The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 17

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

Raoul is waiting for me when I step out of the shower. He is sitting on the bed, his arms around his legs, his chin resting on his knees, watching with sorrowful eyes as I dress. Still naked, he's probably hoping to tempt me into staying.

Looking over those long, muscular limbs, gazing into those melancholy blue eyes, I do admit, I'm tempted.

"Raoul, love, it'll be all right."

He shakes his head. "I have a bad feeling about this, il mio amore. Stay here. This. . . human, why is he so important? Everything you need, I can offer you."

"I know you can," I smile, cupping his face between my hands. "And you've done a beautiful job of it, but I need to look on this man with my own eyes and see if I can understand why it is he keeps haunting me."

"At least wait for George," he says, grasping my hands in his. "Tell him what it is you're planning, and I'm sure he will do nothing to stop you. If this truly means so much to you, he'll probably do everything he can to help you."

"I don't want to wait that long. George is at the opera and will be there for at least another two, maybe three hours, and you know how he hates being disturbed while he's at the opera. What is it tonight, Don Giovanni? George really would kill me if I interrupted him during Mozart. Don't worry my beauty--I'll be back before he even misses me."

Raoul sighs. "He will not like this."

My eyes narrow. I'm starting to get a little irritated by their excessive protective streaks. "He is a grown man, as am I. We all must experience things we do not like. I can damn well take care of myself and the last thing I need is his permission to leave. If you really think I should have someone looking after me, then come with us."

It is a cruel thing to say. Raoul doesn't leave Italy, not anymore. It is a known fact among us all, and to taunt him like this is to throw his affection in his face.

Oh well.

"You know I will not," he says, rising to his feet.

"Come on, Raoul. There is a whole world out there for you to experience."

"I've seen it," he answers bitterly.

"Then stay. Give George my regards. Tell him I love him and will be back soon."

I grab my jacket and walk towards the door.

"Orlando."

"Yes, Raoul?" I say, glancing back at him.

"Be careful."

"Raoul," I smile, walking over to take him in my arms, then look at him with a too-innocent smile on my face. "I'm always careful."

He starts to laugh and hugs me back, kisses me soundly. "Try not to get into too much trouble. Come see me again soon."

"Of course," I say, giving him a final kiss, then face the door to find Angelina waiting.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Ready," I nod. My answer may not be entirely truthful--okay, I'm about as far from ready as a person can be, but it doesn't matter. I'm still going. I have to know, even if I'm not sure exactly what it is I have to know yet. I just have to know.

"Oh, yeah, he's a real winner," I say, rolling my eyes, and Angelina gives me a dirty look. I shrug, then lie back against the roof, staring up at the stars. It is too beautiful a night to be wasted spying on Tweedledum and Tweedledee down there. Unless they're going to be our future meals, I really don't see the point of us being here, especially when I could be in Italy, wrapped in Raoul's tongue or taking the piss out of George.

This is our second night watching the Irishman, and though I recognize him from my dreams, he otherwise isn't ringing any bells.

Well, there's maybe a ring or two from my pants, but other than that, I'm not impressed.

"All right, so maybe that wasn't one of his most stellar moments," she says, glancing down from our perch on the rooftop towards the two men lying on the sidewalk. Just seconds before, they'd collapsed after the one lying on the bottom of the pile had tried to lift up the object of my search so he could peek into a window. "Still, you've gotta give him some credit--he certainly knows how to take advantage of what would otherwise be a bad, and definitely embarrassing, situation."

I lift my head to look back at the two men, and all of a sudden, I'm seeing red. It's as if a curtain of scarlet has fallen over my eyes and all I want to do is rip the son of a bitch's head off.

As to which son of a bitch, I'll let my temper decide that.

Leaping off the roof, I land next to the couple and lift my Colin off his partner in crime. Throwing the Irishman against the wall, I hold him there by his throat, my fingers nearly covering the bandage on the side of his neck. He opens his mouth, probably to yell at me, then stops. He stares at me with the most hurt expression that I have to look away. As I turn my head, I see Angelina about to make Colin's companion into her next meal, and I know if I let her, Colin will never forgive me.

"Angelina, no!" I say, once more resorting to placing the full force of my power into my voice. It won't work on someone as old as Angelina, but at least she'll know there will be consequences if she continues. "Leave him alone. We have the one we want."

Her blue eyes spark with anger as she glares at me. "What did I tell you about protecting the entire organization?"

"Angelina!"

"Fine," she says, rolling her eyes and releasing the other man. "But you owe me."

No surprises there. Hell, I owe half the vampire population, so I'm pretty sure she was already on the list anyway.

Angelina walks over to our other victim and takes his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her. "Sleep, Colin."

I can see the fury rising in his face, but no matter how hard he tries to fight it, there is nothing he can do. The brown eyes slowly close and his body goes slack in my grip. I quickly lift him into my arms, then glance at his companion. The poor man is crouched against the wall, trying to decide whether he should attack or call for help.

"Shh. . ." I wink, smiling widely to reveal my fangs, and he cringes. Angelina and I take to the roofs again and put as much distance between the young man and ourselves as possible.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Nothing," I say, running my hand through my hair as I slump into the chair.

"Yes, I can see that. Why?"

I shrug, staring out the window, trying to avoid the angry yelling and pounding from the door behind us.

"You can't leave him locked up in there forever. He'll starve to death."

"I know."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Orlando," she says through clenched teeth, "I'm getting very fucking tired of hearing that answer."

"Then don't listen."

"You know something, fine," she says, grabbing her coat from the sofa, "I'm not going to listen. I'm going to leave you here with your fucked up feelings and your fucked up ideas and the fuck-up behind the door and you can just sort it out your fucking selves."

Flinging open the door, she slams is behind her with enough force to rattle the rafters.

"THANK YOU!" I shout after her, knowing she'll be able to hear me. "That's all I ever fucking wanted in the first place!"

"Bitch," I add a second later.

At least the pounding and yelling has stopped, though I have little doubt it will start up again soon. He doesn't seem like the type to give up.

But then, I don't know what type he is.

Once the crimson wave passed that had guided my actions when I took him went away, I found myself left with the same initial blankness towards him that I felt before. I still can't remember him. I don't have any clue who he is, or what he means to me. He's just there.

Though, of course, now he's here. Not there.

"Oh, fuck," I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. I really did manage to screw this one up big time.

Maybe I should talk to him.

Maybe I should hand him a flamethrower while I'm at it.

He's not going to want to talk to me, not after everything I've done to him, and I don't even fucking know what ‘everything' includes!

I suppose I could ask. After all, I'm going to have to let him out of there sometime.

Pushing myself out of the chair, I walk over to the locked door. I lift my hand to knock, then swear. I can't remember his name. I knew it a minute ago. I knew it when I grabbed him. What did I call him? Colin! My Colin, to be exact. ‘My' Colin? Yeah, right. Love to see his reaction if I called him that now.

I knock gently on the door, half hoping he won't be able to hear me so I can just pretend he isn't there. "Colin?"

"Let me out of here, you goddamn fucking parasitic son of a bitch! I swear to god, once I get my hands on you, I'm going to rip those goddamn fangs right out of your mouth!"

What an angel I've managed to capture. Does he always swear like this?

"Keep talking like that, and I'm sure you'll convince me in no time!" I yell back.

"Don't blame me because you haven't the courage to face me in person."

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep my fangs in their rightful place and my eyes from getting clawed out, not to mention, your foot out of my ass!"

"You wouldn't have to worry about and of that if you'd just approached me like a normal person, not some sort of fucking sneaky-arsed bastard creature of the night!"

"As you have just yourself pointed out, I am not a normal person!"

I cringe. Definitely not my best argument.

"But you can act like one when you want to. I've believed the fucking normal Orlando show before. You didn't have to fucking kidnap me!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake--can't you go even one sentence without using ‘fucking' as an adjective?"

"You got a fucking problem with that?"

"It hardly helps to establish the lines of communication."

"What fucking lines of communication?! You grabbed me and dragged me here against my will! All lines of communication were pretty much fucking cut when you did that."

"Well, would you have come here on your own if I'd asked you to?"

"Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?"

"I don't know what you look like. I can't see you."

"You could open the door and find out."

Something in his voice tells me that opening the door right now is not a good idea. He's probably standing behind it with a poker in his hand ready to bash my head in.

"Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?" I ask him, trying to keep the smile from my voice.

"Are you laughing at me? You are. You're laughing at me! You're such a fucking prick!"

"Sticks and stones, luv."

"Oh, fuck you! If I thought they would work, believe me, I'd have tried sticks and stones by now. Fuck," he sighs, and I can hear the soft ‘thump' against the door as he leans his full weight against it. He slides down till he is sitting on the floor, his back against the wooden plank between us. "I can't believe I slept with you."

My eyes widen with surprise. "We slept together?"

"Yes, we fucking slept together! Must have been fucking fantastic, too, if that's all the impression I left."

Oh, fuck. Probably shouldn't have said that out loud. Now he really wants to kill me. Not that he didn't before, but I probably should have refrained from giving him extra incentive. "I'm sure it was fantastic, but I'm sorry. I can't remember. I can't remember any of it."

"None of it." He sounds skeptical. Well, I guess he should be.

"No, not a thing."

"Do you even remember me?"

Now it is my turn to sigh as I sit down with my back to the door, his back most likely directly behind me. I can almost feel him, as if these inches of wood aren't separating us.

"I see you sometimes, in my dreams. I didn't even know you were real till a short while ago."

"So who was I in these dreams of yours?"

"Someone very important to me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"What happened between us, Colin? I mean, before all this. Were we in love?"

He snorts. "It was a one night stand, Orlando. It might have been more, but you ended our evening by ripping my throat out. Something like that tends to kill any budding relationship."

"Is that why you have the bandage on your neck? But no, that can't be right. I'd have remembered if I'd bitten you recently."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, mate. You bite me every fucking night. Every time I close my eyes, you're there, and every time I wake up, it's with the sensation of your teeth sinking into my neck. I'm afraid to fall asleep anymore because I know you'll be there. So you are responsible for the bandage on my neck."

"You dream of me?" I ask, trying to keep the wonder from my voice.

"Don't sound so flattered by it. I mean, yeah, the sex is great and all, but I really don't care for you killing me every night."

"Sex? What sex?"

Silence from the other side.

"We have sex in your dreams?"

"We have every kind of kinky, dirty, obscene, outlawed in several countries kind of sex possible."

My dick finds this new knowledge to be extremely exciting, and starts to hint that maybe we should act out his dreams.

"But then," he says, his voice softening, "we also have the sweetest, most tender, most loving kind of sex that I never even knew was possible still I started dreaming of it with you."

"We do?" My dick and I like the sound of that even more. I mean, the kinky, dirty, etcetera sex I've done a thousand times over, but sweet, tender, loving--I can't even remember having that kind of sex.

"We do."

His voice is soft, wistful, and a wave of longing passes through my body.

"AND THEN YOU STILL FUCKING KILL ME!" he shouts, pounding his fist against the door.

Well, that quickly deflates my poor penis's excitement.

"Clearly I didn't kill you because you're here, right?"

"Thanks to Elijah. If he hadn't found me, I'd be dead. But no, he brought me back to life so I could repay you for all the kindness you've shown me, and continue to show me, by fucking with my mind, over and over and over again."

"I don't mean to."

"Of course you don't, because you can't remember."

"I am sorry about that."

"Yeah, sure," he says, his tone one of defeat. "Whatever. Now will you please let me the fuck out? I want to go home."

"Home," I frown. "Your home is here?"

"My home is Ireland. I meant the place I'm staying at while I'm here."

"Oh." I glance around the living room, the tightly shuttered windows, the locks surrounding the door, the furniture I've probably never seen before and will probably never seen again. "Do you miss your real home?"

"All the time. Ireland holds my heart. Why, don't you miss your home?"

I bite my lip, trying to search through my vague memories for some place that I could say holds my heart. There is none. "I don't know. I don't know where home is."

"Yeah, well, if you didn't fucking forget everything the instant it happened, maybe you could remember it."

"It's easier this way. Besides, if I really want to know, all I have to do is ask George. He'll know. He knows everything about me."

"Does he know you're here?"

A faint warmth crawls up my cheeks. "He probably does now."

"Didn't tell your keeper you were leaving, did you?"

"He's not my keeper, he's my creator, and my friend. I didn't want to bother him, so I left. He knows I'll be back."

"Why?"

"Because we take care of each other. We need each other. I bring joy into his long existence, and he always makes me feel loved, and welcomed, and appreciated, and wanted." A smile slowly grows on my face. "Maybe George is my home."

"Sounds like he could be. So why don't you go home to him? But let me out first."

My smile fades as I stand up. "If I let you out, do you promise not to attack me?"

"Yes, I promise. Wouldn't do me much good anyway," he grumbles, "seeing as how you're invincible and all."

"I'm not invincible," I say, and unlock the door. I stand back and wait for Colin to open it, ready to defend myself, just in case.

"I promised you I'm not going to attack," he says, seeing the guarded look in my eyes.

"Can't be too careful," I shrug, backing away so he feels comfortable about entering the room.

"And you can see why our relationship never went anywhere. Where's the trust?"

Is he joking with me? Is he actually trying to insert humor into this truly fucked up situation? Maybe it isn't so truly fucked up after all.

"I imagine it went flying out the window the second I sank my teeth into your neck."

"Bingo! And we have a winner! I never knew you were so fucking perceptive," he growls, flopping onto the sofa.

He's sitting. Not just sitting--lying down. Why is he lying down? Why isn't he running? Not that I want him to run. I want him to stay, so I can at least figure out what is going on between us.

Yeah, because that's the only reason I want him to stay.

I cautiously move to sit across from him, hoping he won't jump up and run across the room. He doesn't. In fact, he's not even looking at me. His eyes are shut. The poor boy looks exhausted.

And this observation leads to an inexplicable desire to cuddle him.

"Um. . . is there anything I can get you?" I ask, trying to distract myself.

"Nah, I'm good."

That's the last thing he says for another ten minutes.

Okay. This is really starting to bother me. He seems so completely at ease when just a short while ago, he was positively seething with rage. Now who's fucking with whom here?

"Colin?" I whisper.

"Hmm. . .?" He rolls his head a little, getting more comfortable, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge me.

Oh my god. He's asleep. He actually fell asleep. He really is fucking with me.

This could be extremely dangerous for us both.

Slowly, quietly, I slip out of the chair and crawl towards him. I just want to smell him, that's all.

I stop when I'm right next to the sofa and rise up on my knees. I carefully lean forward until my nose is just an inch from his cheek, then breathe in.

He smells like cinnamon and cloves.

So that's why that scent is so familiar.

I feel a terrible need to lick his skin. I just want to taste him, that's all.

Just a tiny little lick across his cheek.

I nearly moan at the heat that washes through me. He tastes even better than he smells.

"Orli," he smiles, pressing a hand to my lips and pushing me away. "Not now, okay? Maybe later."

Please, please, please let him forgive me for this.

"Then move over, luv. You're taking up the whole sofa."

A little complaining whine issues from his throat, but he rolls forward, giving me just enough space to slide in behind him. I wrap my arms around him, pressing my body tight against his so we don't end up falling off the sofa.

Yeah, that's the reason.

"Orli," he chuckles, wriggling his darling backside into my groin, "later, I promise."

I sigh, kissing his cheek, then nuzzle my lips against his neck. "Yes, luv."

Closing my eyes, I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing with the scent of cinnamon and cloves filling my veins. I may not be able to remember him, but I'm sure as hell never going to let him go.

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