Midnight in Heat: Snowblind (An Interlude) by Ash Kennedy Part 1: Silver Ballroom Performance Theater New Paltz, Upstate New York 10 Years Later Ten year old Colina MacKinnon stood at Silver Ballroom's front bay window and pressed her face and hands against the etched glass, her cascading fiery red hair framing her features. It was only the beginning of December but already the snow had been falling steadily for the past three nights, and there was talk on the weather stations of a blizzard. Colina hoped this was true. She was tired of coming straight to the theater directly after school. Her parents owned and ran the place and since they didn't want her home alone she was forced to always be there at 3:15pm. She would usually stay until her father, Richard, was done with his work for the day or her mother's stage performance was finished. Colina despised the whole ordeal. It didn't allow her to play with any of her friends, and Silver Ballroom was a boring place to spend her afternoons. It didn't have any television or video games to keep her entertained. In fact, the only electronic appliances in the whole building were a computerized cash register, a telephone, and a battered old radio that her father had saved from the Cold War Era. He also had a laptop computer for organizing the business, but Colina was forbidden to touch that. So Colina wished the blizzard would come and shut everything down for a few days-no, a week. She needed the free time, and she figured that maybe her parents did also. It would be a good thing for her family, even if it meant that they all had to be locked in a house together for awhile. The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Colina out of the depths of her thoughts. She slowly pulled herself away from the glass, leaving frosted white streaks where her warm skin had touched the cold surface, and turned around. Her father was standing not far behind her, wearing a simple black and white suit as he always did. He helped one of the ushers straighten out a row of rope that would be used to herd the audience into the actual stage area and looked up at her with eyes that were as bright green as her own. "We're going to open the doors now, honey," he told her. "Benjamin is sick tonight so why don't you help hand out programs." "Alright, daddy," Colina answered respectively, walking over to where seemingly endless rows of programs were spread out on a red- clothed table. "Oh, and pumpkin?" her father added. Colina grabbed a handful of programs and took her place at the side of the table. "Yes, daddy?" "Is it alright if we stick around to watch your mother's performance tonight? This is a new play we're sampling, and she has the starring role. It would mean a lot to her if we both attended." Colina shuffled through a program she held, gathering backround information on the play. It had been written by a student that was attending the nearby SUNY New Paltz University, and was about artistic revolution and something called 'Stonewall.' Colina didn't know what 'Stonewall' was but it sounded interesting. "Alright," she agreed. "I don't mind staying if it's for mommy." "Great." Richard smiled warmly at his daughter. "Shall we let the guests in now?" Colina nodded. The ushers and concession stand workers took their respective places, and Richard pulled on a pair of white gloves. "And the curtain rises," he muttered to himself. Then, with a flourish, he pulled the lobby doors open and prepared himself for the throng of guests. XXX Colina was down to her last program and the last couple in her row, and she was ecstatic. She handed the thick book to one of the two men with almost a sigh of relief. Handing out Programs for the last twenty minutes had been hard work. "Thank you," the man said as he took the booklet from her. It was the first 'thank you' she had heard all night and so she looked up. "Your welcome," she replied, and was nearly struck speechless. The man was hot, like something out of those teen magazines that her mother sometimes bought her, and she found herself staring at him. His sparkling black eyes held her gaze, reminding her of the family of crows that had been nesting on top of her house for the last month, and his hair that seemed as if it had been slicked back at some point hung messily around his head and in his face. The other gentleman who was with him was just as well off with his looks. He had a head of spiky blond hair that made him look cute in a boyish sort of way, and gentle pale blue eyes. The only hint of his age was the patch of stubble that outlined his face. Colina's gaze went back to the black haired one. He was dressed entirely in black-a black long sleeved v-neck, black khakis, black patent leather shoes-but there was something else about him that was making her uneasy. Something almost--predatory. Predatory? What kind of way was that to describe someone, let alone a person she didn't even know? Maybe being at Silver Ballroom too much was indeed getting to her, or maybe it was the fact that a man who looked like a movie star was standing right in front of her. Whatever the case was, she shook her head and dragged herself out of the clouds. "Enjoy the show," she told the pair, and then turned to hurry off and meet her father. "Don't worry, we most definitely will," she heard the man with the black hair call back to her. For a reason unknown to her own mind, she found herself suppressing a shudder. XXX Richard handed his daughter a bright blue box that read 'Goobers' as he ascended the stairs, shooting her a warm smile. "I'm sorry about us missing supper for the night. This will just have to do until we get home," he told her grimly. "That's alright, daddy," Colina replied, swiping the candy from his hand greedily. She gave the label a brief once over before attacking the shrink-wrap with a zealousness that would have rivaled any substance addict. It made crisp crinkling noises but didn't tear. "I can never get these things open," she complained. "I'll do it." Richard took the Goobers from her as they reached the top step. He pressed his gloved thumb gingerly against the side of the box, where the outline of the perforated edge could be seen under the wrapping. Both plastic and cardboard gave way under the pressure, and the fresh opening formed a spout for the candy to pass through. "Here," Richard said, handing the box back to her and walking up to the carved wooden door that lead to the best seats in the house: the balcony area. "Now, don't eat too much at once or you'll get a bellyache." Richard opened the door for her and let her pass before closing it behind them. The pushing-fifty usher that stood in the main chamber, William by name, smiled at them as they went by. "Enjoy the show," he said aloud, and winked at Colina. Colina giggled in response and Richard thanked him as they pushed opened the barrier made of heavy red velvet draping and entered the seating area. Colina shook some Goobers into her hand as they took their seats. It was the only balcony in the fairly large theater and only five red-plush chairs occupied it. Her father had told her this was because customers who paid for these pricey seats were usually not the casual viewers. They were connoisseurs of the arts and wanted minimal distraction and optimized viewing. Colina didn't care much about either. She just liked the balcony seating because it was comfortable and private. Unfortunately her father and she weren't the only people sitting in the balcony that night. As she stuffed some of the chocolate candies into her mouth and looked up, Colina found herself staring at the back of a black-haired head. She stopped chewing and swallowed loudly. The spiky blond was there too, sitting in front of her father and engaged in a seemingly comical debate with his companion. The two of them kept chuckling softly at each other's quips and Colina found she was slightly amused by their antics. She didn't quite understand why, but the uneasy feeling she had felt around them earlier had been replaced with something akin to--well, she could only describe it to herself as a certain comfortability. It was a bizarre way to feel about two complete strangers, but the whole situation was unfathomable so she shrugged it off, decided to ignore the men, and turned to speak to her father. "Is it almost time for the show to start?" she asked, trying to make conversation as well as pass the time. Her father glanced down at his watch. "Yes, just about." He picked up the program that was resting in his lap and began to flip through it casually. "You should enjoy this play. It's a lot like that one you made me let you watch a dozen times this past summer. You know, the comedy about the widowed mother and her son who writes bad fiction? Oh, what was that called again?" "All the Wrong Words?" Colina supplied, smiling. Her mother hadn't starred in that play, but she had loved it all the same. She had thought it particularly delightful that, besides the widowed mother and her son, all of the women's roles had been played by men and vice versa. Her father had told her that playing another gender for a role was not something unique to that particular show and that even in modern day Japan there was a type of theatre called Kabuki where the roles of women, known as geishas on stage, were played exclusively by men. She was amazed by this information, as she often was by her father's theatre knowledge, and was pleased when her father appreciated her enthusiasm over the subject by buying her books on Kabuki. She still stared at those same books for hours, ogling over the large glossy pictures and the eerie feminine qualities of the painted men. "I didn't like that play," her father commented, bringing her mind back into focus. "The only reason I let it run a long time was because you enjoyed it." Colina glanced at the audience below for a brief moment and noticed that the orchestra pit was empty. She cheered inwardly, glad that the play was not going to be a musical. She hated musicals. Half the time they were boring and the plots were usually old-fashioned. "I know, daddy," she answered mechanically. "The screenplay was hackneyed and the acting was shit but you needed something to run for the fall season." Richard chuckled. "Watch your mouth, young lady," Colina smiled innocently at him. "I was only repeating what you thought about it." Richard shook his head. "I know, I know." He smiled back at her. "Just don't go around say-" "Mr. MacKinnon?" Richard turned away form his daughter as the voice interrupted him and a hand came down on his shoulder. William was standing before him, his features pasty and drawn and a look of near-panic dancing in his eyes. "What is it, William?" Richard asked, sensing the urgency that was pulling the older man's nerves taught. "Sir, we can't start the show." Richard stood up, a feeling of dread washing over him. Something was very wrong. "What?" he questioned, panic started to creep along inside him. "Why not? What's going on?" "We're not sure yet, but we-" "What do you mean you're not sure?" Richard demanded, his voice harsh and clipped. "What's happened that we can't raise the curtain?" "Well--." William trailed off. "Well what?" Richard barked. "I don't really want to say in front of Colina." Richard looked at his daughter, who was frowning and staring at him. "Daddy, what's wrong?" she asked. "Nothing, pumpkin," he answered. "Everything's ok." Colina shook her head, her red mane whipping back and forth. "No, you look too scared for everything to be ok. Something's happened, hasn't it?" Richard stood silently and William looked at a loss for words. Neither knew how to react without frightening the child. "Tell me what's going on, daddy, please," Colina pleaded, her voice nearly trembling. William couldn't stand holding back any longer. "Somebody from the audience has been killed," he found himself blurting out, and had to choke back on a sob of shear terror. "My God," Richard whispered, his muscles going rigid and the blood suddenly draining from his face. Colina shuddered and clutched her stomach as a wave of nausea passed over her. Whatever bad news she was expecting it hadn't been this. "Apparently they went out for a cigarette," William went on, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his face. Every few words he stuttered. "When they didn't come back after twenty minutes somebody went after them and found them with--." William wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. "There were only pieces left, sir, and it was definitely some kind of animal. It left paw tracks in the snow." "Have the police been notified?" Richard choked out. "They're on their way." Richard inhaled deeply, slowly regaining his composure. "Good. Make an announcement that the play in cancelled for tonight but everyone is to remain in the auditorium until further notice. Don't let anyone out. Barricade the doors if you have to. If there is an animal loose, then we want to take all necessary precautions to make sure that nobody else gets hurt." "Yes, sir." William plucked a standard issue walkie talkie from his belt and readied it to for use. "I'm going downstairs to wait for the police. Get someone to stand outside the balcony's main door and make sure Colina and those two don't go anywhere." Richard made a gesture at the pair of men who had been sitting in front of his daughter and he. They were twisted around in their seats, enraptured by what was going on. "Please try to keep a handle on things. We don't need a full house of frightened patrons." William nodded and exited through the heavy velvet draping, the walkie-talkie pressed close to his mouth as he radioed somebody Richard's orders. "Don't move from here," Richard told his daughter. "Everything is going to be alright so just hang on." "Ok," Colina answered softly. "Don't worry about me." Richard bent down and kissed his daughter lightly on the forehead. "Don't bother the two gentleman too much." "I won't." "I'll see you in about an hour or so." Colina nodded and took her seat. Without further conversation her father swiftly turned from her and left the balcony. Colina choked back tears as he exited and wished desperately for her mother. Part 2: It was a full ten minutes after her father had left that Colina went through the first wave of fidgeting. It began with the uncomfortability of the plush seat and then worked its way up to a general irritation until she could stand it no longer. Frustrated, she jumped up and went to stand by where the two gentlemen were leaning over the rail and staring down at the audience, involved in a serious conversation. The balcony doorman had come in earlier and given them a bottle of wine and so they drank that, the spiky haired blond gulping down glass after glass while the black haired man drank in long sips that were almost thoughtful. He seemed to be the calmer one in handling the predicament, so Colina noted. "We should find a way to get out of here," she caught the blond saying as she strode up to the railing. "There's no reason that we should have to be barricaded like this." "They're just taking precautions," the calmer one told him smoothly. "It doesn't seem to be anything they can't handle." "What do you mean?" The blond ran a sweaty hand through his hair, ruffling it. The calm one raised his glass to his lips and chugged the rest of his wine. "I don't sense anything." "Oh." There was a dragging silence between them and Colina used this as an opportunity to impose on them. "Excuse me," she said softly as she looked down towards patent leather shoes, hoping she wasn't interfering with something personal. The calm one turned slowly to face her and the blond's attention was suddenly focused on her. Both of their faces looked unopened and hostile at first but then the black haired one's melted into a dazzling smile and the tension in the other's jaw eased a bit. "Ah, hello there," the black-haired one greeted, Colina detecting an undercurrent of an accent in his perfect English. "I was wondering when you would come and join us." "Huh?" Colina asked, her brows knitting together in befuddlement. Her gaze lifted but only to the man's waist level. She didn't know whether he was hinting at something or just a bit too intoxicated. She imagined it was the latter. "Are you afraid of us?" he asked her. Colina's gaze shot upward and she locked foliage-green eyes with his velvet-midnight ones, noticing he was still smiling lazily. The mirth didn't reach his eyes, however, and it reminded her of the Greek statues she had seen as a child, the ones with the blank stares. Still, it didn't invoke the original stirrings of dread that she had felt when she had first seen the two, and it didn't shake the comfortability she had experienced earlier. "No," she answered, not entirely sure. "Then why did you not approach us until now?" "I was just--trying not to bother you, is all." "I see." He was still for a moment, giving Colina the impression he was pondering something. "Were you not afraid, though, when you handed us our programs at the beginning of the evening? Did you not feel like the hapless deer in the eyes of the slavering wolf?" Colina went the color of sour milk and took a shaky step back. Her gaze on him never faltered as one hand shot out to grip the railing for support, her knuckles going white with the pressure. The man was about to continue, but the blond clamped a hand down on his shoulder and leaned in close to him. "Take it easy, there," he said. "She's just a kid. Look, you're freaking her out." Colina agreed on the 'freaked' part. The man's words had sent the nauseating churning in her guts that had come from the murder news into overdrive. It now felt as if there were not tidal waves but a full-out war raging within her stomach, threatening to purge the Goobers she had consumed earlier. And the man's words--that haunting echo of the prey's fear of the predator--the way he had pinpointed her fear. It was simply incomprehensible. The blond sighed and stepped forward, pushing his companion out of the way. "Forgive my friend," he apologized. "He's a bit--tipsy." Colina nodded only half-processing what the man was saying. The black-haired man shot out a string of rapid-fire words in some foreign language that the blond replied to in the same tongue. They looked at each other briefly, the blond shrugging, and then the black-haired stepped forward. "Yes, please forgive me," he told Colina, who had let go of the railing but was still an unhealthy shade of pale. "I was a bit uncouth." "It's alright," Colina replied, easing out of shock and into the comfort of reality. The bizarre atmosphere that had engulfed the balcony only moments before was receding into an air of normalcy again. "I just want to know what--no, how did you, you know. How'd you figure out I was afraid? I mean--uh, well, it was weird an all. 'Cause I was thinking of that predator thing." Colina bit her lip and looked troubled. The man eased himself down into one of the balcony's plush seats and leaned back, crossing one foot over one knee. "Perhaps I should introduce us before we delve that deeply," he said. "I'm Damon Salvatore and this is Matt Honeycutt. We're from Italy but we're on a little expedition. The usual routine of hunting down the missing artifact." Colina nodded, even though she didn't know what he was on about. "I'm Colina MacKinnon," she told them. "My father owns this theatre." "Really?" Matt inquired, blue eyes clear and serious. "Yes. I was going to tell you two before that I knew a way you could get out of here." "Good, then you can show us the way out right now," Damon told her. Colina shot him a look. "Fine, but I still want to hear how you knew about my feelings. For some reason I'm getting the impression it doesn't have much to do with psychic abilities." Colina instantly regretted her words when Matt's eyes went suddenly cold and the look on Damon's face darkened. What the hell was she thinking, saying something like that? Obviously it had struck some chord in the two men and, judging from the state of things, the consequences weren't in her favor. "I'm sorry," she offered quickly in apology, looking down at her worn sneakers. "I didn't mean to offend you in any way." Damon uncrossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, narrowing his eyes at her. "No offense taken. You just startled us, that's all." He paused to brush a strand of hair out of his face and steal a glance at Matt, whose eyebrows were in his hair. "You do have a deal, though. You get us out of this building and I'll tell you everything you want to know. You have my word." "Well--." Colina looked from Damon, who was smiling pleasantly, to Matt's stony face, then finally to the murmuring audience below them. "Ok. I'll do it." She left the railing and walked over to where the velvet draping separated the balcony from the parlor, pulling back on the heavy draping. "Just follow me through here." Damon stood up and was about to follow behind Colina when Matt grabbed him by the arm and held him back. "What the hell are you doing?" he whispered harshly. Damon gently pried himself out of Matt's grip and smoothed his shirt out, his mouth still twisted in a whimsical smile. "Don't worry. I have something in mind." "You're not gonna--?" Matt trailed off and frowned. "I said don't worry about it." "But--what she said before--." "The thing about the psychic abilities?" Matt nodded. Damon chuckled softly. "She may be a bit oversensitive to my kind. Nothing phenomenal there." "I don't think it's that." "Matthew-" "Don't call me that name." Damon sighed and glanced briefly over his shoulder, taking note of Colina waiting patiently by the draping for them. "Just let me handle this, alright?" Matt rolled his eyes and shook his head, walking towards where Colina was standing. "Fine. You're the expert," he snapped, not even bothering to turn around while he was speaking. Damon didn't even try to answer him. He knew well enough not to argue when Matt was in one of his moods. It was better just to let him ride out his anger until he was feeling calmer, and that probably wouldn't be until they were safely back at their hotel where they could have a little R&R. The day had turned out to be truly nerve-racking, harboring no results in their search, as was the routine for the past two weeks. Alazuria and Alex had tried their best to let them kick back and take it easy, but Damon had felt they were close to something and had had to strive onward. It was a ridiculous idea. Looking back, he figured he should've realized it was just another dead end they had been heading into. Why did Ruffian have to give Alazuria that package of scrolls before she left Fell's Church anyway? For the last year, since the time in which Alazuria had learned to discipline and control her dragon nature, that was all the four of them ever thought about: The scrolls that held the ancient mysteries and the secret magic of the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons. That wasn't even the gist of it, though. The scrolls Ruffian had given Alazuria were only guidelines for a sacred journey. She would have to piece the puzzle together herself if she wanted to embark on it, which is why she had dragged all of them to New Paltz, New York in the first place. The journey was to begin here. That was, if they could figure out what exactly they were supposed to do now that they had arrived in the right place. Damon sighed again. He hoped they would find out soon so that they could go back to Italy. He missed his estate amongst the grassy fields of Florence, and the way he would take his prized horse out for a run every day just as dusk was settling. He was homesick, and he wanted to get the hell out of the States as soon as possible. He would simply go mad if he had to bare it any longer Putting his hands in his pockets and striding towards the exit, he hoped for their search to be nearly over. XXX "This is it." Colina stepped softly off the last stair of the dark and dirt encrusted staircase and pointed at a solid metal door that read, in chipped bold type red letters, 'EMERGENCY EXIT.' She reached out towards the fading white door handle beneath the lettering and made a small fist around it. The door refused to budge as she tugged backward, grunting with the effort. She tried again, using both hands, but still to no avail. "Here, let me try it." Damon came up behind her and gently pushed her aside. She watched raptly as he grabbed the handle and wrenched it backward. There was a harsh grinding noise, the creak of metal scraping against metal, and the door swung inward. "Shit," Colina said, impressed, and immediately thought of what her father would say if he caught her cursing. Probably something along the lines of 'Watch your mouth' or- "That's not the way young ladies should talk." Colina looked sharply up at Damon and found he was staring at her. The corners of his mouth were turned upward and there was something in his gaze that reminded her of mischievous felines. "That was what you were thinking, right?" he asked her. Colina opened her mouth, shut it, and turned to look at Matt. He was behind her, half obscured by the shadows of the darkened stairwell. Suddenly Colina felt as if she was being cornered. Just like a frantic animal in a cage, with two very dangerous creatures blocking all the possible exits. She was trapped. "I said I would tell you how I could read your mind if you showed us the way out of the theater." Damon's smile grew wider and Colina's heart nearly stopped as she watched the tips of his canine teeth lengthen, sharpen, and turn into weapons quite capable of tearing through flesh. "Damon," Matt said softly, but there was no reply. "I don't need to know anything about you," Colina forced out as she took a step backward, her voice shaking with slowly spiraling fear. Tears welled up in her eyes and she clamped her front teeth down hard on her bottom lip. "Just--leave, get out of here, ok?" Damon looked at her, his eyes alight with a strange glow. "No," he answered simply and took a step forward. Colina's stomach lurched and she backed up until she was pressed against the face of the rough cement wall behind her. She watched as Damon advanced on her slowly, each of his footsteps echoing loudly as they hit the smooth floor and mimicked the pace of her rapidly pumping heart. She bowed her head and shut her eyes so tightly that a headache instantly blossomed in her temples. "Stop it, Damon." Matt's voice was harsher this time, and he had stepped forward so that he was following at Damon's side. Damon merely glanced at him then slid to his knees in front of Colina. The girl looked up and her eyes opened, instantly focusing on Damon. "Why are you so afraid of me?" he asked letting out a laugh that made her shiver and clutch herself tightly. "This isn't right," Matt protested, his voice becoming a growl. Damon held his hand up and didn't bother to look in Matt's general direction, indicating he wanted silence. He leaned forward and stared into Colina's eyes. Colina felt the hungry fire of his gaze, could sense the concentrated intensity behind his dark pupils. Predator eyes, her mind whispered. Eyes used for picking out prey and keeping them snarled in the thralls of fear. They were the eyes of the hunter, eyes that swept their gaze upon hapless victims and laughed at their inferiority. "Oh God," Colina choked out and looked away. A strong hand seized her by the chin and brought her head back in the line of sight. "I wont hurt you, "Damon assured her, grabbing her shoulder with his other hand. "No!" Colina protested, trying to break his grip on her, struggling in the tight bands of his grasp. "Please--just go away." He ignored her objections and encircled his arms around her, one winding around her waist and the other supporting her back. Gently he pulled her down to his chest and winced as she fought against him the entire way. "No, no, no--." she was sobbing with her face pressed against his soft shirt. He stroked her hair to calm her, pushing it to the side to reveal the smooth expanse of her small neck. Damon's veins were on fire, the yearning for the hot copper taste of blood unbearable now that he was so close to warm, pulsating flesh. He could hold back on his hunger no longer. Colina's muscles tightened as she felt him lean in, felt his cool breath lightly beating against her skin. And then he struck. Part 3: Colina gasped and jerked reflexively in his grip as his fangs pierced her skin and plunged into an artery. There was a single moment of hot, blinding pain and then nothing but the distant thrum that pounded in her ears. She was dimly aware that it was the rhythmic pumping of her own heart. It went on like this for several moments, Colina in a blissful daze and Damon snarled in the clutches of hunger and ecstasy as he drank deeply from her. "Goddam it!" Matt shouted without warning, and suddenly both Colina's and Damon's worlds were shattered. A cry of shear agony escaped from Colina's lips as Damon quickly pulled his mouth away from her, bringing her crashing back into reality. She looked up at him, stared long and hard with wide emerald eyes at the dripping skin of blood that coated his teeth and lips, and then she was thrashing against him and trying to break free. Flailing arms and legs pounded against him until he was unable to hold her any longer. Hissing, his eyes narrowed to slits, he wrenched her aside and held her at bay until he was able to get to his feet. Even then she wouldn't stop fighting him and, fed up, he slid his hand up to her collar and gave a her one good hard shake. "That's quite enough," he growled, his voice low and furious. Colina stopped thrashing and, her eyes spilling over and her shoulders hunching to make her appear smaller, burst into tears. Damon's manner went from fumed to a state of dismay almost instantly. Sighing, he let go of Colina and stepped back as he watched her sink to the ground and wrap her arms around her legs, head tucked low and body quivering with sobs. "She's just a child," Matt said simply, coming to stand behind her. "I just--." He stopped mid-sentence as he watched Damon's face darken into that of a stranger's. Defeated, he slumped and focused his gaze on the crown of Colina's head. "Forget it." "I was hungry," Damon shot back defensively. Matt didn't look up. "Yeah, well, you could've fed from me you know." Damon let out a breath and his anger slowly began to dissipate. It was a good minute before he spoke again, this time with an unsettling calmness. "Let's not argue about this now. We really should be getting the hell out of here." Matt squatted in place and reached out towards Colina. She flinched as his hand wound through her hair and caressed it almost lovingly. "We can't just leave. We have to take her with us." "Are you mad? We can't just take her back to the hotel." Matt looked up at Damon and scowled. "Then at least we should bring her to a hospital." Damon scoffed. "You truly have lost it, haven't you?" "You bit her, Damon, and you didn't finish the job. You of all people should know that now she's your responsibility." "Yes, you're right, I suppose." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Why bring her with us, though? I can just erase her memory. She'll never remember what happened tonight." "And she'll bleed to death." Matt gritted his teeth and tried not to scream. "Damon it's--she's only a kid. You can't just leave her here alone and irrational. How is her mind going to deal with this even if you did erase her memory?" Damon opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He seemed to be pondering something and he focused on Matt as he did so. "Alright," he finally agreed, speaking slowly and precise. "Well take her back to the hotel so that we can fix whatever damage I've caused. But after that we're bringing her right back." "Understood." Matt picked the still sobbing Colina up gently and was glad when she didn't try to fight him. He handed her over to Damon, who hefted her on his shoulder as if she didn't weigh a thing at all. "Let's go," he told Matt, and without another word stepped through the door. He was instantly pelted with winds that whipped fiercely at him and cold snow that was descending so rapidly the visibility factor was almost zero. "Shit," he heard Matt whisper as he stepped up to his side. "We're not going to be able to drive in this, are we?" Damon shook snow from his hair and turned towards Matt. "I'm afraid not." Matt groaned as if in pain. "What do we do, then, besides going back inside?" Damon was silent for several moments. "I have absolutely no idea," he finally concluded. "Great." Matt slapped a palm against his forehead and shook his head, the snowflakes that had accumulated on him fluttering to the already snow laden ground as he did so. "This is just perfect. Once again you royally fuck everything up and have no clue about how to fix things. Very nice." Matt brought his hand away and shot Damon a dirty look. Damon growled at him in response. "This isn't my fault," he objected. "I was just trying to take some of the pressure off things. How was I supposed to know the night would turn out to be a disaster?" "The same way I should've known you'd turn out to be an asshole when I first agreed to be your lover. Intuition." Damon's initial anger dissipated almost instantly, but what was to come was far worse. The look in his eyes went suddenly from fury to a coldness that chilled Matt so deeply he actually stepped back. Damon regarded this and raised an eyebrow, his mouth creased into a tight, humorless smile. "You're being particularly obnoxious tonight," he said cheerily, but Matt knew him too well. He had been Damon's lover long enough to recognize the thread of vehemence that ran beneath his words. Matt's breathing was becoming heavy, the air rising from his mouth in tiny white clouds. "Don't play with me, Damon. I've had just enough of your bullshit as I can take for the last two weeks." "Growing wary of me?" Damon's voice was neutral, controlled, but Matt thought he could sense something akin to genuine concern in it. He decided to play on that adding a few expletives in for good measure. "Actually I am, you fucking guinea bastard." Damon remained still, calmly staring, and for a moment Matt thought he had actually succeeded in insulting him without encountering his wrath. But then Damon slid Colina off of him and gently to the ground, and eased himself out of his jacket. Gingerly he rolled the long sleeves of his black v-neck up to his elbows, his gaze never wavering. "Let's get one thing straight, Matt," he said, his voice livid yet barely rising over his normal tone. "You don't ever, ever refer to me as a 'guinea.'" "Why, will it hurt your pride?" Matt didn't know what had possessed him, but he was feeling particularly spiteful that evening. So much that he was willing to deliberately bait Damon. Damon's eyes were smoldering. Without a word he closed the gap between Matt and he in two furious steps. The position he struck, hands clenched into fists at his sides so tightly that the thick cords of veins protruded from beneath the skin of his forearms, was poised for attack, thrumming with potential violence. Matt backed away a step or two but fixed himself into a defensive stance and stood his ground. If Damon was willing to draw blood he would draw blood as well. He would not submit to Damon's temper so easily this time, cowering at the merely vicious string of threats that were often thrown at him, and he would not back down in the face of the searing agony that was to come. He waited, counting his heartbeats, expecting Damon to finally send a fist ploughing in his general direction but the air remained still as the winter storm blew harshly around them and Damon didn't even so much as twitch. The stood eye-to-eye, Matt growing impatient and doubtful as the time wore on and Damon didn't make a move. Suspicions about Damon's intentions blossomed in his mind and he found himself poised between backing off and making the first strike. His final decision was on the former and he let down his defenses, his body slumping after its long stint of stationary rigid ness. That's when the soft spray of snow that was kicked up around the silent and nearly unnoticeable transgression of Damon's body moving from stagnant into attack caught his eye. He registered it quickly enough to step backwards, but apparently it wasn't quick enough to avoid the oncoming assault. The full weight of Damon's body slammed into his midsection and suddenly his world went upside down and melted into a blinding white. He hit the snow-covered ground hard, rolling with the momentum of the impact and finally ending up sprawled haphazardly on top of Damon, who grabbed him around the shoulders as soon as he could get a secure grip. Matt was still recovering from being tossed about like a rag doll when Damon effortlessly flipped him on to the snow belly up and straddled his thighs, knees to either side of them. He leaned forward and pushed his hands through the snow, uneven indentations crumbling around his fingers and molding to their shape. Matt tilted his head upward to meet Damon's eyes and was met with a smirk that any politician would have been jealous of. Slowly he ran his gaze down the hovering length of the body above him and gave his own little smirk when he saw that half of Damon was covered in thick patches of powdery white snowflakes and that his hair was sleek and wet, dripping and speckled with even larger patches of snow. "You look like shit," he commented, and then made an extra show of snickering. Damon scowled, but only half-heartedly. "Oh--shut up with your witless banter, already." He looked down at himself briefly before turning on a full fledges smile. "Or I'll make you lick the snow off my shirt." Matt's sobered up almost instantly. "You can't make me," he taunted. "Of course I can. Watch." Damon sat up on his knees and yanked his reddening hands out of the finger-shaped pockets he had made, scooping a mound of snow from around his collar. Before a hand could be raised to stop him, he shoved the substance between Matt's lips. Matt spit it back out almost instantly, narrowly avoiding hitting Damon with the glop. "So, are we even for tonight's repartee now?" Damon asked when Matt had composed himself. Matt sat up slowly, a smile dancing on his face as he rubbed it clean. "Only if I can dump snow down the back of your shirt." "Request denied." "Then you're still a guinea bastard." Damon raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well, I guess you enjoy the taste of snow. Maybe you'd like some more." He reached to retrieve a second handful of the substance from his shirt but this time Matt balked and tried to squirm free. At about that time he realized Damon's weight on his legs was keeping him pinned firmly in place. "Get off me!" Matt growled, gritting his teeth and trying in vain to free himself. Damon waved the handful of snow in his face. "Not until you eat this," he replied, giving a bare teeth smile. "Goddamn you." Matt scowled and tugged harder. "Come on. You said we were even." "That was before you called me a 'guinea bastard' again." "I was only kidding. Let me go!" "Eat the snow and I'll let you up. Come on, it's not so bad. It's almost like one of those, eh, what are they called again, Slurpees? Only natural. Add a little artificial flavoring and I bet it would taste the same." "Go to hell, Damon. I'm not eating no snow again." Damon gave a phony sigh. "Well I guess I'll just have to force feed you." "That isn't funny! You stick that hand near my mouth and I swear I'll bite off every single-" Damon cut him off suddenly with a raised hand, reluctantly letting the snow he had been holding drop in a crumbling pile. "Quiet," he commanded, his head cocked to one side. Matt knew all the telltale signs of Damon's hunting instincts kicking in, the rigidity of the muscles, the steady gaze, the way he sat listening raptly. Something was close by; close enough that it was triggering predatory reactions in Damon. And somehow Matt had the feeling it wasn't human. Damon rose slowly then and stepped over Matt, each footstep careful, precise, silent as they made heavy-lined impressions in the snow. "What is it?" Matt whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder the hidden creature would hear and come crashing through the brush after them. Damon squinted against the onslaught of the blinding snowstorm and scanned the surrounding woods, pupils dilated to the extent. "It's a bear," he said softly. Matt was on his feet in seconds. "Oh fuck," he exclaimed breathily. "You serious?" "Does the words 'it's coming this way' mean anything to you?" Matt went instantly pale and nearly stumbled over the small, unconscious bundle that was lying nearby in the snow. Confused, he stared at it for a long while until he realized it was the girl Damon had attacked, Colina. Stooping over he scooped her up in his arms and pressed her hard against his chest all the while one watchful eye awaiting the arrival of the bear. XXX Before either of them could figure out a means of escape, a voice broke through the rush of the storm winds, coming from behind them. "Before you attempt anything, brothers, you should know that the black bear over there is called Ursus Rex." Both Damon and Matt turned to see at what first glance appeared to be an overgrown Lynx, almost as big and wide around as a pony. But then, as it rose up on its hind legs, uncoiling to a full seven feet, and the scraps of animal hide that hung loosely around its body and served as a form of clothing came into clear view, they knew that what they faced was of the Were variety. The animal opened its mouth and displayed its sharp teeth, as if to frighten them. "Ursus Rex is the guardian of these sacred woods," he told them, his wide amber tinted eyes rolling in their sockets as he looked one of them over then the other. "He dislikes intruders, especially those of the vampire and human kind. You should leave this place before your presence irritates him further." Damon looked like he was rolling some idea over in his head, his brow furrowing in thought. "Sacred woods?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "It's not for you to know nor understand. Now go." "Answer my question first." The Werelynx hissed and took a step forward, his smooth gray pelt bristling in warning. "You are treading on forbidden territory, brother. Go back to where you came from or I'll give you to Ursus Rex as a snack." Damon's temper quickly flared up and he fought to keep it in check, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides as he tried to hold back the rage that consumed his entire body. The Sacred Woods had something to do with why they had made an expedition here. He could feel the truth behind the thought, the clandestine knowledge that lurked behind the Werelynx's eyes. He was so close to the answers. So close--. Part 4: "Damon?" came Matt's voice, breaking through the onslaught of his thoughts. That one question that meant nothing and was absent of any tone to indicate the inquiry that would follow was the straw that broke the camel's back. Damon flew into a rage, baring his sharpened canine teeth and snarling at the Wereanimal, all but throwing himself in the creature's face. "You forget your place, cat!" he spat, letting his voice ring with authority. "I am your bloodkin, and you deny me the supposedly important information that I have requested. The Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons would not approve of this behaviour." As soon as Damon had finished, he knew the words had not been his own. They had come from somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, were from some ancient tangled thread of knowledge that had been passed down to him through his dragon lineage; the lineage he shared with his daughter Alazuria. Wherever the words had originated from, they had had their desired effect. The Werelynx had stopped bristling and backed up a few steps, all but cringing. "Forgive me," he said slowly, flattening his tufted ears against his skull. "I wasn't aware you were associated with the Order. These are the woods of the dragonkin, but it's rare that I come across any of them." Damon grinned and was about to say something when a thunderous, rumbling moan seemed to fill the air around them. "Was that-" Matt broke off and let his jaw flop open as the largest, fiercest looking black bear he had ever seen materialized out of the snow storm and stopped a mere three feet away from him. He choked on air, trying to ignore the liquid fear that was quickly snaking through his blood. Ursus Rex snarled and bared two gleaming rows of sharp teeth, his beady glass-marble eyes focusing on Matt. "These woods be sacred." The voice that escaped his mouth was twisted and hardly more then a growl, barely comprehendible. "You not dragonkin. You not belong here." Matt struggled to keep his grip on Colina, his chest heaving and his blue eyes wide with fright. "He came with a dragonkin associated with the Pentateuch Black Order," the Werelynx spoke up, he himself looking anxious in the company of the Guardian. "His presence here is-" "Silence!" The Werelynx flinched at the ferocity and intensity of Ursus Rex's voice. "Even if he be here with dragonkin, he still be human. No humans permitted in sacred woods. Penalty be death." Damon stepped forward, putting himself between Ursus Rex and Matt as if to serve as a barrier. "I wont allow that," he said slowly, each word filled with a frighteningly calm sense of menace. The Guardian laughed, a harsh gravelly sound. "You be a fool, dragonkin," he growled. "You no have power over Guardian. You be killed easy." Damon narrowed his eyes. "Don't be so sure. I've brought down harder prey then you without barely breaking a sweat." The Guardian hissed. "Fine. We see if you stop me before I eat human." With that, Ursus Rex launched himself forward. Damon had bare seconds to see the powerful leap and devise an attack. There was no way he could hold up to the Guardian's strength as a human. He needed a body that was quick and fierce; something supple and dangerous. Something that could rend and tear flesh in a heartbeat, scratch deep enough to cause serious damage. He felt the first stirrings of the change, felt his nails lengthening into claws and a tail unfurling from the base of his spine, but there was something not quite right. There was too much extra bulk to his body, and the bloodlust that sang in his veins was far more overpowering then anything he had ever felt when he was in wolf form. The Black Panther leaped gracefully in a display of sinewy muscles and collided head-on with the Guardian bear, sending them both plummeting to the ground. Wasting no time it attacked, its claws and fangs going for any available chunk of flesh. Ursus Rex roared as the panther tore at him mercilessly, showing no signs of letting up on the assault. Furious and not able to stand the pain any longer, he wrapped a claw around the panther's neck, making sure he had a secure grip, tore it from where it had dug its nails into his furred chest, and flung it towards the nearest tree. Its spine hit the trunk with a sickening crack and it slid into an unmoving, crumpled pile in the snow. With the aversion taken care of, Ursus Rex turned towards Matt. "You next," he said. Matt held Colina tight to him, his skin the color of soured milk. As the bear advanced, his muscles went watery and sent him crashing to his knees. There was nothing he could do now. If he ran, the bear would hunt him down. If he fought, he would die in agony. Nothing he could do but protect the child. "Are you going to hurt the girl?" he asked the Guardian crazily on a whim, his voice hardly more then a whisp of sound floating on the wind torrents of the snowstorm. "No," the bear replied surprisingly. "She not be human. She be very special." Matt lowered Colina to the snow wondering about the cryptic comment, but there was no time for more questions. Urses Rex was already upon him. He squeezed his eyes shut. There was a blinding flash of pain across his chest and Matt had to stop himself from crying out. Then another flash of pain. Another. And another until he finally screamed. Christ, the bear was going to kill him slowly. The next hit sent him sprawling. His eyes flung upon as he landed face down in the blood-tainted snow. He felt teeth bite into his shoulder and tug fiercely. Kill me. Just kill me, he thought as sobs of pain wracked his body. And then suddenly, when he was sure he was at the threshold of death, something hard and solid cracked against the back of his skull. He had a moment to hear the sounds of two bodies tussling, and a strangled yowl of pain, and then everything went black. Thankfully, he sunk deep down into the depths of his unconscious and was oblivious to all else from then on. XXX Colina awoke surrounded by darkness, propelled into the waking world by the sound of a hoarse and wordless cry so bursting with agony that it set her teeth on edge. Whoever had made that noise had to be in immense pain, and whatever had caused it had to be real bad. A knot of worry hardening in her guts, she wriggled free of the covers that blanketed her body and sat up. As her vision adjusted, the blackness around her slowly withdrew. Shades of grey began to take shape and formed recognizable objects: a window with the shade pulled down, an old furnace that rattled softly, the mattress beneath her, and the wooden planks that formed the walls and the floor. Slowly she came to the realization that she was in a strange bed in some type of log cabin, and that she hadn't the faintest how she had come to be there. Confused she swung her feet over the side of the bed and stared hard at them, trying to collect thoughts that were evading her every grasp. Memories fluttered through her mind like jittery butterflies, glimpses of events that had occurred--when? A night ago? A week ago? She couldn't remember. She had no sense of time, no recollection of proceedings. What had happened to her? What was happening now? She couldn't even begin to fathom it. "Ah, I see you're up, sister." Colina slowly lifted her gaze away from her feet and focused her attention on the man coming towards her. He was tall, with large amber eyes set in a slightly broad face and a mane of tangled silver hair that hung in clumps over his forehead and fell down past his shoulders. His clothing was more like what Colina was used to seeing on a theater stage then in real life. The only real garments he wore were a pair of khaki shorts that had severely been cut short and a pair of leather wrist sheaths that covered his forearms up to the elbows. The rest of the outfit was just strips of tanned animal hide that circled around the length of him, expanses of cream-tinted skin filling in the gaps between them. "Are you hungry?" he asked slowly as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed, and Colina noticed his voice was almost like slow thunder; a demanding rumble. She shook her head. "Alright. Let us make haste with introductions, then, for there are important matters at hand. My name is Nahele, keeper of dragon magik. You are Colina, correct?" "Yes," Colina answered, puzzling over the dragons and magik comment. "Come, then. You must join the others." "Others?" He held out his large hand, and Colina noticed that he had not nails but talons. "Yes. Damon is here along with his companions, and the situation is quite serious. I'm sure you are interested in knowing what is going on." Colina blinked and looked up at Nahele, titling her head back. "Who's Damon?" she asked, her expression confused. Nahele looked down at her in silence for several seconds until raising an eyebrow and dropping his hand back down to his side. "You mean you have no relation to the dragonkin?" "I don't remember--I--who's the dragonkin?" "Ah, I see now. You seem to have a touch of amnesia. Perhaps you-" A sudden crash from the other side of the bedroom wall stopped Nahele mid-sentence and made him go still. He stood there for a moment, his head turned toward the origin of the noise and his muscles quivering from the strain. "We better go see what that was," he told Colina, then turned on his heel and swiftly left the room. Curious herself, Colina followed behind him nearly running down the hallway to catch up. She slowed when he pushed his way into what at first glance appeared to be a mess of splintered wood and metal. On closer inspection she saw that it was actually a doorway with the door crushed inward as if by a giant fist. There were muffled voices coming from behind it, followed by those raised in argument, and she noticed that one of them sounded vaguely familiar. Preparing herself for the worst, she slipped in between where the door was half-hanging off the hinges and braced herself. Red-tainted sheets. That was the first thing she saw. The second was the shirtless man kneeling at the side of the bed, one of his arms swathed in a tattered white bandage and tied securely against his chest. There was a woman at his side, one hand on his shoulder and her face creased in a frown. She resembled him in some ways: both had shiny black hair and possessed the same ethereal beauty. The man looked up at Colina's arrival, his piercing red-rimmed midnight gaze focusing on where she silently stood. Almost instantly Colina was flooded with a rush of memories, each a scene in the drama that had taken place--that night. Silver Ballroom. Her father. The guests. Two men: one blond haired, one black haired. Something bad happening. Something terrible--escaping. The fire exit. Teeth. Sharp teeth. And blood. The black haired one's mouth covered in it. Coating him like a second skin. Panic. Fierce panic. Trying to break free--sobbing--trying to break the grip on her. And his name was Damon. The monster, the predator--he was Damon. And the blond. The blond was--the one laying in the bed--the one laying in the red tainted sheets--in the blood--so much blood. His name was--his--name--was--. Matt! She looked up to meet Damon's gaze and took the headlong plunge into the black void of his stare, allowed herself to be consumed by the gaping maw of his darkness. She felt herself fall into place between the creases of his mind and suddenly realization of what was occurring hit her. She tried to pull herself back up; to get back to the recesses of her own mind but it was too late and their connection was too strong. There was a forceful wave of dizziness as the room tilted on its axis and then melted into a vision so sharp and bright that she lifted her arm to reflexively cover her eyes. The moment she did she instantly regretted it. Shooting stars of pain shot through her muscles and forced the air from her chest. Absently she rubbed where the aching was focused, wincing. Have to remember that's still healing, she thought, and froze. Across the room Damon rose slowly to his feet, his gaze never breaking contact with hers. Colina swallowed, trying to force back her panic. What was going on? What had she done? The sound of Damon's voice brought her thoughts to a halt. "Everybody out," he ordered. "Except for Colina." Part 5: Colina tried her best to keep from fidgeting as the woman that had been standing beside Damon lowered her head and made her way out of the room. She was followed by Nahele, who broke away from the task of picking jagged pieces of a shattered mirror off the floor. He shot a glance at the bed before leaving, the look in his eyes wary. When they were gone, Damon let out a sigh and took a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Matt and avoid the ink clouds of blood that had permeated the sheets. "Come here," he told Colina, whose apprehension had laxed a bit but not enough. She obeyed without question, making her way slowly around the footboard and keeping her gaze steadied on Damon. He stopped her when she reached him. "I don't exactly know what happened between you and I just now, but I felt it and I think--well--just tell me what you see," he said, and gestured towards the bed. Colina turned to look at the man in the bed, at the mass of bloodied sheets that were wrapped around the lower half of him like a cocoon, at the crude blood-soaked bandages that veiled wounds she didn't want to see, and at the rise and fall of his chest. He was alive, but from the looks of the injuries and the way his breathing was hampered by gurgles and wheezes it seemed as if he was hanging on by a thread. "He's dying," Colina answered softly. Damon put his face in the hand of his good arm and leaned forward, bracing his elbow on his knee. "Yes," he answered, combing his fingers through his hair and exhaling through his teeth. "But that's not what I meant. If I understand what's going on, then you'll be able to look again and tell me what you really see." Colina licked her lips as a chill went through her. She didn't understand what he was asking of her. She had looked and she had told him what she saw. What did he want her to tell him? She gasped and let out a small cry of pain when his fingers enveloped her arm. They hastily drew away at the sound of her discomfort and she took a step back. "Don't touch that arm," she told him fiercely, sniffling in agony. "My powers aren't very strong right now so it's taking a long time to heal." Damon pushed his hair up over his forehead with the heel of his hand and gave her a strange look as her expression went from pained to astonished. She took a deep breath, rubbed slowly at the arm that was causing her pain, and met his bloodshot jet black eyes with her own bright green one's. Nothing happened, not even the slightest sensation of being enclosed by that blackness. The only things in her line of vision were two unblinking obsidian orbs surrounded by blotches of red and tiny snaking veins. Just two eyes in swollen and red-rimmed sockets. "What--what's going on?" she asked him, her brow creasing in befuddlement. He took a deep breath. His voice haggard as he spoke, "From what I've observed you and I are sharing a one-way link of mind and body, but I can't even begin to fathom how or why." Colina nodded but said nothing. She was thinking of something she had been taught long ago, although she had no recollection of actually having ever heard it. Propelled by a strange inner drive and an inexplicable well of knowledge that she could not understand, she stepped forward until she was standing toe to toe with Damon. He watched with narrowed eyes as she reached out and wrapped her small hand around the base of his free one. "I think I'm beginning to understand," she told him, running her thumb along the width of his wrist. "Then please, enlighten me." She yanked his hand up to chest level and slid her own along the palm until their fingers were lined up, letting the words flow from her soul instead of her mind. "Somebody once taught me that every living human being that is born has a destiny." She slid her fingers between his and locked them around his hand. "There is no such thing as a person whose destiny has not become entwined with at least one other person's." Damon stared at their interlocked hands and slowly closed his own fingers over her knuckles. "The entwined destinies form a bond." "Sometimes, but sometimes it's also more then that. When the bond becomes so strong it's like cement and the entwined roots are planted deep enough, the individuals involved are inseparable. Even death can't drive them apart. Their destinies were meant to be symbiotic and they will always be symbiotic, no matter what form the soul takes." Damon suddenly pulled away then and leaned back a bit, breaking the contact. "Enough," he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't want to hear anymore." Colina let her hand drop back to her side and stepped over, averting her gaze to the form lying on the bed. "I-I'm sorry--I have no idea where those words came from. I just started--being flooded with them." Before Damon could answer there was a feeble moan from the bed that made him twist around in place and snap into an alert state of mind. Matt's eyes were open, barely, but they still managed to remain focused on Colina, who was leaning slightly over the edge of the bed. There were several moments of silence as both of them looked each other over almost as if they were old friends that hadn't seen one another in a very long time. Finally Colina reached out to him, resting her palm against his forehead as his drooping gaze remained fixated on her. She knew now what Damon had meant when he had told her to look at Matt. She knew what he had wanted her to see. Matt wasn't just a close friend, although he had started out that way. He was a lover, one that had been with Damon for an entire decade; the longest that Damon had ever kept a love interest around. Their bond was so deep, their lives were so completely infused that if Damon were to lose him it would be the end of his sanity. Possibly even the end of his five hundred year existence. Colina flinched as that thought crossed her mind and before she could puzzle over it she realized she was crying. Tears streamed down her face, hot and salty, leaving glutinous slime trails behind and she pulled away from Matt only moments before a wave of pure grief seized her. She broke down into sobs as she sunk to her knees on the floor, dimly aware she was speaking to Damon aloud. "Whatever it is I feel you want to do, do it now," she was saying between breaths, her voice thick with tears. "He doesn't have much longer." Damon was already moving in to position, getting himself comfortable on the bed and propping his back against the headboard. Gently he reached over and unwound the covers from Matt's body, who watched him work in narrowed-eye silence. "Brace yourself," Damon informed him, his voice bereft of emotion. "This is going to hurt quite a bit but it will be over shortly." Matt didn't answer, only whimpered when Damon's hand cupped him under the arm and lifted him upright. And then he screamed as Damon wrapped an arm around his waist, dragging him into his lap. It was a painfully long process, each inch that he was pulled along agony, but once the pain had subsided Matt was thankful for the support of the body behind him. He leaned against it gratefully; breathing heavy, sweat dripping down his trembling skin. "Easy," Damon said, running a hand through Matt's blood and sweat matted hair. Matt just let out a shuddery breath. Damon's hand trailed slowly from the hair, down and around along the neck. He could feel the life slowly ebbing out of the body, the blood rushing out through the ruby lips of the wounds that covered it. He had to do it. There was precious little time. "I'm sorry," he whispered in Matt's ear, his canines lengthening as he wrenched the man's head aside to expose the neck. Quickly he struck, the bite clean and precise enough that he knew it wouldn't be causing Matt any further pain. From her place on the floor, Colina gasped as sensations flooded through her. She could taste a phantom pool of blood in her mouth, the hot copperiness splashing against her tongue and slipping down her throat. There was a sense of near bliss as it filled her up and warmed her skin that twisted into a mounting urgency. It was building in her; a want, a need to be fulfilled that her ten-year- old body couldn't fathom. She squirmed in pleasure-pain, unable to do anything but ride it out until it was over. Matt let out a barely audible moan as Damon broke contact and pulled away with a growl, his teeth and lips stained crimson. Working with alacrity for he had drained the boy almost completely, he bit into his own wrist until blood was seeping down his arm in snaking rivulets. Wasting no time he grasped Matt by the hair and tilted his head back, then gingerly pressed the wound to his lips and urged him to drink. Matt hesitated, his mouth poised over the flow of blood as if he was unsure of what to do. Damon's urgency grew more forceful. "Drink or you're going to be dead very shortly." Without further procrastination Matt went to action, his lips locking around Damon's wrist in a death grip. At first he drew blood from the open wound in small sips, as if testing the flavor, and then quickly transcended to savage and greedy mouthfuls. Colina cradled her head in her hands and scuttled back against the wall, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She felt as if her very soul was being sucked through her veins, like her entire being was spiraling out of one concentrated black hole at the base of her hand. She inspected her wrist wildly, knowing full well she would find nothing there but not being able to rest assured until she had seen for herself. As expected there was no wound, just a smooth, nearly translucent expanse of flesh. "Stop," she whispered, dimly aware that there were tears streaming down her face as she climbed shakily to her feet, her back braced against the wooden wall. "Stop," she said again, desperately. Damon's breathing was somewhere between gasping and panting as he shifted his position on the bed, dragging Matt along as drew his legs up under him and sat back on his haunches. He could feel the pressure inside both of them ascending rapidly, working its way ultimately up to death, his death, if he didn't pull Matt off of him soon. Gently, trying to break the connection as smoothly as possible, he pried his wrist from the mouth that held him firmly in its grip. Matt growled in protest and lunged, latching himself back onto the wound that had already almost completely healed. Damon hissed as it was torn back open and fresh blood began to flow again. "Enough," he commanded, but Matt ignored him and held fast. Damon was starting to break out in a sweat, the effort of trying to pry Matt off of him too much for his severely weakened body. He could feel himself beginning to shut down as his body tried to draw on energy reserves that had already been dried up; feel the first stages of death creeping up on him like a lean and expert predator. In a panic he tried one more time to wrench Matt away but it was futile. The man had such a tight lock on him that the muscles in his hand had gone tingly with numbness. "Stop it, NOW!" Colina shouted and suddenly she felt the connection between Damon and her snap like a nylon cord pulled too tight. She gasped in surprise as the black hole that had been sucking the life from her closed up and was replaced by the sensation of floating on puffy white clouds. For a fraction of a moment, she thought Damon had finally plunged into the death that had been so impending. But then, as a resounding scream pierced the silence--and she realized it had been completely silent--she saw Matt wrench himself away from Damon, who flopped against the headboard and arched his neck, struggling for breath. Another scream shattered her eardrums, and she saw it wasn't Damon who was making the horrid noise but Matt. He was braced on his hands and knees, his head bent low. His back rose and fell rhythmically with his heavy breathing as he sank down to the mattress, hands clenching and unclenching around the blood-tainted sheets that he gripped between his fingers. "Jesus--Jesus Christ," he breathed, then groaned in pain and rolled over on to his back. Damon tilted his head back down and stared hard at him for several seconds. Matt twisted sideways, first glancing down at his own hands and then looking over to Damon. "Christ," he said again, this time with more force. "I've never--never felt anything like that. Sharing--a little--it doesn't even come close." He winced and swallowed, clearing the thickness from his throat. "Jesus." "Somehow I don't think it's quite as pleasurable on the giving end," Damon commented slowly, making a big display of studying his wrist. Matt shivered and let his tongue skate along his teeth, nearly grinning in delight as he felt both of his canine teeth lengthen into newly formed points. Carefully he propelled himself up into a sitting position, tearing at the bandages that had dressed wounds that were no longer there. He took a moment to marvel at the smooth, pale flesh that looked as though it had never been injured, then burst into wild laughter. Damon smiled and couldn't help himself. Giddy with relief, he joined in on the laughter just as Nahele squeezed through the splintered bedroom door. "I heard screaming before," he said, as his eyes widened when they came to rest on Matt. "Is everything alright?" Damon sobered long enough to answer him. "Everything's fine, cat," he said, moving over to cover Matt's nakedness with a soiled comforter. "We could use some fresh blood, though, so if you wouldn't mind--." Nahele sighed. "Would chickens by all right?" Damon smiled. "Fine. Just make sure you send up a lot of them." Nahele shook his head and turned to leave, grumbling to himself. "Whatever you want. I'll have them sent to you shortly." Damon and Matt both grinned as he left. Colina just let out a breath of relief and was glad she wasn't going to turn out to be a meal for two hungry vampires. Part 6: "This, I believe, is what you came for." Damon watched as Nahele, in his werelynx form, set a small ornately carved wooden box in Alazuria's hands and smiled. "You will find what you're looking for inside," Nahele went on. "Don't let anybody open it but you and the dragonkin." Alazuria nodded as Nahele bowed slightly and stepped back. It had been four days since they had arrived in the log cabin, four grueling days of emotional and physical recuperation. Damon had allowed himself to heal for two of those days, sleeping and dining on animals until he had regained his full strength. Colina had been by his side the entire time, barely eating and sleeping herself. The bond they had shared had brought them together in a way that no ten year old should have been able to comprehend. But somehow she had, and somehow he respected her as a friend and ally, seeing through her young shell to the core of her ancient soul. Now she was gone. Brought back to her family early in the morning by Nahele, back to where she had no desire to be. He knew that she would never forget him though. His mind had left a lasting impression on her that he knew she couldn't possibly ignore, and as soon as she was old enough she would find him, or he would find her, and they would be able to forge a deeper friendship. But for now she would remain Silver Ballroom's child patron, watching the years melt by from the theater's interior like a prisoner behind bars. As for Matt, as soon as Damon had recovered he had started to train the fledging vampire to hunt and kill more efficiently, to use psychic powers the correct way, and to get used to his newly enhanced senses. Matt took to it like a fish to water, enthralled by the newly found colors and sounds and the way everything seemed to have a life of its own. He basked in the sexuality of blood drinking that he had heard about many times but never understood; reveled in the power he wielded. This surprised Damon most of all. Not Matt's reaction, but his strength. Matt already had the ability to change shape-an elgante cream and ivory wolf that Damon had been quite proud of when he had seen-and he was growing stronger with each day that passed. If this was the way things were progressing, Matt would shape up to be an immensely powerful vampire in just a century or so. It was a scary situation but at the same time it made Damon glow with pride. "I'll carry that for you," Alex said as he bounded up beside Alazuria, a smile plastered on his face. The young werewolf boy had grown considerably over the last decade. At twenty-five years old, he stood at over six feet tall and was almost four feet taller as a werewolf. An equally large mass of muscles had formed where he had once been skin and bones. Gone were his green eyes replaced by bright lime colored ones that seemed to glow even from a distance. His hair had even changed; the brown had grown out and a shock of white blond hair had grown in, matching the color of his fur. "Thanks," Alazuria said, handing him the box. Alex smile grew even wider, and if he had been in werewolf form his tail would have been going a mile a minute. "I trust you all have your belongings?" Nahele asked, looking around at each of them. Each of them in turn nodded. "Then I bid you an unhindered and prosperous journey," he went on. "Much lies ahead of you, so stay strong and remember that your werecat brothers and sisters are always there to protect you." Matt, Alazuria, and Alex nodded and turned to go, but Damon stayed in place, one eyebrow raised. "I'm curious," he told Nahele, shooting a glance over his shoulder at his companions. "What ever became of Ursus Rex?" Nahele smiled, showing two rows of glistening teeth. "He was skinned and quartered by the dragons who have claimed these woods sacred. They don't have much tolerance for servants who kill on human territory or attack their dragonkin. His pelt is now warn as a reminder for those who step out of line." "Ah, I see," Damon commented, feeling a hint of uneasiness. "Well, I thank you, Nahele, for all you've done. I hope that I can return the favor someday." "No need for that, dragonkin." Nahele's eyes rolled past Damon. "And it seems your friends are leaving without you. You better go and catch up." Damon looked over his shoulder again, shook his head, and, with one more note of thanks, took off at a run. Nahele just laughed and took a seat in the snow that covered the ground in melting clumps and watched as the four of them disappeared among the trees. THE END