Rare Kinds

Chapter 3

Mohan was waiting for Roger when he came back. Roger grinned sheepishly as he clicked the door of the shop closed behind him. Mohan’s eyes burned into his from over a book with a gold double-headed eagle insignia on the front. The eagle’s golden lion paws stretched to a clasp that had the book been closed would have magically sealed the book. Slowly he set it down, his finger holding the page.

He was angry, Roger could tell that much, but he looked rather ridiculous showing the emotion, with his button up white shirt and khaki pants, looking very much like the polished businessmen Roger often saw in lunch places. Behind glass windows or in street front patios, they’d be sipping mead or some such from glass bottles, picking at their salads and reigning in their tempers so they wouldn’t shout at each other over small tables, however close they came with red faces and forced, almost derisive laughter. But this was Mohan he was looking at, and Roger couldn’t help that he found it was terribly funny to see a half demon in such attire.

“Says here that a direct order from a regent, when disobeyed, is punishable by burning,” Mohan remarked in a falsely casual tone. “…to death.”

“I’d like to see him try.” Roger put his hands up, smiling as he walked to the counter, from which Mohan was now glaring at him. “What are you so worried about? I can’t die.”

Roger didn’t know if that was entirely true, but as he had lived so long it had become quite plain to him that it would be very difficult if not impossible for anyone to destroy him.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure the Master won’t be so hard-pressed as the others who’ve tried and obviously hadn’t the heart for it.” He slammed the book closed and leaned against the edge of the counter. His glasses were slipping off his nose but Mohan took no notice.

Roger thought the Master wouldn’t mind too much, as he had never been punished severely before, but that was thanks to Mohan, really. A lot of the easier life Roger had enjoyed recently was thanks to Mohan, who in Roger’s opinion had made the perfect companion over the last century. Or however long it had been. Roger had little concept of time. He lived outside it, almost. His youthful appearance, one he had always had, had never faded. Roger didn’t know how old he was, and wasn’t sure how anyone could tell. Mohan, on the other hand, had grown older this past century, losing his hair little by little. Lines had appeared around his eyes. But he hadn’t ever needed those glasses. Those were just a prop.

“I want to hear it from you. What have you been up to?” Mohan’s eyes flashed red as he asked this. Roger looked away before he could answer. Guilt crept up from his belly, seizing his heart. He never felt that remorseful until he saw what it did to Mohan. Mohan, with his constant worrying. Mohan with his sad, watchful eyes and aching heart. He felt too much for a half demon. Maybe that was a gift from his mother.

“Not much,” said Roger quickly. He shrugged off the question but had the stupidity to maintain his cheeky grin, half-hearted though it was. “This and that.”

“You’d think with the trouble I went to, covering up your dealings and your disobedience that you’d start being honest with me!”

“Don’t get angry, Mohan. Nothing for it.” And Roger couldn’t bear it, but he had the mind to keep his concern for his friend to himself.

“Don’t get angry!” Mohan went around the counter, the book in his hand, and began hitting him with it. Roger threw up his arms to shield his face but otherwise did nothing to stop him. “If Maria had gotten wind of your recent purchase you and I’d be out of business!”

He had to mention her! Maria, the spoiled pet of the Master, at his every beck and call. Roger hated her more and more. She kept finding ways to feed his anger toward her. Maria was a witch, a charmer, and the Master—if he saw it—let the behavior slip by as if she was forever excusable. It seemed that she, above all others, was allowed full reign. But it just wasn’t because of this that Roger hated her, but he banished the memory of the caves from his mind as soon as it came. They’d both agreed, Maria and Roger, that they’d never speak of it again. No. Never think of it either. But the hate remained. That was lasting, and he would never, ever forgive her.

Roger laughed derisively, and it was a hollow and desperate thing. He tried to cling to Mohan’s last words, pushing away the darkness and dank smell of those caves from his mind. “As if that bitch would have the power—”

“She would have, wouldn’t she?” Mohan interrupted. “She’s always got his ear. Never has she had to wait for an audience.” Mohan seemed to have calmed down a little, though he was still shaking, and leaned his back against the counter, putting the book down. Roger relaxed slightly. “What was the Instruction Parchment for anyway?”

He wasn’t surprised. Mohan had so many contacts with the Underground dealers one would probably be fussed to find someone he didn’t know. Even so Roger felt a deep cold spreading throughout his stomach; nevertheless, he felt no need to lie.

“Nicholas.” Even as he said his name, an image of this man was called to mind. His mysterious face, the sense of him, the smell of him. What was it about him that called up such a strong compulsion in Roger?

“What?” Mohan’s anger quickly renewed but Roger grabbed his hands before he could pick up the book again.

“Don’t worry about it. I had to ask, didn’t I? None of you had even thought of it.”

“Ask what?” Mohan jerked his hands away from him and stared darkly at his face. His terribly sharp teeth flashed dangerously; there was a low rumble coming from his throat.

Roger was not fazed. “Ask him what he was, of course.”

“Nothing’s as simple as that,” he scoffed, “I almost feel sorry for you.”

“I had to try! Didn’t I?”

“Well, did you discover anything of worth?”

“Yes, actually,” Roger purred, throwing an arm around Mohan’s shoulders and pulling him close to his side. To his surprise, Mohan did not immediately shrug him off as they walked together down to the basement.
“He had a very interesting reaction to the parchment.”

Roger explained his earlier evening, giving special emphasis to how Nick obeyed the instructions on the parchment and that once he had seemed to figure out what it did, was able to fight off the impulse to obey. He even described the suit he wore, how odd it was, and especially how it didn’t fit him properly. Mohan wasn’t so interested in that part.

“I think he also senses me now. He sees me as often as I see him, although he didn’t acknowledge me until he realized I wasn’t just figment of his imagination,” Roger concluded. He sat in his chair, his eyes closed to the lights shining down on him. A warmth that had nothing to do with the UV light spread all over him.

“Sometimes I wish you were just a figment of my imagination,” Mohan whispered from across the room. “I can’t believe you revealed yourself. Spoke to him.”

“Not as if he didn’t notice me anyway. And besides, what does it matter? I’ll give him a breather to think things over.”

“Think what over?”

“Well, he’ll be wondering about my question, won’t he?”

Roger felt a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he fought it to maintain an expression of neutrality. But he was becoming impatient with Mohan. Roger acknowledged this odd emotion, feeling it build up inside him. The urge to push Mohan, to provoke him—it suddenly came over him, but then just as quickly he calmed down. Roger saw in his mind’s eye, Nicholas was in his bed and safe. Not sleeping, but with his eyes on his ceiling. He was thinking and he had not taken his medicine. Roger let that feeling wash over him. No one could touch him. Nicholas was safe.

“I don’t think he had any idea what you were talking about.”

“Probably not, but we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’ll try to keep it quiet,” Mohan sighed deeply. Without opening his eyes, he knew Mohan was rubbing his eyes in frustration, as he always did when Roger had a bit of fun. “In the meantime there are some jobs. The Master’s asked for both of us, so Lent will be minding my post until we get back.”

“Jobs?” Roger’s eyes snapped open and stared at Mohan. It had been so long since they’d been sent on assignment. Indeed, Nicholas was the first exciting thing that had happened in a long time.

“Otherworld,” he explained. “Nothing to do with your new little friend.”

“Who will watch him?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Maria. Surely not!”

“She’ll do nothing more but watch. Under the Master’s orders,” Mohan said reassuringly.

Roger noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. He had rolled up his sleeves, as it was too hot in the basement for him. There was a half moon bite on his arm that was red and fresh. Roger put this out of his mind. It did no good to draw attention to his charge’s nerves. But it was always in the back of his mind that his friend was getting older, and his battle with his other half was coming to a head. Soon, Roger dreaded, Mohan would be lost to him. He cast that aside too for it was no use worrying over what he assumed was inevitable.

Roger closed his eyes and tried to make his expression unreadable. Inside he was boiling. So the Master had already heard about Nicholas. No doubt from Maria herself, although he wouldn’t put it past Lent to talk, more out of duty than an eagerness to please. But Maria had a bad habit of keeping nothing at all to herself, so ready was she to lick the soles of the Master’s boots, to prove herself useful in the most debasing way. Roger could not suppress a snarl of disgust. He’d rather blame Maria just for an excuse to goad her to try and hit him again when Lent wasn’t around. If only her attitude matched her strength, then maybe she’d be a challenge.

“Tomorrow, Roger,” said Mohan, and Roger heard his footsteps ascend the stairs, and he was gone.

**************

Mohan couldn’t sleep. He was drenched head to toe from sweat. His thin hair stuck to his forehead. His glasses, a mere accessory to play a human part, lay on his desk beside him.

A visit home was long overdue. Too much time in this world messed with his body and mind. He needed fresh meat, and no doubt Roger was feeling the same pull as well. It had been a long time since his friend had fed, but then again, vampires were very different. Although Mohan himself knew very little despite having Roger in his charge for many years, he supposed that with age perhaps vampires had little need to feed. But whenever he witnessed such a thing, and he wasn’t supposed to see it, Roger always looked ravenous. As if nothing could satiate him.

Roger either didn’t know that he had seen or didn’t care. Either way it was never brought up and for that Mohan was very thankful. The memory of it made him shudder in revulsion and fear. Even calling the memory up in his mind, the look of him, Roger, his sharp teeth, his tongue. No blood was spilt. All of it was lapped up by that red stained tongue. How long and thin and spidery his hands were as he clutched at that man’s legs, but Mohan couldn’t think of that now.

They had grown rather close over the last hundred years. It was an odd relationship, yet they were as close to friends as they’d ever be. When the Master first placed Roger with him Mohan was only told to keep him warm and fed with one stipulation: Roger was to never feed off world. Mohan didn’t understand much about vampires and wasn’t told more than that. Roger couldn’t offer anything but the mythology and folklore of their home, which wasn’t much help. There were so many versions. Roger knew no real truth; he had no memory of it. Mohan believed him. And the legends were too numerous and diverse, even in this world, these men had their thoughts, their versions of night creatures. The Undead, they called them, but Roger was not dead. He had never died and mostly like never would.

Roger breathed, just like Mohan, just like every creature he had ever encountered. But why keep him warm? Mohan supposed just as people could freeze in cold, that maybe Roger was susceptible to the same? Usually the spiritual world was open to him. Being half demon supplied Mohan with an instinct. He could feel it in the air, smell it. Taste it. Easily classify what he was dealing with, however, with Roger there was no smell, no sense from which he could place him, and so he went by what he had been told.

Roger’s infatuation with Nicholas Chesley deeply worried Mohan. All the time he had known Roger, he had never expected such irrationality. Roger, of course, had proven impulsive on many occasions, but never had he seemed so obsessed. Mohan wasn’t prepared for it, and Lent, who had been just as surprised to witness it himself, had offered no explanation. Lent knew more than he let on about Roger’s kind, but Mohan supposed he was loathe to speak it. Or perhaps that he was forbidden to. There were many secrets within the Master’s ranks and it wasn’t his place to question.

Roger, being far older than him, of course knew all about Mohan. He knew of his birth into the Haidakam, the city of outlaws in the Underground. By then it was already under the control of the Master and Mohan was born to serve him. Roger, who could have gone anywhere, and done whatever pleased him, had not. He had stayed under the watchful eye of the Master, bound to him by some unknown reason or debt. Mohan was forbidden to ask and wouldn’t ever. His life depended on it. It just wasn’t his place.

Mohan had stripped off his clothes and lie naked on a small cot in his office. In the dark he stretched out, eyes out to the moon outside. How they looked so much alike, his moon and theirs. He could feel the rage inside him, the hunger, and bit it down. A snarling monster was deep in his belly, thrashing around, gnashing its teeth, begging for flesh. Soon they would be home and the Master could not deny him his need. Soon, the time would come when he could not be able to curb the beast in such a fashion, and all that was Mohan would slip away in favor of this creature. What or who he would become frightened him. He hoped it was a long time coming, but he had nothing, no information to go on, so he waited.

Closing his eyes, Mohan thought of the Underground. He thought of the Haidakam, the cool dark caves of his city lit by torchlight, where shadows hardly ever were just shadows. He could never return there but in his fantasy and he hadn’t been there for over two hundred years. He was an agent of the Master now, and the only place he could act freely was on Weather Rock.

Mohan imagined that too in his mind’s eye, for it had been so long since he’d been there. It was a high slice of mountain thrusting up from an angry sea that was cold, dark and deep. Waves pounded the rock from all sides, and on the topmost peak was his Master’s safe house. The sky was nearly always overcast with a dense blanket of rain-filled clouds, and when it wasn’t, the moon hung low as if to drop down on the mountain peak and crush the safe house. This would be where they would land first, at the base of the cliff face, where large gray rocks met the crashing waves. The journey always weakened him, especially when he hadn’t eaten properly.

Mohan closed his eyes against the moonlight shining in, and frowned deeply. The bite mark on his arm throbbed, but by the morning it would be gone, a pink, raised scar mark instead. A bite from a demon, even a half one, would always leave a mark.

He must not let the Master know how weak he was getting. He must not let the Master know how hard to control Roger had become. He must be pliant, obedient, and trustworthy. He must never fail and never dishonor his Master. With these thoughts in mind he fell uneasily into sleep.


*************

Roger had not moved since he had first sat in his chair the previous evening. His eyes were closed, his face upturned to the lights. Then the lights flickered and his eyes snapped open once the lights shut off completely. It was what always happened when the portal was opened. Roger smiled; they had visitors.

He stood up in the darkness, adjusted his clothes, smoothing wrinkles as he ascended the stairs. Roger walked to the back door and opened it. The back alley was deserted aside from an orange tomcat that darted passed him, his tail puffed as he went barreling down the street to get away from the commotion. Half the block was out, the lights shut off by the disturbance. Bits of trash, newspapers, plastic wrappings and aluminum cans swirled around in front of Roger. Then a crack of lightning split the sky. A door appeared out of nowhere. The trash fell to the ground and was still. All the lights in the block came back on at once as if nothing had happened.

The door opened and out stepped Lent. He was dressed in plain clothes, a light cream pullover that made his skin look impossibly dark, and rough leather trousers clung loosely to his long muscular legs. Over his left shoulder was a brown cloth satchel, heavy with unknown contents. Lent stepped forward with a grin and hugged Roger like a brother, his heavy arm squeezing the vampire around the shoulders.

Roger had almost forgotten the door was still there, so surprised he was to see Lent so happy and without the usual official air. He smiled in spite of himself and clapped the slightly taller man on the back.

“Looking well, friend,” Roger said as they pulled apart from their greeting, then noticed the orange haired woman exit the door as the words left his mouth and instantly grew quiet and brooding.

Lent glanced back at Maria, who was mirroring Roger’s expression. “Don’t let it bother you,” he whispered to Roger. “You’re not the one who has to put up with her.”

The door remained after Maria had closed it and behind him he heard Mohan stumble tiredly out of the shop’s back door.

“Didn’t expect you two so soon,” said Mohan’s sleep stained voice. He stifled a yawn and walked past Roger to shake Lent’s hand. “Plain clothes suit you.”

Behind Lent, Maria frowned at those words. She too was dressed in plain clothes, but it looked like to Roger as if she would rather be wearing her official garb, complete with the double-headed golden eagle, its lion paws stretched and glittering on the breast of her coat. Now she was wearing a simple black dress. Its hem brushed the ground as did the leather bag that hung loosely in the fingers of her left hand. The neckline of the dress was dangerously low, exposing the pendant on the silver chain that hung around her neck. It was her only ornament. So different she looked, with her orange hair held away from her face by a red ribbon that clashed pleasingly with her hair. If it weren’t for her expression of loathing she might have been gorgeous standing there, but instead she was just as formidable as her personality.

Maria allowed a nod to both of them, merely out of respect for Lent, Roger supposed, and she brushed past and went into the shop without a word.

“She’s been like that since the Master first told us what we’d be doing,” Lent explained. “Maria’s not an easy woman to deal with.” He offered nothing else and looked from Roger to Mohan with his usual easy smile.

“So, all packed?”

“Aye,” Mohan said, slipping a backpack over his shoulder.

Lent eyed Roger as if he hadn’t noticed what he was wearing before. “You’re going to Weather Rock in that suit?”

Roger looked down at himself. He supposed he was. He had forgotten about it and when he looked over at Mohan, he shrugged and said nothing.

“I haven’t seen that style in ages. How’ve you kept it so clean?”

“I usually only wear it at special occasions.”

Mohan coughed beside him and Roger threw him a warning look.

“Don’t worry about Maria,” Lent said suddenly in a low voice. “She’s under orders not to disturb the creature.”

Roger bristled, “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

Lent cocked his head and gazed sympathetically at the vampire. “For the lack of a classification, yes.”

Roger wanted a better explanation. He wanted to stay here and watch Nicholas himself. More than anything he did not want Maria anywhere near Nicholas. But Lent didn’t offer any more words on the subject, and merely gave them a friendly wave as he entered the shop through the back door.

So absorbed was Roger in his thoughts, that when Mohan spoke he didn’t hear him. An elbow knocked him in the side.

“Hey!” Mohan whispered harshly.

“I’m ready,” Roger said, his eyes reluctantly leaving the back door of the shop. “Let’s go.”

Mohan opened the door and stepped inside. Roger followed him.

The feeling was at first only mildly unpleasant. Roger was floating in darkness with lines of bright white light streaking around him. He was weightless, yet his feet, as he commanded them, continued to walk forward on an unseen pathway. Soon came the extremely unpleasant part. Suddenly he was stretched, pulled forward as if he had no bones. His body swirled forward in what seemed like slow motion. He felt elastic as the lights around him dimmed and then blinked out completely. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he was weightless again, walking forward on that unseen pathway. The streaks of white light slowed to pinpricks of stars around him. He saw Mohan with his backpack over his shoulder up ahead. The end was near. And then there was the door.

It opened and then they stepped through. Behind them the door blinked out of existence and was replaced with an angry black sea, with the waves reaching up to meet them on the rock on which they stood.

The cliff face was in front of them, reaching two hundred feet in the air, each foothold slippery wet and cold and unforgiving. Mohan looked back at Roger and gestured with his head to the safe house lights above them. Roger watched Mohan slip the straps of his backpack more securely over his shoulders, and with four, maybe five leaps he was up and over the cliff face like an animal well suited for such a dangerous endeavor.

Roger followed slowly, the cold creeping into his core. Mohan waited at the top, drenched with the spray of the ocean. Roger’s skin was like ice and he was shivering. He threw Mohan a dark look when he saw his smile.

“You’re unusually spry,” Roger growled in annoyance. Usually the journey made his friend weak and often the vampire had to carry him on his back as they went up the cliff face. Some weird energy burned beneath Mohan’s skin, Roger could see it with his special sense, see it glowing all over him.

“What are you glaring at?” Mohan said. It was obvious that he was unaware of his change. “I’m sure a feast awaits us.”

They walked in line up a winding rock path that led to the safe house, a tall stone structure that threatened to pierce the clouds above. All the lights glowed weakly in the surrounding gray. Roger could barely make out the iron double headed eagle that stood up from its roof on a metal pole, a gold flag whipped around on it in the fierce wind. When the lightning flashed, the paws on the eagle seemed to move slightly, as if clawing at the sky.

In no time at all they reached the large wooden doors, standing twenty feet tall. A window opened in it, and soft amber light poured out. It was shut quickly before either of them could take a look. Next they heard the rattling of locks being opened, and with a loud groan that was heard over the crashing waves and the cold stinging rain, the doors were opened just enough for them to scurry inside out of the cold.

Roger looked down at his suit. It was ruined. It had lasted well over a century and it was lost to the rage of Weather Rock. He looked over at Mohan, who had had the sense to wear a simple white t-shirt and a pair of old blue jeans. Yet he too was soaked through. A large puddle was amassing at their feet, and a figure in a dark cloak, a hood shadowing his face, tutted disapprovingly. A torch was in his hand and he held it up to their faces.

“Mohan,” the cloaked figure said as the torch was brought to his face, and then he brought it to Roger’s.

“Vampire,” he said with a sneer of disgust.

Roger was used to that. People in their world held little trust or love for his kind. He was rare, he knew this, but rare and nasty was the legacy left to him. The people did not like him for the most part. But usually those close to the Master and were familiar with Roger tolerated his presence. Some even appreciated it; however it was clear the cloaked figure did not.

The doors locked themselves behind them as the cloaked figure turned without another word. They followed him under the high archway and up a rail-less stairway. Their shoes squished water all the way up. The cloaked figure’s footsteps made no sound. And there was no other light aside from the torch clutched in the cloaked figure’s hand.

On the second level they were led through a door way and down a hall lined with red and gold carpets. These were heavy and warm, cushioning their steps. Down the hall torches were lit and figures in large painted canvases stared out at them as they passed. Their eyes moved, did they not? Or perhaps it was a trick of the light. Their leader stopped them nearly at the end of this hallway and opened a door.

“You’re to rest and dry out until the Master calls for you,” the shadowed face said, his free hand pointing into the room. “Sustenance will be provided after you clean yourselves. You reek of the other place.” His last words were said with a snarl and he took a deep shuddering breath and backed away from them, as if he was loathe to inhale too deeply. Then he went down the hall and disappeared.

Mohan and Roger looked at each other, bewildered. They were so used to the smell they did not notice it. They walked into the room and Roger was pleased to see a blazing fire in the hearth and immediately walked toward it, warming his hands and face.

“They’ve drawn up baths for us,” Mohan called from nearby. Roger looked around, Mohan had gone into an adjoining room. “Better get cleaned up.”

Roger, who had no modesty, did not wait for a word of clearance, but stripped off his ruined suit and threw it in a pile near the fire. There was no saving it anyway. When Mohan poked his head into the room and saw him however, his face went red and his eyes darted up to the ceiling and there they stayed.

“I’ll let you go first, shall I?”

“Nonsense,” Roger said with a laugh. “You said they’d drawn baths. I can only assume you meant two.”

“Right,” Mohan gulped and disappeared back into the other room.

When Roger entered Mohan had already stripped himself and was safely concealed within his copper tub.
Roger almost laughed out loud, but out of courtesy to his friend he ignored him and climbed down into his own tub. The scent of the perfumed water calmed him and warmed his body. He leaned his head against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes.

“When he said ‘sustenance’,” Mohan began in a strangely excited tone.

“Fresh meat for you,” Roger answered, a playful grin stretching his lips. A willing donor for me, he said inside his head, thinking of the warm, rich taste. His tongue ran along his sharp teeth. Then a thought, unbidden, popped inside his head. What was Nicholas doing, his face inside Roger’s head? Those dark unknowing eyes? The pale rough skin of his cheek? His scent, foreign and so tantalizingly sweet? He was too far away to tell.

Roger pushed the thought away, his grin gone, and went about the business of cleansing himself. The sooner he was clean the sooner he could feed. And he should not, Roger scolded himself, let thoughts of Nicholas enter his mind while he was doing so.

Mohan seemed to have the same idea, and dunked into the water of his own tub, immersing himself for several seconds, popping up later with a bar of scented soap in his hand. He held it triumphantly upward and laughed with glee as he ran a wet cloth over it and threw it over to Roger without warning.

Roger too had to dive an arm down to retrieve it from where it sank and they soaped themselves in awkward silence, taking care not to look over at one another. Mohan didn’t look out of embarrassment, and Roger wouldn’t look out of respect.

Washed and dried and with cloths draped about their bodies, they walked into the other room once again to find fresh, dry clothes hanging over the armchairs facing the fire. The pile of his ruined suit was gone, but the fresh clothes were warm and fit perfectly.

They were alone for more long stretches of time where neither spoke, each on the edge of their seats, waiting but anxious. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Mohan said lazily, eyes lost in the dancing flames in the hearth.

But then the smell reached them and Mohan jumped up from his chair and turned around like a being possessed as the door opened.

A girl appeared with a floating cage. She had long black hair and dark brown eyes that slightly tilted at the corners. She was wearing long blue dress with many layers; a black shawl was around her shoulders. Her hair blended into it. She looked rather exotic with her olive skin and long limbs, and especially so with the wooden cage floating ahead of her, the contents of which were dressed in shadow and could not be seen.
As soon as she entered the room, the cage fell to the carpet and the door slammed behind her simultaneously. She held a key in her hand, which she threw to Mohan without looking at him, and walked purposely over to Roger.

“I’ve heard of you,” she whispered, and the vampire almost registered it as a lie, but he didn’t respond.

Roger was amused by the mingled look of fear and attraction on her face. He gestured to the door to the other room. The girl went through the door and shut it behind her.

“I get a cage and you get a woman?” Mohan gave him a sidelong glance.

“Do you smell it?” Roger said irritably. He didn’t like his dinner any more than Mohan seemed to.

“The woman?”

“What’s in the cage, you idiot.”

“Yessss,” Mohan growled, clutching the key so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

“Be content with what you’ve got,” Roger muttered under his breath and left him for the other room, shutting the door behind him.

The girl sat on the edge of the tub; she lifted up her skirts and unlaced her boots, slipping them off. They fell to the floor where she slid them away from her with one foot. As he walked around to face her, he felt suddenly out of place. A voice called to him from another world, where are you? No, no. Roger shook his head. He would not think of Nicholas tonight.

The girl arched her back, pulling up her dress as she spread her legs. Her hair mirrored the light in its strands, the same color as her eyelashes, long and thick as well. This little woman needed no kohl around her eyes for they were perfectly rimmed in the beautiful natural black of those lashes.

Roger laughed; the position in which she posed amused him. “So you have heard of me.”

She stiffened but continued to slip the skirts upward on her thighs, as pale, soft and smooth as moonlight. The girl was not amused; she wanted to get down to business.

“Never mind that, darling,” he said as he crossed the room. She looked confused as he kindly pulled her skirts down into place and sat beside her on the edge of the copper tub. “There’s somewhere else I would prefer tonight.”

“Not my neck!” she gasped, her thin fingers reaching up to hide it.

Roger wound his fingers gently through the hair at the base of her neck and the hand protecting her neck fell down into her lap as he stared intently into her eyes. She was a beguiling creature, but he felt no stirring in himself other than the hunger for what pumped inside her veins.

“I leave no mark,” he whispered into her cheek and placed a small kiss there. “Consent, I will not harm you.”

“Your word?” she asked, even as she rolled her head to the side, away from him, offering herself.

“Of course,” he said in a breath, but he might as well have said nothing. She was already relenting.

He inclined his head toward her, his arm pulling at the shoulder of her dress. He bit neatly, his teeth like sharpened knives. Roger couldn’t prevent the initial pain of the act; it was what the donor consented to. Only when his saliva infected the body would the pain dissipate entirely and cause an interesting form of relaxation in the donor. It wasn’t a long wait, for in his glands, as old as he was, the chemicals in them had become very powerful.

The girl put her arms around him, rubbing his upper arms as if he were a lover. She moaned and held him tighter in her arms as her legs squirmed over the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes and drank and drank, his skin felt like it was glowing, but he held her loosely, careful not to hurt her. Roger closed his mind to those unbidden thoughts, the ones that crept into his mind slowly. The voice, the words: where are you? Where was he?

The girl’s hands slipped down to his waist and his eyes snapped open. Roger broke away soon after that, the girl panting in his arms, her hands everywhere he might have liked but now somehow the feel of it was awkward and inappropriate. He got her to her feet and retrieved a wet cloth from the bathwater. The tub was still clear, clean and hot, and would be for their next bath should they have to stay at Weather Rock longer than expected.

Roger wiped at her throat tenderly, trying to ignore her wandering hands, but at the same time wondering why he wasn’t responding to her touches. As Roger watched the wound on her neck heal, his thoughts drifted.

Usually any time he fed he, spurred by the effect of his saliva on his donor, became aroused as well. The act itself usually ended in sex. At least for him it did, but he didn’t know if it was usual for every vampire. He didn’t know much about his lineage, or any other vampire. They didn’t tend to stick together, he thought, and his kind were pretty rare these days. And when had he ever stuck with anyone? Mohan was a special case. That was an order from their Master and besides, they were like brothers by now, and he would never feed from Mohan.

No, every feeding was usually a different person. They had consented to be fed on, and most of them Roger never saw again. Those who came back were a pleasant surprise, but he had never been too attached to any of them.

“Kiss me,” the girl whispered, her words snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, I just drifted away,” he muttered distractedly and, regaining his composure, carefully guided her to the door. Roger knew where he was now. He was in the safe house of the Master, here on Weather Rock, and Nicholas was so far away. “No need,” he said gently in whisper. “Good night.”

She hung onto his arm for a moment, bewildered, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stared at his chest. She didn’t understand for a moment, but left soon after anyway, leaving the door open.

Mohan was revealed, picking at his teeth with a bone. It was picked clean. His clothes held no trace of blood, but he looked quite disheveled. And it seemed as if his dinner had tried to put its foot through his face. Mohan’s cheek was starting to swell.

Roger raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bone?”

“Rib,” Mohan grunted, sucking his teeth. “Adequate.”

“As was mine,” Roger said with a sigh and dropped into one of the armchairs facing the fire. There was a pile of clean bones within it.

Mohan grunted again and said, “Thought you were back too soon.”

“What?” Roger looked sharply over at him.

Mohan grinned knowingly and turned his face to the window.

“The clouds are breaking.”

“He must have arrived.” Roger suddenly sat very straight.

They both held very still, Roger in his chair and Mohan’s gaze fixed up at the moon. There was a knock and Roger leapt to his feet. The door opened.

“The Master will receive you now,” the same cloaked and shadowy faced figure said from the doorway. “Come along.” He gestured with the torch and walked away.