cheekbones, the scar above that man’s left eye, every shade of honey-gold streaked in a woman’s hair… this was what bloodlust did, boring into his belly…

He needed blood, and he needed it now. A man shouted in alarm as he pulled himself effortlessly up onto the rooftop terrace leaning out over the street, balanced on the railings like a cat testing the air.

“COME DOWN HERE, YOU LITTLE BITCH!” the deep gruff voice said suddenly. Even twelve feet or more above him Andar could see the livid dark eyes, the snarl, the challenge…

He grinned almost ferally, baring suddenly pointed teeth. He needed blood, and he needed it now.

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