The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 13

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

It's four in the morning, and I can't sleep.

Nothing new there.

I'm becoming a regular night owl, thanks to all this running. We sleep during the days when the vampires can't get us and travel at night so they won't get us. I'm hoping, now that we're on our way to rejoin Marton, I'll be able to relax some. He's finally calling everyone back, gathering together the troops in London. When he rang, he said that the attacks had suddenly stopped and he assumes Angelina got bored with killing all of us, so she returned to killing regular people.

We didn't tell him the truth.

Not that we know what the truth is.

Which is why I'm wandering through the streets of Malaga at four in the morning, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette while trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Orlando's forgotten about me.

Orlando loved me, and then he forgot about me.

How could he?! Or did he?

When I questioned Elijah on the whole love thing, he told me it was all a ploy to keep Angelina from killing Paul. He said Orlando never once mentioned being in love with me, but that the vampire was too distraught by the death of his friends to kill either him or Paul.

He's lying.

Even if I couldn't read his eyes, he doesn't know I met Orlando that night. He doesn't know what I saw in Orlando's eyes.

‘Saw' apparently being the operative word.

How can you love someone, and then forget about them?

Not that I'm upset about this. After all, he's a vampire. He tried to kill me. I hate him.

I don't mind kissing him, but that's just a basic human reaction to having a gorgeous man with a mouth like that who can make me feel like I'm burning from the inside out.

Which is just what my friends did to his friends. Not the best analogy.

But why should that bother me? After all, he's a vampire, and I hate him. I'd be more than thrilled to see him burned from the inside out. To see his veins lighting up as the flames flicker through them, the smooth olive skin melting and turning to ash, the rich brown curls sparkling as they catch fire, those beautiful lips and shining brown eyes vanishing right in front of me.

This is what I want.

Isn't it?"

Of course it is.

So why do I cringe when I picture him turning to a cinder?

Who wouldn't cringe at the thought of anyone turning into a cinder?

But why does my heart have that particular little ache when I think of Orlando turning into a cinder?

Oh, Christ in a bucket. How the FUCK could I let this happen? How could I have allowed myself to feel anything for this murdering animal? Though, I suppose my feelings for him are what got me into this in the first place.

Not that I had feelings for him when I saw him in the street, but I was certainly attracted to him.

Then there were the hours we spent in the pub--now I know why he had so many fascinating stories to tell. But it wasn't just the stories, it was the way he told them, his hands flying through the air, his face filled with passion. He didn't just tell the story, he relived it right in front of you. Plus, all the little details he remembered on the spur of the moment--he would get so excited to recall a name, an outrageous tattoo, the bizarre statue in a garden. And then he would laugh! Oh, his laugh! It made my heart jump to hear him laugh.

Yep, I'm definitely fucked.

So I like him when he's not trying to drain me dry, or kill my friends, or kill anyone else. Who wouldn't? But I can't change him. He said himself, it's his nature, and I can't live with that. I cannot love a vampire.

Sighing, I finish another cigarette and begin to make my way back to the hotel.

I could wander around all night trying to figure this out, but there is no answer to this dilemma. It's either kill, or be killed. Anything else is impossible for us, and he knows it. I saw the way he looked at me after I'd cut my tongue on his fangs. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into my neck, and that scared him. He had to leave. He had to run.

He had to forget.

The fucking bastard.

Why should he be the one to decide whether or not to forget? Don't I get a say in this? This is my life, too, the son of a bitch! He should have talked to me. We should have figured out what was going on before he chose to end it.

But I'm not angry, I tell myself, taking a deep breath. Because I didn't want to be with him anyway. I can picture it now. We'd be sitting on the sofa snogging one night, I'd have him moaning and twitching at my slightest touch, he'd get a little too excited, bite me, and I'd end up a bloodless corpse on the floor. That's not a relationship. That's a funeral waiting to happen.

But what a way to go.

NO! God damnit, man! You've got to get him out of your head. He's forgotten about you--forget about him!

Sliding the key into the room door, I open it slowly so I don't make any noise. No point in troubling the other two with my problems. They've got enough of their own.

As I turn towards the living room, I notice a light down the hall and frown. Both Elijah and Paul should be fast asleep--Elijah's been exhausting himself worrying about Paul, and Paul. . . Well, there's just something not right about that boy.

And glancing in the cracked door of the bathroom as I pass by, I can see why.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shout, bursting into the small room and grabbing his hand, wrestling the knife from his fingers. I push him away before I hit him and he lands hard against the wall, staring at me with deadened blue eyes. "For gods sakes, Paul, what the hell?"

"Leave me alone," he grumbles, pushing past me and into the living room.

"The fuck I will," I growl, following him. "What the fuck is going on? What were you doing with this?" I stare at the knife in my hand, unable to believe I actually pulled it from his own.

"Nothing."

"Oh, fuck that. I mean it, Paul," I say, grabbing onto his arm and spinning him to face me. "What's going on?"

It is then that I see the marks on his neck, the two holes left by the vampire that should have closed by now. Instead, they're red, open, with drops of blood sliding down his skin.

"Not you, too," I whisper, and he shakes his head.

"No. Your vampire bites you every night in your dreams. I have to make mine."

I stare at him for a second, then shake my head. "I don't understand."

He sighs, slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor. "I can't take it any longer. This life. I can't keep betraying Elijah like this."

"Like what?" I ask, crouching down in front of him. "What are you talking about?"

Paul slowly raises his eyes to meet mine, his expression one of complete self-loathing. "I enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what?"

"The vampire biting me. The feel of him drinking my blood."

"Oh." He nods in agreement with the astonishment in my voice. "My god. Fuck."

"Tell me about it," he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. "What am I going to do? I mean, Jesus, Colin, what the fuck am I supposed to say to Lighe? I love you. I can't live without you. Mind growing some fangs so you can gnaw on my neck at nights?"

"But you do love him," I ask, needing to be sure.

"Yes, of course. I've always loved Elijah, from the moment we met. Took me a while to win him over, but I knew he was worth it. And now. . . now I'm not even worthy enough to lick the dirt off his feet."

I grimace, almost tasting the grit on my tongue. "Okay, that's an image I could have lived without."

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Listen, Paul, what you felt when that blood-sucker bit you. . ."

"Yeah?"

"You're not the only one."

He looks at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "You, too?"

I nod. "I hated him. I hated that I was helpless to stop him. But there was something about the feeling of his mouth on my neck, his lips on my skin, his teeth inside of me, the rush of my blood from my veins—"

"It was hot."

Okay, I suppose that works. Not what I was looking for, but ‘hot' sums it up pretty well. "Yeah, it was. But Paul. . ."

"I know, I know," he sighs, knocking his head back against the wall. "I can't keep opening up the stupid holes every night wishing to feel his teeth again. It's sick."

"It is sick."

"And since he's dust, it'll never happen. And if it did happen with another vampire, I'd end up dead. I would have ended up dead with that vampire if Orlando hadn't pulled him off of me. So why do I keep craving that feeling?"

Aw, shite. I'm no good at this stuff--why is he looking to me for an answer? But at least he's right about one thing--he can't talk to Lighe. How do you admit something like this to your lover?

Not that I'd have a problem, considering the lover I want is a vampire. Orlando would probably be thrilled if I asked him to bite me every night.

God, I'm a sick fuck, far sicker than Paul. But I'm not going to worry about that right now. I have to try and fix him before Lighe finds out.

"Look, this is what I think is going on. You've devoted your life to killing vampires, right? This is a career that is covert, it's dangerous, it's frightening, it's exciting, and there's a damn good chance we'll end up either injured or dead. This is stuff we have to deal with every day, so what could top that? What is our ultimate thrill?" I hold his gaze, making sure he is listening. "Getting bitten by the very things we're determined to destroy. Getting bitten by a vampire. Does this make sense?"

He looks at me for a moment, then slowly nods. "Yeah, I guess. But that doesn't explain how to make it go away."

"Well, first, let's stop with this bullshit, shall we?" I ask, holding up the knife, and he lowers his eyes to the floor, his face turning a dark red. "Compared to a vampire's bite, this—" I wave the blade in front of his face "—is never even going to come close. The only thing you might do is end up slitting your throat, and you do not want to do that to Lighe."

"No, I don't," he says in a tiny voice.

"Good. Now, as for making it go away, I don't know if you can. I imagine it will fade in time. All I can suggest is that you just try not to think about it."

He gives me a dirty look. "And how's that working for you?"

"Bite me," I growl.

"You've been hanging around Elijah too much," he says, the first hint of a smile growing on his face.

"Tell me about it."

"But since you brought it up, the bite marks on your neck. . . your dreams. . . do you enjoy them?"

Oh, hell. Of course he'd have to ask that. I really don't want to talk about it, but if it helps him through this. . . for Elijah's sake, I suppose I can be honest.

"Yes. But Orlando does more than just bite me in my dreams."

"Like what?"

"You know the things I can hear you and Elijah doing in the bedroom?" He flushes again and nods. "Tame compared to what we do in my dreams."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Ask away. I'll never tell."

"So why do you think you keep having these dreams? Why do you think your neck keeps bleeding?"

"Which question would you like me to answer ‘I don't know to' first?"

"Do you think Angelina knows?"

I give him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"Her reaction at seeing your neck. She didn't just dismiss it, she took off like a bat out of hell, pardon the expression."

"That's another ‘I don't know'," I shrug. "I wouldn't have minded if she'd stuck around so I could ask, but I guess she wasn't in the mood to answer questions from meaningless humans. Not to mention, if she had stuck around, we probably would have ended up dead."

"Yeah, I'd say there was a good chance of that," he says, yawning, and I smile.

"You should probably head off to bed before Elijah starts wondering where you are."

"I suppose," he says as we both stand up. He hesitates as he looks towards the room he's sharing with Lighe.

"You going to be okay?" I ask, and he nods.

"I think so. Really don't have much of a choice."

Poor kid. "If you ever need someone to talk to. . ."

"Thanks," he says with a half-smile in my direction. "I may take you up on that. Night, Colin."

"Night, Paul."

"Sweet dreams," he calls back, his hand on the doorknob, and I shoot him an evil look.

"Wanker."

He grins, then slips inside.

I wait till the door closes, then sigh, staring at the knife in my hand. Fuck. I hope Paul will get over this. Vampire hunters aren't exactly stable to begin with. He could end up seriously hurting himself if he keeps it up. Which he'd better not, or I'll kill the fucking wanker myself.

Tossing the knife on the coffee table, I stretch out on the sofa, wrapping myself up in the extra blanket. Hopefully, I'll be able to sleep, but between vampires and humans, I think I'm pretty much fucked. It'll be a miracle if I ever sleep again.

"Per favore, il mio amore!" Raoul begs as my mouth continues to move over his cock. "Please, my love! Stop tormenting me!"

I deep throat him, chuckling so as send to the vibrations over his sensitized skin. He moans wantonly, his fists twisting in the sheets, his body red and shining with the blood-tinged sweat. Gritting his teeth together, he tries not to thrust with his hips, but he won't be able to hold back much longer. Just a few more strokes, a little added massaging with my tongue, and he will be finished.

Replacing my mouth with my hand, I lean up and bare my throat to him. He sinks his teeth into me and as my blood pours into his veins, the waves of pleasure strike his body.

When his orgasm finally subsides, he releases me, content, an adoring smile on his face. Returning his smile, I kiss him, caressing his arms, his chest, his stomach, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath me. He his beautiful, my Raoul. There are few out there who can compete. He is ideal in every way imaginable.

So why is he not the one I see in my dreams?

Snuggling against his warm, comforting form, Raoul holds me in his arms and whispers words of his love in my ears.

I do not listen.

My eyes stare aimlessly out the window, my heart troubled by the feeling that I am being unfair to him, and betraying another.

Which is ridiculous. There is no other, at least, none that I can remember.

This thought makes me smile.

My memory is a joke to me. I know fully well that I have forgotten most of my life, things that are both good and bad. You can't have one without the other, so if I am to avoid the bad, I have to avoid the good as well.

But at least I know the other does exist. I don't know who he is, but if George says I was in love, then I must have been. George would never lie to me.

So is he the one I see when I close my eyes?

He seems like someone I would be drawn to with his wry, crooked smile and warm, yet cynical eyes. This is one who doesn't trust easy, but he seems to trust me.

Why do I feel guilty about that?

I don't know. I can't remember.

Kissing Raoul soundly, I climb out of bed, promising to be right back. I slide on a pair of sweatpants and make my way through the house. As I near George's room, I pause, a frown forming on my face.

It sounds as if he is arguing with someone, a someone whose voice I know--Angelina. George is fighting with Angelina.

Why? And when did she get here? I haven't seen her in ages. If he keeps yelling at her like that, she'll leave before I get a chance to say hello.

I open the door to his room and walk inside, my elders immediately falling silent. Interesting.

"My darling angel," I smile, taking her in my arms and giving her a kiss. "It's been too long. What are you doing here?"

"Hello, handsome," she says, hugging me. "I was in the mood for socializing, so I thought I'd say hello."

"Socializing?" I ask, arching an eyebrow. "It doesn't sound like you're socializing to me. I haven't heard this much yelling since that weekend we spent in the Chinese brothel."

"Well, what did you expect? You start killing everyone," she shrugs, "and people tend to get upset."

"Seeing as how there's no one dead in here, I'm guessing there's another reason for the argument. What's going on?"

"Nothing," George growls, turning away from us and grabbing his jacket from the chair.

"George—" she begins, but he cuts her off with a look.

"We'll finish this later." Without another word, he walks out of the room.

"Angelina?"

"It's nothing," she sighs, holding me tighter. "It's between me and George. Don't worry about it, little one."

"Of course I'm going to worry about it. All children worry when their parents fight."

She looks up at me with an amused smile. "We're your parents now, are we?"

"You're right," I say, shaking my head. "What was I thinking? Forgive me, Auntie Angie."

"Boy, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"I don't know. I forget," I grin, and she narrows her eyes, growling at me.

"You're not funny."

"Now that's where you're wrong. I'm a barrel of laughs. Just ask anyone!"

"Well, that will definitely make them laugh," she smirks and I glare at her.

"You know, if I wanted this kind of abuse, I'd visit you more often."

"No one abuses you here?"

"Oh, they do," I say, my voice completely innocent, "only, you probably wouldn't consider it to be abuse. Which reminds me, I need to get back to Raoul before he comes looking for me."

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. "Seek help, dear boy."

"Weren't you listening? I just said he'd come seeking me."

Laughing, she kisses me lightly and releases me. "Go find him. I'm going to grab someone to eat. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Of course. Does this mean you're staying?"

"For a little while," she nods. "Until I get this thing with George worked out."

"You going to tell me about?"

"Later," she smiles and leaves the room. I look at where she was standing and my eyes narrow.

"Liar."

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