Burns like me for you
"I could only find cover from the sun if I tore up the floorboards. You did not have this in mind when you designed the room?"
“Of course I did.”
This is what I do with freedom.
It’s not an unexpected question. Every moment of my life, every breath, every heart beat, is informed by the desires of Kindred, down the smallest detail. It is strange, then, that I would chose to live in a place so obviously hostile to the Kindred condition.
He thinks it’s a sign I feel unsafe. The truth is, the moment I saw a photograph of the wide open living room drenched in late afternoon sun, I knew it had to be mine. My desires - my own desires - are so very few and infrequent, and so rarely coincide with the freedom to act upon them, that I didn’t both to examine the desire. I simply acted on it.
My instinct is to deny his observation’s truth, but upon pausing to consider, I think it has merit. I don’t feel safe living so far from Ashley. But there is another side to that coin: this is my haven, and Kindred are not welcome here.
Why do I make him the exception?
“Coming back was...hard. It’s better now, but at first it was hard."
There are simply no words in any language I know to describe the twin agonies of taking up residence in Suriel’s mausoleum while enduring the separation from Ashley, the object of all my true and viniculum-manufactured devotions.
It’s easier now that I am secure in my place in her world.
Although I cannot completely quell the separation anxiety, Ashley and I belong to each other in a way we did not before. And nothing - not distance, not death - can take that away from me. So the pain of her absence becomes more manageable each day, though no less chronic.
It drives away the pain of Suriel’s death, and I would mourn except that he gave me his blessing long ago. I am what he made me and that means I can keep no part of myself back from her. Even the parts that are shaped like Suriel: hHe forged me and stamped me but my soul is not steel, tempered and strong. It is gold, heavy with loyalty and soft with submission.
And there is nothing in this world that Ashley loves more than gold.
All I know is that I hold more trust right now from more Kindred than is probably good for me....and you are the only thing that makes me doubt myself."
"Why should I make you doubt? I would not do anything to endanger your standing with your regnant."
"No. You wouldn't."
But I would.
"So there you have it. All my secrets."
"That is all you have?"
"Kindred have secrets, and many of them I know and keep, but they aren't mine.”
Brogan never forgets what I am. It’s one of the things I like about him, one of the reasons I trust him. He doesn’t treat me like a person.
Yet I find him not entirely satisfying. He knows he could command me: he simply doesn’t. Doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to. I am starved for control, but he is merely starved for conversation.
But in the face of Ashley’s absence, and Cole’s indifference, he is all I have.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Hurting you.”
“Don’t be.
It is not that he understands me. He doesn’t, though I think he has the ability to, at least academically. But in this moment he is in control, and the relief at finally being able to let go is so profound that it breaks me in new ways. I don’t know what emotions play across my face as he pauses to look at me, tilting his head in the manner he does when he is considering a puzzle. I am still, relaxed, yielding, waiting for his next move, filled with nothing but trust, and if he does not find the answer in my eyes which satisfies him, he is at least merciful enough to hold his questions for another time.
“This is going to hurt.”
I nod in acknowledgement, bracing myself for the unknown. He uses a fang to prick his right thumb, a small drop of vitae rising. He runs a trail of gentle kisses along the length of my rib cage. In their wake he smears a line of vitae across my skin.
The pain is so intense that I cannot stop myself from trying to pull instinctively away. His weight pins me and an instant later the panic subsides and my second instincts take over, and I let the tension ease from my body as Brogan’s blood burns through my flesh. The pain subsides although the wound remains open.
We lock eyes, and I can see his concern. I share it, for this is no trifling bruise or lover’s mark and the vitae I can expend is limited, but I neither move nor speak. He has started this: he must end this.
Responsibility is the consequence of truth.
“You should heal yourself. Drink from me, if you must.”
We are lying on our sides, my back pressed against his cold, muscled chest, so I do not see his eyes when he whispers the entreaty in my ear. It is better that way, because if I saw the concern in his face it might strip me of what little resolve I am able to summon against his temptation.
My body revolts as my brain tries to form a protest, erupting into a violent shiver, cold sweat rising on my skin as I curl my knees up against my chest, the action aggravating the wounds on my torso and the pain providing a welcome distraction from the addiction.
It would be so easy to say yes…Ashley would never know, Cole would never know….and for a panicked moment I wonder if I have misplaced my trust, if this was his design all along to lay the groundwork for poaching me, if I have been played like the finely tuned instrument that I am. The panic edges out the addiction and gives me the adrenaline I need to form a reply.
“No.”
I mean to be forceful but it comes out as a strangled whimper, and I close my eyes tightly, hearing Ashley’s voice admonishing me that every ounce of vitae I take from another Kindred is one less she will provide, recalling her gentle exoneration of my self-imposed crimes.
“Please don’t ask me that…it’s wrong and I can’t….I can’t….”
I don’t have the strength to say anything more, my words lost as I begin to hyperventilate, but I don’t need to speak because he is already hushing me, stroking my hair and cradling me gently in his arms. I realize I have started sobbing with the agony of it, but if I stop to be embarrassed by my tears I will not have the will to hold back my desire for his vitae.
“I will not ask again.”
He holds me until the shivers and the sweat and the tears have passed. I hate him for his promise, but I am grateful for his integrity.
I lied before, but now he has the truth.
Now he has all my secrets.
“Of course I did.”
This is what I do with freedom.
It’s not an unexpected question. Every moment of my life, every breath, every heart beat, is informed by the desires of Kindred, down the smallest detail. It is strange, then, that I would chose to live in a place so obviously hostile to the Kindred condition.
He thinks it’s a sign I feel unsafe. The truth is, the moment I saw a photograph of the wide open living room drenched in late afternoon sun, I knew it had to be mine. My desires - my own desires - are so very few and infrequent, and so rarely coincide with the freedom to act upon them, that I didn’t both to examine the desire. I simply acted on it.
My instinct is to deny his observation’s truth, but upon pausing to consider, I think it has merit. I don’t feel safe living so far from Ashley. But there is another side to that coin: this is my haven, and Kindred are not welcome here.
Why do I make him the exception?
“Coming back was...hard. It’s better now, but at first it was hard."
There are simply no words in any language I know to describe the twin agonies of taking up residence in Suriel’s mausoleum while enduring the separation from Ashley, the object of all my true and viniculum-manufactured devotions.
It’s easier now that I am secure in my place in her world.
Although I cannot completely quell the separation anxiety, Ashley and I belong to each other in a way we did not before. And nothing - not distance, not death - can take that away from me. So the pain of her absence becomes more manageable each day, though no less chronic.
It drives away the pain of Suriel’s death, and I would mourn except that he gave me his blessing long ago. I am what he made me and that means I can keep no part of myself back from her. Even the parts that are shaped like Suriel: hHe forged me and stamped me but my soul is not steel, tempered and strong. It is gold, heavy with loyalty and soft with submission.
And there is nothing in this world that Ashley loves more than gold.
All I know is that I hold more trust right now from more Kindred than is probably good for me....and you are the only thing that makes me doubt myself."
"Why should I make you doubt? I would not do anything to endanger your standing with your regnant."
"No. You wouldn't."
But I would.
"So there you have it. All my secrets."
"That is all you have?"
"Kindred have secrets, and many of them I know and keep, but they aren't mine.”
Brogan never forgets what I am. It’s one of the things I like about him, one of the reasons I trust him. He doesn’t treat me like a person.
Yet I find him not entirely satisfying. He knows he could command me: he simply doesn’t. Doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to. I am starved for control, but he is merely starved for conversation.
But in the face of Ashley’s absence, and Cole’s indifference, he is all I have.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Hurting you.”
“Don’t be.
It is not that he understands me. He doesn’t, though I think he has the ability to, at least academically. But in this moment he is in control, and the relief at finally being able to let go is so profound that it breaks me in new ways. I don’t know what emotions play across my face as he pauses to look at me, tilting his head in the manner he does when he is considering a puzzle. I am still, relaxed, yielding, waiting for his next move, filled with nothing but trust, and if he does not find the answer in my eyes which satisfies him, he is at least merciful enough to hold his questions for another time.
“This is going to hurt.”
I nod in acknowledgement, bracing myself for the unknown. He uses a fang to prick his right thumb, a small drop of vitae rising. He runs a trail of gentle kisses along the length of my rib cage. In their wake he smears a line of vitae across my skin.
The pain is so intense that I cannot stop myself from trying to pull instinctively away. His weight pins me and an instant later the panic subsides and my second instincts take over, and I let the tension ease from my body as Brogan’s blood burns through my flesh. The pain subsides although the wound remains open.
We lock eyes, and I can see his concern. I share it, for this is no trifling bruise or lover’s mark and the vitae I can expend is limited, but I neither move nor speak. He has started this: he must end this.
Responsibility is the consequence of truth.
“You should heal yourself. Drink from me, if you must.”
We are lying on our sides, my back pressed against his cold, muscled chest, so I do not see his eyes when he whispers the entreaty in my ear. It is better that way, because if I saw the concern in his face it might strip me of what little resolve I am able to summon against his temptation.
My body revolts as my brain tries to form a protest, erupting into a violent shiver, cold sweat rising on my skin as I curl my knees up against my chest, the action aggravating the wounds on my torso and the pain providing a welcome distraction from the addiction.
It would be so easy to say yes…Ashley would never know, Cole would never know….and for a panicked moment I wonder if I have misplaced my trust, if this was his design all along to lay the groundwork for poaching me, if I have been played like the finely tuned instrument that I am. The panic edges out the addiction and gives me the adrenaline I need to form a reply.
“No.”
I mean to be forceful but it comes out as a strangled whimper, and I close my eyes tightly, hearing Ashley’s voice admonishing me that every ounce of vitae I take from another Kindred is one less she will provide, recalling her gentle exoneration of my self-imposed crimes.
“Please don’t ask me that…it’s wrong and I can’t….I can’t….”
I don’t have the strength to say anything more, my words lost as I begin to hyperventilate, but I don’t need to speak because he is already hushing me, stroking my hair and cradling me gently in his arms. I realize I have started sobbing with the agony of it, but if I stop to be embarrassed by my tears I will not have the will to hold back my desire for his vitae.
“I will not ask again.”
He holds me until the shivers and the sweat and the tears have passed. I hate him for his promise, but I am grateful for his integrity.
I lied before, but now he has the truth.
Now he has all my secrets.
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