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 that she had fallen asleep on the couch. Her neck was stiff, as the throw pillow she'd rested her head upon was flat, firm, and more decorative than effective.

"Irene, what happened?"

Icicles poked her stomach at that voice. She might have jumped and gasped had she not felt so numb and sluggish. She sat up and scraped away dried tears from around her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You've been crying and going on about your guy," Cyrus responded. Irene rubbed her eyes and looked over at her father's armchair, where the vampire lounged. She was confronted with a lot of his pale skin, albeit interrupted with bandages. His torso appeared like an eerie disembodied specter, for his garbed legs faded into the shadows.

"Have I?"

Cyrus responded with a nod. She stared at the floor, which had bars of moonlight along it. It felt oppressive. She let her head droop. He probably already has his suspicions. I'm too tired to play these games. Maybe if I answer, he'll go away. "He was transferred... and I'm afraid he might not make it…"

"It's not your fault."

"That's a load of..." Irene aborted her churlish reflex. Wait. She slowly lifted her head, knitting her eyebrows together, perplexed. That was almost... kind. What is he up to? "Who said anything about it being my fault?"

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." Irene snorted. The vampire tilted his head. "Maybe the radio reports about your abduction affected him, but you aren't to blame."

Irene squinted, then blinked as the delicate membrane of old tears spread across her narrowed eyes. "Are you a mind reader now?"

"No, thank goodness. I like trying to figure people out." Cyrus stroked his small patch of facial hair, peering across the room. Irene's head drooped again from fatigue, but in the corner of her eye she saw him sit up straight. "I mean it, though. Brace yourself, but don't blame yourself."

"You make it sound so simple," Irene muttered. After the intense emotions she'd been experiencing, it was getting harder and harder for her to feel. Nonetheless, she made bets with herself that Cyrus would rouse her anger even from this place of despondency.

"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-"

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

"Oh... you heard that? Don't worry about it." Cyrus punctuated his statement with a wry chuckle. Irene's gaze dropped, her damp eyelashes feeling prickly and disheveled. As silence stretched between them, he decided to populate it with more rambling. "Okay, fine. I can dampen pain for a short time. Keep that to yourself, Peaches."

"Hmph. Who am I going to tell?" Irene gave Cyrus a scathing side-eye. I have no one left but him. How did I end up here?

Cyrus inhaled sharply, the air whistling through his teeth. "Right..." He glanced towards the window, despite the lack of any appreciable view due to the crooked blinds. He rubbed the back of his neck. "There really isn't anything I can say or do to fix things at this point."

"Fix?" Irene rubbed her eyes to prepare them to perform an unholy stink-eye. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"No!" Cyrus snapped his attention back to her, wincing again. "Well, yes." He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands which lay on his lap. His eyes squinted and his cheeks bunched up, but it was hard to tell in the low lighting if the vampire was grimacing or grinning. "Fewer people sticking their noses in means fewer complications."

Irene stifled another yawn. Her anger felt more like an old ache, tender when disturbed, but dull and disconnected. He'd pressed on her sore spot, but soon the sensation faded and she was back to feeling numb and tired. "Whatever."

Cyrus loosely wove his fingers together, looking at her while leaning forward, his long bangs flipping to one side as he turned his head. "There's a lot about you I don't understand. Which is just as well. But I understand loss. You may not believe me, but I myself am grieving."

"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. Vinyl creaked as he rose to his feet, then walked over and plopped down beside her. Without any invitation, he slung his arm about Irene's shoulders. This was the opposite of being left alone, but the desire to fight just wasn't with her. She let the arm stay there out of sheer indifference.

"I'm not quite over losing Layla."

I could care less about your loss right now. Irene averted her gaze from Cyrus, but she neither said nor did anything to dissuade him from continuing.

"I didn't curl up in a corner and cry when I found her locket, though." Cyrus paused, looking down at Irene, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. He pulled her closer to him, until her head rest against his bare chest. Again, her despondency choked out any desire to fight, and she narrowed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat. It was slow, like someone in a deep sleep, but it was there.

But I don't want him to have a heart.

"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."

"Um... but you were in Gabriel's posse. You told me yourself the terrible things you all did together," Irene reminded him.

"Ye-es." Cyrus drew out the monosyllabic response. "We got up to all kinds of shenanigans. Layla never said it, but I could sense she was disconcerted by our Roman Feasts." Cyrus slid his foot forward, until a few lines of moonlight fell across his toes.

"Roman Feasts?" Irene sat up enough to glance at his face. He crooked an eyebrow and immediately she rested her head on his shoulder again. "Nevermind. I don't want to know. I don't want to know any of this."

"What? And deprive me of my character developing back story? I'm trying to relate to you, Peaches. Share a moment. Show that it doesn't always have to be fear and anger between us."

"You're wasting your time." Irene's voice cracked and her throat felt gummed up. She yawned again and attempted to lean towards the arm of the couch, but he held her in place. With a sigh, she remained. Resistance was pointless. The only thing left to do was capitulate to his eccentricities.

"Well, it is mine to waste." Cyrus tapped each finger in sequence on her shoulder. "Anyway, back to my story. Ahem. I felt a certain obligation to Gabriel." His tone launched into playfulness, which left Irene grumbling. "Although we often fought for our Lysandra'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 do."

"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.

"But why? Why were you and Gabriel together in the first place?"

"Um... I hope you aren't inferring we were together together... because... ew." Cyrus shuddered. Irene just scoffed in response. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "We were created by the same vampire. At the same time no less. So he's been there from the beginning of my second life. The three of us made a happy, dysfunctional vampire family. Two brothers and a... um... no. No, thinking of Lysandra as Mother just makes me feel like some kind of creepy Oedipus figure. Naw, I just call her my dam... which I guess is the same thing in horse talk, but it's somehow less weird to me."

"Where is she now?" Irene had some choice words for whoever gave either of those two men immortality.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"She's been, ah, neutralised. She's out of the picture, at any rate." Cyrus cleared his throat. "Anyway, back on topic. 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 he was running blood sports by putting frenzied vampires in a pit with a single mortal, and watching them brutalise each other for the prize. I laughed it off. I knew Gabriel was brutal, but he didn't do much for funsies."

"Like what Gabriel did to you… the starving…"

"Ah, yes, mostly. Except for one thing, and I'm getting to that..."

"Wait, but how did you get away? How did I?"

"Oh... uh..." For a moment the vampire stalled, eyes shifting side to side. "Short version is, I became cognizant, got really pissed off and hulked out on the guards. Then I dragged you out, invaded a nearby drug den, regurgitated your blood and tried to inject it back into you. Killed a druggie, brought you home, then left to properly frame the body. And uh... sometimes vampires are affected by drugs in the blood of our prey and I tripped out. By the time I cleaned up, your Dad was back."

"Regurgi... ew..." Crawling skin and nausea briefly enveloped Irene's senses, but like most feelings, it soon faded into the blaise. Though it was unsurprising she ended up with blood poisoning after that.

"So, back to my story. The claim of blood sports wasn't really the issue. But claiming that Gabriel didn't just starve them, but drank the blood of other vampires was an outrage."

Irene sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Why?" The question bubbled up despite her indifference.

"Oh. Um. With the exception of some situations, drinking from other vampires is risky, addictive, and highly taboo. So when he tossed me in with you, I was just bled, not fed from. He'd never feed from me." Cyrus waved his pale hands in the air.

"Why not?" Again, the words just popped out.

"Eh, it's complicated." Cyrus evaded. He then continued on his verbal journey, dragging Irene along for the ride. She closed her eyes, but could feel frequent movement as he likely gestured along with his speech "It was upsetting to think about and I ordered Layla to say nothing more. So she didn't. She also didn't tell me what Gabriel was doing to her. Layla was unflappable and stoic, so I had no idea. Probably why I was blind sided when she tried to get proof of Gabriel's activities and was caught. I took Gabriel's side again."

Irene could hear a change in the rhythm of Cyrus's heart rate. Is this what he hears all the time? Being a vampire must be noisy.

"However, given a day or two to think things over, I had to admit this wasn't like Layla. She'd always been quiet and loyal. Spreading lies wasn't really in her nature. And there was evidence that I kept overlooking. Gabriel hid it well, but there were times I got a whiff of it. The Stench. A sign of feeding from other vampires."

Irene wrinkled her nose. "I wondered why he had such bad breath."

"Breath mints can only do so much." Cyrus cleared his throat. "Anyway, when I went to find Layla to apologize… all I found was a note she left me."

Cyrus's heart was beating harder. She could feel it pounding, rushing in her ear, vessels throbbing against her cheek. Although Irene had wanted him to cease prattling, the pause in his narration was unnerving. Still, she did nothing to hurry him along, letting him take the time he needed to continue. Is this for dramatic effect? Or is he genuinely emotional? His heart beat...

"It was a warning that Gabriel was going to kill her. She wrote she was ready to die if it opened my eyes." Cyrus spoke in an even, dry tone, devoid of emotion. "It did. I searched for her, but all I found was a scorch mark and her pendant."

Irene lowered her head, soaking in the story, uncertain when she went from a tired and indifferent listener to some investment in the tale.

"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." He 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." He patted Irene on the head. "If you want me to continue to be morose, I can. I loved her, but could never tell 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."

"Hmph. 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 Cyrus 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 countered. "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."

"Or maybe you're just a prude."

"Damn straight..." Irene muttered.

"Oh, look at Saint Irene, getting saltier in her language. You don't seem religious, so why are you so proper anyway?" Cyrus shifted craning his neck to look down at her.

Irene tilted her head and looked up, seeing Cyrus from one of his less than flattering angles. "I wanted to be everything my mother wasn't." She then looked away; it was hard to remain serious while staring at a vampire's nose hairs.

"Does that include trying not to be dead? Because I think you need to try harder in that regard. I have to keep saving you."

Irene beat Cyrus on the chest with her fist again, resulting in a playful guffaw from him.

"Too bad you couldn't save Layla. Then I wouldn't have to deal with you." Irene felt Cyrus actually flinch at the remark as he hissed inwardly. Normally she would have felt a pang of fear of reprisal or even regret, but she only felt a small spiteful satisfaction.

Cyrus's arm lowered, falling off of her shoulders. "Back in the knife drawer, Miss Sharp."

"Actually... How did Layla end up with you?" Irene honestly could not imagine any woman in her right mind would be loyal to Cyrus. It demanded explanation.

"Oh?" She could feel him relax. "When I was in Cairo, I purchased her, since the slave trade was still bopping in those days. I was looking for a mortal servant to do my bidding."

"Right, you just wanted a servant..."

"Well, yes, I also bought her because she was beautiful and a wonderful dancer…" Cyrus tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, glancing down. "Honestly, though, I never laid an untoward hand on her. Not even to discipline her. She didn't need it." Irene yawned, and Cyrus lifted his hand in the air. "Am I boring you? Too bad. It's soothing to talk about her. Such as how she was lowly yet self assured and it was just a paradox - which drove me crazy, but in a good way. And nothing I could do could get a rise out of her. I tried. Really. I tried. But eventually, in a moment of weakness, I made her into a vampire. While I don't regret that now, soon after I was quite chagrined. After all, her usefulness was that she could do my bidding during the day, so I was stuck without a day servant again. But..." He trailed off. Irene was barely cognizant of the last sentence or two, the warm tingling of sleep pulling at her wandering mind. There were some more words but they didn't make any sense to her drifting mind. She felt an odd weightlessness and lost her sense of time.

Moments later, she was jarred awake, standing in front of her bedroom door. Disoriented, she leaned forward, her hands pressing on the wood. "Huh...?"

"Well, I was going to carry you to bed in a grand romantic gesture, but forgot about the mistletoe. Sorry, Peaches, but you'll have to walk the rest of the way."

"You..." If there were words, they flickered out of her mind before they reached her tongue. A few nonsense syllables escaped her, leading into a yawn. She heard a chuckle behind her but chose to ignore it, shuffling into her room to seek a warm place to return to the sweet release of slumber.

"Goodbye..."

----------------------------------------

When Irene awoke the following morning, only a dismal amount of light was bypassing her curtains. Yawning, she walked over to the window, looking out at the overcast horizon. Somehow, it made her feel somewhat reassured. She folded her arms, standing motionless by the window. For a moment her mind was empty, and this brought a few minutes of peace.

The peace was broken by the realization of hunger. Coming back into the world, Irene felt despair creep back upon her. Swampy and hazy, memories of the previous day trickled to her consciousness. There was too much to unpack. Too many moving pieces, too many emotions, and it was just too daunting.

Irene sighed and sat back down on her bed. Although she was hungry, eating just seemed like too much of an effort. Crying also seemed to be too much of a hassle. Instead, her mind fought through recollections. She tried to scratch out some sense in it all, but instead tumbled into a pit of writhing emotions. Her heart pounded, her hands grew cold, and her head alternated between light and heavy. The part of her that wanted to believe the previous day was all a bad dream was often choked and the optimist in her that tried to etch out some sort of bright side continued to be hunted.

Losing to herself, Irene sprang to her feet. She paced about her room, wringing her hands. Now it seemed too much effort to stay still. She needed to replace these thoughts and feelings fast before she drove herself to distraction.

Irene's first destination was the kitchen. She wanted something simple and quick. She had to settle for toast with margarine. Only two bites in, she realized sitting alone and eating wasn't enough. Her mind was wandering again. She needed a way to rein these thoughts and control them, or distract herself from them.

Irene plunked herself down on the worn pleather armchair. She stared across the room at the old, dusty screen of a television set. Their DVD collection was very limited; they were behind the technological curve and had only recently made the leap from VCR to digital discs. It was such a waste when their VCR broke, forcing their VHS collection into obsoletion. She usually rented videos, or borrowed DVDs from Merle. Irene groaned at the thoughts of her friend and got up off her feet, heading back into the hallway.

Irene eyed the basement door. For once it seemed promising. Her mind went over the previous night. It seemed too surreal to have been a real conversation. For one thing, Cyrus was comparatively benign. For another, she felt unusually comfortable with his presence. She truly must be losing it. She could not let her guard down in the future.

"Cyrus?" He wasn't in the bed. Irene walked into the center of the basement and gave the world a 360-degree inspection. He was nowhere. This made her feel a little uneasy. A cold shiver traveled up her spine. She threw up her hand and counted the fingers. Three fingers and one thumb. Everything was real. She'd accepted that. However, the room seemed as though it shrugged off any trace of the vampire's existence. The realisation that she was absolutely alone horrified her. Yesterday she'd have felt elated about this, but as she stood there, it caused her to quiver.

"Cyrus? Where are you?"