The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 7

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

I wake the next evening feeling almost peaceful, something that is rare for me no matter what I've been up to. I have an eternity to explore the world and discover what it can offer me, but for some reason, I feel the need to do so all in one day. It's difficult for me to just sit still and take the time to contemplate the world around me, as George is so fond of doing. I'm much rather be out in it, discovering it with sight and sound and touch. Why bother thinking about the world and life as we know it when I'll be around long enough for everyone else to find the answers for me?

Take Gale, for example, and his miraculous spray. I never gave it a second thought because he was doing all the thinking for me. If I had made an attempt to discover it on my own, would I have done so any faster? Possibly, but I didn't care whether I discovered it or not. He did, and now look at him--he's made an accomplishment, something he can be proud of, and I love being happy for him, much more than I would have loved being happy for myself.

In a way, I give more by not doing anything than I would give if I had done it myself.

Or something like that.

I walk into the living room to find George sitting in one of the leather chairs by the cold fireplace perusing a pile of newspapers.

"Good evening, Orlando," he says, without even looking up.

"Good morning, George," I smile and flop down on the sofa.

"You haven't said ‘good morning' to me in quite some time," he says, glancing at me around the edge of the paper. "I must say, I was almost beginning to miss it."

"Well, you know how I feel about that. Our nights are their days, their days, our nights. Why should we conform to their expressions of time? Therefore, I wish you a hearty ‘Good morning!'"

"Orlando, you and I both know you don't give a rat's ass about whether it's morning or evening. You just do it to irritate me."

"George!" I exclaim, my eyes wide with innocence. "I'm hurt!"

"Of course you are," he says, returning to his paper.

"I can't believe you would so easily dismiss me and my attempts to establish vampire independence from the human mind!"

"Uh-huh."

"Have you heard that there's even a group of young vampires, particularly those made in the last century, who are actually making a point to follow my example? Working together, we will be free from human constraints!"

"That reminds me--I've been meaning to destroy them before they grow even further out of hand."

"You can't do that!" I cry, alarmed by the thought that my unwanted protégés might come to harm. "They have as much a right to exist as I do, and if their plea for independence vexes you enough to end their existence, then you should end mind as well, for they are only following my lead."

"You make an excellent point," he says, laying his paper down in his lap. "In fact, if I rid myself of you, I'll be ridding myself of the source of most of my problems, and that would make my life so much easier. Looks like your time is up, kid."

"Evil bastard," I mutter.

"Impudent brat," he counters with a grin.

"Just give me enough of a warning to allow me the time to put my affairs in order."

"Your ‘affairs'?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. "What affairs? You own nothing, you have no income, no family, no assets of any kind. The fortune you manage to frivol away belongs to me. What possible affairs could you have?"

"Gale, Eric, Benicio, Olivier," I say, counting them off on my fingers. "The three ‘R's--Raoul, Rodrigo, Ryan, not to mention, Gerard, Nathan—"

"All right," he chuckles. "Enough already. I get the picture. You and your men."

Still grinning, he raises the paper once more, and I sigh. George wastes so much time following the events in the human world, but I suppose it's his immortality--he can do what he wants with it. Still, doesn't mean I have to let him do it in peace.

"Where's Angelina?"

"Hunting. Reacquainting herself with the city."

"Alone?" I ask, my voice incredulous. "You didn't go with her?"

"Obviously."

There are times when I just do not understand him. He's squandering the perfect opportunity for holding hands while walking in the moonlight, for gazing adoringly at each other over a fresh kill. The man has no sense of romance. And I tell him so.

"You have no sense of romance."

"She likes her space--you know this. It's one of the reasons why she spends so much time alone. She's a strong, independent woman, and I admire her for it, but I cannot help it if I am not like her. I much prefer to be surrounded by friends, rather than be separated from them. Her solitude helps her survive. Keeping you near helps me."

"So you're never going to feel the need to run off and spend a century or two alone?"

"Well, I don't know about never, but I haven't yet, so it's doubtful that I will in the future."

"Good," I smile, trying not to show how relieved I am by his answer. "Because I don't think I could survive without you."

"Oh, I'm sure you could," he says, then flashes me a devilish grin, "but not for long."

I stick my tongue out at him, but otherwise, don't try to argue. In many ways, he's right.

"Why are you in here pestering me on such a fine evening?" he asks, giving me a searching look. "Where are Gale and Eric and why aren't they entertaining you?"

"They're out buying yarn," I answer.

"Yarn?"

"Yarn," I nod, trying not to smile, and he shakes his head.

"I don't want to know."

"Probably not," I chuckle. "However, you'll be greatly relieved to know I was thinking of going hunting."

"Good, you should do that. Just be careful. I've been getting an odd feeling from this city, and I think our own hunters might have followed us here."

Oh, fuck. Not again! "Does this mean we're leaving?"

"In the next couple of days," he nods, and I sigh.

"Why don't we just kill them all now and be done with it? I hate having to move when I'm just beginning to get a feel for a place."

"I know you do, little one," he says with a fond smile, "but it's for your own safety."

"Don't you mean ‘our' own safety?"

"The others can take care of themselves," he shrugs, returning to his paper. "You're my only concern."

Okay, while I admit to the occasional bout of absentmindedness and indifference, I've got to say, this is getting to be rather obnoxious. "You know," I growl, standing up and plucking the paper from his hands, "I am not exactly helpless when it comes to defending myself. I am nearly as powerful as you. Half a dozen hunters wouldn't even faze me."

"I know."

"So why the lack of faith in my survival skills?"

"It isn't a lack of faith, Orlando," he says, his brown eyes meeting mine. "It is a projection of my own personal interest. You are very important to me. I do not want to see you hurt, and I most certainly do not want to see you killed."

"But why the overwhelming concern for me and not the others?"

"Because you are mine," George answers, a hint of steel in his voice, and his possessiveness sends a wave of warmth through my body. "I found you, I raised you, I brought you into this life, and I am not releasing you from it until I am ready."

"Oh, George," I grin, dropping into his lap and throwing my arms around his neck--horribly scrunching up the paper as I do so, "you're just a big ol' softie, aren't you? Admit it."

"Orlando. . ."

"Come on--say you're a big ol' softie."

"You're impossible," he grins, and I plant a huge wet one on his lips.

"Close enough," I laugh, hopping back out of his lap. "I'm going hunting now. See you in a bit."

"Paper?" It's more of a command than a question, reminding me of the newspaper in my hand.

"Oh, right." I place it back in front of him and he takes hold of it, trying to shake out the creases. "You're welcome!"

"Menace," he grumbles, but I know better than to think anything of it. He loves me, and I love him. He needs me, and I need him. Everything else is just bullshit.

Whatever peace I might have gained from my interlude with Stuart and Karl quickly dissipates, and the next night finds me wandering the streets again. The only difference is that this time, I have a map. Still, a map in Venice isn't all it's cracked up to be. This city is a fucking maze, making my map pretty much useless.

Oh, well. If the situation becomes hopeless, I've still got my mobile, and I'm fairly certain Karl and Stuart will be more than willing to help guide me back to base again.

I tilt my head from side to side, stretching out my neck, testing to see how tender it feels. It isn't as bad as it has been, mainly because I didn't wake up this morning to find the bandage plastered to my skin, soaked with my own blood. Still, I have to hope that the solution to a night of unopened wounds doesn't solely rest on me getting a good fuck. Not that I'd object to a decent fuck most nights, but even I need a break every now and then, and I don't want getting laid to be the only solution to my continuing good health.

And I really don't want to walk around with a band-aid on my neck for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was all psychological. Maybe I just needed to stop associating sex with Orlando and Orlando's teeth. Now that I don't have to be afraid of getting drained after a mind-blowing orgasm, maybe it'll all go away.

Not that I was ever afraid, but I really didn't like the thought that the best sex I would ever have would be with someone who tried to eat me alive. Not that Karl and Stuart were the best, but they were pretty damn close, and they were definitely a good place to start.

Oh, god, I sigh. This is getting me nowhere. Except lost. Again. I have got to stop thinking and start paying attention to where I am, or I'm never going to be able to find my way back to where I was.

I think.

Does that make sense? Does anything in my life make sense?

I don't even know anymore.

I wish I was back in Ireland. I was never this confused in Ireland. At least, not for this long. I was usually able to work things out. Now, though, it's all fucked up.

I need a cigarette.

Attempting to match the flame to the tip of the cigarette, I turn the corner and run bodily into the person coming around it.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry. Chiedo scusa. Mea culpa, or whatever the fuck is modern Italian. . ." My voice trails off as I look up into an all too familiar pair of brown eyes, eyes that torment my dreams, eyes that haunt me while I'm awake--the very eyes of the fucking vampire who tried to kill me.

"You," he says softly in that voice--oh god, that voice. My dreams did nothing to capture the lyrical sound of that voice. He looks me up and down, his beautiful brown eyes gazing at me with wonder and astonishment. And then he smiles, and I feel the ground fall out from beneath me. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, no thanks to you, you son of a bitch," I snarl, forcing myself to focus as I pull the knife from its sheath under my sleeve and thrust it into his shoulder. There is so much fury in my movement that he is propelled backwards until he hits the wall, I and the knife pinning him to the stone.

Suddenly, I'm not quite so annoyed with Elijah for telling Marton I'm not ready to be carrying around a firearm. Seeing him stuck there with a stunned expression on his face has made it all worthwhile. Of course, now I have no weapon, but I'm going to ignore that little problem and just enjoy the moment.

"I don't understand," he says, brown eyes filled with confusion and hurt--not just physical pain, but actual emotional hurt. "Why are you so angry?"

"Why am I so. . . Oh, fuck, I can't believe this!" He absolutely floors me, he really does. "You fucking tried to kill me!"

"But I didn't."

"You didn't try? I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to laugh at that one. If that was just your half-assed version of death, I can't wait to see what an actual attempt will be like."

"No, that's not what I meant," he says, trying to move so the knife won't grind so deeply into his shoulder. He doesn't succeed. I gleefully smirk. "I mean, yes, I did try, it's sort of my nature, but I didn't actually kill you, so I don't understand."

"You're saying that because I didn't die, I should just forgive you and forget it ever happened?"

"Not forget," he says, a hand reaching to brush my cheek, and I slap it away.

"Not forgive, either," I growl. "You've ruined my life."

"How?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I have no immediate answer to give. How did he ruin my life? As soon as I had recovered, I could have just continued as I did before. I didn't have to join this group of vampire hunters. My life as I knew it did not have to come to a complete halt. Other than the near-death experience--oh, fuck. Who am I kidding?

"You destroyed my trust. You've taught me how to fear. You see these?" I say, ripping the bandage from my neck to reveal the marks left by his teeth. "They won't fucking go away! Every time I go to sleep, I have nightmares of you drinking from me, and when I wake up, I'm bleeding. I no longer fit into the life I knew because I no longer know what it is. You showed me a world I never knew existed and when you did, you destroyed everything I believed to be true. All my deepest fears became a reality. That's how you ruined my fucking life!"

"I still don't understand," he says, shaking his head. "You left behind your old life in exchange for a new one, a darker one, perhaps, but it is still life. Maybe the veil has been lifted, but that doesn't mean your life is over. It's just different."

I stare at him, completely amazed. "I can't believe you're trying to reason me out of killing you."

He blinks. "You're going to kill me?"

"I'm sure as fuck going to try. Even if you didn't manage to kill me, you've seduced and killed more people than you can probably count, and by killing you, I'll be saving the lives of thousands. That alone will be worth your death."

For a moment, the brown eyes harden, revealing the monster within. "You can't kill me. You are unarmed. If you try to remove the knife, you'll be dead. If you try to call for help, I'll be gone before they arrive. Leave me alone for a single second to find another weapon, and I'll disappear."

"Or, I can keep you pinned here till dawn and let the sun do the rest."

"You can't do that," he says with a grim chuckle.

"Oh yeah? And why not?"

"The only reason I'm still here is because I want to be."

That makes me pause. He wants to be here? Even knowing that I'm only trying to think of a way to kill him before he can escape? Now I'm the one who doesn't understand. "All right, I give. Why do you want to be here?"

"Because of you," he smiles.

I have got to get him to stop smiling.

"Because I think I'm in love with you."

That's it. He's losing his head. I don't know how, but he's not walking away from here with his head attached.

I start looking around for something, anything, that will lend a hand with his impending decapitation when he grabs onto my arm.

"Let go of me, you miserable—" But I cannot finish because I can no longer speak.

He has wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me slightly to the side in order to avoid the knife sticking out of his shoulder, and then he covered my mouth with his.

I try to struggle out of his grasp, but I can't escape. That's one thing I remember all too well--how strong he is. Another thing I remember is the touch of his lips, the power of his kiss, how he makes me feel as if I am on fire. My body melts into his touch while growing painfully hard at the same time.

He releases my mouth, looking at me with a flushed face and glowing eyes. Literally glowing eyes. That's right--vampire. He's a vampire. Have to get away. Have to escape.

I push away from him, and he lets me go. I take several steps back, then turn and run. I don't know what else to do. I just have to run, as far away from him as I can.

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