The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 12

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

Rome. . . I have missed Rome. Not that I ever gave it enough thought before we arrived to realize I had missed it, but now that we're here, I do experience a sense of joy at returning, so I guess I must have missed it.

And how could I not?

Rome is such an astonishing city, always changing. Every time I come here, I feel as if it is for the first time. And yet, it is ancient. I can walk through the ruins and catch glimpses of what it must have looked like back in its youth. The images are so clear, I almost feel as if I had been there. Perhaps I was. I shall have to ask George.

George. Poor George.

For his sake, I hope we are not bothered here and that we can stay a while. George looks so tired, and for a man who is immortal, whose body is constantly regenerated by the vampiric blood flowing through his vines, to say he looks tired is saying a lot. He needs a holiday, though from what, I'm not sure. I am the only constant thing in his life, and every time I suggest that perhaps he go on a holiday from me, he just gives me this stare and I drop the subject.

Oh, well. If George wants to mope, he can mope. I've got Raoul.

Wonderful, beautiful, godlike, attentive, affectionate Raoul. He's rarely left my side since we stepped foot into Rome. Everywhere I turn, he's there, gazing at me with the clear blue-green eyes, a smile softly adorning his handsome face--and that's usually the only thing he's wearing.

I swear, if we didn't have to go out to hunt, we would never leave the bedroom. The swimming pool. The living room. The kitchen. The cloakroom. We've pretty much covered every surface available--stepped, horizontal, vertical, anything that can provide us with some support. We've even stopped wearing clothes when we're inside. Why bother? They'll just be torn off within seconds and left as rags the floor.

We've been so relentless and so resourceful in our activities that George has taken to hiding in his room. He's encountered us one too many times in compromising positions for him to dare venture forth into the house any more. And yet, despite my sexual obsession with Raoul, when I wake up at night, the first thing I do is seek out George.

He looks so troubled these days, I try to do what I can to lift his spirits, or at the very least, momentarily alleviate his temper. And it seems to work. While I'm with him, my mindless chatter and innocent cuddling eases the shadows from his eyes and he smiles like he used to.

I sometimes catch him exchanging glances with Raoul and the expressions on their faces are ones that I cannot define. This bothers me because I do not know their source. Raoul's eyes often have glimpses of pity, of sympathy, of a desire to help while George, George's eyes are just filled with sadness and worry and a dimly muted anger.

When I see these secret looks between them, my chest tightens and my head starts to swim. It's as if they are hiding something from me, and I feel as if I should know what it is, but the answer always remains just out of reach.

Somehow, I know it is better this way, so when the veils begin to lift from their eyes, I just look away, only turning back to them when their secrets are hidden once more.

"Venuto, il mio amore," Raoul says softly after one of these exchanges. He slides an arm around my waist, his lovely mouth on my neck. "Come, my love. We should go find ourselves something to eat so we can get out of these clothes."

I chuckle, reaching for his lips. "A wonderful idea," I smile, my gaze moving over to George. "Do you want to join us?"

He just shakes his head, as I knew he would. As he always does. I wonder if he even goes out anymore? We make a point of bringing him back the day's newspapers for his perusing pleasure, but as far as I can see, he hasn't read a single one of them. George always wants to know what's going on. That he doesn't care anymore causes my stomach to grow heavy with fear.

Walking over to him, I kneel down in front of my creator and place a hand on his knee. "George," I say, holding his gaze with my own, "please join us. You're scaring me just sitting in here, alone. Are you even eating?"

He laughs, running a finger along my jaw, and I lean into his caress. "You know, I'm usually the one asking you this."

"Which should tell you that things are not right. Come with us, George. Leave your cares behind you, at least for a little while."

"I wish I had your talent to do that," he smiles, then leans forward and kisses my cheek. "Do not worry, little one. I am eating. You're usually just too busy to notice I'm gone."

I know what he's getting at, and I don't even bother trying to seem embarrassed or bashful. I just grin at him. "Like I said, you should come with us," I wink.

"Shameless hussy," he chuckles.

"Guilty as charged," I say, then give it one last try. "George, my favorite creator in the whole wide world, will you be so kind as to accompany us on our outing?"

"My dear boy, I think the two of you are outed enough on your own."

"All right," I say, rolling my eyes as I stand up. "We'll leave you to your murky thoughts. But I'm warning you now--I'm going to be doing a vein check before morning, and if I find out you haven't eaten, we won't leave you alone until you do. It won't stop us from doing what we normally do--you'll just be in the room when we do it."

"That's incentive enough for me," he says in a completely deadpan voice, then smiles. "Now stop worrying, little one. That's my job."

"And it's one I don't want to keep, so I hope you find the solution to whatever it is that's bothering you, and soon."

"I will try," he says, his brown eyes sincere, and I nod.

"Good. Venuto, mio bello. I want to get something to eat so I can come back and ravish you senseless."

"I cannot wait," Raoul chuckles, sliding his arm through mine and leading me out of the room.

When I return that morning for the promised vein check, George is standing by the window, eyes on the impending dawn. With a contended sigh, I approach his side and wrap my arms around him, my head on his chest.

"You look almost flesh-colored," I smile, glancing up at him. "I guess I don't have to do a vein check after all."

"I told you I was eating," he says gruffly, kissing the top of my head. "You're looking quite rosy yourself. Have a good night with Raoul?"

"Completely wore him out. He probably won't wake up till the middle of tomorrow night."

George chuckles, shaking his head. "You're insatiable."

"Yes, I am, but fortunately, so is he."

"I know. It's one of the reasons why we came to Rome."

"So I could fuck him into the ground?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.

"So he could keep you happy."

"Well, he is doing that," I nod, my eyes turning towards the window. The pre-dawn light is peering over the horizon, and that is enough to make me wince. Some say we can survive the sun, if only for a short time, if we force ourselves to stay awake long enough to greet it. I've never dared to endure the daylight. I've never felt any particular need to. I enjoy the night, and all the pleasures it brings. Especially those pleasures I can attribute to Raoul.

I smile at the thought of him, a wave of heat passing through my body. It isn't just that he is beautiful, though that certainly would be enough, but he truly cares about me, and George, and for that alone would I love him.

Love him?

Frowning, I hide my eyes in George's chest. Am I falling in love with Raoul? Is that possible? We have fun, yes, and it is the kind of fun I would willingly enjoy for centuries, but is love involved? Or is it just lust?

"George?"

"Yes, Orlando?"

"Have I ever been in love?"

His body jerks as if he has been slapped, his arms tightening around me. "What did you say?" he whispers harshly.

"I asked you if I'd ever been in love," I say, looking up at him with fear in my eyes. "George, is everything okay?"

"Fine. Come away from the window, Orlando," he says, leading me into the depths of the house.

"George?" I persist as I follow him inside.

"Yes?"

"Have I ever been in love?"

A shudder passes through him and he sits down, leaning his arm on the back of the sofa, covering his eyes with his hand. "You honestly can't remember?"

I curl up next to him, shaking my head. "No."

"You've loved many people, Orlando. You know this."

"Yes, but have I ever been in love with them? Because there's a difference."

"There is," he nods, and takes a deep breath. "You told me once that you thought you might have fallen in love. Whether anything ever came from it, I do not know. Why? Are you in love now?"

"I don't know," I say, biting my lower lip. "I adore Raoul, and he is my equal in many, many, many ways, but I don't know if I'm in love with him. I thought if I had an experience, a feeling to compare this to, I would know, but I can't remember." I am quiet for a moment, pondering this new information. "I wonder who he was."

"A human," George answers softly. "That's all I know."

"You never met him?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"How long ago was this?"

"Not too long."

"Within the past year?"

"Yes."

A man, a human I loved, and recently, no less. Someone George is extremely unwilling to discuss. He couldn't be the cause of all the secrets around here. Could he? "George, is he—"

"We should get to bed while we still can," he says abruptly, rising to his feet and cutting off all further conversation.

I sigh, knowing I'll get no more information from him tonight. Fortunately for me, there's always a tomorrow. I quietly follow him down the hall and into the basement where Raoul is already sleeping soundly. I crawl into bed next to him, his body instantly melding to mine. Smiling, I kiss him softly, and close my eyes. Just as I am about to start searching through my memories for this man I might have loved, I fall asleep.

My hand is steady as I watch the woman crawl over the wall and move noiselessly towards Elijah and Paul. I don't even dare to breathe, for fear she'll realize I'm here. If she discovers me, we're all as good as dead, like so many others of our kind.

We had split with the rest of the vampire hunters in Prague. Marton, in fact, ordered every faction in Europe to divide and go into hiding. Once the third house had been demolished, he realized it was too dangerous for any of the groups to stay together, or the vampires would destroy us all.

The vampire.

So far, every witness claims it was only one woman who was seen at each house, one woman who killed every living person inside before burning the house to the ground. One woman, singular, and commonly agreed upon to be Angelina.

It is hoped that by dividing, we will be able to buy some of us time to escape, and make it more difficult for Angelina to kill the rest. Marton sends me off with Paul and Elijah, warning us not to try and contact him, saying that he will contact us when it is time to return.

I don't ask how he expects to do that if he doesn't survive, but then, maybe he doesn't expect to survive. Maybe he hopes we'll branch off, establish new lives, try to pretend we are ordinary people.

Which is something we could never hope to do, not after the things we've seen and done, but what the fuck. I guess, for Marton, it might be worth a shot.

We've been established in our new home for about three days before I spot Angelina not just climbing, but gliding over the wall towards the two lovers.

I dare not call out a warning, wanting to use the little advantage I have to try and get a shot in, but I do not know if I'll have time before she manages to kill them both. Holding the gun steady, I crouch down by the window and wait.

Elijah senses her first and whips his gun out, pointing it at the place where the vampire's heart should be, if she has one.

"You cannot harm us," he growls, blue eyes narrowing as they stand up, planting his body in front of his lover. "We're under Orlando's protection."

He sounds as if saying the words make him sick, but I know he'll do anything to save Paul, even this.

"You might be, boy, but that one isn't," she says, pointing towards Paul.

"He is! Orlando saved his life in Venice."

"Which makes Orlando a fool, but it doesn't make your pretty friend safe."

"Elijah," Paul begins, but the younger man pushes him back.

"Why would Orlando save him if all he was going to do was give you a chance to kill him?"

"To make it more sporting for me," she suggests with a smirk, and I'd love to smack her.

"Bullshit. Call Orlando. Ask him! He'll tell you--Paul is not to be touched!"

"I can call Orlando and ask him a thousand questions about Venice. He won't be able to answer a single one. He has forgotten everything."

"Impossible," Paul says in a haunted voice, and I am inclined to agree with him. How could Orlando forget? There was so much that happened, so much insanity. Like Paul said, it would be impossible.

"Not for him."

"No one could forget that!" Elijah protests, his eyes wide as he shakes his head.

"Orlando can, and has. But I haven't," she says with a cruel smile, and a shiver runs down my spine. "I know what happened. I can remember it well enough for the both of us."

"I don't care what he remembers. We made a deal! If I promised to keep his warrior safe, he would save mine!"

"His warrior?" She pauses in momentary confusion, then shakes her head with a sneer. "Orlando and his warriors. They're nothing more than food to him, a delicacy chosen for their strength and nobility and all that crap. He doesn't care about any of them."

"He cares about this one. He loves him!"

Oh, Elijah, I sigh. You're wasting your time.

"Orlando loves everyone," she says scornfully. "The man never met an ass he didn't like."

"He likes more than Colin's ass!" Elijah snaps. "Orlando is in love with him."

"If that were true, he never would have forgotten him."

Elijah sputters for a moment, racking his brains for a decent argument, then stomps his foot with exasperation. Yeah, luv, that'll impress her.

"Look, I can't explain what's going on inside that fucked-up vampire's head!" he shouts. "All I know is what I saw that night, and Orlando is definitely in love with Colin!"

"This. . . Colin," she says, my name the equivalent of gnat in her mouth, "is he the one hiding behind the window?"

Her gray-blue gaze focuses on me and I glare at her, rising to my feet, the gun still trained on her heart.

"Yes, I am ‘that' Colin," I say, crawling out of the window, thankful that it's on the ground floor. I walk over to them, my eyes never once leaving hers, all the while wondering how the fuck I'm going to get us out of here. "And you will not be killing any of my friends. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

"Well, you are definitely a warrior," she says, looking me up and down, "and as far as I can tell, a great ass. Which makes you Orlando's type, nothing more."

"I never claimed to be anything more. Elijah's just trying to save the man he loves."

"Touching."

"Well, it is, if you think about it. Wouldn't you do anything to save the man you love?"

"The man I love never needs saved. He's invincible."

"Some of us aren't so lucky."

Her eyes move over my face to the bandage on my neck, the crease in her brow growing deeper. Stepping forward, she rips it from my skin.

"Fuck!" I shout, my hand flying to my neck that is now screaming with renewed pain.

Angelina grabs my hand in midair, examining the wound. "Those are bite marks. Who bit you?"

"Orlando," I growl, trying to break free. She doesn't even seem to notice my struggle.

"Those are fresh," she says, shaking her head. "Orlando couldn't have done that."

"Well, he fucking did, and he has been, every fucking night since." Angelina opens her mouth to ask the inevitable question, and I glare at her. "In my dreams, you bitch."

Her eyes widen, and she releases my hand, taking a step backwards. Okay, she's not supposed to be backing away from me. This can't be good.

"Why are you looking at me like that?!" I snarl.

"You're the reason," she says softly. "You're the reason he's forgotten. Not Gale, not Eric. You." Shaking her head, she turns her back to us, dismissing our presence from her mind. "I have to tell George."

She is over the wall and gone before we even have time to blink. The three of us stare at each other for a moment and then I holster my gun. "Let's get the fuck out of here before she comes back."

They nod, Elijah's body trembling with fear and relief, Paul oddly stoic. That one's got problems, I realize, keeping an eye on him as we go inside to gather our things. I just hope Elijah will be able to help him.

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