“You really are moody tonight, aren’t you? I'd ask if it was that time of the month, but I'd know…” Cyrus tapped his nose. Irene scrunched her face in disgust and continued walking. “You're friend sounds like a loose cannon, but I do commend you for not telling her our little secret, Irene dearest.”
Irene shot him another sharp glare. Our little secret… our little secret? There is nothing we share except air and matter. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“Goodness, you are just a seething furnace, aren't you? Perfect. You can keep me warm and cozy,” Cyrus teased, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder. He was baiting her, and she was not going to snap. She was going to keep her lips sealed and continue walking home. Then the next day she would take stock of her resources and figure something out.
Cyrus stopped short and looked around, eyes narrowed. Irene lifted her chin. No. I'm not going to ask. But now that she was drawn out of her own thoughts, she had the vague impression there may have been a sound. A sound like someone running off. But it was probably her imagination. Cyrus eventually shrugged and continued in silence, though he seemed to glance around more frequently.
Once on the bus, Irene pointedly sat beside someone else, so Cyrus took a seat behind her instead. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time. When they got off the bus again, she gave him a glare, but continued on her way home. He trailed her closely, as the indecisive weather occasionally dusted them with sky spittle.
The closer they got to home, the more Irene dreaded it. But she was also anxious to be home where she felt she could finally be alone to unleash all her pent-up frustration. If only Merle had seen how uncomfortable she was. Irene's shoulder, aching from the tension, slumped as shame encroached. She often used Merle's shallow capacity for empathy as a blind to disguise her own feelings. But this time, Irene needed someone to read the signs and save her from having to put words to the danger. She shot another dark glare at Cyrus, who began whistling and twirling his umbrella.
Then he halted, umbrella lowering slightly as his eyes widened briefly.
An imposing figure stepped out in front of Irene and Cyrus, tilting back an umbrella. Orange light streamed down from the streetlamps, but it didn't do the stranger's pale complexion any favours. His broad face was framed by straight blonde hair and the high, upturned collar of a dark trench coat. Irene glanced back at Cyrus who had inclined his chin, his nasolabial crease momentarily deepened before he put on a passive, bored mask.
With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, the blonde stepped forward. “Cyrus, how many times have we told you not to play with your food?” His voice was deep and rich.
“Hmmm never, actually,” Cyrus retorted, stepping forward as well. "But if we're discussing common manners, Gabriel, you oughtn't talk with your mouth full. And it's lately been full of sh..." He paused and glanced at Irene then back as he folded up his umbrella, "...excrement."
A prickling sensation in Irene's nose and a squirming in her gut made her want to flee. Is this the response Cyrus warned me about? Is this man a vampire? She drew in a breath and steadied her nerves. As soon as the opportunity presented herself, she was going to make a run for it.
“Still a wisecrack. Nonetheless, I'm relieved to see you. Last I heard you had joined the dust,” the man called Gabriel said. His tone and cadence sounded local, but the throaty, rubbery quality of his R's betrayed the hint of another accent.
Cyrus brushed his black bangs away from his eyes, lifting his chin a little as he did so. “Relieved? Tch, relieved… OH! You mean disappointed, right? Because the rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” he riposted.
“You injure me." The blonde man placed a hand to his chest and continued to speak in satin tones. "I was truly disturbed by the news. I don’t know why anyone would spread such lies."
Cyrus tucked his umbrella under his armpit and crossed his arms. “I can think of a few. Those two russet spuds and Louis are among my suspects. Where is Louis anyway? He wouldn’t be hiding nearby, waiting to ambush me, would he?” he asked, his tone terminating with a sharp edge.
Irene took a few steps away, trying to hedge her chances of retreat.
“Tut tut, Cyrus, you are being quite foolish. Why don’t you drop your groundless suspicions and come back to us? You wouldn’t want to end up like that traitor Layla, would you?” Something malicious and prowling slid into Gabriel's sonorous voice.
Cyrus's smile widened, but scorn flashed in his dark eyes as he balled his fists. “Sorry, but I must decline. I won’t forget your ‘kindness’, Gabriel. Now please, step aside,” the short vampire said through clenched teeth, sweeping his umbrella in a wide arc.
The man didn't move.
Irene began tip-toeing away.
“The night has just begun, what is the hurry?” Gabriel looked over at Irene, who froze. In spite of her racing heart, she stood tall and lifted her chin. He gestured to her with a gloved hand. “Why don’t you bring her along and it can be like old times?”
“Old times are done, Gabby. Now will you please move out of my way? I have an intimate, candlelit dinner planned, and I could scarcely forgive myself for ungentlemanly tardiness.” Cyrus bared his teeth a large, nasty grin, although his fangs were absent. Maybe it was the dim lighting, but it looked as though he had gaps in his teeth.
Irene felt Gabriel's eye on her again. Unflinching, she watched as he sauntered towards her. Soft leather pressed firmly against her cheek. She glared into his pale irises and pulled away. Cyrus immediately had his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
“She’s young… probably still in school,” Gabriel's tone shifted to disapproval. Irene arched an eyebrow, mixed feelings of apprehension and hope. Apprehension because this man was imposing. Hope that this man might remove Cyrus from her life.
“She’s a big girl." Cyrus held her tighter..
Gabriel chuckled and took a step back. “Doesn’t matter. She looks like a minor. A white, likely middle-class girl." Irene did not like the stress he put on the word girl, as if it were something distasteful to him. "The sort with parents that will harangue the authorities if anything should happen to her."
Irene stared down at herself, then her eyes darted back up at Gabriel. Was Cyrus bluffing about not being afraid of the authorities?
"Girl, how old are you?” the blonde asked, for the first time addressing her directly. Irene stepped away from Cyrus’s protective arm to stand on her own.
“That's none of your business,” Irene firmly stated.
“She has quite an attitude, just like most of them…” Gabriel sighed. He stepped aside. “Do whatever pleases you, Cyrus, I will not stop you this time. Although the younger ones are much sweeter, their parents create such a fuss… farewell, my brother… we will meet again.”
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Gabriel turned and strode away with an eerie grace, his departure marked with dribbles of rain. Once the man was out of sight, Irene pivoted to face Cyrus.
“The sort with parents that harangue the authorities? I thought you weren't afraid of the cops." She crossed her arms, looking archly at the black-haired blowhard.
Cyrus raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders coolly, releasing the umbrella's hood. “Not here, Peaches.” He unfolded the umbrella and began walking.
Irene furrowed her eyebrows, resentful of his nonchalance. Grumbling, she picked up her bag. "The moment I get home I am calling the cops. I suggest you find somewhere else to be."
"The cops can't protect you. Unlike me, Gabriel would be very motivated to kill you if he suspects you know what we are."
"Why didn't he, then?" Irene challenged.
Cyrus shrugged, holding the umbrella out to make room for Irene. She refused to walk beside him, even for cover. "Out in the open isn't his way. And he is mighty stuck in his ways."
The rain started coming down heavier, making it harder to talk without shouting. This was not something she necessarily wanted every passer-by to overhear. Thus she decided to delay the rest of the conversation until she got home.
----------------------------------------
Finally, the pair stood at the long gravel driveway before her house. Never before had the sight of her home been simultaneously a great relief and source of dread.
“Ladies first.”
Irene sighed and went to unlock the front door, but it was already unlocked. She stared at it for a moment, hand shaking. Impatiently, Cyrus prompted her to go in while he shook excess moisture from the umbrella. She reluctantly stepped inside, looking around for signs of a break in.
Click.
The door closed behind Cyrus.
“Alright… who is Gabriel?” Irene demanded. Determination had accumulated in her; she was not going to show her unease.
“A very dangerous man.” Cyrus glanced around, then focused past Irene at the window. “Let’s finish this conversation in the basement, shall we?”
"No." Irene strode over to the phone, picking it up while fixing Cyrus with a dripping glare. Within the blink of an eye he rushed over and placed his hand over the cradle, holding down the disconnect button.
"No time for this..." Cyrus quickly glanced out the kitchen window, and then down the narrow hall to the window by the front door. "You think I'm worried about men with kevlar and tasers?"
"And guns." Irene slapped Cyrus's hand to try and move it away from the phone base. He ignored her, still keeping his eyes on the windows.
"Do what you want, call who you want when the sun rises. But we need to get out of sight as soon as possible."
Irene looked at Cyrus, noting his furrowed eyebrows and constantly darting eyes. He truly seemed apprehensive. “…Fine,” Irene reluctantly consented.
Cyrus swiftly passed her, disappearing into the darkness below. Irene placed the receiver back on the hook and followed. As soon as she stepped inside, Cyrus immediately slammed the door behind her.
“You’re afraid of Gabriel, aren't you?”
Cyrus looked at her with brooding eyes, before going and sitting on the bed. “Absolutely terrified," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, a slight accent creeping into his voice. Irene slowly walked a little closer, sitting down on the carpeted portion of the basement. She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees.
“Then why bring up my age? If he's so dangerous, I doubt that he cares how young someone is if they get in his way.”
"Oh, he doesn't care about the age of his victims." Cyrus turned up his lips in a predatory smile. “Gabriel runs this city's vampire population with an iron fist. He stipulates who can be preyed upon. You’re young and would be missed too soon, thus spurring an investigation. If anyone gets too close to the truth, we kill everyone involved, and then start over fresh someplace else." Cyrus gestured towards Irene. "You're involved. Ergo, if there's an investigation, you will die."
Irene snorted. "We?"
"You heard Gabriel. I used to run with his pack." Cyrus took off his wet shoes and set them aside. "We usually try to hit vulnerable populations that the law ignores."
"And that doesn't include teenagers?" Irene removed her shoes as well, suddenly aware of how cold her feet were, agitated since teenagers were often neglected by the law except when they were the ones causing trouble.
"Only the indigenous kind." Cyrus peeled off his soggy socks and draped them over his shoes. "You are protected by your age, race and class."
Irene's eyebrows furrowed as she looked around her unfinished basement in wonder. Class? What class? I'm hardly the idle rich.
Cyrus's voice interrupted her ponderings. "However, Gabriel doesn't obey his own rules, nor does his posse." He rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them up. "Just imagine those really horrible college fraternities and replace the rambunctious young men with a bunch of blood-sucking fiends, and there you have it! Challenges and contests to test each other's mettle and pride were frequent. And for entertainment, it wasn’t uncommon that some of us would lure out some pretty young birds, and bring them back to our nest. We’d have just about as much fun as we could get from them before we feasted." Cyrus's gaze grew distant, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Irene was unsure if this was a repressed snarl or smile. His tone was too even and neutral to detect any evidence of remorse.
Irene's stomach lurched. “Despicable…” she muttered, fear prickling along her spine. She looked at the door longingly.
Cyrus shook his head, lying back on the bed. “Anyway, that lifestyle no longer suits me. An intimate, cosier setting is much better for dining.” He laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest.
“They mentioned a traitor. Who was that?” Irene asked, trying to change the topic. If there's a traitor, perhaps there are others who could stand up to these monsters.
Cyrus let out a sigh and went quiet. Irene cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced over at her, and then up at the ceiling. “Layla. She can't truly be called a traitor since she wasn't a part of the brotherhood. But she got in Gabriel's way, which is very foolish.” His voice gradually drained of emotion as he explained.
“What did she do?”
“She tried to expose Gabriel's hypocrisy. It wasn’t long before she was no more than ashes blowing in the wind…”
“You knew her well, didn’t you?”
Cyrus turned on his side to stare at Irene. “Don’t pry, Peaches. That’s enough Q and A for today. There are better ways to get to know me.” He sat up. Irene watched him warily. As he rose, she also quickly got to her feet. However, before she could blink, there he was in her personal space again. It amazed her how quickly he could bring his hand to her cheek.
“Back off,” Irene warned.
Cyrus grinned defiantly. “You are such a delight to tease,” he whispered, tickling her ear. Irene's jaw tingled at the sensation as her cheeks grew warm. She tilted her head away in irritation. His lips dusted along her neck like delicate butterfly wings; she tensed and pulled away.
Undeterred by her body language, Cyrus looked up, locking a gaze with her. "Come now, Peaches. Relax. Gabriel and I are through, you needn't fear me."
Irene wanted to push him away, but paralyzing chills radiated from her spine to her extremities. Why can't I move? Like before, despite the fear she'd been feeling, a sort of drowsy haze descended, slowing her breath and heart rate.
Cyrus placed his one hand just between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back. She shuddered; Irene did not like being handled like this. Visceral repulsion oozed as he again kissed her neck, yet she still could not flee. Several times she tried to tell him to stop, but her mouth just couldn't form words. She closed her eyes and concentrated until she was able to finally get her larynx back under control.
“Stop.”
“Just a harmless little taste...” Cyrus murmured. Heavy as her hands felt, Irene used all of her strength to lift them. Her eyes burned and her head felt like it was full of cotton. Teeth prickled against her skin and she winced. She focused all of her willpower to finally place her hands on his chest, pushing weakly. He was as immovable as a statue. She grunted and whimpered trying harder to shove him away. He tensed, then finally released her, leaving her skin only lightly grazed.
“Don't...” Irene objected as firmly as she could, though it came out sluggish and plaintive instead.
Cyrus shook his head, and ruptured the tension with another chuckle. Anger cut through the haze, bringing her compromised situation into sharp focus. Her faculties all returned and she scowled. "This isn't funny! What's wrong with you?"
“I’m only human… well… sort of,” Cyrus responded as he leaned close again.
Fully alert again, Irene turned and ran for the exit, only to stop short when he managed to dash in front of her. “Nuh-uh-uh… you’re staying down here tonight.”