Christmas Eve

With the long winter nights, Ethan usually woke before Brit. Without going to the window, he could sense that the streets were coated with a fresh blanket of snow. Ethan loved the beauty of fresh snow and he especially enjoyed the way that the snow muted the sounds of the city. The snow merely added to night’s sense of enchantment for it was Christmas Eve. Sliding Brit from his chest, he arranged her so that she laid on a pillow that half-supported her shoulders. Brit barely stirred causing Ethan to marvel how soundly she could sleep.

Ethan pulled the blanket over her tucking it along her sides. Seeing that she was bundled, he placed his ear to her back and closed his eyes listening to the air move in her lungs mingled to the strong sound of her heartbeat. His fingers trailed through her hair arranging it into coils that resembled red puddles around her. Ethan closed his eyes and warmed his fingers on her body. Brit stirred slightly before settling back into her deep slumber. The wind howled outside causing him to roll to his stomach and stare at the wall. His hand reached for his cross but it was not there. Flattening his hand, he patted the spot where he had worn it for years.

The cross had brought Ethan comfort during many junctions during his existence. When he was mortal and doing God’s work, he had touched it for luck and to ask His blessings to allow him to complete tasks he was set to do. The cross had given him a focal point so he could pray before a battle, and it allowed him to stay sane after his capture. The battle did not last long: There were too many, and Ethan’s men were swarmed. Ethan was the last one standing swinging wildly even after he knew that all had been taken. They circled him like wolves taking down wounded prey and placed him in chains. One at a time, all of the men who had served with Ethan in God’s army were murdered before him. Ethan had known it was only a matter of time before it was his turn. Beaten, tortured, and drained. Ethan remembered holding his cross praying for the ability to break the chain on his foot preventing him from escaping during the day when most of his captors scurried away to escape the sunlight.

Brit made a small sound reminiscent of a kitten complaining. Ethan loosened his hold and raised his head to watch her. Light touches on her skin lulled her back to sleep. His thoughts returned to the cross. He remembered watching the last of his troop die. The sounds of the wind outside resembled the unholy howl, and Ethan was never sure whether the sound was his. He remembered keenly holding the cross tightly. God would surely hear his prayer in his weakened state. It seemed that his prayer was heard and answered. A miracle occurred. His captors brought him food. Then they gave him dark red vitae to drink. Ethan struggled to resist, but it was forced into his mouth until his body betrayed by the peristaltic contractions of his throat pushed the contents to his stomach and caused him to miraculously heal.

Laughter followed. Ethan could still hear the taunts that it was not his God who healed him. Still true to his faith, Ethan consoled that God’s will allowed them that decision and he gave a prayer of thanks. During his prayer, Ethan was grabbed up. He could still remember the feel of the cross in his hand as the sharp fangs sank into his throat. Rapidly and unceremoniously, Ethan’s life was drained from him despite his excellent fighting skills. Ethan remembered the panic of dying and the surge that followed as more vitae was placed into his mouth. Survival instincts caused him to swallow. He remembered being caught between two worlds, and knowing with growing terror that he was becoming a creature very like those he used to hunt. As he shivered through the night, he was helpless to react to the laughing and taunting asking him where his God was now.

Several boots to the side and more laughter and taunts followed. Then his sire picked him up by the collar of his tunic and pressed his face against Ethan’s ear. The dark voice said in a clipped, deep voice, “If I break each of your bones, you will not die. If I burn your flesh, you will not die. Your God has turned his back for all of your service.” With no little force, Ethan was thrown into a shallow grave. Closing his eyes, he recalled scent and sound of dirt shoveled loosely on top of him, covering him merely enough to protect him from the rising sun. Then darkness descended.

Burying his face in Brit’s hair, Ethan remembered waking and frantically digging his way from the dirt to a full moon. Ravenous, he attacked the closest source of blood and drank in huge gulps until the bovine collapsed on top of him. Ethan had to claw his way from beneath the animal and ran to the barn nearby. There, he shivered while tears dried in bloody streaks on his face and he struggled to calm his thoughts while clutching his wooden cross. The wind continued to howl outside. Dropping his head to his hands, he kissed the cross and prayed. Ethan could only imagine the image he created at that moment. It had taken him hours to clean the blood and matter from his hair and skin. His blood-soaked tunic was burned for warmth after he stole breeches and a barn jacket from a peg. That night, he felt unworthy to wear it anymore.

“Ethan?” Her voice caused him to startle and he looked to his wife with wild eyes. Brit touched his cheek. “Are you well,” she whispered. His hand came to hers and he pressed it against his cheek. It was warm and soft. He sat up composing himself from the bleak memories before pulling her into his lap still swaddled in the blanket. She reached to brush back his hair. “Ethan? What is wrong?” He could feel her thoughts probing his mind. Ethan smirked. He had worked hard for her to develop a link to his thoughts. The timing for it to click in place was uncanny.

Tickling slightly to distract her, Ethan grinned feeling her thoughts never entering completely. “Of course I am well, Brit.” She squirmed delightfully beneath his fingertips, and he thoroughly enjoyed her warm skin and softness. Even in her sleepy state, she stopped struggling once she realized that she was quite bound by both her hair and her blanket. Grinning mischievously, he bounced her gently to see whether she would struggle more. Brit giggled at his playful mood, but then curled up and closed her eyes nuzzling against him. “Oh,” he murmured, “I see you have wisely surrendered.” She grinned while feigning sleep. “Little faker,” he chuckled pulling her up and pressing his lips to her throat with a playful bite.

Brit meeped before bursting into giggles. She stretched and looked up at him. Ethan smiled seeing her eyes open: Dark green and framed in sooty lashes. Sometimes, when Brit looked at him, Ethan could not look away. Stroking her cheek, Ethan watched as Brit wriggled a hand free to touch his hair lightly while she finished waking up. Ethan bent and kissed his wife gently while feeling her hand touch his cheek. Soft caresses mingled with more kisses. His lips left hers to kiss her eyes, hair, and then along the side of her face. Each kiss caused Brit’s heartbeat to quicken. Her fingers pulled Ethan closer to her throat and he enjoyed the catch of her breath as he opened her bite marks and drank slowly. Closing her wounds, he opened a wrist to let her drink. As their blood mingled within each one, Ethan marveled at the sensual intimacy he had wrongly thought he might only achieve only through changing Brit.

He held her as long as he could. It was, after all, a special night. After feeding her a dinner of oyster stew, Ethan bathed and dressed Brit in her red gown that had been freshly pressed along with his matching suit. Opening the door, he escorted her to the church. Snow flurries fell and he grinned watching them catch on her eyelashes. Brit ran to the manger outside of the church to look inside expectantly. “Where is baby Jesus?” she asked.

“He has yet to be born…but soon, I think.” Motioning her through the door, Ethan prayed and light candles with Brit while observing her thoughts with voyeuristic interest as she prayed for seemingly everyone that she knew. Checking the time, he furrowed his brow and sighed realizing no Christmas eve mass had been planned. “I think we will have to hold our own mass, Brit,” he whispered to her. Settling at the organ, he pulled her to him. Placing his fingers on the keys, Ethan started to play. Music filled the church. Ethan felt the song wash over her. Each note played created a greater sense of closeness to God and added to the holiness of the night.

Brit watched him play wondering how Ethan learned to play so beautifully. Hearing her thoughts, he said, “Before radio…before television. Once we practiced to keep ourselves entertained. Arts, music. Reading poetry. Once it was all that one had.” After a moment, he said softly, “And prayer.” She smiled staying close. Her mind could follow his. Pausing a moment, he pulled her to his lap and placed her hands on top of his. Kissing the back of her head, he started to play. Her fingers rested on his and followed his motion. The pace picked up and she was able to follow. Ethan smiled sensing her delight at helping him create beautiful music to hail in Christmas morning. The song ended until midnight passed and he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Brit.”

She blinked several times and exclaimed, “I…I have a present for you!” She rummaged through a small bag and produced a small wrapped object. He raised an eyebrow in surprise as he took the package. Ethan had not seen Brit purchasing anything nor had he seen her making anything. With no little surprise, Ethan grinned as he carefully opened the paper not wishing to rush the moment. Brit glanced at him repeatedly growing anxious that he was taking so long to open her present. Once Ethan removed the tape, he unfolded the paper to see a small medallion attached to a ribbon and small ring. Brit had painted the medallion: A perfect image of the two of them together. Ethan beamed as he examined it closely. No kindred could have painted it more realistically. Upon closer look, he realized that she had used a brush of no more than three bristles.

“I will carry it here. Close to my heart.” Smiling at her, Ethan continued to examine the portrait before placing it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Brit lisped, “You can attach a watch or a key…or anything to it, if you wish.” She pointed out the other end of the ribbon.

“I see that.” Grinning, he kissed her softly. “Thank you, baby. But…I also have something for you.” He had not wrapped it and did not think she would care. Pulling her rosary from his pocket, he gave it to her by wrapping it around her hand. On the end, he had placed his wooden cross. The small gem in the center glittered. He watched as her fingers curled around it. The wind continued to blow snow around outside and, again, Ethan thought of that night in the barn so long ago. Clearing his throat, he pulled her tightly against him. “The cross was worn by me when I was like you.” He swallowed and kept his thoughts focused on the night and his love for her. With a whispered voice, he said, “It brought me much comfort, Brit.” Another pause and he said thickly, “It has helped me survive…to endure.”

Ethan felt her eyes on him and he could feel Brit’s mind seeing within his. He focused on her eyes, and that was all she could see. He never wanted her to see the terror or the horror and so, he focused on the prayers that he had said through the years, and on the love he had found within her. She whispered in wonder, “It brought you to me.” His eyes grew wide as he met her gaze. He simply nodded and kissed her again as gentle as an angel’s wing.

Together, they said prayers and left for home before dawn. Walking past the manger that continued to be empty, Ethan explained that baby Jesus was probably still in the process of being born.

Invited Guests

Feigning his review of the ledgers for the Shelter, Ethan watched Brit paint. Just as he enjoyed watching filmed sunrises, one frame at a time, he took great pleasure in watching his wife coax images to life through her art. Though Brit’s media had always been crayon in the past, she regularly amazed friends and strangers alike in her ability to create realism from crayon. Of course, Ethan knew the magical abilities of motion, sound and occasionally scents were due to the special ink given to Brit by Lorne; however, he also knew that Lorne had proclaimed there must be an ability to use it. Ethan was unsure what exactly was in the ink. Lorne’s response was that the ink was “comprised of the material of dreams,” which Ethan felt was an insufficient response. Regardless, the ink did not seem to affect Brit and Ethan enjoyed the results from it. He enjoyed paging through her coloring books to reminisce as well as to see what caught his wife’s eye within the city.

Ethan tapped a pencil in the ledger noticing that Brit continued to wear her box of crayons in a thigh holster. Though talented in crayon, Ethan felt that Brit should expand her abilities and attain new skills. Since she had shown aptitude for art, he purchased her an easel and assorted paints. Along with the delivery came a nervous art student in need of tuition who provided a few basic lessons for Brit. Ethan was pleasantly surprised that Brit chose to learn about oil paints over watercolors. After all, watercolors, like many things in the mortal world, were not made to last and oil endures.

The art student had shared basic techniques and now Brit applied them. Ethan watched her hand outline the portrait from their Christmas card onto the canvas in pencil before moving onto ink. He had stopped working to muse on her attention to highlight and light. Brit seemed to have a natural ability to define halftones and shadows, and then finally reflections. The inked canvas looked realistic and true. Once she progressed to the imprimatura layer to the umber underlayer, he could see Brit’s focus increasing. With a glimpse into her mind, he saw uncertainty but she clearly used her instinct and raw talent to make sound choices.

Brit was in the process of placing colorful dabs of paint on her palette to create the dead underlayer. Ethan tilted his head curiously as he knew from the art student’s directives that these colors would make the image look as if its objects were lit by moonlight alone. With a shrug, he went back to observing his wife paint, and found the lines of her back and curve of her sides as enjoyable to observe as was the painting she was making. If painting was Brit’s hobby, observing her had become Ethan’s hobby. Running his fingers on the arm of his chair, Ethan watched her while thinking of the texture of her skin and listened to a ballad that was rumored to have been written by Henry VIII, and still held favor throughout the years. In the midst of his musing, Ethan’s tranquility was disrupted by the sounds of soft moaning beyond the door of their resting place.

Ethan glanced with no little irritation toward the door. The sounds of obvious pleasure now mingled with light rhythmic bumping and gained Brit’s attention. She giggled to Ethan and said, “Maybe there are beloveds dating.” Ethan arched an eyebrow thinking of the list of guests they current had at the Shelter and counted two that might be ‘beloveds.’ The sounds grew louder, and Ethan rolled back his chair standing. Sounds of his boots made heavy thuds when he walked to the door. Checking his pistols attached to his thighs, Ethan opened the door walking toward the sounds which were louder in the hallway.

He turned to his left toward the hospital and noticed a human boy and girl grinding against each other on the wall of his office. “May I help you?” came Ethan’s low measured voice. The couple scrambled to rearrange their clothing. Both dressed in frayed, black and red checkered clothing. Both looked as if they could use a meal and seemed slightly unkept. Blinking, they shook their heads. “Are you new guests of the Shelter?” asked Ethan. Again, more headshakes. “Then you are trespassing,” Ethan said quite pointedly. “And further more, you are disturbing my evening with your…canoodling.” The couple stammered fast apologies and bolted before he could offer them food and a place to stay. Ethan watched them run down the steps. Turning toward his office, he encountered Brit. “It was merely a couple who seemed to be…engaged in activities of canoodling.” Ethan looked to Brit incredulous that he actually used the word.

Brit giggled, “We have guests who are beloveds?”

He chuckled and said, “They are not guests.” He grinned at her widened eyes, “They are…”

“LOVERS?” Brit’s eyes sparkled over thinking of new love right in their Shelter! “We should ensure they are guests. Then they would have a safe place to date.”

Ethan crossed his arms placing a finger to his own lips, “Brit, unregistered guests are called trespassers, and there is a hotel for those only seeking places to date. No one should be in our Shelter just for a place to be with their beloved. To be sure, beloveds are welcome here if they meet the criteria of other guests.” Brit nodded slowly, and he realized that she had followed him from the safety of his office. “Baby, do not follow me when I seek to check on potential turmoil. Stay where you are safe.” She started to reply and he hushed her by giving her a soft kiss indicating that the matter was not for discussion. He directed her back to her canvas.

Not more than three nights later, Ethan was again at his desk enjoying both his wife’s form as she painted while soft music played in the background. With snow blanketing the city, Ethan felt that Christmas was coming to the city. He read over an invitation to a holiday event that had been delivered and thought that Brit would enjoy such an event. Then he heard a girl’s voice, “I cut myself so I can feel alive.” The voice came from outside of the room. Brit put down her brush and stared beyond him to the wall behind his desk.

A young man’s voice responded, “You are too beautiful to scar the canvas of your body. You can cut me though, if it makes you feel alive.” Ethan rolled his eyes, but caught sight of Brit. She was enthralled overhearing such declarations between the unseen couple.

A sound of kisses exchanged was heard mingling with light moans. The girl responded, “But you are afraid of blades.” More kisses followed and Brit walked to where Ethan sat and slid into his lap. She grinned at him as if witnessing love itself. The girl said, “I would only cut you if I could find a way to do it using only wool and cotton.” Brit pressed her hands to her mouth processing.

The boy moaned into a kiss and replied, “Whatever makes you smile. You are so pretty when you smile. You make my tummy fill with butterflies each time.” Ethan rubbed his own temples not believing that he was hearing such things. Brit pressed her forehead against Ethan’s delighting that others in the city found love. Sensing Brit’s thoughts, Ethan tilted his head curiously toward hers.

Several seconds passed as wet kisses were exchanged outside of the room. Brit pressed her lips lightly against Ethan’s. The girl outside confessed, “You make me feel valued. No one else ever did, you know. Until I met you, I didn’t exist. Before I met you, my soul was a ghost without a home.”

Ethan placed his hand on Brit’s back returning her soft kiss while the boy on the other side of the wall told the girl, “I am so lucky I found you. It makes me wonder why I was even getting up each morning before we met. You complete me like nothing else ever could, and without you, I would wither and die, so please don’t hurt my heart. I will bleed to death if you do.” Brit looked up with real concern at the statement and Ethan blinked at the melodrama.

The girl said, “But you would still have your heart and you have mine. I gave it to you. If you left, I would have nothing left. I would be alone with my Rice Krispies each day. Just…” The girl’s voice caught before she whispered, “Snap Krackle Cry every day for the rest of my life.” Ethan’s fingers twitched on his pistol and Brit softly lisped, “Aww.”

More sounds of wet, sloppy kisses followed. The boy then said, “At least, you would still have a life to spend. I’d just sit in a dark corner and wait until the darkness is no more.” Kisses and shuffling followed and the boy moaned, “It cannot happen. Even though my chest is open and you have my heart, I am still yours.” Ethan slid Brit off of his lap and walked toward the door again as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Brushing back his hair, Ethan opened the door as the boy said, “You always must return, because only the one who broke you can fix you.”

Brit pattered across the floor and hugged Ethan. She lisped, “Please be sure they have a place to sleep…and food. There is too little love in the city.” Ethan’s fingers itched on the handle of his pistol. Touching her face, he marveled at her prettiness. Brit’s mossy green eyes were wide and sincere, and she was concerned about the couple so in love.

Ethan returned to his desk for the ledger. This time, he positioned himself so the couple could not run as easily. He got their names and registered them in his book before marching them like they were two errant teenagers to the kitchen and told them to eat some soup. The couple walked ahead silently and seemed bewildered they were being given food and a room by the man who accused them of trespassing a few days before. Both ate the soup silently between apprehensive glances toward Ethan.

Brit joined them in the kitchen and chattered amicably for a short time. Brief introductions and the couple seemed to relax. Sensing the sunrise near, Ethan excused him and Brit. The couple watched them both go upstairs. After thinking that Ethan and Brit were out of hearing range, the girl said to the boy, “Dude. Before she showed up, all I could think was Hansel and Gretel. You feel me? Hansel and Gretel.” The boy nodded with wide eyes.

Brit looked up at Ethan asking, “Hansel and Gretel?”

Ethan smirked at her naivety and was pleased that she could hear at such a distance. He kissed her hair and walked her to their resting place. Though the couple was roughly the same age as his wife, he said, “Young people today are tragically apprehensive.” Grinning at her look of confusion, he opened the door.

Twenty Years

Furrowing her brow, Brit peeked again at Ethan. She could see into the hallway where the light was starting to fade from the windows beyond. Briefly she mused that he had not felt sunshine in so very long, and would never feel it again. The room had been set up so that the reflected sunlight could be glimpsed in the attached room, but the wall did not allow it to even accidently reflect to where they rested. The wall was a small marvel of engineering for which Ethan had paid dearly so that Brit could maintain her sense of day and night. Images of the night before flashed in her memory. She focused on each one as she pulled the threads of her gown that were torn and loose trying to remember at which point her dress was damaged.

True to Ethan’s word, Brit had not left the room where they rested. Requested pancakes had been delivered and he politely turned down her request to play a game of chase. At no point did Ethan leave the room either, and he spoke only when necessary. Unlike before when they spent weeks in their resting place, there were no stories or cuddles or anything. Brit had spent hours layering color after color over the same single line. Ethan sat at his desk pretending to go over some ledgers but was keenly aware of her. Thinking she might catch his eye, Brit looked up at him from her coloring book. He was not watching her. “Vexed,” he had said when she asked whether he was angry. Closing the book with a sigh, she walked to where six marbles remained next to a wall. Settling near them, she rolled them one at a time watching them slowly move to the other side of the room and come to a complete stop before rolling the next one. Once all six were clustered, she moved to the other side of the room to repeat the process. She did not notice Ethan’s fingers squeeze the ledger slightly at the inevitable soft tap as the marble hit the wall.

Closing the ledger, Ethan moved to the chest with his belongings and dressed as he had been the night before. He combed his hair back into the usual style and arranged himself to perfection. Returning to his chair, he watched her roll the marbles again across the floor in silence keeping her self busy. Hearing the sixth marble tap the wall, he rolled it directly back to her. “Brit,” he started softly, “I want you to explain to me what you did wrong. Try to go into as much detail as you can.”

Brit caught the marble and picked it up along with the other marbles to place them in a bag. “I made you mad…vexed…. because I left the Shelter when you said not to.” Picking up her few crayons near the book, she started to arrange them in a box according to the color wheel. Ethan watched her and noticed that her gown was scrunched about her making it look as if she were sitting in a puddle of damask fabric. She said nothing else but her thoughts added, “And that is why you don’t love me anymore.”

Tilting his head to the side in surprise, he moved a bit closer touching her chin with his index and middle fingers to lift it up until she looked to him. “Of course I love you. That is why I’m very particular about your understanding this cannot ever happen again.” The realization that his wife thought he no longer loved her caused an unsettling feeling that left him to babble slightly, “You will always do as I tell you. Because you know I am more experienced and will always care for you…acting in our best interest.” Ethan stopped for a moment to give Brit a chance to process before continuing, “When I go to great length to educate you about something, you will not ignore me…or let curiosity have you act against my requests. We had discussed this very issue just the day before intensely and you disobeyed me the very next day.” Looking down, he saw her take his hand and paused, and then added quickly, “You promised to obey when we got married.” She did not respond and he could see she was lost in thought. He whispered, “But of course I love you, Brit.”

“But you did not give me kisses. Not when I saw you or even when we rested,” she replied. Her fingers traced the shape of his hand. “Not when I saw you or even when we rested.” Her voice was not accusatory but seemed bewildered.

Ethan nodded in agreement. “That is true. You see, actions yield consequences and, depending on the actions, there are positive or negative ones.” He continued for sometime justifying reasoning for the lack of kisses. Her fingers trailed over his hand. Sometimes, the tracing took on the shape of patterns. Letters…numbers. Ethan did not notice as he continued, “If I did not care about you the way that I do, I would not really think about it and would have ignored such a situation.” She seemed focused on the tracing of his hand. Letters and numbers and symbols. Watching her, Ethan was saying, “Me being so affected by you though doesn’t allow me to act differently.” Brit seemed silently focused on his hand as she continued to trace. “I need to know you understand what you did wrong and not ever do it again.”

Even after he had finished speaking, she continued to focus on the numbers which she now wrote on his palm with her finger. He could see she was heavily focused and so he looked to her mind. She was counting. In her mind, she was adding, multiplying, dividing, and multiplying again. “Twenty years, Ethan.” The number twenty was clearly seen in her mind.

Tilting his head to the side, he kept one hand touching her chin and supported the weight of her head so that he could look directly at her. “What do you mean twenty years, Brit? Perhaps you will enlighten me as I do not see this correlation at this moment as what this has to do with making me feel you understand what the issue was and is, and what you need to change.” Setting his jaw, he grumbled, “I do not understand ‘twenty years’.”

Brit continued to draw a set of numbers on his palm silently. He could see she was deeply saddened over the realization that she had broken a promise to him and had broken her promise to God. “Twenty years, Ethan.” Looking up, she whispered, “It is how long you have made me wait for a kiss now, if I compare your years to mine.”

Ethan blinked once at her thought process and tried to do the math to see how accurate she was. Halfway through, he realized that she had just distracted him, though not on purpose. That would not do when he was annoyed that she allowed a distraction to take her from the Shelter. Ethan shook his head and refocused on her. “I waited hundreds of years for you to give me that first kiss; and I shall not have it spoiled by things we can change and affect with our behavior.” His mouth set firmly. “You will understand fully what you did wrong and be sure not to ever repeat the same mistake!” Realizing his voice was too forceful and too fast, he regrouped and said more calmly as he released her chin and adjusted the lace on his sleeve. “After that, you can have all the kisses that you crave.” Hinting a pout, he grumbled, “It hurts me as much as you not to share such things. But I need to know you understand first.”

Remaining close, she peeked up at him beneath her sooty lashes and her fingers caressed his wrist. “Are you going to make me wait twenty-one years for a kiss?” Ethan peeked in her mind at her thoughts. Her question lacked the manipulative motives another might seek: Brit simply wanted her kisses and he saw she was feeling rejection. His fingers stretched toward her face that seemed to shimmer in the low light with the porcelain perfection that it had attained via his vitae’s powers. Her motions were gracefully feminine and her eyes remained guileless. His mood grew dark at the unfairness of such a combination.

Pulling his wrist back, he focused again on his lace sleeve and said quickly, “It is not like I woke and suddenly denied you kisses.” His words were sounding stale to him. He tilted his head to the side and gazed at her a moment. Her lips had formed a perfect pout and she rested her hand on his shoulder touching his hair. Ethan blinked feeling himself wanting the soft touches. He straightened remembering what he was telling her. “Maybe I forgot I want to kiss you like you forgot what I told you explicitly not to do?” The words sounded wrong to him. Her lower lip quivered and he stammered, “No. I did not forget.” Her eyes seemed greener than he ever remembered as she watched him. Clearing his throat, he tried to remember where he was, “Because…I know the importance of such things.” Her fingers lightly caressed his upper arms. He noticed the whiteness of her fingers against his dark jacket. His words whispered rather slowly, “It’s a fact that…depending on your behavior…I will be seeking them more or less than usual.” Ethan blinked feeling her hand touch his hair again. He started to reach for her hand but ended up wrapping an arm around her. His voice grew softer. “Brit. I just..I need to know that you understand and will not repeat the same mistake.” His arms tightened slowly closing the gap between them. His lips barely touched her forehead in the softest of kisses.

Brit closed her eyes and held her breath through his kiss. She could feel her skin tingle beneath where he had touched. “I do not mean to upset you, Ethan…or hurt you.” Her body pressed against his and he could smell the sunshine on her skin. “I just do not think that kisses should be given for anything but love.” Silence followed for moments. Her body dragged across his as she stood on her tiptoes to press her lips lightly to his, as gentle as an angel’s wing. Ethan pulled her in tighter. The kiss reminded him of the slow, soft kiss she gave him in return to the first kiss he had ever given her.

Her body was warm and soft as she nuzzled against him. Ethan could sense her sincerity. His lips gave her another soft kiss. “No, you did not do it on purpose….perhaps this is what leaves me not pleased…” Brit returned each of his kisses silently and she seemed relieved to see that he still loved her. “You will think of things before you…” His words were interrupted by another returned kiss. “You will give consideration and priorities to your actions.” More kisses that deepened and lingered. “I…know you are not a little girl…you will not think like a little girl again.” His fingers entwined in her hair and his words were lost in his observation of its softness. “And you will always do what I go to great lengths to make sure is done.”

Pressing against him, she returns each kiss. “Okay,” she whispers wrapping her arms around his neck kissing him with a sweet softness that melts into a kiss that begs to be deepened. Ethan kept her close to him. His fingers never leaving their position as she takes more initiative. Nodding once, he felt she finally understood him. Her heart called to him. Again, he focused on the sound of her blood flowing in her body and the warmth of her lips against his skin. His other arm wrapped around her pulling her tightly to him, perhaps too tightly. Ethan lifted Brit up walking a few meters to his desk where he pressed her against it with his body weight. He paused a moment to ensure he had said all he wanted to say.

Ethan felt annoyed with himself that Brit could prove such a distraction. Placing a finger to her lips, he said menacingly, “You will not disobey me again.” His eyes widened as she opened her lips to bite his finger gently. Her mind was open and he heard clearly a ‘yes, Ethan’. He could feel all of her sadness being replaced by love. There was no fear in his menacing demeanor. “All women have the make up to be Jezebels,” he muttered. Not making any excuses about pinning her arms, he opened his mouth wide and plunged his fangs deep into her neck. Biting quite hard, he took slow but deep sips of her, much like a beast would take of its prey. The sips grew more paced. Keeping her pinned with one hand, he bit into his own wrist pressing the pooling blood to her lips. Ethan flexed his wrist causing the blood to flow into her more like a demanded sharing of him rather than an offering. He continued to drink of her as she did of him. His body kept her pinned along with his fangs in her throat. His vitae continued to pour into her as his free hand sifted through the multiple layers of her gown until he touched her bare skin.

Hours passed. Ethan had not felt dizzy from blood exchange, but he felt dizzy tonight. The slow exchange of blood for kisses and kisses for blood gave both heady sensations. Ethan noticed that Brit’s sweat had a pink tinge to it. After ensuring all puncture wounds were safely closed, he listened to her thread heartbeat and examined the deep bruises on her body. Sitting up, he blinked at the slight head rush and brushed his hair back. Looking down at her on the desk, he touched his lips wiping blood from them. “We won’t be going out tonight,” he whispered and carried her to cuddle until sunrise.

Unexpected Turmoil

Brit woke about an hour before sunset. Her resplendent dress was crumpled, creased and torn. Threads poked in all directions at the pulled seams. Looking to Ethan still resting, she noted that he seemed more relaxed than he did as he rested the night before. She struggled to wriggle free and, once upright, Brit crawled to him to observe her husband better. He looked peaceful but disheveled. Like hers, his clothing was rumpled. Her lipstick was smeared on both of their lips. As she did when he was in torpor, she observed him. Fang marks were visible deep in his wrist and on her throat surrounded by dark bruises – all of which were healing. She pulled his strands of hair back in place and watched him rest. Gone were the fangs that were still visible when he rested the night before.

Two nights before, Joah had been freed of a presence that had captured her body. Lorne, Denny, Blue, Rhaven, and many others worked to coax the presence to leave. Brit had followed the crowd who observed the mayhem inside of the library. She noted the stench that emanated from the building and she saw the layer of maggots that coated the floor. Grr was at the door standing guard: His mind clearly. It was as if something was trying to crawl within her and was frustrated that it failed. Brit had felt the presence grow angry and agitated. She was sure that Ethan’s gifts of the necklaces and his vitae had protected her. Lorne and Denny struggled to reach her and help. Then as fast as it came, the presence left. To where, Brit did not know. With the exception of some scratches, that quickly healed, and Brit having the wind knocked out of her, she received no injury.

Returning the Shelter, she expected Ethan to be pleased that she fared so well. She was even able to help clean up library. When she arrived, he told her that she had given him quite a scare and he quickly patted her down observing her. At hearing of her evening, Ethan went silent and seemed to be processing her words. Repeating her, he broke the silence, “You left the Shelter.” The only thing that moved on his body was his hands that clenched into fists. Brit assured him that there was no real danger. Folding his arms, Ethan said, “I take it involves the Horsemen issue that we ran into the other night. I also take it, since Joah is now okay as you have said, that there was a banishment of pestilence. Such a thing is nothing but danger actually and it could have gone wrong in so many ways that it hurts my mind to even begin thinking about them.” His words had a hard edge.

Excusing them both from those who were present, Ethan directed Brit to their resting place. Sliding a bundle on the desk, Ethan said, “You will wear this and we will take the clothing you wore to the washing machine now so that it can dry over day.”

Brit followed him feeling troubled. His demeanor was impartial and efficient. His voice was detached. Processing as she walked behind him, she whispered, “You did not give me my kisses.” It was the first time he did not give her the triad of kisses.

Taking a seat behind his desk, he gestured for her to pick up the clothing he had placed for her. “Everything at its time.” Silence followed as he tapped his fingers. “Get out of those clothes, Brit,” he said. His voice was low and direct with no hint of emotion within. Puffing her cheeks, she peeled out of the soiled clothes while pouting over her lack of kisses and his odd behavior. Ethan’s eyes turned darker as he focused on her skin inspecting it for any hint of healing. After stripping, Brit picked up her bathing basket and went to shower. Ethan focused on a spot on the wall until she returned. Watching her dress, he said softly, “Tell me something. Why did you leave the Shelter after I told you repeatedly not to do so under any circumstances?” Brit started to pull on the clothing he had laid out for her. “I said not to leave, no matter who requested.” His hands adjusted a sleeve as she dressed. “I said not to leave, no matter what happened.” She turned and he took the laces of the gown’s understructure and pulled them tight.” His voice continued, “I said not to leave, unless I was with you.”

Feeling the stays rob her of breathing room, she adjusted and countered her weight to his adjusting the gown before replying. “No one, Ethan. I followed b..because I was curious. So many were going…and I heard someone mention the library.” He said nothing. “I…I suppose that I forgot for that moment.” Brit peeked at him and whispered, “Sorry.”

Ethan blinked a few times before looking at her directly. With a scowl, he arranged her dress on her perfectly before returning to his chair. Gesturing, he said flatly, “You need to dry your hair or it will stain the dress. The weather is cold and I will not have you freezing.” Fingers tapped again on the arm of the chair as he refocused on the spot on the wall. Brit could see his jaw clench a few times. His words were measured, “I told you to do something and I pointed out its importance more than a dozen times. You forgot, you say? This wasn’t a shopping list, Brit. I requested this of you so many times….What would happen if you forgot what you promised to God in the church for a night and did things that don’t abide by those agreements? Or if I forgot that you are my only beloved?” Shifting, his eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the wall and his fingers curled into a fist.

Brit turned to him as she picked up the towel starting to dry the water from her hair. She noticed the clenched jaw muscle and his eyes. His fingers forming the fist only to tap a moment more on the chair were also noted. “But…I am your only beloved.” He glared slightly up at her seeing that she was missing his main point. She hushed and processed more. “You are angry,” she lisped contritely. Brit put her towel down and picked up her comb to remove any tangles. As she combed, she realized that he was indeed angry and that he was angry with her. “Do not worry…I will not forget again.” Slipping into his lap, she kissed his clenched jaw muscle lightly.

Seeing that she obviously felt that the discussion was over, he growled low, “You will not leave this room until I tell you that you can. If you forget about it again, I will see what else needs to be done. You disobeyed me and you got hurt. You were injured, Brit, and only my blood kept you from being injured much more. And grim things could have happened.” Clasping her fingers that were caressing his skin, he turned to her, “I do not accept your reason of…forgetting.” Her blinks let him know that his words had finally made an impact. Of course, he had thought that his words prior had. To emphasize, he continued, “And I mean…you will not leave the room you and I are in at this moment. The Shelter as a whole is off limits. Any other place is off limits.”

Brit fidgeted slightly on his lap not knowing what to say to him. Ethan’s mind darkened as if his beast within was trying to rush forward. He wanted to claw the bricks. His eyes flashed red for a hint of a moment. Her closeness was the only thing that kept him from letting go of the limited control he had at the moment. With his eyes still focused, he muttered, “Things that I ask of you personally and many times and that you agree to…I should not need to make you promise before God that you will do them. A wife does not disobey something her husband has asked of her intently and repeatedly..You will not disobey me again.” His words stopped suddenly and the fingers tapped again.

Processing more, Brit’s eyes formed tears that did not fall. “I did not do it on purpose, Ethan.” She noticed his eyes narrow again and so she stopped realizing that she was not saying anything that was helping. Wriggling her foot, one boot fell to the floor with a soft thud. His fingers continued the annoyed tapping on the arm of the chair. She wriggled the other foot and that boot fell as well. Looking up, she noted he was watching her yet again. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Ethan nodded and went back to musing for several moments. His whisper was barely audible to her. “The road to hell is paved with the best of intentions. It is not about what we wish to ultimately achieve. It is about what actually happens and its consequences. I refuse to take risks where there is no need for them to be taken and you will prove to me that you are past the stage of being prone to forgetting anything and that your sense are keen at all times as long as we share blood. Once I am convinced of this, we shall see about expanding your world to the entire Shelter again.” Both were silent. He saw her wipe at her eyes. She touched his hand caressing the skin with her nails while watching him from beneath the veil of her hair. “You are no child, Brit.”

Leaning against him, she laid her head on his shoulder. Ethan looked at her and gave a small nod before staring back to his random place across the room. “You will not disobey me again.” He could hear her heart sounding strong. Beating….beating. Her blood pumped through her body. Her mortal body. She nodded saying nothing at all, and he felt the soft splatter of a tear that fell from her lashes. Brit’s body was warm, but Ethan did not seem affected by her warmth or her tears. Seeing streaks of light start to appear in the sky, he directed her to change into her sleeping attire indicating his favorite gown with the Victorian lace dripping at her sleeves. He could sense Brit’s bewilderment, but let her process. No cuddles or kisses followed. She had never felt him angry at her before, and she was confused why he was not forgiving her. After all, she said she was sorry.

Ethan remained silent and was hell-bent on not showing emotion tonight. His fangs could be seen beneath his lips as he lay on the bed next to her. “You will not disobey me again,” he repeated before his body went rigid in his rest.

Alone

Brit stretched out curling her toes before snuggling back against Ethan. “Maybe it will snow outside. It is getting cold enough, I think,” she said. Ethan grinned down at her noticing that she had dressed in her bathing attire that he had obtained for her when they went on the cruise. Brit plucked at the skirt and seemed lost in thought. “Perhaps I should have worn something more.”

Pulling her closer, Ethan reached for a blanket that lay near and wrapped it over her. Brit's clothing choices always interested him. Tonight’s choice made him wonder whether Brit made her decisions based on memories rather than requirements of the world around her. As she cuddled against him, he felt her body heat radiate beneath the blanket. Taking advantage of her short sleeves, he stroked her skin gently. “Perhaps,” he replied. “But it matters not for now, Brit. You look charming.” Shifting slightly, he picked up a book and opened it, “Tonight, I thought it would be enjoyable to share a poem or two.”

“A poem. Like a story that rhymes ?” she asked as she looked curiously at the book. “Does it have pictures?”

Ethan pulled her head to his chest and shook his head slightly. “Poems often paint the picture in your mind. That is what makes them special. They need not to rhyme. Close your eyes and just listen to the words.” She turned toward him laying her arm across his body. Ethan blinked and pulled her closer musing that she fit like a missing piece of his puzzle. His fingers adjusted her hair so he that he could see her face.

Seeing questions form in her mind, he placed a single finger to her lips. “Shhh. Just listen.” Brit kissed the fingertip and smiled up at him causing him to give her a single nod before he opened the small brown book and read, “Alone by Edgar Allan Poe.” Looking down, he noted that she seemed to look at the book as if it yielded pictures. Flipping the page, he read:

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.”

Brit looked up at him at the pause at the end of the stanza. “It rhymes maybe a little bit,” she commented. He nodded and waited patiently to see if she had gleaned any insight within the poem. Brit processed. Brit liked thinking about things when he was near. He never rushed her and never grew impatient. “Is it a boy that is talking?” she inquired.

“It does not say, Brit, but I do not think it matters.” Her body had grown warm beneath the blanket and his fingers enjoyed the feel of her soft skin. Brit processed more and could almost feel his presence within her mind which caused her to smile up at him. “I agree, baby. Different.” It was a captured thought and he grew more secure that it belonged to her. Satisfied, he continued to read:

“From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.”

“Is sadness and joy the same to him?” Ethan did not reply and so she asked, “Does his heart love both?” Brit tilted her face up to see whether his expression gave any clues.

Ethan shrugged closing the book slightly but marking it with a single finger. “Poems mean different things to different people, baby. There is no right or wrong answer.”

He felt her confusion as she stumbled for black and white understanding. She pressed her head back blinking. “I think,” she lisped hesitantly, “his heart loves both sadness and joy.” Sensing that her thoughts had churned the verse and, now was waiting for more, he reopened the book and read:

“Then – in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:”

Silence followed for over 30 minutes. Her thoughts went over the words carefully. Ethan closed the book again so he could fully focus on Brit as she mulled over the words. Within her mind, he saw her dart from one path of understanding, come to a dead end, and back-up to run down another. Turning so her back nested in the crook of his arm, she ventured, “Maybe..the things that confused him as a child still makes him wonder.” Ethan touched the shell of her ear and waited for her to complete her thought, which came 24 minutes later. “Maybe, he remembers when he was little to help him explain stuff now no matter if it is good or bad?”

Ethan gave her an approving caress and said, “Does that make sense to you?” Brit thought it over and nodded to him. He grinned, “Then maybe that is what he meant.” She seemed satisfied with his response and leaned against his chest to hear the next verse. Ethan continued:

“From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,”

Ethan started on the following part when he was interrupted by Brit asking, “Do you miss the feel of the sun?”

Her question caused him to pause. Though he had not thought of it in years, he caught a glimpse of a memory of himself as a small boy whose skin was browned by the summer sun. The dew-kissed mornings and red-sky evenings were such a distant memory. His fingers trailed down her arm as he responded, “I believe we all miss what we no longer have. And often we desire what is absent from us.” Seeing her thoughts start to divert toward his response, he kissed her on the top of her hair and finished the poem:

“From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.”

The last stanza hung in the air. Brit processed and an hour passed. “His life was hard. And he was not like others. And good and bad all was part of his life and he needed his childhood memories to understand…because…because.” She nibbles her lower lip. “He was still the child maybe.”

Ethan could feel her struggling to comprehend within her mind. When frustrated by lack of connection, she would press against him as she processed. Her toes tapped when a connection was made. It was all very interesting to him. Brit whispered, “He saw demons and darkness where others see heaven and happiness, maybe.” Ethan cocked an eyebrow at her comment. “Maybe he felt neither joy nor sorrow as a child. Maybe his life grew difficult…but…he was not like anyone else.” Looking up at him, she lisped, “Alone.”

Ethan felt pleased that she seemed to be able to justify the title. With a glance to the book, he placed it aside. The book reflected parts of his life well. His fingertip lingered on it for a moment as he thought darkly that other parts of it fit well too. Brit’s voice pulled him from the musings. “You are not alone anymore, Ethan.” Her words pulled memories that he was happy to leave long dormant.

“Neither of us will ever be alone again, Brit,” came the quiet reply. Brit smiled snuggling happily against him -- oblivious to dark inner demons that can work within one’s mind.

Virtuous Women

Ethan took Brit to the rooftop to get fresh air. Together they watched people come and go along the street below. The night air had grown crisp hinting at cold weather, but Ethan felt at peace enjoying the unusual tranquility of the city. With Brit snuggled in his embrace, he felt all was right with the world and then he heard it. The shrill remark from a woman in the shadows of the alley across the street, “You bloody bastard! I should kick your ass for cheating on me with that sow!” Ethan’s arms tensed and he glowered in the direction of the shout.

“The lady does not sound happy,” lisped Brit. Her head turned up toward his face as she commented. He smiled tersely down to her and stroked her cheek. “It sounds like the pig girl maybe found a beloved?”

The second part caused Ethan to grin. “I do believe that the woman is cross with the one she calls her beloved.” More comments from the woman followed, all were peppered with expletives. Brit blinked and Ethan growled low, “And, do not mistake this, Brit. That is no lady.”

With a tilt of her head, she said, “Do you know the lady…er…um….lady, or are you guessing she is not a real Lady?” Nibbling her lower lip, she asked, “You sometimes say that ladies are not Ladies. How can you tell?” It was one of life’s greater mysteries about her husband.

Brit’s question caused Ethan’s dark mood lift as fast as it descended. His arms tightened around her and he pulled her back playfully giving her a loving smooch on the cheek. He began to explain, “See, Brit, vulgar people use vulgar words. Take that ‘lady’, for example. She called him a ‘bloody bastard’, did she not?” Brit nodded and Ethan hinted a grin at her attentiveness. “Indeed, she did. I used to hear that word often from vulgar people. ‘Bloody bad work. The bloody bad day.’ It seemed that they knew what a bloody day or week was; but a virtuous woman should not know what a ‘bloody’ thing is.”

Ethan turned Brit to him and walked her to the wall that outlined the rooftop. Sitting on the small walled perimeter, he turned her so he could pull her down on his lap. Stroking her arm, he continued, “Moreover, a virtuous woman is delicate and should not want to know anything about such examples; for they would be disgusted or appalled should someone mindlessly slaughter a lamb or a bird in front of them.” Ethan’s voice trailed off a bit as he added softly, “At least….that is how it use to be. And the world was better for it, I believe.”

Brit seemed troubled. Nibbling on her lower lip, she processed his words as he stroked her cheek. 'Virtuous' seemed to be what he wished her to be. There was a problem and so she whispered, “I know what blood is, Ethan. And I’ve seen many harm others. Am I not virtuous?”

“Brit, of course, you are virtuous! You are always bothered when someone harms another. And I’ve not known you to sit and watch harm come to others for amusement. That would be vulgar and an act of someone not virtuous.” Pausing, he asked, “What does virtuous mean to you?”

Brit said softly, “To be nice? To be honest?”

Ethan nodded pleased with her beginning comprehension. “All of those, baby. Chaste, good, righteous. See what I mean when I say that a virtuous woman would not wish to watch torture and harm for amusement? It would simply not be nice,” he explained not quite believing that he used the word ‘nice’ as a basis for understanding. Brit nodded. Ethan brushed Brit’s hair with his fingertips letting her process more. “Think of what the woman said, Brit. She also told the person that she would ‘kick his ass’.” Ethan shook his head again and continued, “Virtuous women would not speak of anything vulgar, especially not of bodily parts left best not seen in public.” He adjusted his sleeve and commented, “It is unseemly.”

Brit asked, “Unseemly?” Ethan pondered how to explain and traced her lips with his fingertip as he considered how to answer.

“Unseemly is not suitable for the time and place.” He paused to let her think on his words.

“You mean…like when you said not to take my clothes off in public?” Brit spoke slowly and was pleased to see him smile with approval of her connection.

Ethan gave her a loud kiss on the cheek as a reward. “Precisely, Brit. That would be obscene, hence ‘vulgar’.” His finger traced her lips and tapped her nose. “I once heard of a young woman who teasingly greeted her old classmate with ‘hello, you bawdy whore!’ Now, this would clearly not be a comment from a virtuous young lady. Do you see why?” Brit blinked blankly to him, which pleased him no little. With a nod, Ethan gave a satisfied “hmm’ and explained, “A virtuous woman should not know anything about these things. Not bawdy or whores.”

“Ethan,” Brit said, “I’ve heard you use that second word before.” She blinked silently and he saw the wheels turning. “You called Marie Antoinette that word!”

Tapping his fingers on Brit’s side, he coughed politely and said, “Indeed I did. But we are not discussing virtuous men, now are we? No. Virtuous men are trustworthy and honest. Virtuous women are good and clean. They are chaste and honest and gentle. Like you, Brit.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he saw her mind continuing to process. She asked, “But…what if I accidently learn those words?” Her voice seemed alarmed.

Ethan chuckled, “You simply do not say them in public and, if you must say them, you would say them alone with your husband. It is simple to stay virtuous, baby.” His arms hugged her reassuringly.

More processing as she rested her head on his shoulder. “And you have stayed virtuous for so very long,” she marveled. Her long lashes blinked rhythmically as she continued to process. “So do you call men ‘virtuous, Ethan?”

Ethan scratched his chin and ran his tongue over his fangs as he thought how to respond. “If they are saints, yes, Brit. For the rest of us, we shall stick to the word ‘worldly’.” He slid her off of his lap and said, “Let us go inside.”

Narcotic

The moment Ethan’s eyelids parted, he searched for Brit in the darkness. His vision quickly became flawless again and he hinted a smile finding her nestled by his side. Inching closer to close the gap the daytime sleep had put between them, he laid his right arm on her upper arm gently brushing back the strands of hair that veiled her doll-like face. He studied her to ensure that all was as it was prior to their rest. Satisfied, Ethan beamed for a moment while touching her face. His thoughts were clear: “Nobody can take better care of you than me. Nobody.” Withdrawing his hand, he touched her chest feeling her breathe evenly in her sleep. Her chest rose and fell evenly as she slept as he lay there unblinking and marveling at he wonder of His creation that he was blessed with.

Two weeks ago, Ethan had taken Brit to the church and watched as she performed her nightly prayers. Many were milling about the streets. He could feel the question before she asked it. “Ethan,” she lisped softly. “Our door is locked lately. It did not use to be so,” she said.

His footsteps sounded firm on the street as he escorted her home. They passed someone who frequented the church steps but rarely entered. “Yes, baby,” Ethan replied. “I thought it prudent to lock the door so no one could enter our resting place while we sleep.” Glancing down, he nodded once and kept a firm hold on her hand. “I do want to keep you safe, of course. And comforted,” he added in a lower voice.

Brit needed to run to keep up with him. She countered, “But…Ethan.” He seemed to be speeding up. She ran along beside him and continued, “It was locked to others before and not to me. But now. Now, it is locked to me.” Ethan was almost to the steps and she ran again to catch him. Clasping his arm, she whined, “I cannot go get cookies!”

At her words, he turned abruptly and looked at her intently holding up a single finger to her lips. “There is nothing that you need that I cannot provide, Brit. Nothing.” His jaw clenched slightly, “Anything you can get while away from me, you can get the same or better with me.” Ethan’s voice dropped to a whisper as he caressed her cheek, “There is no need for you to be away from me.” Turning, he walked toward the steps again to their resting place. Opening the door, he let her walk in ahead of him. Following, he said softly, “And I want you close. So close. Everything else is secondary.” The door closed and did not re-open again for her.

So you face it with a smile

There is no need to cry

For a trifle's more than this

After two weeks, Ethan was far from running out of stories. On the contrary, he found that he loved reminiscing and knew that Brit was interested in from where he had come. Ethan enjoyed Arles in 1888. The artist community that thrived during that year brought enlightened, lively conversation among witty, clever, and talented people who wore bright colors. Ethan smudged the deep blue kohl around Brit’s mossy green eyes and stood back appraising his work. “Van Gogh,” he told her, “used to drink absinthe in the Hôtel Restaurant Carrel in the Rue de la Cavaleirie when he was not crying over some love lost to a prostitute.” He went on to describe how odd it felt to him to view the old Roman Arena and remember when such were used, or to touch the medieval gate and remember it new.

Brit loved when Ethan talked of times gone by. She could not imagine her husband frequenting parties of artists and writers. Similarly, she could not imagine Ethan in many times of his life. Among the more perplexing were his descriptions of the fall of Constantinople and the Crusades. Also confusing was his role in seeking those who acted against God: The power of the demonic influences was lost on her. Brit loved his descriptions of when he first heard a truly modern pipe organ or saw a man-made object fly.

Ethan noticed that Brit seemed more focused on the changes of culture and inventions than politics and war. Getting a bit of midnight blue to darken her outer eye corners, Ethan dabbed carefully noticing the enhancement to the whites of her eyes. So perfect, but fragile, he thought. Brit was such a precious gift, but her fragility caused Ethan more concern with each passing day. As his brush stroked on color, Brit looked up at him and he paused as if caught in a spell. The brush slowed. She was his to love and to protect. Brit was his wife, he thought. Ethan’s lips parted and he blinked feeling God would wish what he was thinking. The brush touched her eyes gently and Ethan knew that Brit would never age another day; and God would approve else he would never have brought her to him.

Will you still recall my name

And the month it all began

Will you release me with a kiss

To be sure, there was much to consider. He finished painting her face and turned it left and right slowly. Perfection was important when one was meant to never change again. Ethan’s fingers ran through her hair and he examined the ends to ensure they were perfectly trimmed. Moving her hair to behind her shoulders, his fingers ran over her neck. To heal the bite mark or not? In turning her, their reason for being was no longer important, but his vanity admitted to enjoying them on her throat. Unable to resist, he bent his head to feel them with his lips. His fangs lengthened and he could feel her pulse throb beneath her skin. No more sicknesses, Ethan thought. No more worries, he reassured himself feeling his fangs rub her bites.

Brit’s head tilted at the touch of his fangs. One hand went behind her head and another gathered around her and pulled her securely against him. Breaking the skin, the small crimson drops welled and he tasted her sweetness. How would her blood change, he wondered? His fangs teased open her bite marks allowing the blood to trickle into his mouth. Sweet, like candy. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the flavor and closeness. He had all night. No need to hurry, he said to himself. Brit’s arms went around him and her fingernails caressed his back. Fingernails, he remembered. Healing the wounds, he pulled away to examine them. Smiling up at her, he leaned and carefully licked the wounds healing her bite marks completely.

Have I tried to draw the veil

If I have - how could I fail?

Did I fear the consequence

... dazed by careless words

Cozy in my mind

Using the cosmetic file, Ethan ensured that her fingers and toes matched and were filed to pristine perfection. Beauticians, he mused, should be the most learned theologians as they had so much time to muse. As he filed, he thought of changes she would have to learn. Feeding. His chylder learned quickly enough, he thought, which was good as she had become such a wanderer. What if the same happened to Brit? Could she survive and feed? To be sure, she had no issue drinking from him but who was to say she could partake blood from others. His eyes flashed crimson at the thought, but he had to come to terms with the concept that drinking from other sources may mean survival.

Also, if he had to leave town for a while, who could care for her? She would be a fledgling. A chylder as well as his wife. So loved. Would an enemy target her? Ethan was not so naïve to not know that answer. Plus, in his world, he really should ensure there was approval to insure she would be protected without him. At one time, Nikita could have been a reliable back-up, but she had not been seen in months. Pieter would tend to Brit, if needed, but Ethan was unsure he wanted to risk the exposure to what Brit would see in the Pit. As for Omega, there was also risk of unwanted exposure. Ethan took a deep breath and let his mind refocus. Perhaps turning her was not the best plan. Yet.

Chorus: I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

Now you shaped that liquid wax

Fit it out with crater cracks

Sweet devotion- my delight

As the pendulum swung the other way, Ethan pulled her to him again. He loved to drink from her and had grown to anticipate the taste of her blood. Metallic after she ate mushrooms. Salty after seafood. Sweet after cookies and such. But it was more refined than the obvious. Her moods and biological responses also flavored her blood. Again, he wondered whether Brit’s blood would change so if she were like him. Ethan’s mind wondered as he kissed her hand again before gathering her hair and starting to brush it. He made a mental note to order strawberries coated in a rich layer of pure dark chocolate.

Another kiss of her hand, Ethan slid a white chemise over her head and remembered his earlier thought: Brit would not age another day. There were two ways to achieve such things. Perching on the side of the desk, he rolled up his sleeve. Brit watched how his hair framed his face. Seeing her glance, Ethan gave a playful wink and brought his wrist to his mouth breaking the skin. Shifting, he pulled her to where she sat between his legs and held his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.” Her mouth felt warm against his wrist as she drank from him. He felt her body respond to his blood down to the strengthened heartbeat. Pulling her head back to the edge of his shoulder, he watched the pulse under her skin and felt her drink wondering whether she found his taste as intoxicating as he found hers.

Oh, you're such a pretty one

And the naked thrills of flesh and skin

Would tease me through the night

Ethan kept his wrist to her mouth. He knew she did not require so much, but wanted to share of himself with his wife. Brit was his wife. His eyes darkened at the recent interference of so many friends. Deep within, Ethan knew Brit’s friends meant well. Those such as Joah. Kissing Brit’s temple, he noticed that she had stopped drinking. How dare Joah tell him that he was wrong in his choices regarding his wife! Ethan licked his wounds and continued to think. If Joah were not bad enough, Omega also started to question his choices regarding Brit. Flexing his wrist, he struggled to keep his talons in check. Rage welled up within and, with a sudden animalistic growl, he quickly transitioned Brit to laying back on the desk and hovered his fangs over her throat. Again the thought to change her. Make her more like him. Give her a life-long connection.

Ethan’s body trembled causing Brit to look over to him in confusion. She could not see his face or his red-glowing eyes. He longed to drink deep of her. To feel her crumple and revive her while he held her. His. She would be completely his then. His fingers shook as he drew her near and scratched her throat with the sharp tips. He could hear her heart dare him to drink. The angry energy of being questioned caused him to growl as he quickly pushed her to the desk. Brit’s look of surprise gave him a brief pause. Rather than seeming alarmed, she relaxed back looking up to him and her sense of calm soothed him. Rather than finding brick to destroy, his talons stroked down her body ripping and moving the fabric aside. A slight screech of metal on glass could be heard as he leaned over her and kissed her tummy. Soft caresses yielded a tranquil feeling as he sought, selected and sank his fangs into her skin and drank.

"Now i hate to leave you bare

If you need me I'll be there

Don't you ever let me down"

..dazed by careless words

Cozy in my mind

He felt her body respond and enjoyed the way the taste of her blood changed as he drank. It was a struggle to drink slowly. It was a greater struggle to stop. Ethan’s talons retracted and his eyes became normal again but still he drank miniscule sips. Each sip, he knew he would care for God’s creation. With each caress, he knew he would protect his wife. Brit’s fingers entwined in his hair as she felt her fingers and toes grow colder. Still he drank until her heartbeat quickened. Even then, he kept his fangs embedded in her without pulling more blood.

Brit’s breathing was the only sound in the room. Ethan removed his fangs once he felt himself again. Music played close by. He knew that she would never let him down, but he also knew that she would never be parted from him. Ethan’s body ground against Brit’s as he kissed her lips. Giving her a soft caress, he bit her neck again returning her bite marks.

Chorus: : I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

No, Ethan thought. He would never let her go. Picking her up, he laid her back on the coverlet of their resting place. It had been two weeks, but Ethan had no desire to leave the room. He had all that he needed in the room and could requisition anything Brit needed to be delivered.

And I touched your face

Narcotic mind from lazed Mary-Jane

Brit felt Ethan's fingers again on her face. He had arranged for Annika to bring her food, but she was content subsisting on his vitae. “You will eat properly tomorrow, Brit,” Ethan whispered. Not tonight, he thought.

And I called your name

Like an addicted to cocaine calls for the stuff he'd rather blame

It had been two weeks. And Ethan noticed that Brit did not seem to care whether they stayed in. He wondered if she could endure watching a sunrise on a DVD one frame at a time.

And I touched your face

Narcotic mind from lazed Mary-Jane

If someone had asked, Brit would have been surprised how much time had passed. Cold, tired, and content is all she felt and so she rested.

And I called your name

My cocaine

While she rested, Ethan thought again of those who meant so well and knew that none could care for his wife as he could.

Chorus: : I don't mind

I think so

I will let you go

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jsj-37UrxeM

The Inquisition

Ethan said, “Last year, you made a lovely witch, Brit. I enjoyed dancing at the church thoroughly.” Both were on the second floor of the Shelter and gazing out of the window to the street below. A neko in an angel outfit passed along with a demon wearing scarcely more than a halo. Raising an eyebrow, Ethan audibly exhaled. “I wish to stay in tonight.’ His fingers reached for her and he nodded back to their resting place even though the night was still early. She seemed surprised, but said nothing and followed him inside to their resting place.

Sitting in his chair, Ethan pulled Brit onto his lap before picking up the book on his desk. “You asked for a story, I believe. A Halloween story.”

Brit perked with interest turning to the book. “Oh yes, please,” she lisped before adding with a whisper, “A scary story.” Attempting to twist to look at the book, she rearranged herself in Ethan’s lap ready to hear the story and hoped the book held pictures.

He grinned at her interest in Halloween knowing she knew little of its history. “A scary story,” Ethan repeated. “And you promised it would not cause night terrors.” Brit nodded affirmatively as he watched. “Hmm. Well, very well.” Opening the book, he gave her a sideways glance and said, “This of course is not a fairy tale, Brit.” Seeing her look of surprise, he added, “This story is very real.” When her eyes widened suitably, he said, “It is called The Inquisition. I borrowed this book from the library’s collection – using my new library card.”

Ethan paused to reflect that he truly had a new library card written in red glitter crayon no less. With a shake of his head, he continued, “I selected this book because of your obvious interest in witches because witches among other things were focuses of inquisitions.” Brit had him pause due to several questions. He responded patiently ensuring she understood the purpose and key players in an inquisition.

“Now sometimes,” Ethan explained, “an inquisitor would be called to identify a witch. Those who were thought to cavort and interact with the devil were rounded up and brought before this man of God.”

“How would people know who was a witch?” asked Brit.

Ethan placed his hand to his mouth pressing slightly to suppress the grin. When he was quite sure he could maintain his serious expression, he said, “Sometimes, one could determine it by their dress. Such as a pointy hat like you wore last year on this night.”

Brit blinked and said, “Maybe the girl just wore it for Halloween. Like I did!”

With a half shrug, Ethan said, “Well, Brit. They would always give a reason such as that, but they could have worn anything. Why would they select such a garment knowing how it made them look?”

Brit said, “Because…Halloween. It’s all for witches and ghosts and vampires and…scary things….not that you are scary. But you can be scary if you want.” She blinked a few times before shaking her head not wishing to remember him that way.

“I am a vampire, baby. So I dress as one for Halloween, but you,” he almost cooed dragging his finger down her neck, “You dressed as a witch. Hmm?”

Brit squirmed and said, “But, Ethan. I…I’m not a witch.”

Sighing deeply, he closed the book and seemed lost in thought. “All witches say that. I think every one I knew back then would have said it.” He looked at her with feigned concern. “No matter. There are other ways to see if one is a witch.”

Brit seemed relieved, “Good.” His fingers still stroked her skin and he said nothing but seemed to watch her oddly, “Um…how?”

“Oh, quite simple really,” he said low. His fingers caressed her hair, “Witches often had red hair.” He let the comment hang in the air and he held her gaze. Her heartbeat picked up slightly and he said softly, “And often….green eyes.”

Brit swallowed hard and said, “But….I’m not a witch. I’m just me.”

This time, he simply watched her. His fingers traced her lips before caressing her bite marks. “Some bewitched their beloveds. And caused them to act in ways they had not before.” She tilted her head in confusion. “I’d never married…before you.”

“Because you love me!” she exclaimed. He said nothing. She turned an opened the book. Several pictures of witches before and after redemption could be found. “I’m not a witch, Ethan.” She peeked at him over the book. Her hand shook slightly as she flipped pages.

“Witches were often nervous when questioned. They seemed afraid in an interrogation.”

Brit squeaked seeing an image. “Yah….LOOK at what they did to witches!”

Closing the book, Ethan took it from her. “They have no reason to fear less they were witches Brit.” His voice was eerily calm. His fingers pointedly went to her hair, eyes, and bite marks. Looking down, he adjusted her wedding ring.

She watched him silently noticing his fingernails had lengthened. “Do witches always hang or get burned when they were found?” Her voice seemed stressed and breathy. Her heart beat had quickened a bit more.

Ethan’s eyes flashed crimson just for a moment and the mist sealed the door. “No, Brit. Sometimes they were drowned as well.” Opening his desk drawer, he retrieved his rosary. “Have you something you need to confess?” His voice was still strangely quiet.

“I….I’m not a witch!” She squirmed watching his fingers adjust his rosary. She repeated her words with a hint of a pout as she felt helpless.

It was all Ethan could do to keep from giggling, but he said, “I never said you were a witch, Brit. But sometimes, witches will try to use sympathy to cloud the fact they were a witch.” She swallowed hard and blinked at him not knowing what to say. Her heart was racing. “Are you quite sure….you have not something you wish to say?” he asked again.

“No!” She gasped and took a big breath suddenly wanting to get fresh air.

Ethan said calmly, “Tempers. Witches were notorious for displaying a flash of temper.”

Brit slipped from his lap and started to say something and blinked. Then she started to say something again, and puffed her cheeks. Ethan reached for his rosary and let it dangle from his fingertips without taking his eyes off of her. “I’m not a witch,” she told him again.

Ethan arched his eyebrow and reached for the book. Opening it, he read silently for several moments while Brit stood there and squirmed. “It says here,” he said with his fingers tapping the page, “that witches have distinguishing marks up on their body. Since you seem so adamantly wishing to prove to me you are not a witch, we shall take a look.” With a motion, he said, “You will need to remove your clothing. After all, a proper witch would likely hide enchantments in them.”

Later, Ethan declared Brit innocent of witchcraft. She lisped sleepily, “I told you that I was not a witch.”

Chuckling, he replied, “Brit. I never thought you were a witch.”

Sitting up quickly, she gasped, “You made me think so! You…you…you scared me!”

Pulling her to him, he gave her a sweet kiss. “You asked me for a scary story. Your mind did the rest.”

Happy Halloween!

The Nature of Beasts

One evening in September, Blueray intervened with a tut-tut as Apollo reached to touch Brit’s bite marks in front of Ethan and, Ethan’s abrupt reaction and words caused her to smile cruelly. Her thoughts turned to the true nature of a beast when its treasure is touched. She had heard tales of it, but had never witnessed it for herself. Apollo seemed quite bewildered. Blueray warned, “Do you really want to die so easily?”
*****
Ethan watched Brit as she walked from the diner. Her three days away from him surely affected her negatively. His eyes narrowed as he observed. She didn’t seem as peppy as she usually was, he noted grimly and, before her absence, she would have all but ran up the steps. To Ethan, this confirmed what he already knew: While others could try to care for his beloved, only he really knew how to tend to her best. The thought briefly cheered him up and he watched her duck inside.

Ethan nodded briefly to the guests of the Shelter as he followed Brit in. When she slowed to greet those she had not seen in a few days, he felt his annoyance return. Patches of news were exchanged. All caused his mood to grow darker. He wanted to thoroughly check her over and her usual inattentiveness fueled his displeasure at this moment. “Brit, please,” he said as he gestured impatiently toward the stairs. A few steps later, Ethan found himself speaking to another, “I must speak with my wife. You will please excuse us.” By the time they reached the landing, Ethan muttered in a language he had all but forgotten, “Good lord. Herding cats would be easier.” As they reached the door, he said, “I wish you to remove those clothes when we settle.”

Remembering the pictures of medicinal cups that were applied to the skin, Brit stopped just outside of the door. Seeing others nearby, he wrapped an arm about her waist as he opened the door and easily deposited her inside the room. The door shut with a loud thud and he audibly exhaled. “Ethan,” she lisped softly. His mouth did not move but she heard his voice loudly within her head exclaim, “Do as I say!” She backed away slightly in surprise and bumped the desk.

Seeing her surprise, he looked down uncomfortably for a moment and rechecked his temper before looking up at her again. “Brit, remove your clothing.” His jaw muscle clenched as he added, “Please.” Watching him a moment, she nodded and fumbled with the lacings on the front of the dress. He could tell that she was not frightened, but she was bewildered at his mood. Her hands shook in confusion causing him to soften a bit more. Walking to her, he took her hands kissing the palm of each one and rubbing them with his thumb. Arranging them on her lap, his hand stroked her hair for a moment before he took her laces and started to pull. Ethan said softly, “Why…why did you leave the Shelter….our resting place?” His eyes watched attentively for an answer.

She watched him curiously. His voice sounded different. Thicker. Peering up at him, she replied sincerely, “My chest hurt, Ethan, and you were resting. And I remembered Joah could make people better.” He quietly loosened the bodice before staring at her palms again. This time, he removed the gloves to look more closely at her skin. His fingers tracing to her wrists turning them over in his hands as if viewing a precious coin to ensure it is the same coin as seen the day before. Watching him rub at a white fleck on her fingernail, she wondered whether he would answer.

Ethan slid the bodice from her shoulders and untied the skirt to watch it fall. Ethan’s chest rose and fell as if he was exhaling again and he nodded that he understood. His eyes looked different. Darker. His fingers removed the bodice and skirt completely before he lifted her to the desk to remove her boots noting that one of the buckles was even on the wrong notch. His fingers examined her legs one at a time as he removed her stockings after popping each garter. Noting no changes, he placed a hand on each side of her hips and said coolly, “I could have tended to you when I woke.”

“But you were resting,” she explained. It was all most logical to her.

Caressing her skin through the chemise, he noted a spot of fabric that was wearing thin. It wasn’t there before! Ethan could smell the scent of the library under the heady eucalyptus scent that still clung to her skin despite her shower. The library smell was not unpleasant, but it was not the finely milled soap that he had created after spending several hours in the perfumery. Without a response, he picked her up and carried her to the shower. Turning on the water, he touched it to be sure it was warm before removing her chemise and pressing her under the water.

Watching her play in the water a bit lightened his mood. Ethan removed his shoes, socks and jacket before quickly rolling his pant legs and shirt sleeves. Not caring that the fabric got wet, he lathered up her hair in the familiar vanilla-laced shampoo that held a barely-there hint of musk. His hands soaped her up using the same scent. Each time, he would bring her near and inhale deeply until she seemed familiar with his eyes closed. As he dried her, he noticed every mark that had not been on her before and quizzed her over each and every one of them.

After Brit was dried, Ethan rubbed lotion into her skin. Noting her smooth texture, he wondered who had supplied her with personal necessities. She had necessities, he thought darkly. Here. Shaking off the grim thought, he carefully started to comb out her wet hair. “Did someone comb your hair out, Brit?” he asked suspiciously.

Brit said, “No. I did that myself.”

Neglectful, Ethan thought. It was just more proof that only he could properly care for her. He smirked at the thought. Ethan selected her dress and make up for the following evening, but kept her wrapped in a large bath sheet for now. A few final checks and he felt that she was as she had been before leaving even if she had a bit of the cold lingering.

Still a bit weary from her cold, she snuggled against him. After arranging her just so, he nuzzled her neck and bit gently. Her blood tasted differently. Perhaps it was the lingering cold or maybe it was her change in diet. No matter, Ethan thought. It will be normal soon. With that thought, he brought his wrist up and bit so the blood pooled. “You will drink now.” There was no ‘please’ or other nicety. His voice left no question whether it was offered as he pressed it against her lips and held it so until she drank sufficiently.

Ethan was nearly falling over from needing to rest when he finally pulled her to him and set the mist around the door to protect. Waking before he did as always, Brit pulled on what he wanted her to wear and tried to open the door finding it quite locked. She fumbled with the mechanism. After a few minutes, she knew that it would only open when his eyes did.

Good Intentions

Three nights before, Ethan woke and reached for Brit only to find a crumpled blanket. With an audible sigh, he rose, dressed, and went to find where she had gone. She was not in the showers, so he went toward the first floor coming to a halt when he saw that the first floor was submerged. The city had flooded so high that the water had breached the sandbags. Ethan shot back to the second floor asking the Shelter’s residents whether they had seen his wife. None had. A few questions brought him a bit of comfort at finding the flood had come in steadily but gradually. It was unlikely that Brit had got caught in fast waters and swept out to sea.

Regardless, he stormed up to the rooftop and flagged down a passerby on a float made of barrels. Masking his concern, he asked, “Could you go to the library to inquire whether my wife is there? Return either way. I shall make it worth your while.” Ethan paced the rooftop until the person returned. He found that his wife was at the library where she was being tended for a cold. His mouth set grimly as he paid the man for the information. Not only was Brit stranded across town, but she was unwell. Time passed slowly and Ethan’s mood grew darker despite his ability to get information regarding Brit. He had not been more than an arm’s reach from her upon waking in over a year. By the end of the third night, Ethan knew the streets would be passable when he woke the following evening. He laid caressing the space beside him when it was time to rest.

The following evening, Ethan travelled to the library. He took the steps two at a time and entered to find a crowd. Immediately seeing Brit, he merely looked at her without interfering with the conversation. Wrapping an arm around her, he kissed her cheek and turned to the group. His foot tapped on the ground slightly as he looked from one to the next as they spoke. Brit’s hair, he noted, had been washed in a shampoo that was unknown to him. His fingers caressed her locks and he examined the ends of her hair unhappily.

More conversation. Ethan grinned at Brit’s remark about way nice people. His expression darkened when he looked back to Blue and he spoke for the first time, “There are consequences for everything. Our actions always catch up with us. What you will decide to do will haunt you forever as well. I can only wish you luck and prudence in your choices.” He kept Brit close to him and caressed her arms. His fingers drug on her skin slightly from the soap she had used. It was not the finely milled soaps he had purchased. He wondered where she had bathed and whether anyone was near when she did so. Larissa inquired about the two of them and Ethan assured her that they were well enough. He added, “Brit has had a minor adventure with her health.” Looking down at her, he sad, “Which will be made sure not to trouble us again.”

More people came and went and the conversation continued. Ethan settled near the fire and pulled Brit to him placing two fingers on her throat for 30 seconds. He then brought his lips to her forehead. Brit held still for him and said, “I really do not think I need an onion poultice. Or cupping. Or even a remedy from this century.” The last was a quote from Omega as she held out the small bottle of antibiotic. Ethan took it looking over the label.

Looking at Brit sternly, Ethan said, “I do think that such a decision is for me to make and for you to comply with.” His gaze seemed rather absolute even as he continued to caress her side with his fingertips. Her clothing, he noticed, was clean and it smelled of eucalyptus. His abrupt words caused her to blink. She assured him that she was much better. At her words, he cocked a brow and his foot started to tap again rhythmically. “Much better is not well, is it?” With the same stern expression, he said calmly, “There will be no discussion about this Brit.” He stared at her as she crinkled her nose and struggled not to rub it. “If needed, I will treat your symptoms with ways that have proven themselves over centuries.”

Omega noted that Brit did seem much improved. Ethan nodded slightly at Omega and looked Brit over again. “So she tells me,” he said softly as he ran his finger up her side to her throat again. Pressing his lips together, his jaw muscle flexed beneath the skin. “Perhaps no poultice then.” With an added whisper, he said, “We shall see about the cupping though.”

“Cupping!” Omega exclaimed. “Surely you jest, Ethan.” Brit swallowed nervously and cuddled against him. She remembered seeing pictures of such practices and the marks it left behind.

Ethan returned the antibiotics to Omega. “These will not be required. And jest? Surely I am not. I do not often find myself in the role of the jester.” His fingertips moved back to Brit and stroked down her arm to her fingers entwining them with his own.

Omega smiled, “I will keep the tablets in case Brit’s illness takes a turn for the worse. Thankfully she seems to be recovering without additional measures – either modern or barbarically medieval.”

Narrowing his eyes for a moment, Ethan responded, “You surely mean ‘proven treatments that have been tested for more than three years on lab rats before being released to the market.” Placing an arm around Brit, he pulled her closer and ran his hand over her back and neck. His lips almost formed a pout as he stared at the patterns in the flames of the fire. “Antibiotics are…” His words trailed off before they even started. His fingers tapped lightly along the slope of her shoulder. “Brit, did you eat and drink properly tonight? Will Annika have anything to report to me?”

With the flood, Brit had not left the library in three days. She pointed out that Grr had made soups. Grr discussed what was in each healthy stew. Ethan nodded slightly to Grr and said, “I am sure you have made every effort to keep her well-fed. I do appreciate that.” Turning to Brit, Ethan seemed to almost be inspecting her as he said dryly, “So, you have not been eating what I have directed Annika to prepare for you specifically.” She tried to point out the flood, but was cut short with, “I believe we have a trip to the diner coming then.” Frowning, he took a firm hold of her hand and said, “We should go.”

Brit thanked all for helping her to get better and followed Ethan to the diner. Once there, he ordered food to be brought to her and asked that other supplies he had ordered to be sent to the Shelter less it spoil. While she ate, he examined her skin, which seemed slightly ashen and her fingernails – one which had a small white fleck in the pink just below the crescent moons. He grimaced as he touched the fingertips and noted they needed lotion. His mood felt dark as he thought of Omega’s near chiding of his decisions. “I will never do something that is not thought through with you, Brit. And you need to do what I tell you and trust me.” Tapping the table with his fingers, he grumbled, “I know what I am doing when it involves you, princess.”

As she ate, Ethan silently watched. His thoughts were troubled and he felt angry. Logic said that all was well and that he should be grateful that Brit had been well-cared for. Memory of waking three days without her played over in his mind. Petulantly, he reminded himself that he could have cared for her had she not have left! Noting she was playing with her food more than eating, he said abruptly, “I wish to return to the Shelter.” Signing a slip for Annika, he gestured Brit toward the door. Rather than walk with her, he followed a step behind.