Lansing, Michigan, ten months earlier.
The problem wasn't lack of information: quite the reverse. Countless tomes had been written on the subject; net searches returned hits in their millions, a bewildering white noise of confusing and contradictory advice about what and where and when and how much; pointers about temperature and viscosity, respiration and heart rates that were supposed to indicate if you were on the right track, but none of it had helped in the end. All Sam's research had done was render him helplessly anxious about whether she was as wet as she was supposed to be, or moving as much as she should be, or whether her body language was as open as it ought to be. Sam didn't think so. He didn't think her gritting her teeth was a good sign either.
Honestly, Gwen didn't seem that comfortable no matter where or how he touched her, and she didn't really seem to like kissing either. Often when he tried, she'd turn her head away and he'd wind up with his mouth pressed against her ear instead. When she finally muttered "Sam, just do it" he didn't think it was because she was ready, so much as out of patience. And then he wasn't ready, but she quickly jacked his flagging erection back to a serviceable condition, and once she had him sheathed and in position he didn't really know what else to do . . . it was what she seemed to be expecting – even though, at this point, Sam couldn't really understand why she still wanted to bother.
In fairness, he wasn't really enjoying her embraces that much either: the way her fingers ghosted over his skin made him edgy, and when her arms were tight around him it made him feel confined and uneasy. Inside her felt good, though. It was nice . . . inside her body. Soft and warm. But then she wrapped her arms around his head, octopus like, and the scrape of her fingernails over his scalp kind of made his skin crawl. When he grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head he didn't actually mean to, it was really just an unconscious defensive thing, but she acted like she was into it: she started moving with him, at least, and she seemed to be making the right noises now . . . though he knew that didn't necessarily mean anything . . . not that he'd seen that movie, but he'd heard about it.
He came too soon. Nerves probably, and all this being new to him, and it was embarrassing and humiliating, and he felt bad for her, but part of him was just as relieved to have it all over with.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, as he rolled onto his back and disposed of the condom.
"It's O.K," she assured him.
"But you didn't . . ." He hesitated and gave her a searching look. "Did you?"
"Don't worry about it." She chuckled and shrugged awkwardly, tucking the sheets around her chest and under her armpits. "I don't. As a rule. Usually guys know what they want from me though."
Sam didn't know how to respond to that, so he just apologized again.
She glanced at him rather oddly. "That wasn't a criticism," she said. After a moment she added "I'm just saying you're different than them. That's all."
Sam huffed a nervous laugh. "Yeah," he acknowledged. He was always different.
She touched his arm – an awkward gesture somewhere between a pat and a rub. "It'll be better next time," she told him.
He stared at her, astonished. There was going to be a next time? He frowned and shook his head, bemused. "Gwen, why . . . ?" he began tentatively. He didn't know exactly how to frame the question. "What is it that you want from me?"
She didn't answer straight away, or meet his gaze, just returned an awkward, lopsided smile. She shrugged. "I just like you, Sam. Does it have to be complicated?" she asked.
It was a good question. Why did it have to be complicated? Why did it have to be difficult? He liked her, too. He admired her as a hunter, her courage and passion. He'd always been impressed by the way she handled herself, not just physically, but she was smart and spirited with it. Her humor could be challenging but it usually came with a spark of merriment around her mouth and eyes. All the same, now that he was looking at her up close, he could see something sad in those great, dark eyes that made him wonder if all her attitude wasn't covering something more vulnerable. God knows, what you see isn't always all you get. She was beautiful, too: her hair, those eyes, her soft, pale skin. All of which made it more puzzling why she would want to pursue this . . . whatever it was . . . with Sam of all people.
"Why would you want to get involved with the family freak?" He had to ask.
She scoffed. "We're all freaks, Sam. The whole family."
"Maybe," he agreed, "but you're not all monsters."
At that she laughed outright. "Well, aren't you just the best disguise a monster ever wore?" Sam decided maybe it was time to take a shower, but as he moved to get out of the bed she placed a restraining hand on his chest, pressing him back down against the pillow. "I'm kidding, Sam. Relax," she insisted. "Seriously? Is that what you think? That you're gonna go postal like those others?"
They were survivors of house fires. All six months old when the fires happened. Just like Sam. "You've got to be thinking it. Everyone else is. I see the way they look at me."
She studied his face briefly then settled down beside him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. "What I think," she said, "is that those freaks were opportunist losers who found out they had an edge and used it to get rich or get even. You're not like that. You're not a killer."
"No?" Sam couldn't help scoffing at that. "Last I checked, I kill all kinds of things," he pointed out.
"Those things're asking for it. There's a difference." She surveyed him quizzically, and then gave his shoulder a jocular shove. "C'mon, Sam, you're the last person I'm worried'll turn into a psycho. Some of the others? They think what we're doing is a sport; to you, it's just a job. Oh, don't get me wrong; you're a great hunter: you're strong, you're smart, you're dedicated, you know the lore better than anyone save, maybe, Samuel himself – but you're the one person in this family who doesn't act like he enjoys killing things," she insisted. "You don't have it in you."
It was unexpected, this show of confidence, and Sam wasn't sure how to respond, but he found himself leaning in toward her and, this time, when their lips touched she didn't turn or pull away. His fingers threaded through the long, soft waves of her hair, and his other hand caressed the warm, silky curve of her shoulder. Sam felt something flicker inside him and suddenly 'next time' didn't seem so very unlikely . . . maybe even sooner than he thought . . .
But then the door opened and Mark stood framed in the doorway. Sam startled and he could feel the heat of something like shame rising to his cheeks, but there was nowhere to run or hide, and Mark didn't exactly look shocked or disapproving. He was staring at them with another expression altogether, one that started to make Sam feel uncomfortable in a different way. Gwen, on the other hand, seemed more annoyed than embarrassed. She turned and glared at the intruder. "Doesn't anyone around here ever knock?" she snapped.
"You're wanted. There's a meeting," he explained curtly. "You, too." He tossed a less than friendly nod in Sam's direction.
Gwen arched an eyebrow. "We'll be there in five," she told him, and when he continued to loiter in the doorway she gathered the bedclothes around her and launched a kick at the door, slamming it between them.
"Well, looks like it's a whore's bath for me," she quipped as she started gathering up her clothes.
"Don't . . ." Sam hesitated. He knew it was just an expression, but it still bothered him to hear her talk about herself that way.
She looked up questioningly but when Sam couldn't think how to finish the sentence she just grinned lopsidedly and shook her head. But as she left the room she hesitated in the doorway for a moment. She turned her head back toward Sam without actually meeting his gaze.
"Sam, you like me, too, don't you?" she asked.
Sam frowned, perplexed. It seemed an odd question given . . . well, given what they'd just been doing. "Yeah, Gwen," he replied. "Of course."
She waited in the doorway a beat or two longer, like she was going to say something more, but then she just left.
.
Sam couldn't bring himself to face everyone else without showering first. He was as quick as he could be but he was still the last one to get there. Gwen barely acknowledged him as he entered but the look Mark shot him was deadly.
Samuel was holding court in the center of the room. He was engaged in conversation with Christian, the two of them poring over a state map, and he glanced up briefly as Sam entered, only enough to register his disapproval. "Good of you to join us," he drawled. "O.K, people, listen up," he continued. "We followed up on the intel Christian got from the vamp we took in Detroit, and it checks out. There's a small nest working out of the east side, maybe four or five left after Sam's hit last week, but we're looking at a bigger haul here. Seems there's going to be a meeting of the clan in Saginaw. Maybe a dozen or more."
"When?" Sam interjected.
"Soon. Vampire didn't know exactly, or wouldn't say. We don't have an exact location either so we're going to watch the nest in Detroit for now and track them when they ship out."
"And what about the victims the nest is taking in the meantime?" Gwen interrupted. "Are we just gonna sacrifice them?"
"We have to be practical about this," Christian told her. "We move now we'll lose our lead and alert the clan. We've got more to gain by waiting."
Gwen's mouth dropped open, she turned an expression of appeal on Sam but Samuel moved on without waiting for further objections.
"I'm putting the call out," he said. "We have a chance to hit them in numbers. Two teams. I'll lead one, Christian'll head up the other – "
Christian raised a casual hand and Samuel paused to hear him out. "What about Sam?" he suggested. "If it hadn't been for his original legwork we wouldn't know about any of this. Maybe it's time he stepped up to the plate."
Samuel stiffened a little and cast an uneasy glance in Sam's direction. "I think we need our most experienced people for a raid like this – "
"Sam's been hunting as long as I have," Christian pointed out. "And the only way he's going to get leadership experience is by taking some responsibility."
Sam was more than surprised to hear Christian putting him forward like this, but he was handing Sam an opportunity to really prove himself. He'd be stupid to pass that up.
"Samuel, I want in!" he volunteered eagerly. "What ever you need, I'll do."
"Yeah, I know you will," Samuel acknowledged. "But until we know more about this . . . demon children business, I need you to keep doing what you're doing."
Sam was silenced. So they were demon children, now. Hot anger bubbled up at the way Samuel casually humiliated him in front of . . . everyone, but he walled it behind a tight jaw and a stubborn jerk of his chin. Christian, for his part, raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly but said nothing.
"Well, right now, we stock up, get set," Samuel continued as if the exchange hadn't happened. "You all know the drill." With that they were dismissed, and everyone filtered out of the room except for Christian who remained behind debating some point or other with Samuel.
Sam stepped out into the corridor but stopped when he saw Gwen engaged in a low voiced but apparently heated conversation with Mark. He didn't catch much of what Mark was saying but "you and that freak" kind of leapt out.
His attention was caught by a tap on his arm and Christian appeared by his side. "Don't worry about what Samuel said in there. I'll have a word with him," he assured Sam quietly. "I can talk him round."
Sam stared at him. "And why would you do that?" he demanded. "Aren't you worried Samuel's right? Maybe I can't be trusted!" He couldn't help but be puzzled and skeptical of Christian's sudden show of support. He'd never displayed any great confidence in Sam in the past. And, truth is, if he were Christian - or any of the others - right now he'd be thinking it was only a matter of time before Sam started showing signs of developing some freak power.
The other man studied him with shrewd eyes and, as if he was reading Sam's thoughts, asked "have you experienced something? Anything unusual you haven't told us about?"
"No! Of course not!" Sam assured him hastily.
"Well, when you start levitating things or electrocuting people then I'll put you down myself, but until that day you're too much of an asset to waste. You're a hell of a hunter, Sam. One of our best. And, in my view, it doesn't make sense to sideline a valuable resource." Christian smiled, slapped him on the arm and walked away leaving Sam wondering if the explanation had made him feel better or worse.
He turned down the corridor just as Gwen was pulling her arm out of Mark's grip. When they caught Sam watching them Mark just glared and walked away.
"What was that about?" Sam asked.
"Nothing important. Hey, you might have backed me up in there!" she challenged.
"What?" Sam was a little confused. His head was full of Christian's comments and Mark's behavior. Gwen accosting him was unexpected.
"There are people dying in Detroit right now," she reminded him. "Am I the only one who cares about that?"
Sam stared at her helplessly. Of course he cared and, sure, he'd found Christian's casual dismissal of the victims distasteful, but he couldn't fault the man's reasoning. "I know but, Gwen, you know we'll save more people in the long run if . . ."
She scoffed harshly. "Right. I know. We have to be practical about this." She moved to walk away but Sam held her back.
'Gwen, wait . . ." He hesitated, not sure how to phrase the question. "You and Mark . . . Did you . . . ?"
Her expression flattened then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. "Once or twice. What about it?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean – " Sam stammered. Obviously it wasn't any of his business. "I just didn't realize . . . if you and he . . . I don't want to step on anyone's toes here – "
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, and do I get a say in this?" she demanded. "Or am I just a piece of meat for the pair of you to wrestle over?"
"What? No! No, of course not – "
"Listen, I'm not Mark's property; we didn't exchange promise rings." She snorted with annoyance and as she turned away she muttered dismissively, "don't worry about it."
Sam stared after her feeling foolish and a little ashamed. He hadn't meant to imply . . . because, of course, who Gwen chose to sleep with wasn't anyone's business but her own. It didn't give him the right to expect anything from her or suppose that it was anything but what it was. She was a human being. She wasn't anyone's property: not Mark's, and she wasn't his either.