This takes place between Sorrow and Silence. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed the earlier stories in this cycle... And as always -grins-, this is dedicated to Saeger.

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Choice

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Crickets chirp.

Light footsteps on grass.

“You’re here early.”

Shifting. “I felt like sitting here for a while. The sunset’s beautiful.”

“Alone?”

Dry laugh. “Who else is going to come sit with me?”

“Touche.” Rustling of grass. “What is it this time?”

Choked laugh changes; sob. “Apparently, it’s my fault.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. I was there, and I’m stronger than them, and she was on her way to meet me. So it’s all my fault.” Pause. “This time they might actually have a point.”

“Stop that.” Stern.

“Why? It’s true.”

“No. We’ve talked about this. You could do nothing.”

“So? I should have been able to.”

“No.” Stern. “Were you vampire and werewolf both, you could not.” Softer. “You’re still so young. Too young.”

Silence.

“I miss her.”

“So do I.”

Wistful. “I miss my life.”

“Last I checked, you still had it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“...”

“All of my friends are gone. They hate me now. My parents are gone. My boss is suspicious because I miss work once a month. And I walk to work anyway, and I eat, and I come here at night.” Pause. “I don’t go to the library any more.”

Sigh. “She’d want you to.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t.” Bitter laughter. “The manager figured out what I was. Or rather, my ‘friends’ told him.”

“...You could leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes. Leave this city, this state, this country if you feel like you have to. There are clans that I know, packs that would take you in.” Level tones. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“I’d still be dead.”

Silent query.

“I’ve only got one friend. I don’t have any money saved. I can’t get a job as easily as most people...”

Quietly. “That’s not all you were going to say.”

Tired laughter. “What, reading my mind?”

“No. But I know you.”

Sigh. “I’m tired. Everyone says I’m young, I should be happy, enjoy life, date, maybe get married eventually. But I’m too tired. Most days I just want to go to sleep...”

“...and not wake up?”

“Maybe. Yeah.” Pause. “What’s it like, being a vampire?”

Silence.

“You don’t have to tell me...”

“No, no, I’m just thinking.” Pause. “I was born, not turned. But for someone who’s turned, the first thing to go is the food. You’ll still eat some, but mostly you won’t be hungry for them. Then there’s the sun. It won’t kill you, but you’ll be more comfortable in the dark. You’ll live until something or someone kills you. Usually, you’d keep in close contact with your Sire. We do not turn unwilling victims, regardless of superstitious fancies.” Pause.

“What’s the deal with sires?”

“Your sire is the one that turns you.” Pause. Somewhat reluctantly. “There’s usually a bond formed in the turning process.”

“A bond?”

“...Yes.”

“What kind of bond?”

“Do you know what you’re asking about?”

“...I’m asking you about what you are.”

“You’re asking about dying, because you think you already are.”

Silence.

Slightly muffled voice. “I’m sorry. But... I’m so tired. Please. Tell me.”

Quiet sigh. “There is more to life.”

“I’m a friendless werewolf. Are you sure?”

Soft tones. “There are several types of bond that can be formed, and within those each bond is unique. There is a bond between spouses, and between a parent and a child, and between friends. Some small amount of empathy is a given, and at first a newly turned vampire will only drink the sire’s blood. If the bond is strong enough, telepathy can develop.”

"Mm." Hesitant. “What’s it like, needing to drink blood?”

“It’s actually the reason we don’t turn unwilling people. If you don’t drink regularly - especially the first few years after being turned - then you’ll develop bloodlust. At that point, you’ll drain anything you come across dry, and won’t care.” Sober. “If you’re lucky, others will notice and restrain you first.”

Pause. “What about me? I mean, what happens when a - one like me - is turned?”

“They keep their minds on the full moon. The transformations are painless and quick and voluntary. Of course, you’d still be allergic to silver, and none of us can tolerate garlic.”

“That’s not bad.”

Silence.

Sun sets.

Faint stars appear.

“Will you-“

Interrupting. ”No.”

“Why?”

“Because you do not yet know what you are asking.” Sigh. “Consider it. I will answer your questions. If, in six months’ time, you wish this...”

“All right.” Subdued. “Maybe, by then, I’ll wake up.”

“I pray that you do.”

Silence.

Moon rises.

At last -

“...Will I forget her, if I turn?”

Soft voice. “No.”

Silence.

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