Irene had not been aware that she was crying. It wasn't until the sensation of wet cloth next to her cheek and a mild earache roused her. As reality materialized around her, she became aware of a depression in the mattress by her feet.

"Cyrus… how did you get past the wards?" Irene asked wearily. She felt the mattress shift and heard the springs groan. She peered into the darkness with one eye, while the other was buried in the damp pillow.

"It fell down and its remains are scattered all over the floor. I blame the cat," Cyrus whispered. Irene took in a deep breath, and let it shakily release. She remained still and continued to stare at nothing.

"How many times have you come in here while I was asleep?" Irene asked, her voice crackling from a tired, sore throat. Every time she blinked to clear her eyes, her eyelashes stuck to each other.

"Before the wards went up? Not often. You're boring when you're asleep," Cyrus joked, still keeping his voice hushed.

"So you haven't been drinking my blood or anything while I've been asleep?" Irene asked.

"Obviously not. You would have noticed." Irene yawned and she felt the mattress shift again. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Irene was too tired to feel little more than confusion.

"You've been crying and going on about your guy," Cyrus responded. Irene sat up and leaned against the wall. She finally looked at Cyrus. She was confronted with a lot of his pale skin, albeit interrupted with bandages. His chest appeared like an eerie disembodied specter, for his legs disappeared into his black pants, which faded into the shadows.

"Have I?" Irene wiped her eyes. Cyrus responded with a nod. Irene made herself as small as possible on the corner of her bed. Did she really want to tell him? Irene let her head droop. He probably already has his suspicions. "They took him away... and I'm afraid he might not make it…"

"It's not your fault," Cyrus said. Irene slowly lifted her head, knitting her eyebrows together, perplexed. She expected an insincere remark, or a wisecrack. His response caught her off guard. Cyrus caught her look of confusion, and smirked, then winced, his hand going to his injured cheek. "You blubbered something about it being your fault. I don't think so. True, maybe the radio reports of you being missing did tip him over the edge, but you still aren't to blame."

"You can't read minds, can you?" Irene asked. It was exactly what had crossed her mind.

"No. I don't think I'd like to read minds. I prefer just reading people," Cyrus responded thoughtfully. Irene's head drooped again. "I mean it, though. Don't blame yourself. It's the worst thing you could do. Brace yourself, but don't blame yourself."

"You make it sound so simple," Irene said dismally. She didn't have the energy to get angry nor afraid. Not yet. Irene mentally made bets with the different facets of her personality on how long before Cyrus could rouse her from despondency with sheer anger.

"That is because it is. It isn't easy, but it is simple. Then again, when you live as long as I do, you get over things quicker, because you get a lot of practice. I'm not saying being immortal removes all feeling from a person-"

"All feeling from... Cyrus? What hurt you? After they left? You were in pain..." Irene asked, the question just drifting to her mind and out her mouth with a remarkable lack of resistance.

"Oh... delayed reaction to the gun shots. They actually DO hurt. I can just block pain for a limited time. But it always comes back with a vengeance! Uh, don't tell anyone, though. I like people thinking I'm impervious to pain," Cyrus responded, adding a wry chuckle. Irene's gaze dropped, her damp eyelashes feeling prickly and disheveled. As silence stretched between them, Cyrus decided to populate it with more rambling. "Most people make life easier by becoming insensitive and callous, but it's not a requirement. I still feel emotional pain, though. Not as often or as easily, but I still do…" Cyrus paused, bringing up a knee to rest his elbow on it. "I know you might not believe me, but I feel the pangs of loss when it happens to me."

"You're right, I don't believe you," Irene muttered. "I just want to be left alone." Cyrus clicked his tongue and shook his head at her. He shifted over closer to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. This was the opposite of being left alone, but she was too tired to fight with him.

"It wasn't easy losing Layla," Cyrus continued. I could care less about your loss right now, Irene thought viciously. But she remained still and quiet, letting him continue. "I didn't curl up in a corner and cry when I found her locket, though." Cyrus paused, and Irene just remained with her head against his bare chest, listening not just to his words, but his heartbeat. How odd it was. "I was angry at myself. When she told me some of the things going on with Gabriel and the rest of his posse, I didn't take her seriously."

"But weren't you part of Gabriel's posse?" Irene reminded him. Cyrus nodded.

"Ye-es." Cyrus drew the monosyllabic response out as if he was chagrined to admit to it. "Which is why I thought she was misled, since if they were up to shenanigans, I would have been at the center of it. Although Layla never said it, I could tell she didn't approve of our Roman Feasts. But to suggest in addition to that, Gabriel was hosting blood sports, pitting vampires against vampires was unbelievable." Cyrus looked at the window, moonlight framing the curtains.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Roman Feasts?" Irene asked, a look of discomfort coming over her.

"Ah... you don't want to know. You really, really don't want to know," Cyrus quickly warned.

"I see…" Irene said sleepily.

"Moving on with my character developing story, I felt a certain loyalty to Gabriel." Cyrus's tone launched into air playfulness, which led to Irene grumbling. "Although we often fought for our dam's favour, I was pretty much the tag-along little brother. We looked out for each other. Usually, it was him looking out for me and cleaning up my messes. And I made a lot of them."

"You still are."

"Of course! I had an enabler following behind me making everything right, so it's not like I ever learned NOT to." Cyrus waved a hand in the air. "Anyway, I never questioned why Gabriel looked out for me. It just was. And I'm not sure I can say I was loyal to Gabriel, so much as I didn't want to bite the hand that fed me. But Layla told me that Gabriel was running blood sports by putting frenzied vampires in a pit with a single mortal, and watching them brutalise each other for the prize. At first this was just done as a punishment, but eventually, done to outsiders or new vampires purely for entertainment. Or so Layla claimed. I laughed it off. I knew Gabriel was brutal, but I didn't think he understood 'fun' and would put that much effort into procuring it, even in a twisted way like that."

"Like what Gabriel did to you… the starving…" Irene responded.

"Yes and no. See, what turned my laughing and scoffing to actually getting ngry with Layla was when she said he didn't just starve them. He drank from them. With the exception of some situations, drinking from other vampires is risky and highly taboo. So when he tossed me in with you, I was just bled, not fed from. He'd never feed from me. And… actually, let's not talk about that. It was an unpleasant experience for both of us." Cyrus waved his pale hands in the air, banishing the recollection.

"Why?"

"Eh, it's complicated." Cyrus evaded. He then continued on his verbal journey, dragging Irene along for the ride. "Anyway, I was upset hearing these things. When Layla told me these things were happening, I ordered her never to say those things again. Layla obeyed and said nothing more about Gabriel. However, this also included not telling me what Gabriel was doing to her. She was a master at hiding, especially her own wounds. Instead, Layla did something unlike her. She went behind my back and tried to expose Gabriel by collecting evidence that would speak for her. When I found this out, I stupidly took Gabriel's side again, and told her to stop poking her nose where it didn't belong. However, given a day or two to think things over, I had to admit this wasn't like Layla. Layla was a woman of integrity, and she wouldn't do anything so malicious as spread lies, especially ones that could endanger me. When I went to find her to apologize… all I found was a note she left me…" Cyrus went silent.

"She didn't…"

"No. It was a warning that Gabriel was going to kill her. She said she was ready to die if it opened my eyes. It did. I searched for her, but all I found was a scorch mark and her pendant… " Cyrus shook his head. Irene lowered hers, soaking in the story, uncertain when she went from a tired and indifferent listener to actually finding herself invested in the tale. She wondered how much of it was embellished, or if any of it were true.

"Later Flynn and Roan were shooting off their mouths about how they… on second thought, you probably don't want to hear that either." Cyrus paused again. "I was angry and picked a few fights. That wasn't enough. I decided I was going to throw a coup! It was going to be glorious! But Gabriel found out my intentions. Shortly after, well, that's when you and I met." Cyrus paused, and then she could physically feel him perk, as his voice pitched to a more light-hearted tone. "So, there's my angsty sob story. It's a requirement of being a vampire, you know."

Irene made a half-hazard attempt to beat Cyrus on the chest with a lazy flail of one of her arms. "If you really felt pain… you wouldn't make jokes…"

"Yes I would," Cyrus responded. "It's what I do. We've been over this." Cyrus patted Irene on the head. "If you want me to continue to be morose, I can. I could tell you how much I felt for Layla, how much I wanted her, and how I couldn't tell her. If you want me to be melancholy, I could tell you that, since she listened to everything I told her, I could have easily ordered her in bed with me, and she'd do it without hesitation. However, knowing she'd disembowel herself if I told her to, it wasn't good enough. Maybe you could say I loved her. Maybe you could say I was just seeking a conquest, to get her to make the first move to slake my own vanity. You could say everything I've said so far is a lie, if it pleases you. It doesn't matter, really, because she's gone."

"I'm surprised you weren't all over her. You don't keep your intentions hidden around me…" Irene mumbled. She was sinking into a deeper place. She'd never told Jordan how much she really loved him. Perhaps he could read her mind, and made that parallel just to dig into her. Or perhaps, he sincerely did understand how she felt. That was a troubling prospect. She did not want to understand a monster, nor be understood by one.

"I hesitated for over a century. I'm not going to make that mistake twice," Cyrus responded. "So I've taken every opportunity to keep you informed. But it hasn't really worked out for me this way either."

"That's because you are a pig. Why would she listen to everything you told her, anyway?" Irene asked.

"Oh? I bought her at a slave auction. I was looking for a servant I didn't need to hide the truth from. However, I couldn't believe my luck to have the opportunity to buy an exotic dancer."

"Exotic dancer? Right, you just wanted a servant..."

"If you'd met Layla, you'd understand…" Cyrus tilted his head. "I suppose I could try to explain, but even I, loquacious as I am, lack the vocabulary to capture her essence. She had an alluring presence that pulled me in, but also kept me at bay. Truthfully, I could have mistreated her in any way I could imagine, and I bet she still would have taken the abuse with poise and dignity. Yet, she still had a way of not taking any nonsense; if she knew what was best for whomever she served, she did that without fail. I'm really reaching to try and describe how she was… her humility and pride… how it blended… she bowed down low yet held her head high. I guess even as her master, I was in too much awe, perhaps even a bit intimidated." He paused, as if waiting for something. Irene was barely cognizant of the last sentence or two, the warm tingling of sleep pulling at her wandering mind. She was only vaguely aware of him gently easing her head back onto the pillow, and the relief of being alone in her bed again.