Author's Note: I am making a small tweak to the lore of vampire combat tradition, to allow for non-firearm projectile weapons such as bows, spears, and Adrienne's sonic powers.


For the second time in so many days, I wake up with a pounding headache. I groan and clutch my temples, curling up tightly on my sleeping bag, where I apparently fell asleep after dragging my euphoric ass home this morning.

I sense the dusk approaching, even as I stumble with squinted eyes to the potable water cart and pump several cups' worth to drink and splash my face. My stage makeup comes off with some scrubbing, but my outfit is wrinkled with a spilled drink stain on the skirt.

I sigh as the half-vampire blood in my veins drives the headache away.

He'll be waking up any minute now. I don't want to face him yet. I'm too hungover and focused on our impending trek to start spiraling about my realizations last night, much less have them shoved in my face by his looming confrontation. In a strange way, admitting the L-word to myself was freeing. I wasn't playing chicken with my own heart. It did nothing for the fact that it was never, ever going to go anywhere, but hey… maybe the dreams would stop now?

I meander to Madam Truska's tent to find her entertaining Mr. Tall with a bottle of wine and a chaise lounge dragged outside to accommodate his large frame.

"Oh, hi!" I say brightly. "Perfect timing, I wanted to say goodbye to you, Mr. Tall."

The giant toasts me with a wineglass. "And I, you, young Adrienne. Larten told me of your pilgrimage, how exciting!"

Being alone with the object of my abject feelings? Yes, quite. "Yes, it's going to be interesting to meet more of my own kind. I really don't know what to expect."

"Larten will take care of you," assures Madam Truska with a smile, rising from her chair and taking her own, mostly empty wineglass with her. "Exceptionally good care of you," she murmurs, seemingly to herself, as she toddles into her tent to retrieve my second outfit.

I smirk a little, because it's clear to my nose and eyes that she is a touch tipsy, and her offhand comment must have stemmed from her lowered inhibition. She's both right and wrong though: Crepsley will take good care of me, both en route and at the mountain. But he won't be 'taking care of me' in the manner her tone suggests. The highlight reel of my many dreams featuring my vampire mentor threaten to play, but I shove down the urge.

"Mind if I change in here?" I ask, following her. "I would rather leave my stage outfit in your care, anyway, seeing as I don't want to haul it around."

"Of course, dear," she replies, handing me a neat pile of my clothes from a cluttered sewing table. "You know the way."

As our hands brush, she gets a strange look on her face, and I ignore it politely in case it's something to do with her inebriation. I don't get completely turned towards the dressing room before her hand seizes my shoulder with a painful grip.

I yelp and spin back around. "Madam -!"

Her eyes are unfocused, and for a moment I fear she's about to vomit. But she speaks in a tone with layers and depth, echoes and whispers, and it makes the hairs on my scalp stand on end. "Hearts join on the cusp of death, screams silenced, and the mute speak," she intones, looking both into me and through me. "Silent ghosts under prophetic words save the moon-touched. Fingernails are broken. New blood spills into the future."

"What the fuck?" I cry, wrenching myself free. "Madam Truska, are you alright?"

Suddenly, her eyes focus, and she briefly looks confused. "Sorry, what did I say?"

I will my adrenaline to recede. "Uh, a bunch of gibberish about… a bunch of stuff. Why? What was that?"

She's already wandering to her wine rack and selecting another bottle like nothing happened. "Oh, sometimes I prophesize. It's part of the hazard of having Desmond Tiny as your father."

I nearly have a stroke right on the tent floor. "Who HASN'T that man fathered?!" I ask incredulously. "So Mr. Tall is your brother?"

"Oh yes! Can't you see the family resemblance?" she laughs, dropping bombs with all the casualness of a drunk.

I halfheartedly join her, finding myself in the dressing room with mind and hands full. As I mechanically strip and pull on the tuned-up outfit on, I commit her words to memory with an ease that disturbs me.

I haven't got room in my head for this, on top of everything else on my plate. It drops from my thoughts, for the moment at least, like one too many juggling balls.

As I come out of the dressing room and out of the tent, the siblings are clinking glasses. "What's the occasion, anyway?" I ask.

"Last night's performance was our single best-attended and highest sales show, in the history of the Cirque," Mr. Tall informs me with a broad smile. "And we have you and Larten to thank for it."

I wave my hands in disbelief. "There's no way! It's not like we advertise, right? How could people have known?"

"This is a modern era, despite the Luddite inclinations of your kind, Adrienne," laughs Madam Truska. "The internet ensures people know when we will be in town."

This is news to me, but the evidence speaks for itself. "I mean, I'm glad, but it can't be thanks to Lar- uh, Mr. Crepsley and I. We just changed up a few things, nothing major."

The siblings spare each other a glance of inscrutable origin. "You heard and saw the same audience we did," Mr. Tall insists. "They were wild for you both. And your stage energy was fantastic."

I blush deeper than am comfortable showing, and turn to leave. "Well, like I said, I'm glad. Take care, you two. I don't know when we'll see each other again, but until then…"

"Wait a moment," Mr. Tall says, gathering his gangly limbs to stand and follow me. He has a certain lurching stride that is even more pronounced in his tipsy state. "Here," he shoves a wad of currency into my hand. "Take this for your trip. Consider it a bonus, half of it Larten's. All the other freaks got one, as they do when the Cirque performs exceptionally."

Well, no wonder everyone was acting crazy after the performance. "Uh, thank you sir, but isn't this a bit much?" I don't look at the wad, but it feels dense.

He lifts one freakishly long finger to his lips and shushes me. I have to smile at the ridiculousness of it. "Well, thank you. It'll be needed, I'm sure."

As I walk away Madam Truska calls, "Take care, Adrienne!"

I don't turn, but I wave over my shoulder. I'm not sure I can look at her the same after her oddly worded prophecy, and I don't want to spoil the mental image I have of my friend.

The changes to the clothing Madam's Truska's swift scissors and needles accomplished in so short a time are subtle, but exactly what I predict I will be needing. More pockets inside the duster. A tough lining to the leggings. Reinforcement to the elbows and knees. Yes, this is going to prove useful.

In lieu of my backpack, I start arranging things in the pockets and at my belt and in a pelt cross-body bag. My lighter backup tent, little more than a pup tent that could fit in a soda can. Some homemade pemican, from rendered bear fat, dried berries, and dried wild greens. Copious amounts of bear jerky. My long knife in a handmade possum-leather chest harness, handle angled down to make drawing it quick and easy.

Finally, the piece I had been working on over the course of several nights but did not think I would have occasion to use so soon: a bearpelt half-cloak, the dense and greasy fur a comforting weight on my shoulders.

"Good evening," comes Crepsley's voice from close behind me.

I nearly jump out of my skin, both mine and the animals', and whirl to face him. "Oh, good evening!"

He is scratching his facial scar and yawning, his other hand on his fine hip. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, as ready as I'll ever be," I reply, a little higher pitched than I meant. "They'll be towing your trailer with the Cirque, yes? Can I put the rest of my things in it?"

He gestures silently to the trailer door and I bundle up my remaining meager possessions, my packed up heavy tent, and my truest sense of security and sling them into the mobile home.

"Before we depart," Crepsley begins. "You and I need to have a little talk."

My spine goes ramrod straight at his tone. I haven't felt like I'm in this much trouble since I was seven and stole a pack of gum from a gas station. "Y-yes?" I swallow my fear. "Did I do something wrong?"

I haven't turned to see his face yet, but he doesn't immediately answer. The silence stretches on until I work up the nerve to regard him.

There is an expression on his countenance, of which I only see a fleeting glimpse before it is quickly hidden. "On stage, I am Mr. Crepsley. That is how I am billed," he says sternly.

Oh, daddy, snickers the little devil on my shoulder. "Right, sorry about that," I babble. "It slipped out and kinda felt natural." Thank God, he's not talking about the lights I drew from him. Did he really notice, after all? Or did I imagine his tension immediately after? I sense the sternness is misplaced but can't put my finger on it.

"I may have approved your calling me by my first name," he says, voice gruff and deep enough to make my heart stutter like a dying moth. "But there are limits to that. Stage, for one. In front of other vampires, for another." Then, in a mutter, "They will run their mouths about the implications…"

I don't press the question on my lips; What implications? But some part of my mind is pounding on a calculator and shrieking like a damn gibbon at the results.

"I understand. Sorry," I say, my hands twisting the back of my duster. I am sorry. I don't want to upset the good place we're in, relationally. Can't let my heart take over my mouth. Elsa sings in my mind, "Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know…"

"That said," he continues, softening a bit. "Fantastic job during the act. A final performance befitting two of our kind."

I have to beam at his rare praise. "Oh! Mr. Tall wanted to give us this," I withdraw the wad of cash from one of my inner pockets. "Half is yours, he said."

The vampire waves his hand dismissively. "I have no use for it, keep it. He pays me in human money despite me never using it."

I fan the bills in my hand without truly counting, estimate them, and do some rough multiplication. "Uh, how long has he been doing that?"

The vampire scoffs. "Years now. What do you think the couch is stuffed with?"

A little noise in my throat nearly makes it out of my mouth at the number that conjures in my head. "Have you ever considered investing it? Doing anything with it?"

"Bah!" he laughs. "What use is money to a vampire?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Plenty, to a vampire. You have time to benefit from long-term investment. To you, the shoeless wonder? Not much."

"You are shoeless too," he points out cheekily.

"There's hobo-shoeless like you, then hobo-chic like me," I respond breezily.

He snickers and locks the trailer door, pocketing the key. The windows my voice broke have been remedied with sheets of thick wood, the nails driven deeply straight into the camper shell.

We stand together under the cool light of the moon, with the sounds of the Cirque we are about to leave rising all around, and the fainter noises of the night beckoning beyond the reach of lamplight.

"Which way, mon Capitan?" I ask, feeling the excitement sparking in my chest.

"North," responds my mentor, his seagreen eyes gleaming.

And we take off into the dark, velvety embrace of the night.

It takes no fewer than five hours for the shine to wear off this nighttime travelling thing. In my excitement I had forgotten one key detail; THE FACT I CAN'T SEE IN THE FUCKING DARK.

"OW!" I yelp as I nearly break my foot on yet another rock.

Crepsley, several paces ahead of me, just sighs and stops.

I give up on trying to be tough like him. I dig around in my crossbody bag for a small crank-powered light and wind it up. "There," I grumble, shining its dim beam at my path. "Best ten bucks I ever spent."

"How will you ever develop the night vision of a vampire if you do not try?" asks my mentor, waiting for me to catch up impatiently.

"If it was going to develop, it would have by now," I grouse, picking my way over to him.

Crepsley paces next to me for the first time all night. I glance up in surprise, as I had expected to follow nothing but his broad red back for the next couple of months. "Have you felt any more changes? Any more unusual expressions of power?"

I shake my head, a little uncomfortable at the spotlight on my self-esteem's biggest detraction. "Not really. The bat song thing – all the sonic stuff, that is – seems to be increasing in power but I don't know why. Everything else…" I wave a hand in front of my useless eyes, and down at my less-than-vampire body. "The same." I huff in exasperation even as the words spill out of me. "Don't get me wrong, I like the bat stuff. But I wish I was a little more… conventional. I wish I could flit. I really wish I could see in the dark. The knockout breath, the healing spit…" I trail off morosely.

Crepsley's hand lands on my shoulder. "It will come. Or else, answers will."

I smile wryly at him. "I hope so. I've been an achiever my whole life, and now, this failure is beyond my control."

He chuckles in that deep, throaty way he does. "If this is your idea of failure, Adrienne," he removes his hand and increases his pace. "Then the world is not ready for your victory." From several paces in front of me, he calls, "But we have let your training lapse far too long! Tonight's endeavor: track me through these woods and defeat me in combat, unless I find you first!"

"Wait!" I call. But he's already flitted away.

"Ugh! Bastard!" I growl.

The forest is exceptionally dark. There are patches of dark blue sky and stars between the tree crowns, and the occasional firefly, but otherwise, not a drop of light beyond what I hold. The paranoia settles into my skin even as I try to beat it down.

I let the crank light fade as an idea forms in my head. I doubt I could sneak up on him, even when I do find him. And he'll certainly be listening for my approach, even as he hunts me. But if I muddy the proverbial waters…

It takes a moment to find the right frequency, the right note, and bring it to my lips. But eventually, the bats come fluttering on thin stretched wings. They aren't the population of bats most familiar to me; the ones from around the Cirque's summer campground. But they respond cordially, buffeting my hair, chittering in greeting.

I purse my lips around notes that mean, Locate. Predator in territory. And the pitch of their communications intensifies to exchanges so fast, I cannot discern them. I strain my ears and try to understand, but they are winging off between the branches and trees, in the direction Crepsley went. I follow, using their calls and my own rudimentary echolocation, as the temporary heightening of my senses with the use of this strange power allows. It's at a frequency I'm almost positive Crepsley can't hear, or else discern from the bats themselves.

He might be able to find one bat-song, but try picking mine out of hundreds.

The woods envelope me with a newly sinister intent. Behind every thick trunk, in every dense canopy, in every copse, my anxious and straining eyes see the red and orange blur of my mentor. Secretly, this is as fun as the haunted houses of my youth. I know Crepsley won't harm me, but the anticipation of the startling ramps my heartrate. He won't be able to sneak up on me with the bats around. I won't be able to sneak up on him within striking distance, period.

All the same, though, I want to win.

One bat flutters close to my face, and lands on my shoulder without grace. I notice the sweetly upturned, wrinkly nose and the small chunk taken out of the wing. "Nik!" I say, quieting my voice at the last moment. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer, of course, but hook-walks up my neck and clings to the bandana that holds my hair back.

I'm stirred to unreasonable happiness by the appearance of my little winged friend. It must have taken him all night to follow and find me, listening for my song. If Crepsley hadn't proposed this little game, Nik might never have found me.

A few bats start to report back, wheeling through the canopy. I recognize the squeaks for, Spider and Predator, among others I don't know, and assume they mean my mentor. I chuckle at the realization that Crepsley must have a density, or mannerism, or some other rudimentary indicator in common with spiders that the bats can pick up on. The difference for him is that they don't find him edible.

But you do, sing-songs the naughty part of my brain.

I sigh in exasperation. Don't you have something better to comment on? We talked about this.

As I pick my way quietly through the woods in the direction the bats alerted from, I select a few fist-sized rocks from the ground and pocket them. I have some ideas about how I might get the drop on my mentor, and the bats' intensifying sounds indicate I am drawing close.

I peer through a thick patch of underbrush and see him standing plain as day in an open glen, arms folded, hair awry from the harrying of many bats' wings. I can sense him glaring into the dark from here, but he isn't turned in my direction. He seems to be just…waiting.

He must know I can and will find him through the bats. He must have also realized he can't hear my approach with all of them making noise. Their smokescreen of sound is sufficient to ensure I would know of his approach, as well. So that eliminates his elements of surprise.

I smile. The plan might just work!

I gently extract Nik from my head, lest he catch a blow for me like the world's worst helmet, and lay him on a tree. Now that he's found me, he won't lose me again. I quietly palm one of my rocks, and hum a frequency only bats can hear. Swarm.

They comply. Nearly as one, they start flying in a tight cyclone around my mentor, and although his nonplussed expression doesn't change, he does unfold his arms and adopt a ready stance, scanning the underbrush for me.

I throw my voice several times, from many directions, and watch with delight as his head snaps to respond to each one. "Admittedly, this is going to be the hard part," I say from the tree on his left.

"Come out, come out, little bat," he cajoles. He's enjoying this suspense too.

"Now why would I do that when I have the upper hand?" I tease back. I huck a rock at another tree, and am pleased when he whips around, expecting me to rush him.

I do this several times, trying to disorient him. With the bats laying cover noise, he can't detect my heartbeat. He has to wait for me to show myself.

My last rock in hand, I gather my feet under me and ready myself. A deep breath and a sharp, sustained note from my voice, and Crepsley snarls as the ringing intonation of my cruelest pitch stabs his ears. He clearly wants to cover his ears but won't sacrifice his ready stance, which I am impressed by.

One more rock cracks loudly from my hand against the tree directly behind him, causing him to turn his back to me. Perfect.

I spring, the athleticism I haven't had cause to use recently coming to my aid. The several dozen feet are covered in a single, magnificent leap. I have a brief, excited moment of victory as I sail through the air, squarely towards his broad back.

But the General-cum-Prince didn't rise through the ranks without merit.

He senses me somehow, and whips around just in time to catch me in midair by the ankle and opposite arm, carrying my momentum around, and flinging me into a tree.

I crash into the rough bark hard, knocking the wind out of me, pain shooting through my body. Before I am fully fallen to the ground, though, I am scrambling to be ready as he charges me with flit-speed.

I just barely manage to dodge his claws, and they impact the tree over my shoulder hard enough to shake green leaves free. I grip his wrist so I know where it is, directing a knee to his groin. When I impact, I am shocked. I hadn't expected to land that. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting me to try such techniques. He gives a very unmanly wheeze, bending slightly from the pain.

I have no time to dwell on my victory, as his baleful growl sends me leaping into the tree. "Fuckfuckfuck – !" I chant as I put as many large branches as possible between myself and him. I direct a sonic barb behind me, bouncing it off the trunk and assuming his position from the snapping of branches, and although I don't hit him squarely it's enough for him to yelp in pain. There he is!

He's closing the distance fast, ripping limbs from the tree with the ease of twigs, and I see his eyes glittering like a demon in the night. He barrels through the limbs like the stuff of primeval nightmares, bearing down on me like the predator he is. The fear it inspires is a holdover from the human hindbrain I still possess; I shriek in terror and miss my next branch, toppling from the tree.

I fall in what feels like slow motion, and he leaps after me to pin me to the ground upon impact. As we float in suspended time through the air, the shriek that is still in my throat is bolstered by my fear of falling. I close my eyes instinctually and from some deep, primal place in my chest the shriek turns into a scream. It grows and grows and bursts forth as a wave with renewed power, stronger than any sound I've ever made. I hear rather than see Crepsley take the brunt of it as he yells in pain.

The impact I make on the ground silences me, and the pain of hitting my head knocks me out.

Oh, my head. Oh this is the worst had injury I've ever had, by far. I think my skull is fractured, and the raw pain from the open gash wetting the back of my hair throbs with my heartbeat.

When I fully come-to, there's a small fire going and I am arranged propped up against something rough. A tree trunk? The red blur tending the blaze turns and approaches, and my mentor comes mostly into focus. I squint, trying to see his expression, but he kneels before me to shake me by the shoulder.

Oh, he's angry. Now I see it. "That was incredibly stupid, Adrienne!" he yells.

"Ow ow ow – " I reply weakly as the back of my aching skull taps the tree.

"That was stupid, and reckless, and foolhardy and - !" The sentence dissolves in a snarl of fury. "Woman, if you have a deathwish, I will find you a worthy enemy to send you to Paradise! Or at this rate, I would do it myself!"

"Please stop yelling," I reply in a whisper as his voice stabs my brain. My vision is swimming and my ears are ringing. And, I notice, I am positively starving. Not hungry: famished. The taste of the blood from my own bitten cheek is a cruel mockery of my hunger.

He falls into stony silence, stops shaking me with emphasis.

"But you gotta admit," I eek out with an attempt at a sassy smile that only manages grimacing. "It was pretty cool."

Crepsley gives an exasperated sigh, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Get an apprentice, they said. It will be good for you, they said…" he stands and goes back to the fire and into blurriness, pulling something off it.

"It was kinda your idea," I remind him, straightening and tentatively exploring my head wound.

He stabs a finger at me over the campfire with a look of warning, his hard gaze telling me silence would best serve me until he gets control of his temper.

I hiss as I part the hair over the wound, separating the blood-sticky strands with care. "Oh, hey Nik," I say, feeling the bat has renewed residence on my head. Yep, good sized gash on my scalp. It takes me long enough I feel safe to speak again. "So, stitches or spit?"

"What?" he asks, pulled from his angry reverie.

"Will your spit even work on something this severe? Pretty sure I cracked my skull."

My mentor groans in irritation, clapping a hand to his forehead. "You just… sit there and think about what you have done for a bit," he grumps.

"M-hmm," I reply amicably. No matter his attitude, I'm damn proud. I basically won. Mostly. Whatever, I have some victory to spend. "Would you say that's a point for me, or you?" I mouth off brazenly.

He chuckles darkly and points at me again. "Oh, if you were not a woman and injured, I would throttle you across this forest for your ignorance."

"Hey, you're the one who told me the vampire way is, 'even in death, may you be triumphant'."

Crepsley pins me with a glare, but there is something in his expression that tells me his ire is fading.

"And what's with this sexist bullshit, huh? I thought all vampires were the same."

"Yes, vampires, Adrienne!" he barks. "You are a half-vampire! And my mentee, at that! You are my –" He grunts again, wrestling his voice to a speaking tone. "You are my responsibility, Adrienne."

I pause. I feel a pang of regret at his tone. It clicks that I must have really made him worry. "I'm sorry I scared you, Larten."

My vision may be blurred, but I can still see his subtle flinch at his name. He sighs from deep in his bones, scrubbing his face with his hand again. A moment later, he changes the subject, but I can sense he's calming down. "Lean forward, rotate your back to the fire so I can see clearly."

I bring my knees to my chest as my back screams, resting my forehead on my kneecaps as he kneels next to me. Sharp-tipped fingers carefully pull errant strands of my hair out of the wound so it won't seal around them. "Your hair is completely silver now," he notes.

"Yeah," I chuckle wryly. "That sounds about right."

"Like moonlight," he muses, almost to himself. Then, to my shock, he presses his lips to the top of the cut and directs his spit deeply into the injury, seeking the bone.

I make a face of mild disgust, even as my traitorous body reacts to the touch of his mouth. How much of a fool am I, that his saliva in my headwound is enough to turn me on, even through the itchy pain of it mending?

He repeats this several times, and I can tell by the fading pain that it is working, albeit slowly. His lips' last touch is just above the nape of my neck, and I pray to whatever entity will listen than he doesn't notice how the fine hairs there rise at his healing kiss.

"There, how does it feel?" he asks, his voice inscrutable.

I tentatively touch it. "It'll be a great scar," I reply with a winning smile.

He shakes his head and laughs, dispersing whatever tension lingered. "We might make a vampire out of you yet."

He leaves me be, returning to the fire, and I carefully creak to a stand and hobble over too, taking one of the roasted… rabbits? Its flesh is burnt on the outside, but I relish the charred taste, and it takes the edge off my hunger. "I think using so much power makes me hungrier," I note aloud.

"That is probably the first normal thing your body has done since being blooded," he deadpans.

I snort and cover my mouth to chew and laugh at the same time, and he joins me.

"How about that last burst, huh?" I ask excitedly. "I heard it hit you but I didn't see what it did."

Crepsley gives me a 'really?' look. He puts down the ambiguous mammal and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"Uh, excuse me? This ain't show and tell!" I am proud that I keep the mild panic out of my voice and instead sound grossed out.

"Oh, consider this me 'warning a bitch,' as you once so eloquently put it," he replies with a flippant head tilt. As he opens the dress shirt, my eyes go wide. Yes, at the bare chest of my crush, but also at the wide band of bruised flesh over most of his ribs and chest. I spend just a little too long studying the vision of pale and masculine yumminess, fooling myself that I have an excuse, before realizing I still have to keep up appearances.

"Shiiiit," I marvel aloud. "I did that?" I am feeling bold with evidence of my victory laid bare, and against my better judgement I extend a hand to touch the injury.

He grunts slightly as a bone shifts freely under the skin. "It was hardly the bats who broke four ribs," he scoffs, leaving the shirt unbuttoned (ugh, low blow) to tear into his own roasted game, chewing straight through the gristle.

"Well now I'm actually sorry," I respond with chagrin. "I think that's the worst I've ever hurt you. My bad."

He snickers. "The ribs will heal within the next nightfall. Trust me, the knee shot was worse."

I laugh, grateful he doesn't seem to be holding it against me.

"Using the bats was clever, by the way. How long did it take you to think that up?"

"I've been noodling on sneaky tactics for a while," I admit, testing my sore body with a few stretches. "I had to take your element of surprise, while hiding my own approach. Sun Tzu in a nutshell. Even with all the skill you impart I lack the strength and stamina to beat you, or any other vamp, in hand to hand."

He grunts in assent. "The vampire race are proud warriors. We abhor underhanded tactics as an infraction upon our honor, and our enemy's."

I deflate slightly. "How am I gonna live through being subjected to Vampire Mountain, or hell, the vampaneze, if I can't fight tactically?"

"Those of Vampire Mountain might invite you to honorable combat," he says. "But they will not hunt you like the vampaneze. Besides, you have an advantage going into the Mountain I don't think you realize."

"What on earth could that be?" I ask sarcastically.

He takes a meaningful look at my tits, and I clutch my bearskin with a glare. "There are only a few female vampires. No current apprentices are female, to my knowledge."

I stare at him, my mind whirling. "You mean, I'm gonna be the hottest piece of ass to walk those halls in years?"

He shrugs and drawls, "I would not say the hottest."

I scoff and thwack him on the ribs, where my voice bruised him. He humors me with a grunt and snicker, and continues to eat his meal, bones and all. I manage to hide the way that comment mildly wounds me.

"Nah, that just means all the girl vamps are gonna hate my guts," I correct him. "I've been to high school. I know how this works." Great, another level of anxiety to cope with, and we haven't even made it there yet.

"The weaponization of your voice would be considered honorable," Crepsley continues, clearly changing the subject. "No different than a ranged weapon like a bow or a thrown dagger. However, the sneaking around must not be used in a true battle against our own kind, or the vampaneze."

I groan. I can't get ahead! "Fine, for honor and all that."

He looks at me meaningfully. "And all that," he repeats. "But in the case of humans, we are less stringent. They do have firearms, after all, and no code of honor like us. Eat up, we have much ground to cover before dawn."

I groan. "This time, can we just walk, please?"

That gets an even bigger laugh out of him.

"Oh, and if you think I'm letting you walk around with free-floating broken ribs, Larten, you'd be dead wrong." I start digging through my pelt bag. "I'm wrapping them, and I don't want to hear arguments."

He gives a scornful bark. "We vampires are tougher than that."

This has to be done. Part of me is screaming internally, what are you doing you stupid girl, you can't keep your shit under wraps under those conditions! The other, Girl Scout part of me is insisting this is necessary and she's the one I voice aloud. "If one of them punctures a lung, or your diaphragm, or God forbid your heart, it'll put us even further behind schedule."

A longsuffering sigh. "If you insist."

"I do," I reply firmly, finally finding the first aid kit that comprises the biggest thing in my bag. When I look back he's put down the roasted animal, and is staring at me, the planes of his angular face and exposed chest glowing in the light. Is that firelight burning in his eyes, or something else?

As if, girlie. I put on my best nurse's air. "Stand up please."

He obliges with a certain care that informs me he is, in fact, in considerable pain. He's been in that pain this whole time, but didn't let on or say anything. If I hadn't asked about it, he would have hidden the injury. Moron. Stupid macho handsome idiot.

"And you get onto me for being stupid," I grumble. "Take off your coat and shirt."

"This is a waste of time," he gripes as he does so.

I try my best, my level best, to maintain a neutral expression as the clothes fall to the ground. "Raise your arms. Can you?"

"Yes," he replies snidely, clearly hiding the agony in rudeness.

"Um, on second thought, grab that tree branch so you aren't engaging your intracostal muscles."

"Shall I dance as well?" he jeers, doing as bade. And all his muscles, a study in gorgeous anatomy with his BMI under 10%, come out to play havoc on my self-control and poker face.

That question, rude as it may be, sends my lusty brain skittering to the darkest corners of my fantasies. The dirtiest side of me usually dreams of him being in control, but as I approach him with the thin bandage as my even thinner excuse, I think of how it would be to have him under my command. Tied up maybe, just like this. Exposed for my enjoyment, for me to oogle and touch and taste freely. Hmm maybe a blindfold on him… no, I'd want him to watch me, I'd want to see his expression…

"Tonight, Adrienne," he interrupts my thoughts like a bucket of cold water.

"Right, sorry, just thinking how best to do this," I make up an excuse. I tape one end of the bandage to his side, and dip closer to pass the roll behind his back. God he smells like smoke and iron and him. It's amplified this close, filling my senses.

Around and around the bandage goes, my face coming dangerously close to his chest with each pass. My hands and wrists and fingers make glancing contact with his pale skin, and I find myself trying to commit its texture to memory. And if I take special care to adjust each layer more than necessary, that's my damn business. Perhaps this is inoculating me from further desire. Maybe, just maybe, this will tie me over.

The roasted rabbit seems to have tied me over too, if just barely, and no more unbidden lights float from him to me. And if I am honest, the admittance of my true feelings, even to myself, coupled with the repeated exposure to the source, is making my fear of discovery fade incrementally with each new night.

Would it really be so bad if he found out?

As I secure the end of the bandage, I realize he's staring down at me with those intense seagreen eyes. A brief moment of panic flashes through me, as I try to think of how my expression has been arranged this whole time. Did I give something of my inner monologue away?

He slowly drops his hands to his sides, sighing. "Not bad, apprentice," he says approvingly, giving a careful twist to his torso.

"If you keep it on until you heal, I'll try not to break them again," I tease with more nonchalance than I feel.

"Deal." He shrugs back into his coat – just the coat, for some reason I can't fathom but imagine it's fate's way of punishing me – and puts the remainder of the burnt animal between his teeth. "Let's go."

I cover the fire quickly with wet earth and scamper after him, following his broad red back.