Bela the Nymphomaniac Vampire Slayer

Chapter 11: How Bela has Standards or,
Okay, now I'm really confused. What the hell is even happening here?

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“Oh come on Bela, I apologised already. Sheesh, lighten up a bit! I offered to buy you a drink to make up for it. Come out with me?”

Yeah, turns out my “attacker” was Tristan being a sphincter. How unfuckingusual. I was about point two seconds from staking the moron when I recognised his voice. Honestly, what part of the fact that in the last week I've had at least three close calls staking vamps, two encounters of the maniac 'path kind, several of the idiotic kind including some dumbfuck vamp with a rose fetish and no sex since Tuesday makes him think that I am in any kind of mood for stupid pranks?

Well, to be fair I doubt I'm ever much in appreciation of pranks no matter what kind of a week I've had, but honestly, does the man want to die horribly? It's not like a knife can tell the difference between a human and a vampire heart- it'll stop either before I have time to go “Oops, sorry, thought you knew better than to startle the career supernatural humanoid slayer”.

I sigh, and rub my forehead. Damnit, I just want to go crawl into some hole and drink myself into a stupor. I can't even go home because the vamps have obviously figured out where I live. Why can't he just leave me alone?

“Tristan, please go away. I'm asking you nicely, see, I didn't even tell you to 'fuck off'.”

“Duly noted, but you didn't answer my question.”

Oh for the love of a good fuck.

I almost turn down the drink Tristan offers to buy me to apologise and supposedly thank me for “saving him” from Rutley. Honestly I didn't make a single effort to save him in particular while combatting whoever the fuck had made mindslaves out of everybody, (in fact it was no doubt my fault Tristan is currently hobbling along on crutches due to his... ahem... unfortunate encounter with my stiletto,) but I figure since he hasn't offered to buy me a drink at least since we broke up a good few years ago...

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm starting to warm to the idea. Probably not a bad idea to take my ex-boyfriend, current brother-in-arms and pain-in-my-ass up on his offer. Hey, I'm feeling optimistic. The insults might be only joking this time. From his end. Mine are always deadly serious busi... okay I can't keep a straight face saying that. There's nothing like a well-placed insult to produce the most hilarious facial expressions in some people, and luckily for me, Tristan is one of them.

If I angle this right, I might be able to con the cripple into dinner and a show.

To my surprise Tristan decides against taking us to Wheels, but when he mentions that he wants to get his mind off “work” I get it. Having spent several hours explaining one's actions in an encounter to people who would have to poke themselves to figure out the business end of a stake, the very last thing I want to do is talk about it all over again to our comrades.

Also, I'm willing to put off the conversation I'm going to have next time I end up there.

Gareth is going to have some serious explaining to do- apart from not mentioning that little tidbit about him being an informant for the motherfucking Cooperative who informed on me, I really want to know what the hell was with him supposedly sending Rutley to my Nana's place. Since I'm going on the words of a random 'crat (who even knows what motivates them other than the latest deadline) and a certain crazy 'path, I don't even know if it's true or not, and that right there is pretty fucking infuriating.

It's also interesting that according to Tristan, whilst I'd been giving my interview he'd been able to watch some of the higher-ups get a look at Rutley, and have a host of very interesting expressions on their faces, before declaring there was no way on earth he had been acting under his own volition for a good long while, before they bundled him off somewhere to “recuperate”.

Now I don't know about you, but in general, I'm detecting a strong smell of haddock. But right now I don't feel like I have the energy to think about all that. I'll worry about Gareth's potential treachery the increasingly mysterious man -who has so far been Pretty Guy, Taylan the Prophecy Swallower/Reteller, Rutley the Evil Mindraper, and now Mindreader Who Possibly Got Mindraped Who Seems Suspiciously Important To The Cooperative's Higher-Up - later.

Later when I don't have a raging tension headache and I've had time to sleep off the hangover I'm working up to right now.

So anyway, having decided against Wheels, Tristan and I find ourselves at a dingy pub in the city. Frigged if I know what it's called, but it's near one of the university campuses, they serve decent vodka, and there are a couple of couches set up next to the pool table. There's a jukebox playing a mix of '80s hits and bad pop music from the nowtimes. I stick in a song that's bound to get everyone groaning, but since there's a long waiting list, it still hasn't come up yet. I'm up to my fourth shot and Tristan just skulled his third schooner of whatever crappy beer he tends to drink (though at least he has more taste than to order Bud, man that crap tastes like they fermented the contents of a muddy sewerage pipe and then called it “beer”- doesn't even have a decent alcohol content!) when he speaks to me for the first time since he asked me what I was drinking.

“So how are you doing anyway, Bela?”

Fortunately I'd already swallowed my drink, otherwise I might have spit-taked in surprise.

“Since when have you cared?” I demand, eyeing him warily.

“Fuck Bela, it's just a polite question, no need to get all defensive,” he replies, irritatingly unruffled.

Damnit. He's gone and built up an immunity to my filthy looks.

I scowl, raking my fingers through my hair. Just because he's paid for two rounds doesn't mean I have to be nice when he asks stupid questions. “I'm fine. Wonderful. Catching up to Gareth's dust mountain. Fucking strangers. Sometimes they don't have fangs so I don't even have to kill them, just kick them out of bed in the morning. Sometimes I even let them get an encore.” At this I send Tristan a mocking smirk, fluttering my eye-lashes at him.

He rolls his eyes. He knows I'm not really offering anything. Besides, crutches have never done it for me, particularly if I inflicted the injury.

“Thought you said you had a stalker?” Vaguely I notice that Tristan's still as hot as the day I met him about six years ago. Pity.

His previous sentence filters through to my brain. Oh bloody hell, can you believe I'd forgotten all about that?

“Actually, I killed him before I came over to Nana's today.”

“You what!?”

“Vampire, duh.” I give Tristan a look that indicates that I am unimpressed with his lack of faith. Unsurprised, but unimpressed.

For some reason the slackjaw on Tristan has yet to diminish.

“Wait, wait, wait. You were being stalked by a vampire?”

“Uh, yeah, that's what I told you like ten seconds ago.” Has Tristan finally lost it?

“And he attacked you in daylight?!” He looks like he's about to hyperventilate. Shit, you'd think he was worried about me or something.

“Well not strictly speaking.” I smirk as I remember the events of this afternoon. “Actually, he was trying to declare his undying love to me. I freaked out and stabbed him with an umbrella. Imagine, sending roses and creepy poems to me.”

Tristan looks utterly gobsmacked and I snicker at the expression on his face. No really, it is a snicker, not a giggle. I'm far too badass to giggle.

He shakes his head as though to clear it, and looks so adorable that I pinch myself to remind me that this is one man that I cannot lust over. It's not just that he practically calls me a slut to my face and is practically married to Jez. I made a promise years ago, and I'm sticking to it for good reasons.

“So basically after a night of killing three vampires and finding a fortune teller who you have to deck for 'disrespecting' you, you go to bed, wake up, kill a vamp, go to your Nana's and then have to deal with that clusterfuck. Fuck, don't you ever get a break from this shit?”

“Well I was going to take a break the other night, but somebody decided to pounce on the man I was bringing home.” I remind Tristan.

“Wait, since when do you let someone steal a one-night stand from you?” he teases. Huh. Apparently someone neglected to mention the potentially embarrassing situation in which I'd put him on the road to possible not-dying. Clearly I must take up Coutt's forsaken duty.

Heheh, this is going to be priceless.

“Well, suffice to say, it's got a little something to do with the fresh meat Gareth set you up with, Cody Coutt, a.k.a. Cain Hawke,” Tristan starts taking a sip from his beer and I drop my bombshell. “A.k.a. the Stealthy Cockblocker who can't tell the difference between an albino and a vamp.”

Tristan sprays his drink all over the chest of a passing bimbo, and starts to choke. Surprisingly, this turns out to be fortunate, as the bimbo's muscle-bound manbag changes his default “crush” manoeuvre into a couple of hefty slaps on the back instead, evidently deciding in his trollish brain that choking to death is a “fair excuse” for making his girlfriend's shirt cling tighter.

As if he thinks that's a bad thing. She's got to be a D-cup at least though I'm assuming a padded bra judging by the amount of makeup she has caked on.

“You alright there man?” Troll asks, ignoring the shrieks of his bimbo in favour of leering at her chest and then looking all concerned at Tristan. I take back the manbag comment. Maybe she's his arm jewellery instead.

Gasping a little still, Tristan nods weakly, indicating that he's fine.

Thirty seconds later, the Troll and the Bimbo have moved on, and I can't stop myself from cackling.

Tristan rolls his eyes at me.

“Careful Bela, you're sounding like some sort of hag, and that'd put a bit of a crimp in your plans to fuck everything on two legs,” he says.

I snort. “Now that's just fucking ridiculous. There are quite a few people I haven't fucked and don't plan to. Anyone born after 1990 for one. Most humans over the age of fifty. People with bad hygiene. Gay men. Werewolves.” I tick the groups off my fingers. I was serious when I said I had standards.

“Hang on, what do you have against werewolves?” demands Tristan, looking nervously over his shoulder. Oh that's right, Jez got bitten a few months ago. Weird, I'd forgotten that.

I throw back my fifth shot and reply, “Nothing. I quite like most werewolves so long as they go to the reservations once a month and don't borrow my toothbrush. It's just that the pack instincts make them a bit too clingy for my tastes. Jez is probably going to give you hell when you come home smelling like you've been out drinking with me. Give her my regards.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow. “You speaking from experience here? Sounds like a funny story.”

“Not much to tell,” I shrug. “One of my sexy no-strings one-night-stands turned into me having to avoid one of my old haunts for the better part of five months until she got a whiff of someone who smelled better and got over me. Of course whenever I come across her these days she flaunts her 'soulmate' in front of me, but it's just mildly annoying.” I smile dreamily, “She had some seriously great tits though...”

“Damn Bela, I don't want to hear details,” Tristan complains.

I frown, mock thoughtfully. “I thought guys liked to visualise a little girl-on-girl action.”

“That was before I heard Sam's ex telling him that you gave better head than he did. In detail. Ad nauseum.”

“Oh for fuck's sake. I'm surprised she remembers it, because by my memory she'd had like half a bottle of JD,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “She passed out straight after. If I'd known she was Sam's girl I would have told her to go home, but she was hot, eager, and as far as I knew, available, so what's a red-blooded bisexual to do?”

“Check for an engagement ring. Apparently he'd proposed to her the month before.”

Ouch. No wonder Sam can barely stand the sight of me. Now that has got to sting. Not my fault that his red-headed goddess had found me attractive enough to help her cheat on him, though. I resent any implication that I did it to spite Sam- I actually respect the man when he's not being a whiny bitch. Hell, if I could go back in time I'd have bitchslapped the bint and left her to sleep it off on a couch or something, but it's not like I can change the past.

“As far as I recall I didn't see one. Still, no point telling Sam that. From what I've heard, they patched it up, so she probably told him some shit about me seducing her.”

“Well, it does seem to do the trick with vamps...” Tristan leers suggestively.

Asshole.

I decide to change the subject. “Your foot okay from where I impaled it?”

Tristan shrugs. “Just a flesh wound. Next time don't step on it though- I had a length of razor wire sitting under my arch, and though normally that wouldn't be a problem, this time you put enough pressure on the top of my foot that the bottom came into contact with it.”

Well that explains why it looked like there was an exit wound on the bottom of his foot. And here I was thinking I'd driven that heel a little too far into it. Lucky break.

“So what do you reckon really happened in there?” Tristan asks me.

I check to make sure no one's in earshot and decide I might as well fill him in on my theory. I mean, the Cooperative didn't want to know, but that's their lookout, now isn't it. Doesn't mean I shouldn't warn my colleagues.

“I'm going to assume our culprit for this SNAFU is a Turned 'path who was also controlling Rutley, because his behaviour went through some pretty drastic shifts. It was as though whoever it was controlling him changed tack at least five times. Poor bastard . My guess is that the controller was trying to anger me into killing Rutley by the end there,” I tell Tristan, neglecting to mention that whoever it was had nearly succeeded too.

It had been a close thing. I was so fucking angry about the utter filth Rutley was saying I nearly lost my temper and caused a bloodbath. Which is generally not my style at all- get them as close as possible, and stake them once, but most importantly, have a bit of fun with it. Vampires are about as close to pure evil as it's possible to get, so playing with them then killing them is not hard for me to justify- I'm not some sanctimonius do-gooder doing my best in the name of God to put these beasts out of their misery. I'm in this business to put them out of mine.

Sure they were human once. Sure the humans they used to be would be no doubt horrified at the things their bodies have done as vampires. But the vampires they are now? They don't give a shit. They're seductive killers that consider their human counterparts to be no more than edible game-pieces. If they even have souls, they're so buried under sociopathy that the point is moot. I should have figured it out immediately when I realised how much I wanted to kill Rutley, because I've never, not even that time with Bernie the Serial Killer, felt that amount of bloodlust for a human.

And that right there is one of the reasons I'm glad I've been around enough vamps to know when someone's in my head playing with my thoughts. I can tell when I'm going past my normal limits, even though it might not be noticeable to onlookers. I might get pissed off a lot of the time, but there's always a part of me that enjoys all of this, even if it is largely schadenfreude.

Killing a bound man, even one spouting such utter monstrosities, just isn't sporting, even if it wasn't for my “undead only” hitlist.

Which is very lucky for me as killing an agent of the Cooperative would have been a very, very poor mark on my rep, not to mention the fact that I would have felt incredibly bad about it when the scenario was figured out.

Tristan's still sitting there patiently, waiting for me to continue. Guess he must be used to me going off the rails a bit every once in a while- he has known me for the better part of a decade. He's motioning for me to go on, the arrogant bastard.

Okay, okay, fine, but if he makes me repeat all this I'm going to kick his ass.

“Whoever they are, they're not too bright,” I continue with a wince. That admittance hurt more than I thought it would. Being played is bad enough, being played by a 'fool' to use Suit Telepath's terminology is worse. “Rutley's been acting pretty erratic, so whoever it is has a hard time trying to keep a coherent plan of attack. Once they figured I wasn't acting according to script, they must have panicked and decided to cover their tracks, by convincing me to kill him. And instead of trying to control you lot on their own, the mental attacks stopped when I knocked out the telepaths in the room, suggesting that whoever it was decided to cut their losses and run in case someone didn't buy the ruse and thought to check the surrounding area.”

Nodding thoughtfully and somehow looking strangely smug about something, Tristan says, “I reckon you might be onto something there Bela. Though that's not all that uncommon for you is it now.”

I sigh. For once I'm not really in the mood to yell at him. “If you're going to call me a whore again just get it over with Tristan. I find it boring that you seem so fixated on my sex life, but come on, get it out of your system. I'm too tired to kick your ass for disrespecting me, so I'll give you a free shot just this once.”

To my surprise, he shakes his head. “No Bela, I respect you too much to kick you when you're down. Honestly-”

I'm in a bit of shock over this last statement, so I interrupt him.“Respect? You have got to be kidding me. Of course you don't fucking respect me Tristan! What other reason could you possibly have to consistently tell me how appalling you find my methods? How many times have you already called me a slut today? Is it five or six?”

“None actually. It's just that I don't want any of the newer recruits to think that they can pull off what you do- they don't have the benefits of succubus blood in them, so if I want them to live, I've got to let them know early that while your methods might appear effective, they aren't going to be repeated.”

Oh for fuck's sake, seriously? Why he couldn't have told me that years ago I will never know, but he could have just told me that was why he was giving me shit. That sneaky bastard! I wouldn't be half as defensive as I am these days if it hadn't been for constantly having to defend myself against his verbal attacks. Fucking prick. Huh, why are my Bumpy senses tingling?

“For your infofuckingmation, I am not a fucking succubus. There is absolutely nothing supernatural about my libido- I just happen to like sex a lot, since when is that weird? It's just because the vamps are too lazy to find someone prettier when I flatter them into thinking I'm an easy mark,” I retort, quickly scanning the other bar patrons. No vamps, but I'm starting to get the sneaking suspicion that my senses going off has something to do with the unusually burly bartender. I made Tristan hobble up to the bar to do the drinks purchasing, (since when have I been a nice person?) so it's only now I notice the fact that not only is he particularly hairy, but he's moving with quite a bit more grace than most men his size would be. Either he's really into martial arts, or... no, he just sneezed violently after that woman leaned in close. Must be wearing something pretty strong, poor guy looks like his eyes are melting.

Bela, you're getting sloppy. This guy's practically showing the textbook signs of lycanthropy and you only just noticed? Tsk Tsk.

I realise Tristan was just now trying to tell me something, but I missed it completely so I ask him to repeat himself.

“Well you have to admit Bela, you being a succubus would make a lot of sense. I mean, you attract vampires. As much as I hate the foul creatures, they are quite beautiful when they want to be,” he admits with slight chagrin.

Hang on, what? Ignoring the fact that Tristan just admitted he thinks vampires are beautiful, that's a duh, why does he think I have Bumpy blood in me? Huh? That's fucking crazy!

“Wait just a second there. Now, while I agree entirely that no one else should be trying to slay vamps using my methods, you don't in all seriousness think that I'm a Bumpy do you? They proved years ago that it doesn't work that way. On the other hand, are you telling me that you don't think I'm hot enough to attract anyone I want? I was good enough for you a couple of years back- so either I've changed, or you have some pretty weird ideas about vampiric standards.”

Tristan suddenly gets a strange expression on his face, and before I can blink, he's done a complete 180, effectively dropping the subject of whether or not there's Bumpy blood in Bela.

Well if you get technical about the blood still being inside the Bumpy's vessels then I guess there has been, but still...

“Honestly Bela, you're not that attractive. Back when I was fucking you you were about an 8, but the years haven't been that kind to you- too much time being a bitter hag is starting to make you slip,” he says so casually I nearly miss the part where he just insulted me. Direly. Tristan is a little bitch sometimes, but this line of attack is out of character for him. And why the hell is he making those weird facial expressions? He's been rolling his eyes at me for the last while or so. “Why a vampire would want you when I dumped you is anybody's guess,” he continues, winking at me.

Okay, there's a game being played here. Looks like Tristan's got a stay of execution, though I'm going to give him hell later. There was no “dumping” at the end of our relationship- we'd hooked up a couple of times before he met Jezebel, but soon after I introduced the two of them, we came to a mutual silent decision to end our state of fuckbuddyhood. The fact I'd slept with Jezebel before I introduced the two of them has never been discussed, but seeing as Georgie, Aarti and Gareth are the only three I haven't slept with at some time or another from the local Slayer circle... actually Coutt makes that category too now, come to think of it. Maybe when he loses that naïvety I might give him a shot, as he does have potential if I could get him to lose the stupid hair and the clothes... mmm, not a bad idea...

Where was I?

Oh yeah, watching Tristan play mind games. I'm calming down from my initial rage, at least in part due to the absolutely bizarre expressions he's making. I'm starting to think that this little tangent isn't for my benefit, so I decide to answer his questions as though he'd asked them in all seriousness. I'll ask him later what the fuck is going on.

I snort.

“Come on Tristan, don't pretend you're a retarded assbaby.” He rolls his eyes at me and I coolly smirk. Hey, I'm staying in character aren't I? “You know as well as I do that vamps only look for quantity and not quality when they're on the hunt. I don't have AIDS, I don't eat many processed foods, and I've got a bit of meat on my bones. Add to that the fact that I wear a spicy perfume and clothes that remind them of the 'old days' what with all the corsetry, and I'm delicious delicious nostalgia... add to that the fact that I basically come right up to them and have absolutely no qualms about 'going somewhere to get to know each other a little better' even before they hit me with their mindfuck powers. Seriously, for them, I seem like I'm too good an opportunity to miss.”

I notice Tristan looking significantly at someone behind me, before he makes a handsign indicating that whoever it is has his 'okay'. Obviously someone he knows has just shown up and some business is about to go down. Can't imagine what, or with who. I yawn and stretch, muttering something about going to the ladies and stalk off. I walk down the narrow corridor at the end of the bar, and it's not until I'm about to get to the door that I turn around to go and see if I can spot for whose benefit that little show was.

I'm barely half turned when I see the absolute last person I expected to spot, right behind me.

My knife is out, and I've got him pinned against the wall with it against his throat before you can say, 'shit! Vampires!'

He has the balls to actually laugh at me, but I understand why when a few seconds later our positions are suddenly reversed. I don't know how the fuck he did it, but one second I had him up against the southern wall of the corridor with my knife against his throat, and the next he'd managed to drop his weight and twist doing some crazy martial arts shit, and then here I am, pinned up against the northern wall, feeling as though practically every inch of me is being covered by his larger frame.

Fuck that's sexy. Shame I don't fuck insane people who upset my Nana.

“You've been holding back.” I murmur as I unsuccessfully attempt to stab him with my poorly angled knife. I'm going to kill Tristan. I don't know what the fuck kind of twisted game that shit for brains thinks he's playing, but how dare he leave me high and dry like this. This smacks of either more mindcontrol or some deeper shit I don't know about, but either way, I'm going to make that snotty squealer bleed.

“You know I always wondered how it was that a woman with no training could take out more vampires than the rest of her chapter put together. Particularly one as infamous as you,” my attacker tells me, firmly but almost respectfully applying pressure to my wrist to force me to drop my knife. “Bela the nymphomaniac vampire slayer. You're practically an urban legend you know. Most slayers who stay in touch with the community think you're a running joke- someone made up to make the newbies gape,” he continues conversationally as my knife drops to the floor.

Shit! Ah well, there's always plan B.

I snort, and wriggle a little as though in an effort to get loose. It's harder than I'd ever want to admit to ignore how nice the friction between our bodies is, but if I'm going to use my body against him (pun completely intended) then I have to stay alert and ready to take advantage of any lapse in his attention.

“I never wanted to be a fucking legend,” I inform him, attempting to position myself so if in doubt I'll be able to put my stiletto through his foot. That would distract his attention quite nicely.

“Oh, but from what I hear your powers of... fucking are indeed legendary.” His eyes squinch cheekily, and I'm amazed at how hot I'm finding his voice right now, intense with some undisclosed emotion.

It made me wonder what other parts of his behaviour I might find intense...

No! Bad Bela! He's a nutbag, has partially disarmed you and he's got you pinned to a wall. Now is not the time to be finding this fucker attractive!
Though damn, I wish things were different.

“I really should really take exception to that comment,” I tell him. “It's not nice to remind a lady about her reputation.” Though I would be more than happy to use it against him if he let me. If it wasn't for Tristan obviously being in on whatever this is I'd be fighting a lot harder than I am. No, that's probably a lie. The man pinning me to the wall is human, gorgeous, articulate, to my knowledge not attached to someone (no ring), apparently competent at defending himself, and for the moment at least, not trying to kill me. It feels like its been an aeon since I slept with someone who met all those criteria. Come to think of it, it might have been never. Then again there's that one teeny weeny itsy bitsy little reason though why bedding this man would probably be an extremely bad idea.

“What I was going to say though,” he continues, seemingly ignorant of my train of thought, “is that you're impressively fast. I assume you normally don't give your prey the chance to fend you off like I did, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“Mother always said I was good at going straight for the jugular. She wanted me to be a lawyer. I wanted to be a fairy princess. Guess me bringing justice against the bumpy bloodsuckers is fate's bitch of an ironic compromise.”

He laughs incredulously at me.

“What? I'll have you know I can pull off pink quite well. But then it'd be more fun if you were helping me,”I wink at him, salaciously licking my lips, and he loosens his grip a little in surprise.

Oh come on, that's the oldest trick in my book!

I seize my chance, and this time it's me that ends up on top as I pair a sharp kick to his instep with a hard elbow into his solar plexus, shoving him hard onto the floor, back first. By the time the dust settles I'm sitting on his chest, stilettos threatening to put holes in his forearms if he attempts to struggle, and my other knife is being held a mere milimetre above his left eye. His legs are free, so he could try to kick me off him, but the way I'm currently positioned would leave bloody gouges in his arms should he try to do that, and he'd be lucky if he didn't lose the eye.

Tell you what though, in this position I'm glad I decided to go with the jeans today- not that I'm shy about having my crotch practically in this (or any for that matter) guy's face, but I don't feel like giving whoever walks around the corner a free show.

“I'm surprised you didn't see that coming. Aren't you supposed to be a 'path?” I gloat a little, but his answering grimace surprises me.

“No, that would be my brother. I have heard before that we look like twins, but I'm a year older than him and I managed to escape the dubious pleasure of having his... gift. I am deeply sorry that he caused you so much trouble- HQ neglected to tell me that he'd escaped again. His powers manifested late and they've made him quite... unstable.”

Hang on, what the fuck?!

“You're not Rutley? Or Taylan? Or whatever the hell he feels like calling himself at the moment?”

He laughs, but there is no humour in the sound.

“Actually, I am Taylan.” Oh, shit. He seems to notice my expression, and quickly explains. “The only time you dealt with my brother in person was at your grandmother's place, but I assure you that I don't normally act as bizarrely as you saw me acting- you might remember back when you'd just slayed that female vampire when we'd been talking I suddenly went blank for a bit about the point where you said we should go to Wheels?”

Come to think of it, I had found it quite weird that he'd gone blank there. Knowing about Giuseppe, one of the local vamp lords and not having heard of Wheels? Now that had been just fucking weird. Like any Aware wouldn't tell him about Wheels first.

Apparently my facial expression is pretty transparent, because Taylan relaxes under me, and continues to talk. “Yeah, well that's about the point where my brother took advantage of my surprise and forced me to turn into a stuttering prophecy-spouting moron. It wasn't until later that I managed to break free, and contact the Cooperative to ask them why the fuck they didn't warn me my criminally insane little brother Rutley had escaped their 'secure facility' again.”

And I thought my family has fucked up moments- by the sound of it, the Sullivans must take the snafu cake and convert it into nuclear explosives.

I ask him to stick his tongue out. Taylan looks confused, but fortunately for him, he complies. The scar is there, so at least part of his story checks out. He shouldn't relax so much though- he's not out of the woods yet, and it's dropbear season.

Okay, okay, so maybe, maybe he's telling the truth. That still doesn't answer the question as to how Tristan knows him. I demand an answer, and he relaxes a little now that I've admitted out loud that his story might hold some water.

“Tristan met me when you were being interviewed. He got to see me standing next to my brother, and so it wasn't an issue of belief from him. He and I have actually been corresponding for a long time, swapping stories and such. That's how my brother heard of you- sometimes I'd read the letters to him to keep him entertained. I owe you an apology. I never imagined he'd come prancing over the Pacific like this. I didn't even know he was here until about half an hour ago,” he explains.

Hang on, Tristan didn't recognise him earlier when I introduced him as Taylan Yilmaz.

“Well it's not like we've ever seen each other in person. We met online at the Forum a couple of years ago and we've been swapping stories ever since.”

I knew about the Forum. Some tech whiz had set it up in the hopes that it could be a good venue sharing information between international Aware. I'd even visited it once, but they hadn't been talking about anything new- just comparing stake sharpening methods and talking about some German vampires that were trying to relive the nazi party glory days, and so I'd started 'trolling' starting a thread about the differences in the bedroom techniques of German and British vampires. Suffice to say, I got kicked off the site within 24 hours, and couldn't be arsed going back.

Fucking prudes the lot of them.

Though now that he mentions it, Tristan had been occasionally dropping comments about the opinions of some of his “friends” from the site for a while now.

Fuck. Alright then. He's got one chance to prove he's what he says he is, re: not an assoteric git with a prophecy obsession and a generally snooty attitude. If he fucks this up I'm going to make him wish he was never born.
There's still one thing that's seriously bothering me about this picture though.

“Okay, so if Tristan knows who you are, and you in fact have not inherited the family batshit insanity along with the good looks, then why the fuck couldn't he have just introduced the two of us and saved us a lot of drama and you a couple of bruises?” I demand, moving my knife so that his eyeball is no longer in danger.

“That would be because I bet him that within five minutes you'd have him on the flat of his back. Thanks Bela, you just won me 100 bucks,” says Tristan, sauntering (well, he would be if he wasn't on crutches- score one Bela!) from around the corner. Was probably fucking watching us the whole time.

Did I mention he's an asshole?

Only a few thousand times.

“Make that 50 bucks you've won. I did all the work so I reckon half the cash should do it,” I snark back, tucking my knife away and rolling off Taylan so I'm no longer straddling him.

Huh. Call me full of myself, but he almost looks... disappointed.

Hmmmm, now this might be fun after all. I didn't spend the first while or so calling Taylan “Pretty Guy” out of irony.

“How about I keep the cash and we work it out on my couch?” Tristan asks me eyebrows waggling.

I burst out laughing. By the way he just unsubtly sent a look at Taylan, he's trying to get a rise out of me so he can illustrate some point, but honestly, even if I wasn't onto him he looks so silly with his waggling eyebrows I can't help but snort.

“Even if I didn't know you weren't serious,” I tell him, winking at Taylan, “there's absolutely no fucking way.”

Tristan looks mock-hurt. “But Bela, we were so good together!”

Some of our more memorable fights immediately surface to the front of my mind.

I stare at him incredulously, and his mouth twitches. Within seconds we're practically rolling on the ground laughing, while Taylan looks on bemusedly. Guess Tristan never told him the tiny detail about how we used to fuck, or for that matter, just how fucked up our relationship has been for the last ooh, say four years?

When I finally gain back my breath, I shake my head at Tristan condescendingly. “In your erotic dreams fucknut.”

Besides, like I'd fucking poach anything but a kill from anyone like Jezebel. Trust is hard won in my world, but she's one of the few people who I would trust to not fuck me over should the going get rough.

Gotta maintain some standards.
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Hey guys! Okay, feedback time: There are now several directions I could take this story, as I have what's going to happen all planned out (for a change), just not the order it's going to happen in. So, I'm putting the question to you, my loyal viewers:
Which do you want to see first?
a) Some long-promised romance
b) Bela kicking some serious vampire ass (again) only this time she won't be going solo
c)What happened to Tao
d)Meeting Bela's sister + niece
Reviews keep me motivated, and I always love to hear what you guys think- even if it's that I'm stuffing up somewhere. So, you know what to do: click that big button at the bottom of the page and Review!
Until next time,
Erisah.