by Ash Krafton
She drank from her glass and Dorcas stepped forward to refresh it. I can't figure out why we bothered to go out to eat because she never ordered anything. She'd scour the menu and ask countless questions of the waiter, reminding me of a parent whose child had food allergies. In the end, she always settled for only bread and fruit, which she barely touched.
But she always insisted on paying the check and insisted I enjoy my meals. So I did.
The waiter arrived with our orders and I smiled at the plate in anticipation. Fillet of pork with Anjou pear glaze. Garlic and roasted red pepper potatoes. If I wasn't worried about her reaction, I might have Tweeted a picture of the food. Meals like this made my evenings with her bearable.
"So." Her voice sounded thoughtful. "Marek has taken your blood. Small wonder it is, he keeps a territory of vampire under his command. Your blood must have made him powerful, indeed. I wonder, what more would he have gained if he had taken your death, as well?"
I shuddered and swallowed hard. "That's not really something I care to ponder."
"Oh, but we must."
"Not tonight, we don't."
Eirene reached across the table and took my hand in hers. The night was seasonably frigid, and her hands were still cold from the walk. "I see the pain in your eyes, Sophie. We will wait to discuss it another night."
She turned my hand over in hers, rubbing it to warm it. I didn't bother to pull away since friendly overtures were rare for her but, when she rubbed my thumb a little too firmly, I winced.
She caught my reaction and tipped her head to look at my hand. The ambient lighting revealed the faint mark of Rodrian's teeth and a streak of pink healing flesh.
"And this," she announced, "is not an old scar. There is a story forthcoming, I presume." Her dark eyes glittered with condemnation.
I sighed, embarrassed. I felt very much as if I'd been caught with a hickey. "It's hard to explain. I can't put a label on the relationship."
"The relationship is unimportant. All that matters is that someone takes your blood. Do not trivialize it by attempting to make some 'relationship' seem so much more important."
I hung my head, chastised, and used a fork to chase an artichoke tip around my plate.
"Was it DV or vampire?"
"What?" I looked up, shocked to hear the words emerge from her mouth. "Why would I let a vamp do this?"
"I am not making accusations. I am accumulating facts. You could make this easier by simply telling me."
"He's DV." The name wasn't important, especially not after her little tirade. Anyone who knew me would be able to narrow down the list of suspects rather quickly.
"He? Not they?"
What did I look like, a slut? "Only one."
"How much blood?"
"I don't know. It's not like I bled into a measuring cup."
"From where did he take it? The palm..." She turned my hand over in hers again. "...is a juicy bit to be sure, but there is not enough blood flow to slake a thirst. A main vessel or a site on the torso would give a lot more."
"All right, already." Her graphic description nauseated me and I pulled my hand away from her. "I get the picture. Not much blood, then."
She evaluated me through narrow eyes. "It is a stupid thing you do. You waste it. You do not even know what you are. You have no idea what makes you special. What if the secret lies in your blood? You do not know what you lose. You cannot be sure what you do to the poor fool you feed."
Aw, crap. Thirty years of Catholic guilt just about sprang up and out at that. Now it wasn't only being caught with a hickey—I might have given him Sophia herpes, too.
"Shit." I swore under my breath. "What if you're right? Pontian said my gift was tied to my blood."
"He did?" She regarded me intently, seeming to consider it. "He would know. That one keeps many secrets. So. You knew your gift was in your blood and yet you continued to squander it. You are blessed with the Sophia Oracle, yet you refuse to allow it to have its fullest potential. Any other serious failings you would care to share with me, before I decide you are a hopeless waste of my time?"
"Oh, Eirene. Don't say that." I needed her. I might not like her much but damn it, I needed her. She was probably the only other Sophia I'd ever get to meet. If I pissed her off I'd be even worse off. "What I did was in ignorance. No one else but you can teach me. Please, Eirene, don't give up on me. I need you."
She smiled indulgently, mollified by my pleading. I got the impression she really got off on it. Someone else with an ego fetish. Yay. "My dear, you are a Sophia. You should not beg. It is beneath you. It is for them to beg, to plead before you. I will stay, even if only for a short time. But you must be ready to unlearn many things. The Sophia shapes you, not the other way around."
I let out a big sigh of relief. "Thanks, Eirene. You won't regret this."
"I am sure. I have yet to do something I regret." She surveyed the remains of our meals. "We are finished, for tonight. I shall retire. Dorcas, my rooms are ready?"
"Ma'am. Everything is as you require."
"Good. Sophie, I will meet you again the night after tomorrow, as we did this evening."
"Eirene," I hesitated. "Any way we can meet earlier? These late nights are hard on me. I work day shift."
"As do I," she answered coldly. "Do you think I do nothing all day? I am Sophia. My time is not my own. I scarcely have time to properly enjoy meals in this city. You are fortunate I have this time to offer to you."
I cringed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
"And stop apologizing. When you are properly trained, you will realize your life is not your own, either. So. The evening after next. Same time."
"Right. Thanks, Eirene." I resigned myself to continued unpleasantness for the sake of improving myself. It had better turn out to be a fair trade.
On the way home, Rodrian wanted to stop by the office. The elevator ride itself was a trip and a half—at this time of night, there was very little activity on the office floors and he bewizarded the car to move at Holy Moley Express speed. My stomach puddled into my shoes and I had to hold the rail to keep upright. He just laughed and, once I was able to breathe again, I did, too.
I had to admit, he was fun sometimes. I wondered if Marek had shared his sense of humor when he was younger and less burdened.
Once in his office, I got comfortable while he shuffled through some drawers and muttered under his breath.
"Hmm?" I looked up from my tablet where I was editing some column work.
"It's not here," he huffed. "I have to run upstairs to Records to pull some files. Want to come with?"
Needing a break, I stood and stretched before walking over to the mini-refrigerator he kept in the corner of his office. It looked like a filing cabinet but was actually a Maytag with a false front. He usually kept bottles of Bela Lugosi Light (or whatever he called his blood supply) inside, but at my request he'd added a few cans of iced tea. The cans were on the door so I didn't have to dig through his blood bank to find them. What a prince.
"I'll just stay down here. More comfortable." I tugged out a can of sweet tea and wiped the rim with the bottom of my shirt. "Besides, I've got catchup of my own to do."
"You can do that upstairs."
"No, I can't."
Rodrian's power tasted different tonight and I didn't think it was due to the filtering of my newly constructed barriers. The new confidence was still there, firmly rooted and entirely his own.
Something else was there, too, and it had nothing to do with self-esteem. It had everything to do with me. I wasn't ready to explore it. "I'll just distract you."
"Is that a bad thing?" When he sat down behind his desk, I heard the click of a lock. He removed a set of keys from a bottom drawer, palming them.
I looked away, flicking only a side glance toward him. I didn't feel comfortable enough to face up on the topic. "It might be, yeah."
"Are you worried about what happened last night?"
"Ah..." I studied the pop-
top of the iced tea can, wondering how to crack it open without breaking a nail. "Not so much what had happened as what might happen."
Rodrian sat back, expressionless, as if waiting for my response to dictate his. "What's that?"
"I don't know. I—" Pacing to the couch, I dropped down and pushed my purse out of the way. Walking barefoot on broken glass would be easier than talking about this. "I don't want to complicate things between us. Not this soon."
"Complicate things. That's a nice way to put it."
"Is that sarcastic?" I met his eyes, looking for a sign of smart-ass.
"No. Really." No smart-ass, only honest agreement. "Complicated is just the tip of it. I thought about it a lot last night. And today. And on the way to pick you up at work. And all though dinner..."
"So, it's a heavy topic." I chuckled, lightening the load of the admission, but quickly returned to the weight of the matter. "And?"
"And I think there is room for us in all of this. Room for you and me to stand on our own. Last night emphasized how our relationship has always hinged on my brother."
"Kind of hard to banish his presence."
"Yeah. And it's not right. You're valuable to me, not just because of your past relationship with Marek. You are important to me. And not because of someone else's perception of you. Does that make sense?"
"I don't want to lose what I felt last night before... that." I looked down at my hand, where the faint imprint of Rodrian's teeth still made a rosy curve on my flesh, a slight tenderness of a fading bruise.
"Why would we lose it?"
"Touching and feeling are two different things."
He quietly considered it, his power churning in concentration. "So...you worry that anything physical might damage the spiritual."
"Maybe." Some of my trepidation eased and the tension in my neck and scalp melted a bit. Still there, just not squeezing-down distracting. Perhaps he did understand.
"I won't try to fill you with words. I only promise to prove we've nothing to fear."
"Except Marek finding out."
"Do you really worry about that?"
"Yes. No...yes," I decided. I hated simple questions with complicated answers. "I don't want to strain your relationship with him."
"And yours?"
"I don't have one." Pushing against the couch in a hasty effort to stand, I got up to look for a napkin. I hadn't klutzed anything up yet but there was still time. He'd kill me if I made a mess on his burgundy suede cushions. I busied myself searching the room for a tissue box, a paper towel, a chamois. Anything. Anything to keep from investing myself in the question.
"You sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" I sounded distracted, masking the truth perfectly. No tissues. Damn DV and their immunity to drippy noses. "You know we don't speak."
"Maybe not. But that doesn't mean there isn't a relationship."
"A relationship isn't one-sided. It's more than kissing on a mirror, pretending it kisses back." I gave up on the tissues and faced him.
He pushed his chair back and stood, sliding the keys into his pants pocket and walking around the desk so nothing stood between us. "Maybe you're both relating, just not to each other."
"Hence, no relationship."
"Wrong. Maybe there's just a barricade separating you. I know you want to try. Maybe he does, too."
I lifted my shoulders and hands, frustration adding a different heat to the discussion. In this light the window dressings behind him looked more red than brown. It wasn't a soothing shade. "Why would you say that? Why would you say things that could give me hope?"
"I...don't know." He crossed an arm over his chest, resting the elbow of the other upon his hand, and rubbed his temple. "You're right. I'm sorry. I can't speak for him. He won't even speak for himself."
Rodrian raised his index fingers, palms out, emphasizing his delicate point. "But I get the impression that you still have a relationship. It might not be going anywhere but you are still holding on to something. You're afraid to disturb the remains of what you had."
How could I argue with that? Sidestepping might work. I was good at that. "He needs the Sophia. I have to preserve some kind of trust so I can reach him. Eirene can help him, I know it, and if I anger him, he won't give the Sophia a chance."
"You are the Sophia," he insisted. "You're one and the same. No separation. Don't deny yourself because of a mis-conception."
Self-denial was the whole point. There were reasons why I'd become a gun-shy adult, especially when it came to the big guns like relationships and trust. My false confidence folded like an empty balloon and I sank back onto the couch. "I'm sorry, Rode. This is tougher than I expected. Can we adjourn until later? You gave me a lot to consider."
"All right, sure." He opened the door but paused in the doorway. A mischievous glint brightened his eyes and he tilted his head, letting his hair tumble down. He wouldn't be Rodrian if he didn't make one final play. "You're sure you don't want to come up? It's warmer upstairs."
"I bet it is. Down here is fine."
He took a moment to come back over and mark me, his fingertips sending a line of tingles down my back. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he tried to tickle me. "All right," he said. "Call me if you need me. The extension is marked on the phone."
"Okay." I took a sip of tea, but it was like drinking a t-shirt. Dry and solid, unrefreshing. Something to strangle on as if the conversation hadn't been enough.
"Sure you'll be okay?"
I winkled my nose, thinking Go, already. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Lost in concentration, I felt around on the cushion for my phone when it chimed an annoying gong noise—my incoming text alert.
From Rodrian's phone: Where are you?
In UR office, duh, I texted back.
Lock the door
Y?
WARDS! LOCK IT!
I dropped the phone and lunged for the door, a dozen simultaneous images flashing through my mind. Too late! The doorknob rattled and the door swung open, bringing me face to face with unknown danger.
Vampire. Were. Mugger. The Blob.
Not—
Marek.
We froze in each other's sights. My heart pounded, the alarm maintaining its intensity even after I realized who it was.
Marek looked every bit as perfect as my heart remembered him. His eyes glinted briefly, like sunlight on ivy, before solidifying into a polite and impersonal green. My heart threatened to stop in mid-beat.
Marek wore a dark green button down shirt, one of my favorites; the cotton was slept-in soft and the collar always stood just right when left open. His sleeves were unbuttoned but not rolled up to his elbows as had been his custom when I'd known him. Even unbuttoned, it looked more formal, restrained. His black boots, pointed-toe cow-boy boots with a sturdy heel, were new to me. I'd never seen him in cowboy boots. They weren't his style.
I took in every detail at once, then dropped my gaze, feeling like I'd taken something that didn't belong to me.
"Sophie." He greeted me brusquely, as if I were no more than a receptionist. "I'm looking for Rodrian."
Not exactly the tone of voice I'd daydreamed he would use. The shock reminded me: this was not a drill. And, as usual, when all other senses failed me, the smart ass took over. "I'm fine, Marek, thanks for asking. And you?"
He exhaled through his nose. "Yes. Of course. Sophie. Are you truly fine? You look...weary."
"Forget it, Marek," I said softly. "I'll go. Rodrian ran upstairs to Records but he'll be back soon. I'll wait down-stairs in the lounge for him."
I'd spent a long time half-wishing for a chance to see Marek, just once. The lines were rehearsed, rewritten, and perfected over eighteen months of daydreaming. Now that the curtains had finally gone up, what did I do?
I got stage fright, that's what.
What a coward I was. All I could think of was getting out, going somewhere, anywhere he wasn't. I grabbed my tablet, fumbling to get it into my bag. Stupid
fingers weren't working right. It was like trying to shove a brick into a change purse. Leaving my bag hang open, I snatched my coat up and cut a straight path for the door where he still stood.
Swallowing down the buzz of my heartbeat, I tried to ignore the chill radiating from him. In my daydreams, I never considered the cold barrier he wore around himself, the emotional wall of ice. Pulling my awareness in tighter to avoid brushing against his power, I kept my eyes down and avoided looking at him, knowing that, if I did, I'd be entranced by his terrible, cold beauty.
Dahlia had told me about vampiric powers. I didn't want to find out if he actually had them.
He'd stepped aside to allow me to pass but as I tried to slip through the doorway, he said my name and stopped me.
Literally.
The compulsion wasn't rude; it was simply a whopping dose of Obey Me that glued my feet to the floor. With deceiving nonchalance, he reached out his hand.
I braced for the shock, dreading the contact. Would his touch feel cold, like his power, or room temperature, like a vampire? I didn't want to discover what he'd become.
His fingers pressed gently on my arm. Neither. Marek's skin was warm, alive, like it always had been. Some-how, that was worse.
Marek inhaled sharply and narrowed his eyes. Our physical contact perforated his chilly barrier and I felt his true power. He was angry.
"You are marked," he announced and pressed his lips into a tight, pale line.
"Well, yeah." I screwed my brows together and glared up at him. "Human in a building full of DV, remember?"
He smiled. It was humorless, an animal's false smile. The truth showed in his eyes. "So. Now my brother is your protector?"
I shrugged, feeling my throat tighten. "Someone needs to be."
"And you think that is all a marking entails? He's marked you. As his own."
A wave of heat and something else washed down me, head to toe. I was getting pissy. Supposed it was my survival instinct: mouth off when you can't fight back. "Why not? Nobody else will."
"Nobody else should. He's touched you." Marek frowned and leaned closer, breathing through nose and mouth. His voice held an edge of menace. "I can smell him on your skin."
