It took a good hour for Vlane to regain the use of all of his faculties. He was vaguely aware of his two companions carrying him back to their manor house and settling him onto the oversized sofa in one of the private living areas. Several more times they tried to feed him blood, but each time the result was the same. The coppery taste was vile upon his tongue and made him want to retch. What he really wanted was a big plate of bacon and eggs. Toast. Home fries smothered in ketchup. And orange juice! Dear God, how long had it been since he’d actually had fruit?
“It is simply not possible,” Armand muttered over and over again. And each time, he would look deeply into Vlane’s eyes to confirm what he had already seen a dozen times: Vlane’s eyes were a startling, vivid green rather than the typical black eyes of a male vamp, better suited for seeing at night. His skin was warm to the touch, as if his body had absorbed and retained the sunlight in that brief period between the dawn rising and the time they found him (contrary to popular belief, vampires did not burn up in sunlight, but it was uncomfortable). And his heart was beating.
“Then you explain it.”
Armand looked stunned. Kristoff looked…incensed. As seamlessly as he had stepped into vampiric life, Kristoff had clung to the passion of human emotions longer than most. They, too, faded a bit more every year, but he was still young enough to remember.
“The work of a witch, perhaps?” Kristoff’s lip curled up as he said the word. Even among the elitist Otherworldlies (they preferred the term “Extraordinaries”, since they did, in fact, share the same world) who made the town of Mythic their home, he had little tolerance for witches. Probably because one of them left him with a rather nasty case of boils when he told her, point-blank, he would not be calling her again as he shoved her out the door after a particularly lusty night.
“I have never heard of a witch with this kind of power,” Armand mused. Most Wiccans, in fact, were inherently peace-loving naturalists, using their spells and powers for the greater good (scorned females notwithstanding).
“Have you heard of anything with this kind of power?”
Armand shook his head slowly for several long moments as he considered the possibilities, running through the mental checklist he’d no doubt made in his mind (Armand was, by nature, very organized). From his prone position on the sofa, Vlane could see Kristoff and Armand, both remarkably similar as they paced the room in puzzlement, offering their thoughts. A thousand years separated them in age, but in terms of appearance, they might have been brothers.
“Were?”
“No. They are extremely strong and tend to be rather hairy. Advantageous to have by your side in a brawl or to raze a settlement, but otherwise, not very useful.”
“Angel?”
“Perhaps. They are at the top of the magical food chain, but rarely get involved with anyone on earth directly, and they certainly do not bestow or take human life without the express consent of the Supreme Being.”
An impressive miscellany of magical Extraordinaries (Exies, for short) resided in Mythic and the surrounding area. The location was akin to magnetic north for the supernatural, though at least one-quarter of the population was fully human. It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts between the myriad of species and races, but for the most part, it worked.
None of them considered the possibility that humans were behind Vlane’s unprecedented return to mortality. They had neither the skills nor the knowledge to accomplish such a feat.
“Demon?”
“Probably not. Vlane still has his soul, and no self-respecting demon would go to such effort without taking that.”
“Hags, mermaids, leprechauns?” Kristoff speculated.
“No, no, and no.” Armand neatly and categorically dismissed each inhuman race as quickly as they arose.
“No,” he sighed. “The only type of being I have heard of with that kind of power over life and death are the ancient Fae, the original race, the Tuatha de Denaan, the ones who faded away long ago…”
He shook his head faster, dismissing that possibility as well. The Fae had been gone forever, or as close to forever as any of them could conceive. Armand had been around for more than a thousand years and he had never seen a vampire turned back into a human. Besides, if there had been anyone still around with even a drop of the ancient Faerie bloodline, they would have been captured and exploited a long, long time ago. Fae blood was the ultimate treasure, more valuable than anything else on this entire plane of existence. It was pure, potent magic in ingestible, liquid form.
A sudden gurgle arose from the area of Vlane’s midsection, accompanied by a slight, cramping ache. It had been so long, it took him a minute to recognize it for what it was. “I believe I am hungry,” he said with equal parts awe and bemusement.
Both males stilled and turned their black gazes his way, looking as incredulous as he felt. Once again, Vlane’s stomach rumbled beneath his splayed hand, even louder than the last time.
Vlane rose, using the arm of the sofa to steady himself. Once his sense of equilibrium returned sufficiently, he moved toward the door with hesitant, almost stilted steps. Lifting his legs – which seemed to have become heavier – and placing them just so to remain upright and moving required some effort. When he arrived at the threshold, he tripped.
Kristoff gasped audibly, and Vlane couldn’t blame him. Vampires didn’t trip.
He turned, a look of surprise on his face, and smiled. “Did you see that?”
Both vamps nodded, completely at a loss to explain it.
They followed Vlane into the kitchen area, watching in stunned silence as he began to root through various cupboards in search of something to assuage the unfamiliar gnawing pain in his belly. Vamps, as a rule, did not ingest anything besides blood, but they usually kept something on hand for their voluntary mortal “guests”. There was a decent variety of foods — salty, sweet, tart, and so forth — to satisfy every possible craving. While vampires could not eat the food themselves, they could get a taste of what they desired in the blood of one who could.
“I have often wondered…” Vlane murmured as he pulled various jars and boxes and placed them on the counter. Armand and Kristoff watched in stupefied awe as Vlane crafted himself a sandwich, slathering half an inch of peanut butter on one slice of bread and an equal amount of strawberry jam on the other. Kristoff swallowed hard when he saw Vlane take a bite of the sandwich and chew.
“Oh. My. God,” Vlane said, his words muffled by the food in his mouth, but the look on his face was plain enough to see. Pure bliss suffused his features; his eyes rolled back in his head momentarily as his lids closed. He chewed several times, then grabbed a jug of whole milk to wash the sandwich down.
“What is it like?” Kristoff asked, his voice barely above a whisper, all traces of his former arrogance gone as he looked on longingly.
Green eyes sparkled back at him. “Nirvana,” Vlane mumbled through the mouthful before stuffing the rest of the PB&J into his mouth and immediately searching for something else to eat.
* * *
Ana was exhausted, but her charges would not be denied the opportunity to sniff, lick, nuzzle, and rub against her upon her return. It was their way of ensuring she was still Ana, and that everything was right in their world.
And it was their world…well, mostly. The remote property, with its state of the art veterinary facilities, had been constructed with animals in mind, not humans. Built by the dominant local pack of Werewolves to care for the special needs of shifters, the massive structure was designed for the pawed, clawed, and hooved, both magical and non-magical alike. At its heart, it was a medical facility, but it also served as a boarding house and sanctuary as well.
As the current live-in caretaker and practicing veterinarian while the pack healer was away, Ana had modest living quarters: a small, cozy bedroom, functional kitchen, full bathroom, and “living” area. The small suite ensured someone was available at all hours of the day or night, which was a definite plus when dealing with the shifters, who tended to sustain more injuries than most other species during “off” hours.
Ana loved them all, and was grateful the Were pack trusted her enough to care for them. She felt more comfortable around them than pure-blooded humans. Here she could be herself (mostly). Those who possessed an animal nature were more likely to live by their instincts and basic needs than getting caught up in so many of the worthless, petty things regular people did.
And, like many of the strays who made this their home, Ana had nowhere else to go.
After checking on them and ensuring they were all doing well, she took a quick, hot shower, donned a well-worn, oversized nightshirt, and climbed into her big, comfortable bed. She still had a couple of hours before her first scheduled appointment of the morning.
It had been a long night. After fleeing the Masterson Estate, Ana had taken cover in the woods outside of town, half expecting someone to come after her. Leading any danger back to the Sanctuary was the last thing she wanted to do. They had been so kind to her, and had taken her in when she needed a job and a place to stay. It wouldn’t do to repay such kindness by bringing vampires to their doorstep.
Only after several hours had passed and no one came looking for her, had she begun the long trek back to her temporary home, keeping to the woods and off the roads, just in case.
Ana sighed and closed her eyes. For now, at least, they were safe.
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