The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 8

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

My feet find the way back to the villa entirely of their own accord. I am no help to them at all, so I am fortunate that they know the way. I am too busy replaying the encounter in my mind, trying to get it all to sink in, and having very little success at it.

My warrior is alive.

There was always the chance that he would survive. He is strong, a fighter--it's why I chose him--but that he actually managed to live. . . My cherub must have found him. I knew the little blue-eyed one had been watching me, following me. He must have gotten to my warrior in time.

I'll have to find a way to thank him. He's already under my protection. I wonder what else I can do for him?

His reward is something I'll have to think about later. I've got too much cluttering my mind right now, a mind that isn't used to clutter. I am dead, after all. What do I have to worry about?

Well, other than survival and not being discovered, but those are pretty much automatic by now, so they barely require any thought.

But my warrior. . . he's going to require some thinking.

Still somewhat dazed, I walk through the doors and into the villa. There's a fire sparking merrily in the living room where George is lying on the sofa with Angelina between his legs, the back of her head resting contentedly on his chest.

This doesn't last long.

Angelina shoots up to peer over the sofa as I enter the room, her eyes immediately focusing on the blood on my shirt. "Forget your table manners?" she asks, but George shakes his head, carefully untangling himself from her as he stands.

"The blood is his," he says, his face growing cold. He's going into scary paternal vampire mode--never a good thing, at least, not for the one he's directing this darkness to.

"What?" she snaps, her face growing concerned. "Orlando, are you—"

"I'm fine," I say, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile.

"Let me see," George says, and I lift the shirt up over my head. His eyes graze over the jagged pink line in my shoulder, his fingers lightly touching it on both my front and back. "You're nearly healed on the outside. Does it hurt?"

"Only a little," I say, rolling my shoulder. "It'll be gone completely in half an hour or so."

He nods, agreeing with my assessment, though his eyes continue to study the skin. "That was a very nasty knife wound you had there. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I look up into his menacing brown eyes, and shake my head. "No," I say, my voice sounding small to my ears, questioning almost, as I'm hoping he won't press the issue. I don't want to get my warrior into trouble, and from the expression on George's face, that's exactly what my creator is looking for.

"Any particular reason?"

"Yes."

His eyes narrow thoughtfully, and I do my best to hold his gaze. I will not lie to him--he'd be able to see right through me if I tried, and I refuse to do so simply out of respect.

"Let's get you to bed," he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Not that I often argue with George, unless it's for something I strongly believe in, or if I want to tick him off, neither of which is the case here.

I kiss Angelina good night and allow him to lead me into the depths of the villa where sunlight isn't able to penetrate. We have rooms on the upper levels so we can open the windows and enjoy the night air, but our true bedrooms are below. They lock from the inside, are fireproof, and keep us safe from any harm while we sleep.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower?" he says, pushing me towards the bathroom. "Clean all the blood off of you, and I'll make you some cocoa."

I glace back at him, amused. The ultimate George pampering treatment only comes when he's truly concerned, and never fails to make me feel like a five year old. But I know he means well, and the truth is, I rather enjoy it.

"With marshmallows?" I ask.

"Of course."

I shower quickly, and when I return, George is lying on top of the blankets, his eyes seeming to study the ceiling, but I can tell he's actually just lost in thought. There's a steaming mug of cocoa sitting on the bedside table, the marshmallows sitting on a plate off to the side. I like them in my cocoa, but I also like dipping them, a tiny detail he never forgets.

"In," he says, lifting up the covers, and I crawl into the bed. He tucks them around me, then hands me the mug and plate, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and holding me close.

"Did you ever have children, George?" I ask, taking a marshmallow and dipping half of it into the chocolate, allowing it a moment to soak up the liquid and grow soft before biting into it.

"Other than you?" he asks with a smirk, and I blow a raspberry at him. George chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh yes, that wasn't childish at all. But no, I didn't have children."

"Why not?"

"Never really saw the need for them. Never found anyone I wanted to have children with. And then I guess I just ran out of time, particularly after I was turned," he adds with a smile. "That sort of took the decision out of my hand."

"But you made the effort to raise me, long before you turned me into a vampire. Why did you do that?"

"I had to be sure you survived long enough for you to reach an age where I would feel comfortable about turning you. When I found you, it was a very precarious time for children to be alive. There were too many ways for you to die, but I knew that if I kept you in my care, I would be able to keep you safe. Well, safer than if I'd left you with your family." He pauses, glancing down at me. "Orlando, why are you asking? You know all this."

"Yeah," I shrug, sipping at my cocoa, "but I like hearing it. I sometimes forget, so it's like listening to a story about a little boy who grows up to be a vampire, instead of the story of my life."

"Your mind is capable of doing so much--you can retain vast amounts of information. I don't understand why you insist on letting it all slip away."

"I tried to remember it all, once, but then I remembered everything, absolutely everything, and all those memories scared me. The only way I can survive, George, is to forget who and what I am. If I remember all the details of what I've done, I'll never be able to live with myself, so it's easier to just forget."

He stares at me for a moment with his warm brown eyes, then nods. "I understand," he says, kissing the top of my head.

I finish off the cocoa and he takes the mug and plate from my hands, setting them back on the table. He wraps his arms around me, holding me quietly as I nestle against his body. George is always a comfort to me, but right now, I know I'm the one comforting him. I know he was unnerved by what happened to me tonight, but he's being considerate enough to wait until I am ready to talk about it. Which I will be, eventually, but there is a question I want answered first.

"George?"

"Yes, Orlando?" he says, his voice distant, and I know he was thinking again.

"Have I ever been in love?"

"What?" he chuckles, looking down to meet my eyes.

"Have I ever been in love?" I repeat slowly, and his forehead creases into a frown, his expression somewhat bewildered. "Because I know I love Eric and Gale and the rest, but I don't think I'm in love with them. I love you, and while what I feel for them doesn't even come close to the love I feel for you, I don't think I'm in love with you, either."

"That's because the creator bond we share encompasses more than just love--it's stronger, deeper, and connects us on several levels. In many ways, it's more powerful than love can ever be."

"Is that why we've never. . . ?" I begin, and George starts to laugh, holding me even tighter.

"Orlando, you always find ways to surprise me. Yes, our bond is one of the reasons why we've never connected physically--it's unnecessary. But also, you're just not my type."

"Good," I say with a relieved sigh. "You're not my type, either. Far too old."

"Watch it, little one," he growls good-naturedly. "I made you, I can unmake you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If you haven't yet, you won't now. But back to my original question, have I ever been in love?"

"You honestly can't remember?" he asks, and I shake my head. "Well, as far as I am aware, you have never been in love. Why do you want to know?"

For a moment, I hesitate. Should I tell him? He is George after all, and I know he'd want only the best for me, but if he thinks my warrior isn't the best, then he might decide to remove him from my affections, so to speak. Still, I don't like hiding things from him, so it won't hurt to tell him a little, if not everything, not yet.

"I think I might have fallen in love."

"Really?" he asks, trying to make his interest sound casual, but I can sense the tension in his body. "With whom?"

"You don't know him."

"Which means he's not a vampire," George says, an edge to his voice.

"No, he's not."

"Would you like him to be?"

I glance up at him, my eyes wide. "You would do that?"

"Of course. If you honestly love him, then I imagine you'll want him to be with you for eternity. Since you've never made a vampire before, if you truly care for this man, it would probably be best if I turned him, just so there are no mistakes."

"I actually haven't thought that far yet," I say, feeling somewhat staggered by this new possibility. I didn't even know my warrior was still alive till tonight, and now I'm supposed consider keeping him for eternity? I can't think about that right now. "I'm too busy trying to understand just what it is I'm feeling."

"You should go slow," he nods, "take your time. You don't want to end up spending forever with someone you hate, or someone who hates you."

Oh, well then, problem solved, I think, rolling my eyes. My warrior already hates me--he made that quite clear tonight. Why not make him immortal and complete the process?

"Orlando," George begins, and I shiver at the angry suspicion in his voice, "the person you think you're in love with--is he the one who stabbed you?"

In truth, I suppose I should be surprised it took him this long to put two and two together. But at least I can give him an honest answer.

"No, he wasn't the one." Well, not entirely. My warrior and the man I met tonight are definitely two different people. They just happen to occupy the same body. I all need to do is find a way to bring forward in him all the things that attracted me to him in the first place. Not that I disapprove of him attacking me--he is a warrior after all. It's just the hate in his eyes that I need to change.

"Are you sure?" he asks, searching my face. He can probably sense I'm hiding something.

"George," I scold, smiling at him, "even I'm not masochistic enough to fall in love with someone who wants me dead."

There, I said it, and even managed to keep a straight face.

"Then who did attack you?"

"One of those who hunts us. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd want to leave even sooner."

"You're right," he nods. "I told you before, I will not stand for any harm to come to you."

"I'm fine. Completely healed and literally ready to forget it ever happened. Just, please, can we stay at least another week?"

"For him?" he asks, meeting my eyes.

"I need to know," I answer softly, and he sighs.

"Very well. One week. After that, he'll just have to try and keep up."

"That shouldn't be a problem," I say with no little hint of irony. George gives me a strange look and shakes his head.

"You'll have to explain this to me sometime, you know that, don't you?" I nod, and he leans down to kiss my forehead. "All right. I'm going to return to Angelina. If Gale and Eric are back, do you want me to send them to you?"

I think about it for a moment, then nod again. I could use their comforting presence right about now.

"If you need anything--absolutely anything. . ."

"Don't worry, George," I smile. "You'll always be the first I come to."

"I know," he says, grinning at me, "but even I need a bit of reassurance every now and then. That way, I know you're not getting into any serious trouble without my knowledge."

Ouch. That hurts. But I push the guilt aside--after all, I'm not in any serious trouble. Not yet.

I pull the blankets up over my shoulders and snuggle into bed. "Love you, George."

"I love you, too."

I feel his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer, and then he is gone, leaving me to wonder about my warrior, and my heart, in peace.

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