"Our plates were already empty, so I decided on another course. There was no longer a risk of drawing attention to ourselves; we were leaving tomorrow. Besides the meal, Evelyn ordered a double whiskey and downed it as soon as the waiter placed it in front of her.

"Even this won't deter you, will it?" Evelyn remarked more as a statement than a question.

"They are our people, our blood, we have to help them," I replied simply.

"But you," I turned to Agnieszka, "you should think about it carefully. Every day we are getting deeper into this, and there may come a moment when it's not possible to resurface."

"We've already discussed that," she dismissed me.

I felt relieved. What answer did I want to hear? That was the question.

They brought us another course of dinner, and we ate in silence for a while.

"I have nothing more to add, do you?" I said with the last bite.

Both just shook their heads.

The afternoon fatigue, dispelled by the shower, returned. I felt worn out; I needed to rest. I didn't feel like checking the shipment. I could easily leave it for the morning.

"We'll go over everything again at breakfast and then split up," I concluded the dinner and stood up to leave.

Our last evening together unfolded in a more oppressive atmosphere than I wished for, and I knew I was to blame.

"Won't you have a shot with me?" Evelyn invited me, twirling an empty glass in her fingers.

I considered it for a second. Without doing anything, her lips were more pronounced and shinier than a moment ago, her cleavage fuller, and her body curves more sensual.

"No, thanks. I'm not feeling well," I replied.

"Too bad," she shrugged, "who knows when we'll see each other again."

If we ever see each other again, I thought, but I kept it to myself.

I wished them both a good night, and as I left, I saw Evelyn head to the bar in the reflection of the glass doors. She must really have a craving for that shot. For a moment, I regretted refusing, but at the same time, I felt relieved.

I staggered to my room and stared at the wall for a while. I was losing faith that we could succeed, that we could survive. It had to be just fatigue. I couldn't give up.

Instead of collapsing into bed, I pulled transport crates from underneath and opened them.

They contained a weapon disassembled into several parts. It was a South African heavy sniper rifle designed for destroying lightly armored vehicles and occasionally for killing people. If they were really far away. DENEL 14.5 for 14.5x114 mm cartridges. It is also produced in a 20 mm caliber, but the 14.5x114 mm cartridge comes from the Russian anti-tank cartridge used in World War II. If I ran out of ammunition, I felt I could find Russian-caliber rounds more easily in the Czech Republic than the second option. The rifle itself weighed thirty-four kilograms, and it was meant to be operated by two men. I had to manage on my own. In the velvet pouches, long brass cones of bullets gleamed. Armor-piercing, armor-piercing incendiary, and explosive, three sets of six each. I weighed the armor-piercing round in my hand. Five such projectiles weighed a kilogram. At a distance of half a kilometer, I could penetrate a fifty-millimeter thick armor of the best steel with them. This should be enough for any vampire, at least I hoped so. And believed. Your faith has healed you.

I checked the muzzle brake. The weapon was not intended for shooting while standing, but if I had to try it, I wanted everything to work as it should, so the recoil wouldn't crush my shoulder.

The assembled rifle measured over two meters in length and took up the entire couch. In other padded recesses, military electronics and gear of my choice were hidden. Everything looked in order.

Quiet knocking.

I lowered the rifle and placed it behind the bed, the revolver under the pillow with the stock just centimeters from my fingers.

Unnecessary caution towards someone who knocks.

"Come in."

Agnieszka appeared.

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"May I come in?"

"Certainly."

She had a canvas bag slung over her arm. I shifted the only chair so she could sit in it, having to move a box of gun-cleaning tools and a notebook with my notes.

"You wanted to ask something, and you didn't have time," she reminded me.

Her strength, I realized. Or rather, the strength of vampires.

"Do you want something to drink? I have water and Jameson," I presented her with the rich selection from my bar.

I reached for the bottle and glasses, then turned back to her. She handed me a bottle of wine.

"The opener should be here, or just manage it differently. Whisky is too strong for me."

I managed. I poured us a glass. I'm not knowledgeable about wines, but this one had a deep ruby color and a pleasant aroma. Surprisingly, it tasted good, even though it wasn't Jameson.

She drank carefully, trying not to leave lipstick marks on the glass, but she wasn't entirely successful. I wondered what it's like when she drinks blood, not from a neat plastic package, but from a person. There must be something more to it; food is one of human passions. What could vampires experience?

"You look deeply thoughtful," she remarked.

"Good wine," I said, "red."

The corners of her mouth shot up.

"You're a connoisseur," she praised.

She took another sip, and half of her wine was gone.

I took her glass, placed it on the table, ran my fingers across her face, and then kissed her gently. She tasted like wine, but her scent was much better.

She returned the kiss, also gently, like someone who hadn't done such a thing in a long time.

Just like me.

I placed my hand on her side and moved up with her until I felt the curve of her breast under the wrist. I wasn't holding back during the kiss, not at all.

"It's not customary for a gentleman to start kissing a lady so passionately without at least briefly conversing, so they can enjoy each other's company for a while," she said breathlessly after we separated.

Partially, I still felt the heat of her body.

"I'm not a gentleman, and I'm not good at conversation," I replied.

"But you're good at kissing," she reassured me.

I easily removed her t-shirt; underneath, she had a simple white bra, which she helped me with, considering my lack of practice.

"Now you'll have to cooperate more," I urged her after realizing how tightly her pants fit.

I managed the panties easily. When I set my mind to something, there are no obstacles that can stop me.

I paused for a second and took a slow glance at her pale, lean body, and I was overcome with thoughts that I had never imagined such a small and fragile woman could be so strong. I was brought out of my stupor by soft, slightly slurred words from the alcohol:

"Everything okay? You look like you've seen a vampiret," she smiled slightly and waited for my next move.

It was a little hard to gather my thoughts and answer her reasonably, so I took her in my arms and carried her to the bed. Slowly I approached her face and started kissing her. This kiss was different from the first two, it was slow and passionate, I could feel her running out of breath, but she wasn't going to back down, so I decided to act. My hand slowly but surely started to go all over her body. By now I was no longer hesitant to touch her breasts, and she responded by lightly squeezing my back and slowly scratching with her short fingernails. My hand continued its journey downward, and to say that she was already quite wet would be an understatement.

The moment my two fingers entered her, she let out a quiet and slightly tentative moan and our kiss broke. Now it was my turn to ask.

"Everything okay?" I asked with a smirk and knowing the answer would be yes, I continued the faster work of my fingers.

Now her moan was already more confident and brought me to goosebumps all over my body from the strong excitement. I stopped abruptly and very quickly got rid of the remaining clothing on my body and was ready to enter, but at the very last moment I stopped abruptly.

"I can’t really hold back anymore," I quietly growled near her face.

She breathed deeply and slowly, and instead of a normal response she only mumbled positively and immediately moaned loudly at how quickly and confidently I entered her.

My movements were rhythmic and steady, I also started to help with my hand, stimulating her even more. And her moans were unique, changing from heavy and loud, to quiet and intermittent. I turned her over with her back to me and continued faster and rougher, until at some point she started twitching slightly, and I realized she was ready, so I continued faster and harder until I finished myself, on her chalky white back.

* * *

Much later, she sat leaning against my chest with a glass of wine in her hand, and I settled for Jameson.

Fatigue and a sense of defeat were gone.

"So, you don't like wine?" she asked.

"I don't have to pretend to be a cultured person anymore; I've achieved my goal," I explained the male perspective on the matter.

She started laughing so hard that it threatened to spill the wine.

"We'll be paying extra for the destroyed bed linen," I warned her.

Now she tried to stifle her laughter, but it wasn't very successful, and she ended up spilling.

It occurred to me that I must find out if this way of serving wine is better than from the lips.

It was.

"You're quite funny, you know?" she said afterward.

"Am I?"