Following and observing had taught him much—though giant gaps remained in his knowledge of this era, he could begin to guess at their contours. And now he hadhermeasure. Were she not leman, she still would have made a formidable sanguinant, perchance even enduring to daywalker strength.
Leman remained ever fledgling, though, never reaching even an Elder’s strength or speed. Perhaps it was the price paid for such wondrous gifts.
To approach a sleeping treasure, to crouch before her and take a much deeper draught of that glorious scent, was more than enough reward for any exertion. “Oh, darlin’, what a night y’ve had,” he murmured, and remembered she did not care for that particular accent, though the drawl was much in evidence from surrounding mortals during her nighttime ramble.
Perhaps it was onlyhisuse of the local dialect she objected to, since her own accent was far crisper. He would learn better, which required time. He also needed to feed, a place to hold her in some comfort for the daylight hours, resources to cushionand pamper his prize, a mortal identity for efficiency… the list was near endless, and he was grateful for every item. No more spinning in useless disorientation; no, now he had apurpose.
Fortunately she had brought him to a place well suited to begin his work, almost as if granting her new protector a boon for loyal service.
The first step was to take her in his arms—gently, carefully, though she would not wake until sunset. The second was to move through this building unseen by mortals, find a suitable room, set the seals, and tuck his sleeping houri into a more comfortable bed.
All things should be so easy. He smiled in the darkness, taking a moment to touch a strand of her lovely dark hair, silk slipping against his fingertips.
Once she was settled, he could begin.
The times had changed; instead of introductory letters or simply wearing the correct plumage, something calledformalidentificationwas necessary. Still, many mortals were perfunctory at best in glancing over proffered items, especially when a moiety of invisible force was applied to their mental state. Information now swirled even more quickly than with telegraphs—he hazily remembered the ballyhoo about the wires’ ability to sing across an entire continent, though could not pinpoint if that near-miraculous advance had occurred before or after the fire.
It did not matter. His priority was soaking in as much of this era as possible, avoiding large or cascading mistakes, and returning to his sleeping paragon. Difficult to tear himself away in the first place, especially after he peeled each piece of clothingfree with slow care before drawing the bed’s covers over her lithe, faintly glowing form, and all day he was occupied with remembering the curve of her hip, the line of her throat, the softness against his knuckles as he inadvertently brushed the side of one satiny breast. Faint, pale marks upon her flanks and upper arms were left from mortal years, slowly erasing as the Gift burnished every inch; she had once been more pleasingly curved. He tried to imagine her well-fed and happy, perhaps in a gown of absinthe green, her hair piled high and emeralds clasping her beautiful throat.
Even her ankles and bare feet, bearing soft crenellated imprints of stockings and the marks of boot-wear, were softly gorgeous. He could not wait to explore at leisure.
Returning an hour before sunset, he arranged his first offerings with care, filling his lungs in deep even swells. Her scent had dyed the suite, rendering its imperfections charmingly quaint, and he sorely needed the balm. His head had begun to ache the moment he left her vicinity, the distracting fractures of attention and coherence breaking through by midafternoon. Other symptoms mounted as well—limb-tremors, the thrall’s sharp silver rowels pricking deep in his marrow, the dull heavy nastiness of sunlight on exposed skin mounting to pain as if her absence would cause a daywalker’s immunity to reverse itself.
This era’s idea of luxury seemed but tawdry imitation—the ‘marble’ of the bathroom was thin tile veneer, the paneling flimsy, the linens somewhat coarse though adequately clean. The ceiling was familiar, even if its pressed tin had suffered many layers of paint blurring sharp-stamped designs; the drapes, heavily figured with gold roses against cerulean velvet, could have been antique save for their thinness, and the sheers underneath were made of slippery artificial stuff. The carpet was harsh, an insult to the mellow hardwood it overlaid.
Yet the plumbing was much better than he expected, bearing marks of constant small refinement in that mortal art. Galvanism had turned intoelectricityand become even more plentiful than gaslight; small outlets in the walls fueled untold marvels. The mirrors were large and clear, luxuries apparently now held cheap. Mortal food in the many restaurants smelled far more appetizing than it ever had, and the streets were much more cleanly. Information did not need wires to hum through the air, literacy was expected of every class instead of jealousy restricted to the highborn, and even the hovels of the abject held certain conveniences.
All in all there was plenty to enjoy, and he could not wait to begin.
If only she would wake. He was very nearlyin a lather—did they say such things, still? Skin sensitized, clothes maddeningly tight and irritating, he considered ridding himself of all encumbrance and greeting her at sunset already engaged in dalliance. A pleasant thought, taunting the thrall, and yet he suspected she would not look kindly upon such worship.
Not yet. Perhaps not ever, though it would neither alter his course nor cool his ardor.
Still… it would not do to waste the cloth he had just acquired by tearing it, even if surrounded by a wealth of available goods, textile and otherwise, such as former ages could only dream of. To unbutton, unfasten, unlace, unzip, took no time at all; to gather her into his arms even less. For the short time before dusk he was able to hold a sleeping leman, his nose buried in her spice-fragrant, gloriously tumbled hair, pretending her stillness was acquiescence.
All too soon the sun sank below the earth’s rim. He knew the moment she awakened, though she remained motionless for a few long breaths. He let her bolt from the bed, tearing the sheet in her haste, and caught her next to the door leading tothe suite’s antechamber, her nakedness pressed hard against flat slick modern wallpaper, her arms spread wide, slim frail wrists trapped in his palms.
Gentle enough, but inescapable. He lost himself in the sliding textures, his readiness against the hollow of her lower back, his chin atop her head, denying any movement of retreat, to the side—or forward, through the wall itself.
His leman froze, trembling hard, her scent deepening. After a moment, he could force his true teeth into their camouflage and drop a quiet murmur in her pretty, rosy ear. “Did you think you could escape me?”
He had practiced her accent all through the day, helped along by the vast stew and babble of dialect within the city’s cauldron. Perhaps she would find his speech more acceptable now.
At first he thought she had not heard, but she swallowed hard—pressed so tightly, even that slight movement was discernible. “It was…” Her breath hitched, charmingly, and the trembling intensified. “Worth a try.”
“I see.” He did not have to try to sound amused, and pressed his cheek against her hair, marveling at the texture. She twitched, and his hands clamped her wrists afresh. “Easy now, darlin’. In a little while we shall enjoy each other again, but first I must warn you of a few things. Are you listening? Nod if you understand.”
“Please…” A breathless, forlorn little plea. “Don’t.”
It is necessary you comprehend, my beauty. He had thought much, during the day, upon how to condense the few requirements. “If you attempt to escape, Iwillcatch you, and I will take you until you are fully pleased. Any attempt at self-harm will end in the same manner. I am your sanguinant and your protector, we will go where you wish to and do as you prefer, and you aremine. Do you understand?”
“Don’t.” She gasped, shuddering in great gripping waves. The contrast of warm flesh and chill wall was not so intense, yet she shook as if with mortal ague. “Not this way. Not like this.”
“Do you not enjoy this position?” He shifted slightly, knowing he could lift her a small distance, pin her against the wall, and sink into her from behind. He tensed as if to do so, his grasp on her wrists shifting. “Pity, it seems rather?—”
Whatever he expected it was not sudden, complete limpness, and a high thin sound from a constricted throat. He had heard its like before, though he could not remember just when, and cold dread sawed across the pleasure of holding her so closely.
For the sound she made was the despairing whimper of a fledgling moments before the break, sustaining irreversible physical and psychological damage. Some who created progeny in the Blood deliberately provoked such distress for their own amusement, one more cruel game to stave off calcification. He did not think the strategy wise or worthwhile, not least because callousness was just as much a trap as apathy.
