I woke the next night with the taste of Eric still on my lips. Not of his blood, which I could not still help but be eager to taste, but of his gentle mouth. The flavor was a sweetness that was wholly Eric's, with undercurrents of wine and honey.

He had been so good to me, just as he promised, even in the simple act of joining his mouth to mine. I had felt lightheaded, but in a pleasant way. My blood had swept through my veins in quick pulses. I had trembled, and wrapped my arms around his neck, and trembled and trembled.

My master had not haunted my thoughts while I was in Eric's arms. Nor when we had parted just before dawn, the both of us panting with a need that the sunrise would have not allowed us to satisfy, even had we stayed together. Nor had Master haunted my dreams this past day. Eric and his tenderness had protected me from myself and my mind and my master—of that I was certain.

I was also certain that I would ask Eric to make love to me tonight. There was no terror to force me to put it off any longer.

I had woken with my eyes closed—an instinct preserving my eyes from the dirt—and now I tunneled upward to the surface blind. I felt a gentle breeze blow over my fingers first: then my hands, my forearms, my face. I shook the dirt from my head, albeit unsuccessfully, as I wriggled my way out of the earth, and wondered how it would feel to see Eric doing the same beside me.

Since meeting Eric, I had left the city as dawn neared and buried myself in the surrounding forest, in a different spot each night, in places where disturbances of the earth would be least likely to be noticed by human eyes. Now I found the river that I had used to bathe for the past few nights by scent and did so again, hurriedly washing myself and my tunic, wishing there was a cave nearby so I at least would not appear so dirty every evening. I had rarely before been overly particular about my appearance, except in those cases when a dirtied body would lessen my ability to pass as a human being, or because my master demanded extra cleanliness from me for his own perverse reasons. But I did like to be clean, at least, and now I wished to be well-kept for Eric.

I joined the throng of revelers in the city with a light heart and a quick step. I had been slightly late the night before, because of the necessary removal of dirt, but tonight I wished to be early, so that I might see Eric's face light up when he saw me waiting for him.

He had not yet arrived near the statue of the laughing satyr when I reached it. I stood off to the side, scanning the crowd, time and time again rising up on my toes as though that would help me glimpse him from farther off. I almost wished my eyesight was as paltry as a human's, so that my restlessness at not seeing the decurio might be lessened.

And then I cocked my head at a vaguely familiar, almost muffled sound, and something jumped in my chest as I realized from my months of following the decurio what it was: Eric, crying out in pain.

I fought the flow of the crowd, shoving and elbowing those in my way even when it was not necessary, trying to appear as though I was merely a slave anxious that I would be whipped if I did not return to my master quickly enough. I received several blows from the indignant throng in return, and fought down the urge to turn and tear them all to pieces as my fangs itched at the roof of my mouth. Eric was in danger: this was no time to retaliate against past abuses.

Panting, my stomach fluttering, I cast about for Eric's scent on the wind. It came to me easily, if faintly, and I followed it to an area of the city where the crowd had lessened: understandable, for here there was nothing to keep them entertained. I stumbled into an alleyway—

The smell of Eric's blood hit me like a wave of heat: it was his scent and the taste of his mouth combined and intensified. My fangs dropped; a warm pulse began between my thighs as my head grew light.

I blinked, and a red haze that I had not known to previously exist was gone.

And there was a small, male someone crouching over Eric—a small, male someone with the head of a serpent slithering up the back of his neck, out from the collar of his tunic...? Eric lay struggling on the ground, his blade and armor and other clothing tossed to one side. This someone who bore a tattoo identical to mine had clamped a small hand over Eric's mouth, and was slowly digging his fingers into the bloody flesh of Eric's chest with his other hand—

Snarling, I threw myself upon the small figure without thinking. We somersaulted off of Eric, our momentum halted by the wall of a building. The back of my opponent's head hit brick with a crack.

"Eric is mine," I growled, thinking his aggressor was of my species, and therefore using the words of possession that Master had used a thousand times for me: Godric is mine. There was a strange sensation in my chest when I said it: not quite the pain of guilt or fear, and not quite the thrilling rush of pride or happiness.

But then I looked at my adversary, really looked, and I felt my eyes widen as my jaw dropped.

The creature—for I was certain now that it could not be of my kind—possessed my face. My brow. My eyes. My nose. My lips. My chin.

My face.

My—face...?

It grinned, in a grotesque parody of the expression I had seen so many times in water's reflection, and I stared at my fangs, my slightly crooked tooth on the left side.

"Well, this will be interesting," the beast—I could not bear to think of it as me—said with my voice, and its fist slammed into my mouth.

The power of the blow drove me onto my back. My head smacked stone paving. My ears rang as my mouth burned.

"An eye for an eye!" the creature singsonged, and leapt lightly over me, knocking down Eric, who had been struggling to sit up. Those blue eyes that I so loved were almost clouded over with pain.

A rumbling sound vibrated in my throat as, spitting blood, I wrenched the beast from Eric by the back of the neck and threw it into the opposing wall. My fingers tingled where I had touched it: the action had been like touching the nape of my own neck...

The creature lunged at me, and we grappled, rolling over and over on the ground.

When we connected with brick once again, my fingers dug into the beast's shoulders. "Why did you attack Eric? What are you, to wear my face?"

It cocked its head, just as I often did, grinning as it mimicked my wide eyes. "You've lived over twice a human's lifespan, and you still don't know? How have you managed to survive?"

But then my eyes widened in return: I did know. I returned the blow to the mouth it had given me, and it pushed its feet into my gut and shoved me off of itself.

"You've lived over twice a human's lifespan..." I kicked out at the creature, but it dodged my feet. "How long have you been following me?"

It shrugged, grinning, darting out of the reach of my clawing fingers as I stood. "Couple days, more or less. I've been hunting your kind for a long time, but your age was a lucky guess." The creature licked blood off its fingers, backing off as I approached. "Your human is delicious, by the way."

"Your human is delicious, by the way."

It had tasted Eric. It had tasted Eric!

Snarling, I threw myself against it, knocking it to the ground—

And I screamed as I felt a burning sensation on the side of my neck. My flesh hissed; I could smell the smoke.

Silver.

I watched the creature run out of sight with a speed not unlike my own as the pain drove me to my knees. Wrapping a shaking hand in the collar of my tunic, I reached up and pulled the offensive metal from my neck; a whimper fled me as the silver clung for one last instant to my flesh. My hand opened, and it dropped to the ground: a thin necklace, inlaid with tiny rubies. It was a moment before I realized that those rubies were drops of my own blood. I shuddered, and placed my palm against my neck. Though it came away crimson, there was no pain in the action: I had already healed. I had not noticed if the creature wore jewelry, taken aback by its appearance as I had been, but the necklace must have belonged to it.

"Godric."

My chest pulsed uncomfortably: Eric's utterance of my name was little more than a croak.

I was at his side in a blur, my gaze raking over the damage—thankfully, his ribs had not exposed—before I sank my fangs into my wrist and held it to Eric's lips. "You must drink. It will hasten your healing. Hurry." I had no idea how much blood Eric had lost, only that it was too much.

His gaze on mine, the decurio swallowed, and I felt a part of myself enter him, moving down and down, through his inner walls to the places that required repair. He swallowed again, and I grew rigid, my head pounding, my mouth gasping with agony, my eyes darting for a new threat, before I told myself that the pain and terror I was feeling belonged to Eric.

My throat was suddenly thick. What if I had acted too late, and Eric died in my arms?

I ran the fingers of my other hand through his hair, slowly, again and again, whispering, "Shh... Shh..." The need to comfort him, as much as myself, was overwhelming. "You are safe with me. I swore to be your ally. You are safe with me."

I watched his chest heal: first the muscles knitting together, and then the skin. A warmth replaced the horror: gratitude.

When I was certain he was no longer in pain, I removed my wrist, and it was soon like new. I continued to stroke his hair, and my voice remained gentle. "What happened?"

"I thought... it was you." Eric's still-rapid pulse was loud in my ears. "I met it by the satyr statue, as you and I had agreed to do last night. We walked here together, and I stopped to kiss it..." Some of the fire that had suddenly flared to life within me must have shown on my face, but the decurio made no comment of it, and I did not begrudge him for that: I already knew his appetites could not be sated by a single, constant mate alone. "It said it wanted to have sex with me. When it took off my clothes, fangs appeared in its mouth, like yours do..." He blinked three times in rapid succession. "And then it was tearing me apart. It was very strong..." He sat up, and our faces were very close. "What was that thing? It couldn't have been what you are—you would've told me if you could mimic the forms of others."

"So I would have," I nodded, and my stomach flipped. I had saved his life twice now: of course he should trust me. Still, despite what had just happened, the feeling of that trust was glorious.

I breathed deeply. "That was a satyr."

One pale brow lifted. "Like the male followers of Bacchus, with the goat legs and the lechery...?"

"Yes." The thought of lechery shining in Eric's blue eyes made me swallow, and reawakened the stiffness of my groin. "They can mimic the forms and abilities of almost any creature they wish, in order to fulfill their duty as spies for Bacchus."

Now Eric's entire brow had risen. "Why would a god need spies? How do you know this?" I felt no prickles of suspicion from him, only surprise.

"Just as a slave does the work his master does not wish to do, so do some creatures ensure that the gods who created them are believed in and worshipped. As you were probably told in your childhood, the gods are mostly concerned with the affairs of heroes. The actions of ordinary mortals are left to be watched over by their subordinates." I took another slow breath. "I know these things because my master wished to make sure that I was... properly educated in the sexual arts." That was all Eric needed to know; even if he would ask for more detail, I could not bear to give it.

The decurio's jaw hardened. "It's a pity that bastard is already dead."

I nodded, my blood singing. "It would have given me great pleasure to see you slay him."

"... I suppose," Eric said after a moment, "that once again I owe you my thanks." He kissed me then, wrapping his arms around me. My mouth strove to mimic the caresses of his lips and tongue. My palms rested against his chest as I found my thighs spreading around his hips. My desire pressed against his, and a groan tumbled from my lips as my blood grew hot with our combined lusts.

"What do you mean, 'Eric is mine'?" He murmured the question with his mouth still against mine.

For a moment I could not answer his question: the sweetness of his kisses had made me dizzy.

"It is a term of claiming among my kind." I extricated myself from him, the better to think, releasing all but his hands. "I thought the satyr who attacked you was one of my species at first, and I spoke those words to protect you. If it had been what I am, then it would not have attacked you again, out of respect for me. It is a thing of politeness: only the one who claims a human can feed from or have sex with him or her, unless permission is given otherwise."

His eyes were painfully cold. "So your kind view all humans as slaves—not only the real slaves."

"Yes. Even before I met you, they were nothing but food to me." I swallowed. "You are the only human I have ever claimed, but you are the furthest thing from a slave that I have ever met."

After a moment, his eyes softened. "You didn't ask to be like this, and you have saved my life twice now, so I can't hold that against you." He leaned forward until his forehead nearly rested against mine. "When you gave me your blood... Will I become what you are?"

I shook my head, cursing the air between us even as I prided his intelligence. "The process is a little more complicated than that, and although I have wanted to turn you ever since I first laid eyes on you all those months ago, I would not do so unless you asked me to. To live a potentially endless life under the whim of another is a choice I did not get to make for myself, and I would prefer that you have the opportunity to accept me as your Maker under your own free will."

His gaze shifted away from me and back again. "I'm not sure right now if I would want to become what you are."

I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through his hair once more even as his uncertainty sliced open my chest. "I cannot blame you. But you must know, Eric the decurio, that you have your whole life to decide, for I will still want you as mine when you are wrinkled and gray."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

I held his gaze, imagining lines around his eyes that did not disappear when he was not smiling. "I am certain of it."

His lips met mine, his kisses once again quick and passionate, and I allowed his arms to encircle me once more. His heartbeat thundered beneath my palms.

In that moment, as our tongues danced, I knew he would not care about the ruin of my back.

"Make love to me." I gasped the words between one darting peck and the next. Every inch of me throbbed with blood. I took hold of the belt on my tunic, preparing to loosen it, so sweetly aware of Eric's nakedness but for his sandals—

A dart of ice shot through me, and only Eric's blanched features told me that the emotion had not been mine.

"Can a satyr smell as well as you can?" He spoke the words before I could ask what was wrong.

"I wouldn't doubt it. There are many creatures whose sense of smell is far better than a human's—" Then I understood what he was after, and my eyes felt as wide as his.

"Sons of Death!" Eric swore, and together we scrambled to our feet. I dressed him in a blur, knowing we didn't have the time for his slow human movements, and in seconds he was fully clothed. He staggered a bit when I had finished, but my hands were already there to steady him, for of course he would be unaccustomed to so many quick movements at once.

"Take that," I said, gesturing to the necklace, and it disappeared in the decurio's fist. "I want to study it later once we make sure your family is safe: it may give us some clue as to who this satyr is."

Eric led me through the streets of Rome at a sprinting pace, and I matched his every step. Even if his family was already dead, I would let no harm come to Eric.