This story was set after the court gathering August 22, 1999. Rebecca did not attend that court, but waited at the chantry that night to catch the Tremere coming home. See the background for the events after Blood Tears.
The lobby of the chantry was silent; Ezra had retreated to the main rooms an hour ago, having left Rebecca to wait in private. She sat, hands folded, thinking, barely noticing the hour.
The door opened, and she looked up, unsurprised. Steven walked in, noticing her as he turned around from closing the door behind him. His face gained a somewhat resigned expression, as she greeted him with his name. Weaving only a little, he made his way to an armchair across from her and sat, leaning his head back in a gesture she recognized from some weeks ago.* He seemed more drained, this time; he had less of the false joviality of alcohol, though he showed signs of being just as drunk.
Her mood softening a bit, she cocked her head as she watched him. "It was bad, wasn't it?" When he looked at her quizzically, she amended, "tonight. Ezra told me a little, but not much."*
His look turned sardonic. "Did she tell you about our three months to live?"*
She nodded quietly. "Yes."
Steven sighed and laid his head back again. "Three months before we're all destroyed..."
Rebecca cocked an eyebrow at him. "Pessimistic of you."
He snorted scornfully. "Do you really expect these childer to shape up in that time?"
"I expect them to try," she replied levelly. "And I expect you to believe that they may manage it. That time is better than nothing."
When he did not answer, she sighed a little and looked down at her hands. "When I came here, I asked to talk to you... I had hoped you would be clearheaded." She looked up. "After I spoke with Ezra, I figured you would probably not be. I see I was right."
Steven looked away. "We were given three months to live. I don't see that it matters that much."
"So, then, you're partying down before Armageddon?"
He looked sharply at her. "This is hardly a party."
She leaned forward. "Well, tell me what it is, then, because I don't see it helping the situation."
Steven sighed and leaned back, slumping in defeat. "This again."
"Yes, this again. I won't stop, Steven." She looked at him and softened a little. "I keep at you about this because I worry about you. I know that you won't -- can't -- tell me to stop... Because I'm right, because I do it out of concern for you..." she half-smiled, wryly, "and because you probably couldn't tell me no anyway, knowing how you feel. I dislike using my friends' weaknesses against them, but I will do it when I have to."
She watched Steven closely as she finished speaking, but he simply nodded. She continued softly, prodding: "I've told you my thoughts about it."
He returned quietly, "And you know mine."
Masking her worry with irritation, Rebecca narrowed her eyes at him. "How is it, if you're so damn superior, I keep seeing the same flaws in Kindred that I see in the humans around me?"
When that evoked no response, she closed her eyes briefly, regretting the outburst. Standing, she walked over next to him, to kneel beside his chair. "I don't do this to hassle you."
He looked at her through his eyelashes. "I know."
"I'm concerned about you. I know that you have quite enough problems... I'm just trying to get you to see that this is one of them."
Steven nodded and sat forward, his hand going for his pocket. Rebecca leaned forward and snaked an arm past where she had been sitting. "At the risk of seeming cynical..." She dropped a small glass bowl between his feet.
He looked at it for a moment with a wry expression, sighed a little, and picked it up. As he began to rummage in his trouser pocket again, she interrupted. "I had hoped, but..." She took a small, wooden-handled knife out of her back pocket and offered it to him. "I do plan for contingencies."
Steven regarded her expressionlessly for a moment, then took the knife; unsheathing it, he studied the blade. Rebecca, flushing a bit, murmured, "A friend of mine gave that to me." He looked at her for another moment over the steel, then straightened himself in his seat.
With a sudden motion, he slashed his wrist; Rebecca flinched and looked away, biting her lip as he hunched over the wound and muttered. Looking up, she winced at the look of pain on his face, and dropped her eyes again, regretting her blithe actions a little. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him put his mouth to his wrist, and she started to relax.
As she brought herself to look up again, he picked up the bowl and set it down on the armrest. His tone was scathing. "Is this what you wanted?"
Rebecca gritted her teeth a little as Steven sheathed the knife and put it next to the bowl. I deserved that, she reflected. She took the bowl and paused for a moment before taking the knife, long enough to catch his eye. She tried to put all the sincerity she could into her voice as he said, "Thank you."
She placed the bowl beside his chair, and the knife atop it, thinking that it had been a good idea to choose a glass bowl. She had no idea what the black goo in it was, but very little was likely to dissolve Pyrex...*
She found it difficult to look at him, and examined the chair arm instead. "I overstep myself, I know." Her voice was very quiet, and she consciously spoke a bit louder, fighting her instinct to sink into the floor. "I have no place to speak to you the way I do... And yet I do, and I'll doubtless do it again."
Steven's voice was only mildly sarcastic. "What else did you have planned?"
She flushed. "Well, I don't see myself stopping." She looked at him, remembering that he had a high rank in Kindred affairs, but seeing simply the person she knew. She placed her hand on the arm beside her. "I am sorry I bother you."
He shook his head. "No... I understand you do it because you care about me." His tone was muted.
Rebecca turned away, toying with her shoe. "I know the protocol for a mortal in court, but I don't know how I stand on an individual basis." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I know you have enough troubles, and I don't help, sometimes... I know how much this court takes out of you."
Steven sighed. "Becoming Prince has cost me a great deal."
"But it is not without reward..." Rebecca cocked her head as Steven snorted in derision. "Think about the loyalty you've gotten. Jeremiah. Greg. Ashford...* I think you would never have thought to look to them if you hadn't become Prince."
"Yes..." he mused. She pressed on. "That is part of the reward."
He laughed a little, without humor. "It certainly wouldn't reward them if I drag them down with me. Three months -- this court is dead."
She didn't shift. "I think we have more of a chance than we did."
He went on, ignoring her stubborn refrain. "Three months is nothing to us, no time at all..."
She looked at him, interrupting his own grim mantra. "In the world, though, everything can be turned upside down in three months." Her mouth twisted. "Kindred can move quickly when they choose -- I think this is a time for it."
He laughed again, hopelessly. "The Justicar never expected us to do it; she just wanted a return of her boon out of me before I die."*
Rebecca frowned a little. "But I trust that she will keep her word if we do manage it."
Slumping again into the chair, he murmured, "Oh, she will... This is the Camarilla."
Watching him, she tried not to think too hard about the possibility of failure; not for her own sake, but for that of the others in the court. She looked at her feet, curled under her, and spoke hesitantly. "When I came here, to wait for you and Ezra, I had worried that no one would come home."
She fell silent, and looked up to see him lying with his eyes closed in the chair's embrace. She said softly, "Will you be all right?"
He laughed a little, again, and sat up, rubbing his face. "Oh, yes, I'll be fine. Three months before I die..."
Her conscience bit at her. "Is there anything I can do?"
He shook his head and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't think you can help."
She looked away. "I feel so useless... I feel like I can't do anything."
Steven sat up, regarding her in mild surprise over the arm of the chair. "You do a lot for this court; you keep negotiations open with the Garou, for one thing. I think that without you, we would have been at each others' throats long since. How are the negotiations going, by the way?"
Rebecca dropped her gaze again. "I haven't talked with them in a while. I should speak to Theo, or Jennifer Clearwater, but I haven't brought myself to do it yet."*
His tone was concerned. "Why? Has something happened?"
She nodded. "I got called by Jennifer Clearwater last week -- she asked to meet me at a restaurant. I went to talk with her... She handed me a ring, and told me that Spirit* had wanted me to have it -- and that he said he would miss me. I asked her what happened..." She fought to control herself, and kept her voice even. "She said that there had been a battle, and he didn't make it."
Steven was silent a moment, absorbing this news. "I'm sorry... I know you two were close."
Rebecca nodded, composing herself. "Yes..." Feeling a small twinge of guilt, she looked up at him. "I'm sorry I don't have the information for you."
He shook his head, concerned. "No, I understand."
She looked down, frustrated. "I just feel like... if I had learned more..." She sighed. "I never had a chance to tell him. He wanted me to be full Kinfolk, but I was going to tell him I couldn't -- not with the way the court is. I don't even know how the Trinity stands, now, if the Cam wants the court to shape up -- they certainly wouldn't approve of the treaty... But until it's thrown out completely, I'll work on it, and I can't be Kinfolk if I'm doing that. I never told him... Maybe it's best that way.
"I came by the chantry, to tell Ezra. I know they respected each other... We were talking about Spirit after last court, how they had worked together on the Trinity." She fell silent for a moment. "We talked about how I was useful to the court, and she said that I reminded the Kindred of who they had been, and who they were trying to coexist with."
Steven listened quietly, saying nothing. After a small silence, Rebecca leaned forward, burying her head in her hands, overwhelmed by a sense of failure on two fronts. Concerned, Steven touched her hair, asking gently, "Are you all right?"
She brought her head up, resting her elbows on her thighs. "I feel so impotent, that there is nothing I can do." Realizing what she was saying, she laughed lightly. "And this sounds like what you were saying two weeks ago."*
He smiled wryly. "Yes, there is a bit of reversal of positions." He stroked her hair. "You do a lot for the court. You cleaned up after Aaron's mess, for one...* You keep communications open with the Garou. You were considered for Embrace by my clan, and we do not choose lightly, nor those who are useless. Do not sell yourself short." He looked at her, still stroking her a little, musing to himself. "The Tremere think highly of you; I was simply the first to move on it. I had permission to Embrace you..."
She stirred a little. "From Ezra?"*
Steven withdrew his hand. "Yes, from Ezra, as well as the Prince at the time."*
Rebecca paused for a moment, going very still, thinking. "Jeremy."
"Yes." He sat back in his chair. "I had permission from both of them, but I respected you enough that I wanted to offer you a choice."
She kept a tremor from her voice. "You know that if I known that the Prince had given his permission, I wouldn't have even stayed -- I would have been gone. I didn't really think of it at the time, but then I wasn't too familiar with the Traditions, either."
Steven looked away. "I couldn't do it against your will -- my nerve failed me."
Rebecca drew a slightly shaky breath. "The thought of becoming one of you still frightens me."
He nodded, and she went on. "I tend to treat you and those in the court like humans, though it can be easier to think of them as vampires... I'll probably say this wrong, so please be lenient, but -- you unnerve me more as a person than as a Kindred."
Steven smiled wryly. "Yes, it's the old man-monster story -- quite an irony. As a creature that lives off of human blood, and is descended from a murderer, I am a monster..."
She interrupted, looking at him measuringly, "--but as a beast, you are more human than any I have ever seen. Those two things make you a more decent Kindred, I think, than many others."
She touched his arm to lend weight to her words, and her eyes widened a little. She looked at him, speechless, and back at the forearm that still registered a human warmth beneath her fingers. Confused, she ventured, "The only other Kindred I've known who was warm was Ezra..."*
Steven chuckled with real humor. "Any of us can do it, whenever we wish, simply with a little effort. We can also breathe..."
She muttered, still a bit shaken, "Well, yes, considering you talk. And smoke," she added, with a wry smile.
He nodded. "We can bring to life organs which have died, such as the heart, or the lungs... Give ourselves a pulse... Or bring blood to the skin."
She took a breath. "I never knew you could do that."
"Well, we have existed for thousands of years amongst humans; we had to pass somehow."
At this, Rebecca chuckled. "Dracula was supposed to have survived by isolation..." She became thoughtful for a moment. "I never know how many of the legends are true..."
He smiled. "Some are."
Rebecca nodded. "Well, I know that stakes are, for example, but I still don't know about things like garlic--"
Steven burst out laughing. "The Giovanni would never survive, were that true."*
She smiled in return and shrugged. "I heard that Professor Tyferrius got burned by holy water, though."*
He drew a breath. "That takes... very extreme circumstances. The hunters we fight are very dangerous because of that."
Rebecca subsided into thought again, her ignorance scratching at her, then said abruptly, "Damn my curiosity. May I see your wrist?"
Mystified, Steven lifted his left arm from the armrest, showing her the unscarred skin. She shook her head, muttering, "It's things like that..."
He let his arm fall. "It is one of the advantages of being dead -- we can heal quite quickly, reverting to the state we died in every night." Rebecca shivered slightly, unnoticed, as he spoke. "We can heal small wounds instantaneously. Part of the curse of Cain, our creator."
"I knew that Garou had that ability... I thought that Kindred had something similar."
Steven nodded. "Yes, one of the benefits of our kind, of our descent from Cain."
Rebecca cocked her head. "I've heard Kindred referred to as Cainites..." At his agreement, she pressed, "The Cain?"
"Yes, the Cain in the Bible, the third mortal -- he was banished to Nod for killing his brother. He was marked, such that anyone who killed him would be punished sevenfold; it was the mark of vampirism. He wandered the land, ageless, deathless, and fed off of others' pain. He was lonely, and created others such as himself; he was appalled when they got out of control, and ordered that no more be made. Then he vanished into the desert... The young ones killed their sires, and became the founders of the thirteen clans."
Rebecca gave a hiccup of laughter. "There are thirteen tribes..."*
Steven continued. "There are seven clans in the Camarilla -- six, now. Some of the Gangrel stay, but they have no Justicar. Two clans went off and formed the Sabbat, and the remaining four are neutral."
She interjected, "The Giovanni."
He nodded. "Yes, the Giovanni, the Assamites, the Followers of Set, and the Ravnos."
Rebecca frowned, puzzled. "I thought that Assamite was simply a title."
"No, they came from the east. They are hunters of Kindred, mercenaries taking their price in blood. Originally, they lived for diablerie, until the Tremere cast a spell on them to make them unable to drink Kindred blood. They have hated the Tremere ever since..."
He fell silent for a bit, and shifted, musing. "There are benefits to being what we are... Most of us never have a choice, of course -- I didn't. But it is not all bad."
Rebecca bit her lip, smothering the curiosity that rose from the mention of his own experiences. "I don't ask personal questions."
He looked down at her, still thoughtful. "We are very careful about who we give our history to, as it can have power. We become paranoid... With Kindred, there is always a struggle, between the young and the old. In a society where our elders do not die, do not give up their positions, some are tempted to hasten the process. There is great personal danger in being of our kind."
Rebecca chuckled dryly. "And I thought my life was at risk..." She sobered. "I've found that I treat most of the Kindred I know like I would mortals, but I find them somewhat frightening as people..."
He considered. "Actually, when someone is Embraced, there is very little change in personality, at least at first. The real change come later, after many years."
She thought a moment. "I've noticed, though, that Kindred have a feel of sorts, that makes them different -- a kind of attitude, I guess."
"Yes, perhaps... The elders, however, are the ones who tend to get colder, less compassionate. As you live on, your friends, your family -- all those you know -- grow older and die, and you stay young."
Rebecca nodded. "The curse of immortality."
Steven continued, "They withdraw into themselves..." He trailed off, his attention unfocusing. Absently, his hand strayed down to touch her hair; he came to himself with a snap and withdrew it before he touched her. Rebecca didn't seem to notice.
She toyed with her shoe. "I've known a few people like that," she admitted. She looked up as Steven fished in his pocket and drew out a handkerchief; noticing her, he turned away abruptly and took off his glasses, wiping surreptitiously at his face. Rebecca, puzzled and somewhat worried, watched him intently. As he recovered his composure, she asked him, "Are you all right?"
He nodded and replied shortly, "Yes, I'm all right."
With a raised eyebrow, she continued after a moment. "You and Ezra are the only two Kindred I spend time with outside of court, save for the occasional meeting. You frighten me less than the others, partly because I know you wouldn't hurt me if you could help it. For example... Right now, you're hungry, aren't you?"
Steven nodded. She smiled slightly and continued, "I can sense it... There is the fear of the predator. It doesn't frighten me as much as, say, when Greg was hungry, while we were rescuing Feld.* I think I've come somewhat to terms with you." She shifted a little and looked down. "I'm not proud of the fact that I would flinch when you touched me, and I think I've gotten rid of most of my reaction -- when I jumped last court, it was purely nerves."*
Steven leaned forward on his elbows as she looked up. "Yes... Events that night were rather stressful." He smiled a little, wryly.
Rebecca continued, haltingly. "I know that it pleases you to touch me, and it doesn't harm me. The last uneasiness I have when you touch me is that I don't have many friends who are physically demonstrative, and it is unusual to have a friend touch me affectionately."
Looking down, he murmured, "I understand."
She glanced at him, and explained, "I wouldn't have brought it up, except that I have seen you stopping yourself, to keep from making me uncomfortable."
"I didn't want to frighten you," he said, and she laughed shakily.
"I have learned the true extent of fear, I think... Your touch doesn't frighten me any more than proximity to any Kindred does, and perhaps less so."
She sighed. "I am so glad you took the Princedom, for personal reasons... It's nice to be able to speak with you directly, rather than being ignored. Jeremy assigned me to the Mage,* and I felt that any input I might have had was effectively silenced. Not to mention that it's good to know that the one person who could kill me with no fear of retribution is looking out for me."* She smiled slightly.
Steven's voice was firm. "No one could lay a hand on anyone else in this court without going through me; it would disregard my authority. I do not take that lightly. You are safe here..."
Rebecca looked at him quizzically. "And yet you try to drive me away."
He was grim. "Any dealings you have with our kind put you at risk."
She smiled again, wryly. "Well, curiosity killed the cat, and he had nine lives..."
Steven replied quietly, "Yet you stay with only one."
She looked away, but her words were strong, almost forceful. "I have friends here, people who have helped me and who have shown me that they deserve respect. That is why I stay."
Her voice softened. "I am very informal with you, I know -- as I said before, I don't know how I stand with an individual Kindred. I apologize if I offend you..." Steven demurred softly, and she went on. "I get on you about your drinking because I worry about you. I don't know how recent the habit is, or how long you've been around, but I worry that you might slip up."
He said evenly, "The habit is recent; I indulged occasionally in the past, but this court has given me reason to do so more often."
Rebecca was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "I have a favor to ask of you. I know it may be a dirty trick, but..."
Steven's voice gained an edge. "What is the favor?"
"I think about you during the week, wondering whether you're all right... I tried to think of how I could help. I offered you a sympathetic ear, but even as I suggested it, I knew you probably wouldn't take me up on it." He shrugged, but said nothing. "So I thought about how I could make sure you wouldn't be going and getting smashed all the time..." She trailed off, then looked at him directly, ignoring the rising hum of adrenalin. "You are hungry, yes? You would go and feed tonight?"
Warily, Steven replied, "Yes..."
Rebecca said nothing, but got her feet under her and rose from where she had been sitting next to his chair. She stretched, feeling muscles pop and settle; Steven eyed her with surreptitious hunger as she threw her head back to set her spine. Relaxing again, she took a step or two, ending up directly in front of him. "I would feel better if I knew where you got the blood from." She presented her forearm to him, wrist out, as she had seen it done before: offering.
Steven tensed visibly, and his nostrils flared; with an obvious effort of will, he pushed her arm away with a shaking hand and leaned back in his chair, putting distance between them. With a tremor in his voice, he said, "You don't know what you're asking."
She let her arm drop, puzzled. "I don't know that I'm asking much of anything. I'm offering you something you need, something I have."
He shook his head emphatically. "You're offering more than you know."
Cocking an eyebrow, she replied, "A pint or two of blood is nothing to me -- I've given enough at the Red Cross."
He laughed abruptly. "This is different from the Red Cross."
Her mouth twitched, images of gurneys and nurses flitting through her head. "Well, I should hope so..."
Sobering, she looked at where he huddled in his chair, head back and eyes closed, tension in every line of him. "Are you afraid of hurting me?"
Unmoving, he answered, "Yes."
She stood for a moment, a bit of doubt creeping into her resolve, and asked in a small voice, "Does it hurt so much, then?"
He laughed again, with a little humor, and shook his head. She gathered her courage and pressed him. "Is the decision so hard?"
He sighed and opened his eyes. "You won't take no for an answer, will you?"
"Well, I trust you... It won't kill me, which is the only thing which might stop me."
Desperation tinged his voice. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"
She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I know that I will feel better; at least I can vouch that my blood isn't adulterated."
He gave her a small, dry smile. "Your hesitation betrays your fear."
His expression altered a bit as she laughed gently and told him, "I am always afraid of Kindred." She presented her wrist again. "Please. I am offering you a gift. Take it."
He shifted forward, then stood, with a resigned expression, and took her elbow. "Well, as it seems I have no choice..." He steered her to a straightbacked chair, and said, not unkindly, "Sit down."
Rebecca paused with one hand on the arm of the chair, apprehensive. The whole thing seemed very unreal, suddenly -- that she was offering her blood to this man, this vampire. She tried to think of him as something other than a friend, a human, and couldn't; he might be frightening, he might be the Prince of the County, but all she could bring to mind was the way he relaxed with her, showed her who he was. The idea that he would be drinking her blood seemed absurd, pure fantasy.
She tried to grasp the fact that he was a vampire, and seized on one thing that would help cement it in her mind. She said quietly, "I have one request."
Cocking his head, he asked, "Yes?"
Steeling herself, she looked into his face and said, somewhat timidly, "Show me your fangs."
Steven's eyebrows shot up, then he frowned a little, dubiously; he looked at her, obviously confused, but seeming to realize that she meant it. Taking a step back, he raised his head, baring inch-long fangs in a brief snarl.*
Rebecca's eyes widened a little, then she looked down again. Her voice shaking a little, she said, "Thank you," and sat.
Steven walked around behind her, and stroked a hand along her hair. "Why did you ask me to do that?"
She hesitated, and when she spoke, her voice was muted, still absorbing what she had seen. "There are times when I find it easier to think of you as a Kindred than as a human... It helped remind me of what you are."
Steven was silent, still a bit puzzled, but apparently not wanting to pursue the matter. Rebecca felt his hands shift from caressing her hair to gathering it to one side, brushing the last strands away from her skin. She trembled a little, nervous; he murmured, "Relax." His fingers kneaded her shoulder, stroked her neck, followed the line of her jaw; tilting her head a little, he leaned down, speaking gently into her ear. "It will hurt for a moment, but not long." There was a sense of movement just out of sight as he bared his teeth again, and a split second later he sank his fangs into her neck.
Rebecca stiffened at the brief flash of pain, then gasped as a wave of warmth flooded through her, bringing pleasure in its wake. It intensified, and she was quickly lost in it, moaning without being aware of it; dimly, she felt Steven's arms tightening around her. She moaned again, relaxing into the waves of sensation, and went bonelessly limp, supported only by the chair and his arms. She never felt his careful licks on her neck, closing the wound, aware only of the ecstasy.*
Gradually, the pleasure ebbed; she floated on it until it gently placed her back in the world again, leaving only the warmth behind. She returned to herself, realizing after a moment where she was, then who was with her, then what had happened. Overwhelmed, she ducked her head, blushing deeply.
Steven came around the chair, curious and a bit concerned; standing next to her, he caught her chin and brought her face up. She tried halfheartedly to pull away, and he asked, "Are you all right?"
Her thoughts in chaos, all she could manage was a stammer, and he let go with a small frown. After a minute or so, she pulled herself together enough to ask, "Was that some sort of... mind trick?"
"No... That is what we call The Kiss -- it is always that way. It keeps the ones we feed off of from struggling." He walked slowly to his chair and sat down, watching her intently. She tried to speak, and stammered a little again; he asked her, with more concern, whether she was all right.
She laughed unsteadily. "'All right'... I practically orgasmed" she tripped a little over the word, "in the arms of a man I barely know..." She took a breath and suppressed a nervous giggle. "How do you face someone after that? What do you say?" She buried her face in her arms again, hiding behind her long hair.
Steven was silent; she sensed from his awkwardness that he was at a loss for words. After a few minutes, he ventured, "I'm sure the chantry ghouls have something to eat and drink, if you need it."
"I may, I don't know." She took a deep breath, calming herself. "Usually at the Red Cross, they take blood and I don't even really notice."
She could hear his smile. "Well, I'm not sure that the ghouls have orange juice and chocolate chip cookies, but..."
Rebecca laughed a little, nervously, startled by the joke. Looking up at him, she realized that he seemed almost completely relaxed now, and that the corners of his mouth -- under the edges of his mustache -- had turned upward in a small, satiated smile. That smile unnerved her a little in its simple animal pleasure, and she found herself asking, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
He dropped his eyes and his smile deepened for a moment. "Yes. It is pleasurable for us as well."
Remembering, Rebecca looked away hastily, blushing again. She tried to speak, and managed it after a few tries. "God... How do you face someone after that? I don't know what to say."
He replied hesitantly, "I was surprised that you would speak to me after I offered to Embrace you; I didn't expect you to be able to approach me after I told you how I felt... I understand if you don't want to speak to me after this."
She shook her head, dismissing the notion. "It's just so... embarrassing."
Steven stood up, walking over to her and looking down on her bowed head. "I can take away the memory, if you want me to."*
A small chill went through her, and she shook her head again, with emphasis. "No, no... It's just... I never thought of you that way, never."
His voice was amused. "Vampires have always had an erotic legend."
She emerged a little, almost forgetting her blush. "I always thought that was the people who liked the stories, getting carried away."
"No, it is based on fact." He paced a little, idly.
She laughed unsteadily and told him, "Forgive me, I'm rattled -- but it seems easier to me to think of vampires as erotic than you."
Suddenly realizing that she might have deeply offended him, she looked up quickly and caught him smiling, genuinely amused, with a wicked gleam in his eye. "That sounds like a couple of my old girlfriends in college," he quipped, sitting down in a chair beside her.
Rebecca blushed a little again and chuckled, startled and relieved. "Even that -- but of course you would have dated. Everyone does... Except me -- I'm too busy learning."
She took a deep breath. "I don't regret this, I think..." She paused for a moment, as a wave of memory made her tingle. "I'm divided. A good part of me is just stunned, I think -- and to say that the hedonist in me wants more is a large understatement."
She looked at him, noticing again the relaxed, sated expression, as something occurred to her. "You were afraid you would lose everything, weren't you?"
He looked down, losing his ease. "Yes."
Suddenly afraid she had compounded his worries, she said, "I'm sorry if I've added to your problems."
He shook his head. "You haven't."
Studying him, she let her doubt creep into her voice. "Truthfully."
He looked at her, his eyes serious. "No, really, you haven't -- in fact, you've given me one good experience in the last few days."
Rebecca blushed again at that, and looked away. "So it was different, then?"
His voice held a warm contentment. "Yes... my feelings for you add to the experience." He stood and slid behind her, rubbing her shoulders a bit to ease the obvious tension; she relaxed a little under his touch, and with a small caress, he returned to his original seat across from her.
Thinking to herself, she murmured, "I don't regret it, but... It's hard to grasp. I barely know you..." She shivered as another memory of ecstasy thrilled through her. "I see now why you tried to talk me out of it." She looked up, not wanting to ask, but unable to resist. "I probably know the answer, but I'll ask anyway -- would you do it again?"
Steven hesitated, looking at her. Cautiously, he replied, "If you wanted me to, then yes, I would... I wouldn't do it against your wishes."
Her mouth twisted a little as she considered this. "Let me rephrase that. Would you like to do it again?"
He took a breath, trembling as he controlled some reaction. "Yes... yes, I would."
She fell silent for several minutes, trying to calm her thoughts, and finally gave it up as a lost cause. "I think I should see if I can stand, at least."
Steven got up, moving to stand in front of her, and offered her a hand. She paused, obscurely reminded of the night the Nosferatu Archon came to the court; the Archon had seized her, then dropped her after holding her pinned to the wall. She remembered two hands appearing to her our of a haze of terror, as both Steven and Ezra offered her their shelter. She had taken Ezra's, clinging to the power and safety she knew were there, leaving the Prince free to stand before the Archon.
She wondered, now, whether she had disappointed Steven that night by taking Ezra's hand instead of his, Prince or not. With a small amount of closure, she took his hand, and he lifted her to her feet, steadying her against his shoulder as she swayed.
Feeling a bit lightheaded, she murmured, "Either I'm very tired, or you took more than the Red Cross..."
Steven smiled, and said simply, "You can stay here if you like -- we have the same room you've stayed in before, the same as it was."*
She shook her head. "I should get home if I can; I don't know whether I can drive."
"I'll drive you home." Steven held her steady as they made their way to the door, and ushered her through it and out to her car. Sitting her in the passenger seat, he asked her to wait there for a moment, and walked briskly back inside.
Rebecca yawned; a few minutes later he emerged again, followed by a nondescript fellow she had seen about the chantry once or twice. The other man walked around the corner, as Steven got into the car and asked for her keys. She produced them after a moment, and watched to make sure he had the hang of the car.
She guided him sleepily toward Pleasant Hill, and through the minor maze of streets to her apartment building. He parked her car deftly in her spot, got out, and came around to help her to her feet again and up the stairs to her door. Handing her the keys, he began to bid her good night; she paused, then asked, "How are you getting home?"
He gave her a small smile, one she was familiar with from the many months she had dealt with him in court. "I asked my retainer Michael to follow us in my car -- he's over there." She followed his gesture and saw Steven's small dark sedan near her own station wagon.
She looked back at him. "Thank you... I will see you next court, if not before."
He caught her hand and kissed it; his lips were cool. "Good night. Sleep well." With a small bow, he turned and made his way down the stairs to his car, as she fumbled a little with the lock and opened the door. She had little energy for thought as she fell into bed, slipping her shoes off and falling asleep.
Footnotes
Some weeks ago. See Blood Tears.
tonight. The court gathering.
"three months to live". The deadline set for the court by the Camarilla that night.
"black goo". The substance expelled from the body by the Tremere ritual Purity of the Flesh. In truth, it consists of any impurities present in the body, dissolved in a quantity of old blood.
Jeremiah, Greg, Ashford. Steven's truest allies in court: Jeremiah Bridger, his Sheriff; Greg Stanton, Malkavian Primogen and devout servant to the court; and Ashford, Keeper of Elysium and Jeremiah's rescuer from the Black Spiral Dancers.
the Justicar. Lucinde, the Ventrue Justicar. She had assisted Steven in the removal of traitors from the court, and held this over him when she pronounced the Camarilla's deadline.
Theo ... Jennifer Clearwater. Her contacts with the Garou; Jennifer is the beta, or second-in-command.
Spirit. Spirit Interface, her mentor in the Garou.
two weeks ago. Rebecca, Steven, and Ezra talked at length after the previous court; see the timeline.
"Aaron's mess". Aaron Maddison, a court member, had influenced UC Berkeley into releasing a study on the supernatural, a potential breach of the Masquerade. Rebecca joined with Ezra Darke to repair the damage.
"permission ... from Ezra". The Tremere in a chantry must get permission from their Regent to Embrace someone.
the Prince. The Tradition of Progeny demands that any Kindred within a Prince's domain ask permission of the Prince before Embracing.
human warmth. Most Kindred have no body heat, feeling much like corpses to the touch. Ezra Darke has a natural quirk which causes her blood to circulate normally, giving her skin warmth and color. Steven, like most Kindred, does not.
the Giovanni. An independent clan, consisting of members of the famous Italian mobster family.
"burned by holy water". A member of the court, Professor Tyferrius, had a run-in with the vampire hunters in the area, coming away with bad burns and a limp. The hunters had used Super-Soakers filled with holy water.
thirteen tribes. The Garou are also split into types, called tribes: Glasswalkers, Children of Gaia, and so forth.
rescuing Feld. Greg Stanton and Rebecca went to find the ex-prince, presumed dead, and Greg lost blood trying to revive him. See the timeline.
"when I jumped last court". Steven had touched her and startled her so she jumped nearly a foot.
the Mage. The Mage representative in the court at the time, Marcus D'Canti. Rebecca disliked and refused to trust him.
no fear of retribution. The Prince is the only one within his domain who can kill any member of his court with impunity.
baring inch-long fangs. Kindred canine teeth are retractile, extending and retracting at will. They are normally extended only for feeding, fighting, or intimidation.
careful licks. Kindred can close the wounds created by their own teeth by simply running their tongue over it; the mark heals as though it had never been.
"take away the memory". Steven has the discipline Dominate, allowing him to selectively edit the memories of others.
the same room. Rebecca stayed at the chantry after the previous court, having stayed up nearly until dawn with Ezra.