Rated for blood drinking and sexuality.

Roland stood watching Rachel from the porch.

"Are you alright?" he inquired.

She swallowed. "Yes."

Rachel walked around and met him at the steps.

"Was that the person you were talking about? The one you are looking for?"

Honesty was the best policy, Rachel decided. If she was being screwed over by having to be stuck in this place, at least she could choose the position.

"Yes and no."

Roland came down the steps, the clump of his boots reminding Rachel of the twisted western movie situation that was her life now.

"And what does that mean?"

"The person that I'm looking for has…abilities. He can somewhat…influence people."

Roland eyed her carefully. He came up until he was directly in front of her. "I am going to ask you one question and I want you to answer me precisely and honestly."

Rachel scowled up at him. It was as she had thought. Her encounter with Pennywise had caused Roland's trust in her to be shaken.

"Alright."

"This man that you are after, is he a man of black? Does he wear a lot of black?"

She blinked at Roland, unsure of how to answer him. "He…does when he's in human form."

Roland knit his brow. "Human form?"

"My husband is a shapeshifter. Mostly he takes the form of a circus clown. But sometimes he takes the form of a young blond man. And yes, Roman does wear mostly black."

"Define young?"

Rachel spread out her arms. "He's…my age. What are you getting at, Roland?"

"What other abilities does he have?"

Rachel huffed out a loud puff of air. "He can create illusions, he's super strong, he can teleport."

"And you've never seen him in any other form besides this…clown?"

She glared at him. "No."

Roland nodded. "Good. Sorry for so many questions. But I needed to make sure."

He tromped past her and she stared after him. He went around the porch and she followed.

"Made sure of what?"

"That you're not with him."

Rachel stopped short. "Not with who?" she called after him.

"Walter," he called back.

"Well that explains everything," she grumbled.

She started after Roland again. Something shiny fell out of his coat pocket but he didn't notice. Rachel picked it up. It was a plain silver cross. She rubbed the rough surface. So Roland was a God fearing man. Maybe if she had more of God in her life she wouldn't be in this predicament. But then again, not even Maturin had helped. And he had actually warned her.

Roland was at the fence gate now. He started to unlatch it.

Rachel showed him the cross. "You dropped something."

He barely glanced at it. "Keep it."

"Oh. Are you sure?" She tried handing it to him again.

"Yes."

Roland opened the gate. The rusty hinges squeaked loudly. He leaned against it. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't know what your husband's like, but the man I'm after is worse. Far, far worse. You need to be on guard. Always. You understand?"

Rachel nodded.

"Good. Now I'm going get us a mule."

Rachel watched him, suddenly feeling ten times worse about the secrets she was keeping from him. So this Walter fellow was bad. But was he a demon? Did he munch on children like normal people ate hamburgers or pizza?

She shook her head. "And the drama continues," she muttered out loud. Then she went meet Roland to help him acquire their new steed.

Rachel started to nod off for what felt like the tenth time that evening. And her stomach rumbled. Her brief respite from living off of Walter's campfire remains had long since faded away. She shifted in her saddle. Her rump was sore, but at least she wasn't walking like poor Roland. She had supposed he was used to it by now, but still.

The lights of Tull shown like immobile fireflies in the near dusk. Rachel swallowed. Her throat was parched. She frowned once more as she once again remembered Pennywise's blood tease.

He better not do that again, she thought irately, or I might just slit my wrist and get it over with. Let myself die off and get this little trip through purgatory over with. At least I'll get one more last drink of blood.

She let out a dark chuckle. She was starting to sound like a vampire again. She didn't even know if her eyes were still yellow and there was no way in hell she was going to ask Roland.

The first thing they passed was a tiny graveyard. Scanty wooden crosses and shoddy slabs of wood served as tombstones. Several yards past a painted sign read TULL. Faint piano music filled the air. Rachel's eyes scanned every bit of movement she saw, not that there was much. A small girl and boy played chase in the streets, their bare feet kicking up little poofs of dust. Three women stood at a corner in saloon dresses, their ample bosoms threating to pop out of their bodices. One of them laughed heartily.

Finally they came across what appeared to be some kind of barn. A man stood outside in dirty overalls. He wore a straw hat that had some kind of bird feather sticking out of it. Roland approached him. He spoke to the man. Rachel's eyes roved around her surroundings again. Another ghost town type setting. At least this one had a few people milling about. Of course there was only one person Rachel cared about seeing. She closed her eyes and listened to the howling wind. Maybe she would hear her name again. Just maybe.

She felt a hand on her thigh and jumped in her seat, her eyes flying open. Of course it was Roland.

"He's gonna watch the mule for us. You want to grab something to eat? Find a place to rest?"

What a question.

"Please."

He held out his arms, but Rachel managed to jump down, though her landing was a bit wobbly.

"Did he suggest a place to eat? Like a restaurant or something?"

"He said there's a place called Sheb's. It's up the street a bit."

She gave a nod.

They walked in silence. After a block, they passed a small group of men. They watched her and Roland walk past. What an odd pair the two of them must have made—the tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in cowboy garb and the girl in the tee shirt and long jean shorts and tennis shoes. She subconsciously patted down her shirt. Roland must have noticed.

"Tomorrow we can get you something more appropriate to wear. Some trousers or something."

They passed a lady and a man. The woman was wearing some black pants and a high collared blouse.

You pointed at the pair. "You mean like her?"

"Something like that."

The piano music got louder. Then Rachel spotted what had to have been their destination. The swinging doors were even there, just like out of a western movie.

"I take it that's Sheb's?"

Roland adjusted his holster. "Seems to be. Let's go."

Rachel's heart started pounding as she and Roland crossed the boardwalk. She was actually going into a wild west saloon. Would she have not been so tired and half starved, she would have almost felt giddy.

"Remember, let me do the talking," Roland reminded her.

"No prob, Bob," she muttered. "Just get me some food."

They walked in. Rachel found their piano player. He was sitting in the far corner playing something that sounded oddly like an old Beatles song. A group of men sat playing a card game in the middle of the room. The bartender was female. A blonde that appeared to be in her forties. She was wiping down the bar. She wore an old faded blue dress. Rachel noticed that one side of her face was scared. Other than that, she seemed attractive enough, or would have been at one time.

Roland approached her. "You got meat?" he asked her.

The woman nodded. "Yessir."

"I'll take two hamburgers and two beers, if you please."

Rachel licked her lips. She was never one to drink alcohol. She didn't even know if it was safe for Eleanor, but seeing as this was one time and Eleanor was Pennywise's child, she was sure it wouldn't make a difference. The woman asked Roland for money. He placed a gold coin on the counter. The woman raised an eyebrow and picked it up. She glanced up at Roland. Rachel had to hide a grin at her dour expression.

"I ain't got change for gold."

"I didn't ask for it," came Roland's stolid response.

The woman glanced over at Rachel. She gave the woman a small smile. The woman took the coin. Rachel's stomach rumbled. The bartender made the beers and set them down in front of Rachel and Roland. Rachel took a big swig and made a face. She hated beer. But it was wet. She drank some more.

Finally their burgers came. They were more like lumpy meat on sliced bread. But it was food. Rachel ate heartily. At least the meat was salted.

A man with grey hair and tattered clothes came up behind Roland and clapped his hand hard on the gunslinger's shoulder. Rachel and Roland both turned to face him. The man looked like death walked over.

"A gold for a favor, gunslinger-sai. Just one? For a pretty."

The man's voice sounded like dust. Rachel slouched down in her seat, trying to make herself look small. Roland handed the man a gold coin. He walked like a zombie to a nearby table, turning the coin about in his hand as he did so. The men playing cards abruptly got up from their table. They ran out the door. The piano player followed soon after.

Rachel only wished she couldn't say she'd seen stranger things.

"Sheb!" The woman screamed after the piano player. "Sheb, you get back here goddamnit."

The old man, meanwhile, had seated himself at a table. He spun the gold piece on the rickety wood and hummed to himself.

"There. You've driven out my trade. Happy?"

The bartender glared at Roland. Rachel felt anger rise up in her. It wasn't Roland's fault. But the woman had fed them, even if she had just been doing her job.

"They'll be back," Roland reminded her.

She harrumphed. "Tomorrow yeah."

"Who is he?" Roland gestured at the old man.

"Why do you want to know?" the now angry bartender demanded.

"I need to know. I'm looking for a man who might have been through here. You would remember if he did."

The woman's face seemed to soften. "I'm guessing you know my price. I'm sure you can pay it."

Rachel's mouth fell open. She was offering Roland sex. Rachel glanced back and forth eagerly between them. Would he at least get Rachel a room first or leave her on her own?

"It doesn't have to come to that. We can come to some other agreement."

Rachel let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

The woman slammed an empty glass down on the bar. "So I'm not pretty enough. Or is it her?" She gestured at Rachel with her chin. "You gonna fuck her instead?"

Rachel couldn't stop herself. "And you expect him to fuck you just because you asked? Do you have that little respect for yourself?"

The woman glanced down at Rachel's legs. "You ain't exactly dressed prim and proper yourself, sister."

"You bitch."

Roland had to step in front of Rachel to stop her. "Rachel, calm down."

"Calm down? She just called me a goddamn whore. She's the one who..." She shook her head.

"Please let me handle this," Roland said softly. "Please."

Rachel took a deep breath. Who was she to decide what Roland needed to do to get answers? He was just as stuck on this journey as she was. But deep down she was fuming.

"Do what you have to do," she told him icily. "I can take care of my fucking self."

Rachel burst through the doors, hot anger coursing through her like lava. Roland should have been finding the two of them some rooms, not going to bed with some prostitute. She stood out on the boardwalk, her chest huffing. The arid air hitting her face was a comfort for once. At least it was fresh and didn't smell of cigarettes and cheap beer.

"This is bullshit," she spat as she stalked off towards the barn. At least the mule would keep her company. And at least she had some food in her stomach, even though it wasn't exactly Burger King.

"They probably don't even have fries in stupid Mid-World."

She knew she sounded childish, but she didn't care. She made it back to the barn. The man in overalls was gone. She found her mule.

"Hey buddy," she crooned as she rubbed his muzzle. "They treating you good? Huh?" Who's a good-"

"You know it's not safe for a lady such as yourself to be wondering the streets at night," came a voice.

Rachel jumped and put a hand to her chest. Leaning against the barn door was what appeared to be a young man. He was dressed all in black and had a loose black overcoat and a black bowler's hat. His face was obscured by shadow. He looked like he could be a character from Oliver Twist.

Rachel wasn't in the mood. "I'll be fine. Thanks."

"Are you sure about that, miss?"

She tried again. "I said I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."

She went back to patting the mule.

"And what about the babe you carry? Is she fine as well?"

Rachel's hand froze. How could this man possible know about Eleanor?

Unless he wasn't a man.

Rachel turned slowly. She was standing across the way from him. It was still dark, but his head was lifted now. And there was no mistaking his full lips. He walked into the light from the only lantern that was lit in the barn.

Rachel took a shaky breath, barely able to hold in her joy and relief.

"Roman."

She ran to her husband and threw her arms around him. He returned her embrace.

"I knew it was you. I knew it was you back in Pricetown."

She pulled away from him to look at his face. In an instant, Roman's lips were on hers. She kissed him back like her life depended on it. Like he was air and she was drowning.

"I can't believe we're here," she said when she broke the kiss. She threw her arms around him more tightly. "What are we doing here, Roman? What is this place?"

"Shh. It's gonna be okay, kitten. I think this is another dimension. One that's connected to yours."

She pulled away from him again. His anxious gaze mirrored her own.

"What are we doing here? Please don't tell me you brought us here. I wouldn't be able to bear that."

"Shh." He put his hand on her cheek. "You need to calm down. Think of the baby."

She stared at him in shock. "The baby? That's all I've been able to think about. You and our baby. That's the only thing keeping me from completely losing my shit, Roman."

She turned her back on him and crossed her arms over her stomach. "I've been here a week, Roman. A week."

"I know, my love. You think I don't feel bad about this? Do you know how hard it's been seeing you with him?" Roman grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "I ache for you. Like I've never ached for anything. I want to hold you. To comfort you. Make love to you. But I have to watch you walk around with him. The gunslinger." He turned his back on her. "You are my mate, Rachel. There should be nothing standing between us."

Rachel's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was Roman actually jealous?

"Baby, there is nothing going on between me and Roland. You know that, don't you? We're just traveling companions. He has been the one helping me to survive all of this."

Roman sighed. "I know, kitten. But you know how protective I can be of you."

Roman turned around. Golden eyes stared back at Rachel. Pennywise eyes. She wondered if her own mirrored his.

"I know that. You showed me just that at Pricetown." She placed her hand on Roman's chest.

"You still thirst for it." Roman lifted her chin. "My beautiful queen. My mate." He leaned in towards you. "Will you drink from me?"

His voice was a whisper. It sent chills down Rachel's spine and surprisingly a tingle to her groin. She shivered. But for some reason, she was reluctant.

"I hate that I have to rely on that," she whispered. "It used to only be when I would smell it, I would crave it." She snorted. "Now I could drink a gallon of it."

Roman took off his hat and threw it in the hay. His overcoat went next. He pulled up his left sleeve. "Your wish." He elongated one of his nails and slowly drew it along his wrist. "My command."

Rachel's legs started shaking at the sight of it. When the smell hit, it was like a flood washing over you. Roman grabbed her hand and gently led her into the shadows of the barn.

"Drink from me, my queen."

Roman lifted his wrist to her. Rachel's heart thundered against her rib cage like a beast trying to escape. She put her lips to his cut...

And liquid desire exploded in her mouth.

She latched on like a leech and sucked. A loud moan escaped her throat and she closed her eyes. Sweet, hot blood ran down her throat. Her legs were trembling so badly, she couldn't stand anymore.

"Ohh, kitten. Yes. Good girl," Roman moaned. "Good girl."

Rachel went down into a crouch, bringing Roman with her. She kept drinking. A deep, sharp ache quickly filled her groin. It had been so long, too long since she had felt like this. She didn't care anymore about that Pennywise had kidnapped her brother. Or that he had tugged her down a hole. It was her and him now. In the dark.

Let Roland have his whore.

She quickly started to unbutton her shorts. She couldn't stop herself. She plunged her hand downward. She was already wet. She started rubbing her clit.

"Ohhh."

Her lips finally left Roman's wrist. Her blood lust had been sated. But now she craved something else. Roman watched her hand with a look of hunger on his face.

"Oh, kitten. Lay down for me."

He gently pushed her back until she was laying down on the straw. Roman was over her in a flash, his lips on hers. The kiss was rough and full of need. He broke away from her and started pulling at her shorts. It did not take long to remove them. Next he started to unfasten his pants. Rachel reached down and pulled her panties off.

When he slid into her, she let out a silent moan. He started bucking against her. She laid back on the hay.

Let Roland have his cheap saloon whore. Rachel was being bedded by a king.

Pennywise was back.