Chapter Two

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Eternity is a long time. While this sounds redundant, many neonates Embraced into Kindred unlife seem to forget how long it really is. A newly created vampire can spend years coming to terms with what he is and still not fully accept himself. After a certain point, if he cannot be removed from self-pity, many decide to…take a dance in the sun. Forever is simply too pressing, and being a monster that long is often considered a curse.

I don't see what the fucking deal is.

I've never understood it all. I love everything about being a vampire. I was brought into the world at such an early age that it's really all I know. For as long as I can remember, I've been trained to be a beast. I would even dare to say that I was born to become a vampire.

With 116 years to think, I've noticed the astonishing ways that the mortal and supernatural worlds parallel each other. On the streets of Las Vegas in the late 1800s, it was every man for himself; the only difference in modern Chicago, after the sun sets, is that it's done out of plain sight. The kill-or-be-killed style overwhelms most neonates. To me, it's a thrill that cannot be satisfied by any other means.

A group of Kindred can be related to a wolf pack: they work together to bring down foes, but if the Alpha shows any sign of weakness, then the rest of them jump on him like, well, savage beasts. The best way to survive the inevitable civil war is to gain allies.

And that is precisely what I am doing.

I cannot rely on my Clan. Tristan is much too weak to be of any use in a fight. Though he is intelligent, so are many other Kindred in Chicago. Unlike Mr. Cole. He's just an idiot.



So who did that leave me with? Strangely enough, Loki Kokopelli. Teaming up with a Nos has never been beneath me. And, simply put, he made the best impression the night before.

Secretly usurping the number of one of Loki's Ghouls from Tristan's Blackberry had not proven difficult, and from there it was simple enough to have the Ghoul put me in contact with his Regnant himself. After that, all I had to do was make Loki an offer he couldn't refuse.

The sewers are surprisingly clean—at least Loki's section is. Most paths allow two people to walk side by side, but there are places where Loki has to lead. During these times, I wonder what goes through his mind, if he thinks that I'd jump him.

He has no reason to fret, at least for the moment. Even if I did mean him harm, I'd lose. Horribly.

After winding through many corridors deep beneath even the sewers, we finally stop in a large fully-furnished chamber. He lights three blue candles on a small table in one corner, and the candlelight plays with the shadows across his face. For the first time, I see the bleakness hidden deep in his sunken eyes. A Nosferatu's mask conceals only enough so a vampire isn't a breach of the Masquerade and can walk among the mortal population without drawing unneeded attention. The puss-filled boils, open wounds, and other shameful deformities may vanish for a time, but the disguise could not shield a certain loneliness in his eyes. They remind me of a moon's crater; black and distant.

When he speaks, there is an edge of curiosity in his voice as well as a certain pride. "What brings you here? To me, specifically?" I can hear the suspicion rising in his voice.

I purposefully eye the king-sized bed before slinking over to him. My finger trails through the soft satin of his cloak. Every movement planned perfectly; deliberate, measured precise. All to get the right reaction from him, as if I've done it a million times.



"I believe I've already stated my end of the deal." I smile coyly, flashing a bit of fang as I gently tug at his cloak. "I'll show you a good time in exchange for a small form of payment. A Boon, perhaps?"

"Hmm…" he grumbles thoughtfully, his eyes glinting mischievously. A part of him coils like a jaguar about to pounce, and I know I've snared him. "What level of a Boon would you request?"

"We can discuss that later."

I can almost visualize the wheels turning in his head as he considers the different possibilities, finally deciding the reward is greater than the price.

I've left my trench coat (and twin katanas, sadly—I feel their absence as gaping holes in my sides) at the Chantry as a small symbol of assurance that I wouldn't hide anything. The hollow cavern seems to echo desolately as he slips my belted black jacket off my shoulders. A few seconds later, a pile of clothes is strewn on the floor and me feet are swept from underneath me. My katanas, though they should be at the forefront of my thoughts, are swiftly forgotten.

His lips press against mine as we hit the bed, and I cannot help but be devoured by his bittersweet kiss. It has been a long time since I last had sex, and though being a vampire has eliminated the blissful climax of the orgasm, that doesn't stop it from feeling fucking good. No pun intended.

Loki's lips trail to my neck, and I expectantly wait for the fangs to sink in when I hear him muttering, his lips softly brushing the tender skin. As I realize what he's doing, I jerk away instinctively, but to no avail; I feel the magic, his magic, invade and manipulate my body.



"The fuck do you think you're doing?" I snarl, preparing to draw upon my Levinbolt. "Why the fu—" I stop short, my lungs craving something unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I breathe in, then exhale, readjusting to the new rhythm.

Why would Loki perform a ritual to make me start breathing again?

"Dominoe of Life," he explains, the spark in his eyes returning. "It allows me to grant anyone with a human quality. The effects are not permanent, but they'll last just long enough for what we need."

Slowly, so slowly, I relax in the bed. He watches my reaction carefully.

"Don't ever…ever…do anything to me without my permission again," I sneer with contempt, making no attempt to sugarcoat.

Loki's eyes level with mine, meeting my challenge but wondering how far I would allow the line to be crossed. In the end, he asks if, because I know the ritual's general effects, he could use it on me again to enhance the pleasure of our experience. With more than enough reluctance, as well as many mental chidings on my own part, I agree—on the condition that I could beat the unliving shit out of him if he crossed me. Grinning devilishly, he mutters the ritual's activation phrase, motioning boldly with his hands. Again, his magic intrudes, but I am better prepared for it this time.

With a small thud, my heart scurries in my chest, as if laboring to make up for lost time. My breath quickens to keep up with the frantic, drum-like pace.

One more time, before I can oppose, Loki performs the ritual. This time, the change is subtle; a dull heat washes over my inner thighs. For the first time in ages, I actually have a sex drive.



The thought of whoring myself to a Nos had never repulsed me, but suddenly the idea almost seems…biologically necessary. Not only that, but, as if in heat, I actually want it, crave it. I know I should be killing this guy, I realize, but I cannot bring the prevailing part of myself to see why.

What has he done to me?