"Then I'm yours," I said. George Orwell would have been proud of the lie, the doublethink I'd just convinced myself of. I knew I couldn't stay, shouldn't stay—no matter what I felt, no matter how important I found Eric, I was a liability to him, and he to me. Something in me, my body, my mind, knew that if I stuck around, I might soon find my time on this earth up—a permanent, human death, something that I wasn't ready for at twenty-five.

I would go, flee to Rhode Island, leave him when I wanted to stay, for a future that was most certainly there, for a tomorrow I was sure could actually exist. It wasn't fair to Eric, not at all, but I was sure he'd survive. And if I remained here, I wasn't so sure I would. But I couldn't think of these things now, couldn't face the truth because it would have alerted him, left its mark and allowed him to try and change my mind. And I wanted so badly to let him.

So instead of sorrow, I closed my eyes and fairly floated with joy; the idea of staying with him. I allowed myself to believe he would remain with me, slowly getting to know every part of me without losing interest. My eyes filled; it was the perfect idea, a lover, a partner who saw one's flaws and loved the person anyway. Happiness was easy enough to convey; it would have been real, if I had chosen Eric. Meanwhile, my eyes overflowed, trailing tracks down my cheeks. I couldn't bear to take my hands off him to wipe them away, but I needn't have, anyway. His lips were cool on my damp cheeks; the rough stubble scratched, but not painfully so. He traced up the skin without opening his mouth and then was gone, leaving me unsatisfied with the meager contact. I opened my eyes to see him licking the wetness away, drawing it in with a sharp, pink tongue.

He watched me watch him; in silence, I moved my hand from his cheek to his mouth, traced his cupid's bow and replaced my finger with my mouth, lightly, quick as a butterfly on a leaf before leaning out of his grasp.

"What does it feel like?" I wondered aloud, squinting at him, thoughtfully. He didn't pretend to misunderstand me, but he also didn't answer right away. I stood, held out my hand for him to copy my motion, but instead found myself chest-to-chest with him on the floor. My heart rate picked up; he leaned into my neck and scented the skin there.

"Mmh," he murmured, listening to the sudden rush inside of me. "Do you want me to show you?" He opened his mouth, put his teeth to my skin, but they were still his human veneers. I pushed down on the floor, lifted my neck and chest up, forming the yoga position 'upward facing dog' on top of him.

"No," I said, looking down on him as my hair slid past my shoulders, hesitated an inch above his face. I came back down, lowered into him and it draped over the side of his cheek like a rippling curtain, touching the floor. I brushed my locks away. "I want you to tell me."

"I can only compare myself to humans;" his eyelashes lowered, then came back up. "I don't remember what it was like to be one."

"I'm guessing brutal, at least for you," I said, thinking back to the dream I'd had, when Eric was covered in dirt and blood, had been gored open was dying slowly, aware of every last breath.

"What do you mean?" He sat up, arranging my legs so they straddled his waist before standing, moving forward and depositing me on the bed. He sat next to me, ran a finger down my bare arm, tracing the main vein there. He came off casual, but I knew better. His stare was intense, that bright, intelligent blue that wouldn't let anything sneak by.

"Oh," I faltered, wondering how to explain the dream, and now vision I'd had. "I dreamt of you when I was taken. About how you died."

"Tell me about it."

I closed my eyes, gathered courage and launched into the dream, his wound, his men, the language. I looked away when I brought the boy, Godric, up, when I told Eric of how his maker had slit the other men's throats, and then killed the man that sat next to me, entranced. What he'd done to Eric wasn't murder, though; he'd changed a human into a vampire so Eric's eyes would never close in a permanent sleep. It was done with admiration, with the hope of a connection, a companion to walk through the years with. When I finished, when in my mind I stared at his temporarily dead body, I looked up to find Eric wide-eyed, and absolutely still.

"You witnessed my transformation?" I wanted to speak, wanted to explain that I had no idea how, or why I'd seen what I had, but he wouldn't let me. "You saw Godric give me his blood? How—when I can't remember that part of the exchange, were you allowed to see it?"

"I—Eric, I have no idea. You're the supernatural being in the room."

"I have no explanation for you, Elliot." He should have been angry; this was something he didn't understand, something that couldn't be explained. Instead, his voice was soft, held a calm sort of surprise. "Not even a telepath I know can read vampire minds."

Telepath? I wondered, intrigued. "But I didn't read your mind, I don't think. It was more like I received one of your memories, and then tonight…"

"You fell to your knees," Eric said, slowly. "You clawed the air in front of you and said 'snälla.' Do you know what that means?"

I shook my head.

"It means 'please.'"

"Did you see what I saw?" I questioned, my voice layered with his sorrow. I put my hand, tentatively, on the back of his neck, brushed it up through his soft, light hair.

This time, he shook his head. I gulped; I wanted him to know his maker went freely, peacefully. Before I knew what I was doing, I let the scene wash back over me, felt the gritty roof under my feet, opened my eyes and saw a transitioning sky. But this time, I wasn't alone; Eric stood next to me, watching himself walk away, lost to grief. He moved forward, followed the echo of Godric across the roof and stood next to him, watching the sun come up. I stayed where I was; this was not my moment to share—it was only mine to give. Though, how I had it, I didn't know.

The light made the vampires' skin glow, pale in the wake of the day. Eric remained as he was, but Godric, once again, sparkled blue, then fizzled away. I already knew he'd had a smile on his face when he'd gone. I opened my eyes again and found myself back on the bed, an arm stretched around Eric.

"That," he said, the words barely touching his lips, "was the first sunrise I've seen in over a millennia." He was far away, living over and over again in the memory we'd shared, letting the warmth of the day caress his skin lightly, tenderly, without any threats or consequences.

"See?" I said, bringing my face close to his, "he was alright, in the end."

"How did you do that? How do you have access to my memory?" The words came between short sweeps of his lips across mine, so light they barely touched, made the skin tingle with anticipation underneath.

"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I've had a lot of your blood. Could that be it?"

"I've never given as much to anyone else as I have to you." His eyes shifted up, to the right, searching for something, anything, to find a reason, a cause for my visions. His lips curled playfully, though. "Are you sure you're human, Ms. Hunt?" He used my real last name, let it fall from his lips and loop over my skin like a finger, stroking careful figure eights. "You have a good name for a vampire," he teased.

"Mmh," I sounded, the back of my throat vibrating. "Perfect name for a carnivore. Terribly tragic, though, that I'm a vegetarian." I laughed, twisted so I faced Eric while bringing my legs up and pushed him back into the bed.

"So," I said, spreading my hands on his chest, "Tell the piddly human what it's like to be a ridiculously powerful, immortal vampire." The order was sarcastic, but I did want to know what it was like to be a supernatural being, what the world felt like to him.

"Give yourself credit," he smirked, shifting out from underneath me. I fell onto the sheets with a not-so-graceful 'umph.' I looked over my shoulder, annoyed. "You're not entirely helpless."

"Gee, thanks." He lifted a shoulder, and I could see his collar bone jump up, then settle back into place under his shirt. A sculptor could find perfection in Eric. I know I did. I wanted to trace the crevice between the bone and his shoulder, wanted to touch, kiss the space there, but it would be a goodbye, and Eric would know. I stopped myself in my tracks before any sadness could grip my heart, icing over the blood there, but something must have gotten through because Eric's brow furrowed, only slightly, and then it was gone. I kept myself calm; I could be sad over anything, He didn't know I was going to leave him.

"Close your eyes," Eric finally said, after a long moment where we just stared at each other's blank faces. I thought he was circumventing my question, distracting me physically so I'd forget. But he looked serious, and I felt only slight anticipation emanating from him, not lust. I wanted to know what he was doing, but I played along.

"Can you trust me?" He asks as the curtains of my eyelids hit my cheeks, obscuring the world around me.

"I can try," I murmur, knowing he'll hear me. The truth is I do, almost, and that in and of itself terrified me. Closeness like this made me tend to panic; I usually felt the suffocation of relationships, but my chest had yet to tighten with Eric.

Deft, weightless fingers pulled the hem of my oversized shirt up and I bit my lip, trying to hide an excited smile as his other hand slithered under my neck and lifted me up. I raised my arms, and, reenacting a memory of earlier tonight, the shirt came off. I was his oversized doll and he arranged me as he wanted, spread my arms out at my sides before catching the seam of my shorts and underwear, pulling them so they skimmed down across my legs, over my feet.

"What are—" I jerked up, opened my eyes, but Eric just covered them with a hand that fit the length of my forehead down to my nose.

"Just relax," he whispered, patient, but vague. I listened, all but melted into the bed, letting everything loosen. After a few minutes of silence and deep breathing, I felt sort of sleepy, until Eric spoke.

"Focus on my voice." I did, tracking the sound that had suddenly become far away, though I hadn't felt him leave the bed.

"You want to know how it feels to be like me?" He'd moved again, slightly closer.

"Y—yes," I found my voice, though it faltered, and was a few octaves lower than normal. I was laying naked on a bed with my eyes closed while Eric stalked the room around me; somehow, though, I wasn't worried, though it could have been the beginning layer of glamour he'd begun to layer into his voice. I didn't fight it, though; I wanted him to show me, wanted to know.

"My skin is denser, harder, and I heal quickly, but I also feel everything. You do to." The glamour intensified, weaving itself around me, taking control. "You can feel the particles in the air, gliding over every cell and every fiber in your being." My body, with his coaxing, lit up like a light switch had been turned on. Warmth spread over the surface of my skin; I felt the air, pushed by Eric's words, gliding past slowly, lazily like the sun on a hot summer day. It stretched around me, caressed, but didn't chill.

"Oh," I sighed, entranced with the friction from the sheets under me; I rubbed my hands and feet hard, digging them into the fabric, producing tiny shocks of pleasure that zinged just below the surface of my body. How could Eric be so focused all the time if he felt like this?

"You're free," he continued. "Free from the laws of biology, of physics. Your heart doesn't beat, but you live; you can fall forever and get up when you hit the ground. Where there organ systems and functions, you have raw energy, power to such a degree that when you first cross over, you feel intoxicated with it all." I giggled, high with the absurdity of it all. I felt like I could levitate, felt the resonance of his abilities coursing through me, making me writhe, lost in the hedonism of his journey.

"Your sense of hearing is ten times that of a human; you know when people are coming before they do." I moved my head toward him, listening; somehow, now, I knew he was exactly ten feet away, on my right side. His voice was louder, and more complex; the timbre was deep, slow and even like honey. The tattoo of my own heart gave me pause, marked every moment as it passed; the double-beat rhythm was more intense, and what's more is that I heard the chamber between the atrium and the ventricle open, the trickling of blood, and then the echo of its close. My lungs completed their circular pattern, allowing air to rush past my vocal chords, down into the bronchi, finally transfusing in the alveoli, toward my blood, which was a constant hum in the background.

Eric stepped closer, and every light footfall was broken down into parts for me; heel, arch, toe, heel, arch, toe.

"How do you feel?" He asked, approaching my body with his index finger, making me react to his touch before he ever met my skin. When he did, he drew invisible spirals, looping over and under as I shuddered with the excess stimuli. I was fairly sparkling with pleasure, and need. I wanted him to share this with me.

"Like a vampire, I guess," I said, keeping my eyes closed, though I felt him lower himself to the bed and approach me, though he didn't touch quite yet; after teasing me with languid almost-brushes, he cupped my hips, dragged me forward until I was on the edge of the bed.

"Not yet." There was a smile in his words. "Open your eyes." I did; his gaze was dark and I rode on a channel of lust that went right through me. If I hadn't have been laying down, I would have had to.

"Your vision," he said, gazing at my lips, then pulling upward to my eyes, "Is so clear it's almost a distraction, at first. Colors are richer, brighter. You see everything, imperfections, details down to the minutia. The dark becomes the day for you, your playground." As his words plunged me further into the glamour, the room grew lighter until we were in a pre-dawn haze, though all the windows were shuttered. And then I saw Eric for the first time. It really wasn't fair; he was an anomaly, a god among the masses of the average looking, a group I counted myself in. He had a scar on his left temple, a small, straight mark that gleamed white, obvious with my new sight boost. His eyes, that clean shade of grey blue, stayed on mine, allowing me to remain in my heightened state. His influence coiled within me, and it was without thinking that I acted upon both of our feelings. His touch was fast and constant, his hands moving up and down my body, touching and exploring every crevice with a muted feeling of someone trying to cram for a test, trying to remember every aspect of the subject—though he was studying me. Kissing alone sent my equilibrium screeching to a halt; I couldn't tell what was up or down, but it didn't matter because we were connected, together. He undressed impressively, never breaking contact with my body, never allowing me to regroup and think. He wanted me to feel, just feel, and so I did, gasping a God's name I didn't believe in when he braced himself against the mattress and slid inside of me.

His fangs weren't out yet, and I marveled at his self-control. I could hear, could smell the heady scent of the blood that was sweeping through my body faster than should have been possible—how could he resist?

"It's alright," I gasped, the words coming out in quick pants. "Show me." His lips parted and his lateral incisors flowed smoothly into a diminutive point, elegant in his otherwise normal mouth. This was how he belonged, though no matter what form he took, human-like or vampire, I was sure he could willingly commit anyone to walk with him into their death, gratefully allowing him to angle their neck, break the skin and whisper thank you as he drained them dry.

"You're beautiful," I said, ignoring the not so gender neutral term, but I spoke the truth. He was beautiful, deadly and somehow, I wanted to stay with him. I forgot about leaving, though, focused on the beauty of the moment, the push pull fight that kept us hovering over oblivion until we finally called a truce and were left blind in nirvana's wake.

When we laid back together, limbs strewn carelessly over one another, he let me out from under his spell and I floated back to myself feeling muted, boxed in by my normal senses.

"That was," I began, unsure of how to express my gratitude, "like nothing I've ever felt."

He just nodded and pulled me closer; it was getting close to dawn.

"What happens tomorrow?" I asked.

"We go back to Fangtasia," he began; and I frowned, remembering that the club was closed on Mondays. "And sort this out. We'll pick up your car and arrange for a place to stay while my house is fit with a better security system."

I assented with a wordless hum in the back of my throat. So that's when I would leave him, would run away home.

Ugh.

Eric started to nod off, but I gently shook his shoulder.

"Eric,"

"Mmm?"

I didn't say anything, just offered my neck to him; his thumb, swirl-side down, traced over the vein there, and then he bit, so carefully I didn't feel it. I let go of myself again, allowed him to take me, and eventually drifted off to sleep, trying not to cry over the man I was losing.