dark brown eyes moved over him, obviously puzzled by his attire, or lack of it.
"Good evening, miss." His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of meat and fish. "I'm hungry."
"Come in," she invited. "Mama is just serving dinner."
"Thank you."
He followed her inside, sat at the table she indicated.
"What would you like to eat?" the girl asked.
"Venison, if you have it."
"And to drink?"
He stared at her, confused. Save for the drugged wine the priests had given him the night he was to be sacrificed, he had never had anything to drink other than water.
"We have wine," the girl said. "Or dark ale."
"Ale," he decided, reluctant to taste wine again.
"Ale, it is." She smiled at him in a way that made him suddenly conscious that she was a woman, and he was a man. And then, with a wink, she turned away and went into the kitchen.
He sat at the table, feeling strangely out of the place as other people entered the establishment. The sound of their voices, their laughter, seemed loud in his ears. The combined smell of so many people in such a small place was overpowering.
A short time later, the girl set a platter and a tankard of ale before him. The aroma of roast venison and boiled potatoes filled his nostrils.
The meat was well-done and left the taste of ashes in his mouth. He took another bite and felt suddenly sick to his stomach. Afraid he was going to be ill, he bolted from the room.
"Wait!" He heard the girl cry after him. "You haven't paid - ''
He darted around the corner into the woods beyond. Dropping to his knees, he began to retch violently.
When the spasm passed, he sat back on his heels, panting softly.
He heard her footsteps long before she appeared. Rising to his feet, he wiped his mouth on the hem of his cloak, then turned to face her.
"What do you want?"
"I... Papa sent me to see if you were ill. You ran out so fast... and didn't pay..."
He frowned at her. "Pay?"
"For the meal."
"I don't understand."
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I don't know where you come from, sir, but here, it is customary to pay for one's meal."
He shook his head, the weight of all he didn't know settling on his shoulders. "I'm sorry."
She stared up at him, her expression softening. "Are you sick?"
"No."
"You look very pale." She lifted a hand to his cheek. "Your skin is cold..."
But her hand was so very warm. The heat of it, of the blood beneath her skin, burned through him like sunlight.
"I'd better go," she said, her voice rising. She started to take her hand from his face, then screamed when his fingers closed over hers in a grip like iron. "Please," she begged. "Please, don't..."
"Don't what?" He held his hand against her cheek.
"I don't know. Please, let me go."
Dark rage bubbled up inside him as he saw the fear in her eyes, felt it in the trembling of her body. Smelled it on her skin. What did she see? he wondered. Katlaina had seen death in his eyes when she ran from him in terror. Did this girl see the same?
"You're afraid of me," he said, his voice hard and flat. "Why? I've done nothing to you."
"Please let me go!" She tried to twist out of his grasp, cried out in pain when he tightened his hold on her wrist.
"Why are you afraid of me?" he demanded.
"Your eyes... they're red." She stared up at him, her gaze trapped by his. "Glowing. Inhuman..." A sob rose in her throat. "Who are you? What are you?"
He felt the power coalesce within him, felt it in every fiber of his being. His gaze held hers, his eyes seeing into her thoughts, imprisoning her mind until she had no will but his.
She stopped fighting him, her body suddenly limp. As if in a daze, she cocked her head to the side. Her hair fell back, exposing the length of her neck and the pulse beating there.
He felt the sharpness of his fangs against his tongue, and then he was bending over her, enfolding her in his arms, hiding her in the voluminous folds of his cloak. She stood motionless in his embrace, her arms at her sides, her eyes vacant.
"Forgive me," he whispered, and then, unable to help himself, he pierced the vein in her throat, his eyes closing as her life's nectar filled his mouth.
Laughter. Dreams. Of a home, a child. The ache of a love lost. The