This story was set after the court gathering September 26, 1999. See the background for the events after Blood Lust.
Rebecca was quiet as they climbed the stairs to her room at the chantry; she had been quiet ever since she had begged Steven, wearily, to take her home after Court ended. She had meant her apartment, but hadn't resisted when he gently loaded her into the car, after the last of the audiences with court members, and taken her back to the chantry. Her apartment was too dangerous, now that the hunters had contacted her;* they knew where she lived, and they would take her at some point, to kill her or use her against the court. She was safer at the chantry, and she knew it.
That didn't mean she had to like it, however, and he wondered whether her silent brooding was due to resentment, anxiety from the night's events, or simple fatigue.
She opened the door to the guest bedroom she was staying in, and turned the lamp on as she walked in. As Steven followed her in, she paused by the bookshelf near the door, reaching behind her and pulling a small pistol out of the small of her back. Steven's eyebrows raised a bit as she examined the little automatic, checking it over absently, then placed it on the top of the bookshelf.
He fingered his own revolver, still in his pants pocket, and smiled to himself; he hadn't known Rebecca was carrying, and he was sure she hadn't checked the gun at the door of Elysium.* He was an officer, and entitled to weapons if he chose, but he couldn't blame her in the least for breaking that rule -- it showed, if nothing else, her intelligence as compared to the other members of the court. She, at least, was not complacent about her own safety.
He watched her closely as she stretched, then walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. He joined her, slowly, studying her mood. She was tense, almost unbearably so, working her hands together until the knuckles showed white. Her look was preoccupied, brooding, almost angry, but he wasn't sure whether that reflected what she was feeling. The predator in him felt her fear, radiating from her in waves, and though she didn't seem afraid of him in particular, he was careful not to touch her.
He broke the silence softly. "Something got to you, didn't it?"
Rebecca's response was not quite a question. "Something got to me." She sighed, then went on in a rush, her voice high with strain. "Why do I come to court? Why do I stay here? Why do I come with you? Why am I here? I don't fit..." She shifted, edgy.
Steven paused, trying to come up with a reply, then raised an eyebrow. "You're the only one who has all those answers."
She laughed a little, incredulously. "I'm beginning to think that the answer to that is that I can't leave."
He heard the edge of hysteria in her words, and made his own voice calm, soothing. "You can leave any time you want."
She cut him off. "You say that..."
"I can arrange it." His words were level. "If you want to leave now, I will arrange it."
Her voice was flat. "And let the hunters get to me." As he drew breath to respond, she looked over her shoulder at him. "They'll use me against you. If I stay, it's the hunters outside, and the Camarilla inside. If I leave, it's the hunters, and the Camarilla will come after me."
"I could arrange for them not to come after you."
She restrained nervous laughter. "Not the hunters, though."
"They won't be able to use you." His concern grew; she seemed on the edge of snapping from stress and fear. She sighed and bowed her head, seeming almost defeated, but her next words were almost savage in their quiet. "I won't let you do that."
He was silent, measuring her, then spoke. "How else do you want to take care of this?"
Her laughter was mirthless and desperate. "I've been looking for options... Do you have any options?" She turned to him. He ignored the derisive, sarcastic tone, though he had never heard her mock anyone, least of all him. She went on, turning her focus away, brooding. "I can't stay, I can't leave, I won't submit to being brainwashed, which is what the Camarilla demand and what I'd need to be protected from the hunters..."
Steven's voice was soft. "You can stay."
She laughed humorlessly, but her reply was intent. "For how long? How long can this go on? I don't belong here."
He half-shrugged, philosophical. "A mortal's life in a vampiric court is... hectic. This is what we were warning you about --"
She tossed her head impatiently. "Oh, I know, I know. It's no fault but my own. Damn curiosity... I felt it was worth it because I was learning things and because I was helping out those who needed it..." She trailed off, head in her hand, "...like you."
Beginning to speak, Steven almost missed the last murmur. He cocked his head. "Aren't you still?"
She paused, then her mouth twisted. "Who am I kidding... The two people I wish to help can do perfectly well on their own. What can my help do, to shift any problems?" She leaned against the headboard, defeat in every line.
"You may be surprised. You seem to have a better grip on this than meets past. Now, it seems, the roles are reversed." His wry smile grew a little, as he remembered her talks with him, encouraging him when he saw no options.
She spoke slowly, wearily. "Well, now that the Garou are no longer quite as ticked at the court as they were.... I was working for the Trinity. What we have is a tentative agreement which might turn into a treaty. And now what's my place?" She sighed. "I was working to bridge the gap between Kindred and Garou, and it looks like I've done that. Now what? Now I sit and wait for someone to get to me? Sit and watch the seconds tick by and wonder how long it's going to be?"
Hearing again the note of strain, he strove to comfort, emphatic this time. "You have the protection of the Prince of the Domain. No one within the Court will do anything; as long as you stay here, no one from without can."
She sighed. "I'm not so certain." Her voice was a whisper, then it strengthened. "The Camarilla could dissolve this court. Even if it didn't decide to kill everyone, it could kill select members."
Scathing sarcasm laced his response. "The Camarilla does not resort to assassination."
The verbal slap did nothing to jolt her out of her morbid reflections; she snorted and said, "Oh, I'm not talking about secretly. What I'm talking about -- if your superiors say I have to go, what do you do? We dodged the matter with the Archon.* You think you can really do that again?"
Thoughtfully, he mused, "Perhaps, perhaps not. The idea of a mortal, in our court, is distasteful to most Kindred... Myself included, until fairly recently." His slight amusement returned at that.
Rebecca was quietly cynical. "I've gotten some dirty looks."
His voice was soft. "I'm afraid that comes with the territory, of being mortal, among us."
"The looks don't frighten me... it's the ones that don't. It's the ones I've never met. It's the hunters outside." She took a breath. "Nora just wanted to make sure that I wasn't any threat to them."
He frowned. "Nora?"
"The hunter." Her voice was clipped, factual. "If she'd arranged it I would have been dead." Her voice grew quiet again. "I'm just lucky that she was much like me... a healer, I think, or something close."
His incredulity made his words sharp. "A healer who would destroy sentient beings?"
"I can understand the viewpoint." Her voice was nearly inaudible. "I understood her well enough. Heaven knows I spent long enough realizing that I was associating with people who were long dead, and yet never really seemed to notice -- or care."
Quiet confidence backed his words. "Only part of us is dead. The rest lives on."
"I just don't see how -- what, as a mortal, I can do." Her voice was filled with frustration. "I see the court... running around in circles. Not understanding. I wonder whether some of them were human so long ago that they don't even remember what it's like to fear for your life." She paused for a moment. "There are parts, even in vampire society, where you're not always in fear of destruction... How else could the Toreador have become so idle?"
He chuckled. "The Malkavians aren't the only ones who are insane."
"Well, I know for a fact that you can't live for a long time under fear of final destruction without some sort of change." Her voice was strained, full of suppressed despair.
He kept his gaze on her, watching. "Change, we do."
She was quiet, but her words carried a knife-edge of panic. "There must be some safety somewhere."
"Only what we make for ourselves." He paused, thinking, then ventured, "There is, though, a more stable existence than a mortal in a vampiric court."
She was silent a long time, fighting fear, wringing her hands tight until every knuckle showed white. Her voice, when she spoke, was very fragile, trembling. "How do you say, "Ok, the ride's over, I want off"?"
He wasn't sure he had heard her right. "What was that?"
"How do you tell life, the ride's over, I want off?"
He gave a startled laugh, then sobered, thinking. "That is a tricky question..." He took a deep breath. "Most of us never choose to end our lives --"
She cut him off. "Oh, I'm not talking about dying. I'm just talking about stopping. Being able to breathe. Able to relax."
He chose his words carefully, masking his relief. "The most real safety is the one that you carve for yourself. Try and build a fortress in which they can't strike you, and you have some breathing room."
She retorted abruptly, "I'm powerless with your kind."
He considered, trying to gauge her reactions. "There are ways to remedy that."
After a moment, she replied, in a voice like broken glass. "I told you that the choice between the death of self and the death of memory is not one I choose to make."
He winced a little at her pain, and persisted, his voice persuasive. "Becoming one of us is not the only choice. There are other ways."
"I'm already your herd." She gave the word a force born out of self-contempt; he knew already that it came from the fact that she had never truly accepted her addiction to the Kiss, rather than a dislike of the situation itself. He went on gently, trying to bring the point to her.
"That's not what I was talking about. There are ways to become more capable of dealing with my kind, without becoming my kind. To become more like Alice, Vladimir, Michael.* They don't live in fear, yet they live."
She was silent for a long time, absorbing this. "You said yourself, there's always a price."
Lightly, he answered, "There's a price for everything. It's just that, if you look around, you find out which one is the most worth paying."
Her voice was even. "What's the price, then?"
"For ghouling?" He fell silent, then went on slowly. "Blood bond. That... and you will have to stay with the Tremere."
She snorted. "Looks like I'm doing that anyway."
He went on. "It is reversible... but then you would be right back where you were, but more so."
"More so?"
He nodded. "More so, because you would have knowledge from your stay with the Tremere."
"Well, it seems that the only way not to dig myself deeper would be to erase my memories completely." Her voice was strained and unhappy.
"Perhaps." He looked over at her; her elbows were on her knees, and she slumped between them. She was quiet again, for a while, and her voice was soft, contemplative, when she finally spoke. "What does it mean, then, to be a ghoul?"
Haltingly, choosing his words with great care, he tried to explain. "Ghouls are humans who have been altered, temporarily, with vampiric blood. By regularly ingesting vampiric blood, you would have some of the benefits of being Kindred, yet you would still be mortal. Our ability to heal would be yours, as would superhuman strength, and our Disciplines would be open to you, though in a limited fashion. Ghouls are usually servants, of some sort or another, which is reinforced by the blood bond."
She seemed calmer, perhaps taking refuge in academia. "From all I've heard of the blood bond, it sounds like... obsession, maybe? Slavery?"
He shook his head, trying to dispel any fear of the bond. "Not quite slavery. Blood bond is generally described as an artificially induced love. It's an emotional state which causes the bonded to be... in great love of their domitor. All other aspects of your personality remain unchanged, except by your experiences, of course. But the bond only creates strong feelings toward the one who has bonded you."
There was a long silence as she digested this. "And the ghouling would grant a place within Kindred society?"
"Yes, it would. Ghouls are protected by the Camarilla as retainers, as... in some ways, they're almost Kindred, in others they're almost human. They are treated with respect, and are generally left alone." He paused, then added, "In Clan Tremere, ghouling will also make you a member of our House and Clan. You would be privy to some knowledge about our existence, of our ways of doing things... Ghouls can never really progress to the higher levels of the Pyramid,* but they still have a place. A place within it, instead of on the outside."
Her voice was broken, barely audible. "What options do you see me having?"
Steven took a breath and shifted, thinking. "You can continue on, much as you have. You can leave, memories altered. Or you can become a ghoul, or become one of us -- which, as you have stated several times before, is not an option for you."
She brooded. "I'm not sure how I feel about my emotions being tampered with." She fell silent for a long time, and a frown grew on her features. "I don't think I fear it as much as loss of memory..."
"You will not lose anything, simply have a strong bond..." He trailed off, reluctant to mention how and to whom the bond would manifest.
Her voice was soft, thoughtful. "You know, it used to be that I stayed to help you with the court. You're one of the few I respected, and I think I came to like you a little bit. But I'm wondering whether that really explains why I've been willing to deal with what I've been going through." Her expression grew distant, her voice dropped to a whisper. "It used to be I stuck by my friends -- I never thought it'd take this... I'm wondering whether my friends have ever done this much.
"Why do I do this dance of death? Ezra doesn't need me, as more than a resource. You need me, but you're pretty much the only one... And just looking at it, I would say the price was too high. But I don't think anything of it."
She hid her mouth behind her steepled fingers, and began to rock slightly back and forth. She seemed to have withdrawn into some private corner of her mind, driven by anxiety and fear almost past bearing, into a nearly trancelike state.
Concerned, Steven reached out and very gently turned her toward him, enfolding her in his arms, careful not to hold her too tightly and possibly frighten her more. She relaxed with a shuddering sigh and pressed her head against his chest, seeking his shelter, almost trying to burrow into him somehow to find solace. He stroked her back, trying to calm her.
Abruptly she tensed, then pushed him violently away, coming to rest in a huddle by the headboard, trembling, her face hidden. Stunned, he was still for a minute, then asked her, "Is there something wrong?" She didn't move, and he said softly, "I've upset you." When she still didn't say anything, he gathered himself and stood, then walked to the door, confused and grieving that he might have hurt her, however unwittingly. She stirred and muttered brokenly, "You didn't upset me."
"What's wrong?" He came to stand before her, then turned and sat on the edge of the bed. She was staring into nothing, her fingers steepled before her, barely breathing; she seemed almost paralyzed, but with what he couldn't tell. After a few minutes, she murmured, "I wonder when it was."
His voice was soft, coaxing. "When what was?"
Rebecca shuddered, and took a deep breath. "When I started to come for you instead of your alcoholism. When I started to look to you instead of Ezra."
"Look..." He frowned. "For what?"
"For protection. For strength. For understanding. When it was I started to turn to you instead." She took another breath, trying to steady herself. "When it was I started to love you."
It caught him completely off guard, leaving him stunned. His first reaction was unguarded joy, exhilaration; he hid a smile behind his hands, and took a moment to let the feeling dim a little to a warmth, filling him. He tried to speak and failed, then took a breath against the tightness in his chest and tried again. "When did you come to that realization?"
"I think part of me always knew... I just wouldn't admit it." She fell silent, then added, "Part of me still tries to deny it, even now." She chuckled a little. "I never realized exactly how much of a mess I've gotten myself into."
His voice was lighter than usual with the exuberance he couldn't quite keep hidden. "It seems you've gotten yourself into more than either of us has realized."
She spoke after a long pause. "How did you realize your feelings for me?"
Musing, he spoke slowly. "I believe I first realized it when you refused my Embrace. I saw what I had lost. It hit me hard, made me realize how much I had wanted it and why... In light of previous actions, I must have felt for you before that, or I wouldn't have given you a choice."
She rocked to herself, then drew a breath. "The strength of it is frightening."
Steven drew her to him and held her; she sighed, and relaxed into him like a weary traveler coming home. He stroked her hair, and she murmured after a time, "To think I used to shy away from your touch." He smiled, and ran his hand over her hair again.
She tensed a little after some minutes, and drew away. He stayed close to her, not touching her, and asked quietly, "How do you want to continue? Where do you want to go from here?"
She closed her eyes in thought for a moment. "The options I would take..." she drew a shaky breath, "-- or, let's put it this way: the options I would not refuse to take -- would be to continue on, or, I suppose, to be ghouled. The choice between watching a clock, and entering into a sort of pact." She paused. "You said that the only catch was the blood bond."
"The only major catch, yes."
Warily, she muttered, "I can imagine a multitude of minor ones..."
He smiled, reassuringly. "Everything has them."
Rebecca laughed a little, abruptly. "I may be missing something, but the thought occurs to me... I don't want my emotions messed with, but what would a blood bond do to me that I haven't already done to myself?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It would only enhance your feelings, make them even stronger."
She smiled shakily. "The simple strength of them now frightens me. The simple fact that, without even acknowledging it, I would do so much for you and not even question whether there was a cost... The fact that I would do more, in fact I would quite possibly get myself killed, and never feel that it wasn't worth it. Nothing can stop it... The closest thing I know to it is loyalty -- but even loyalty can be shaken. Trust can be taken apart, shattered. This just tells me that I have to help you, and that I want to be with you."
She gathered herself, and murmured, "To intensify feelings but not alter them... Is there anything you're not telling me?"
Steven stirred. "About the blood bond?"
She shook her head. "About ghouling."
"There are small issues with ghouling..." He shifted position, moving into his lecture mode, his voice impersonal and matter-of-fact. "The largest condition is tat you must drink Kindred blood, at least once a month. Within one month, the blood leaves your body, and you revert back to your human state. Aging begins again, and you will have withdrawal, much like withdrawal from a drug. That can be overcome. You begin aging back at what age you were when you were first ghouled, although I've heard about older ghouls who age more rapidly when off the blood, so there may be a span of time where, once you pass it, you reach the point of no return... but that takes decades. So long as you receive your monthly supply of vitae, you do not age; you are immortal until your next monthly feeding. Other dangers include overdosing on vitae -- too much can cause your system to become overcome, and you may frenzy."
Her voice was muted. "Like Kindred."
"Yes, like Kindred. Ghouls do have the capability of frenzy -- it's very uncommon, less common than it is in vampires, but it can happen."
She seemed to have recovered some composure as he talked; when she spoke, it was in a manner of idle curiosity, an academic question. "You know, I'm trying to think, and I don't think I've ever seen a vampire frenzy."
He smiled. "We do our best to control ourselves. The eldest of us often have great strength of will and are able to hold back the Beast. Many of the younger Kindred who are successful also have this ability. To frenzy on Elysium would mean death -- violence is prohibited, and frenzy releases the Beast, which is violent by its very nature."
She was quiet for a while. "The prospect of a release from the fear is tempting..."
Steven racked his brain. "The only drawback I can think of is that you would become one of the retainers of the chantry -- in particular, my personal retainer. You would join Alice, Vladimir, Michael, as the caretakers of our chantry, but you would be provided safety."
Rebecca smiled. "Ezra once wished to demonstrate to me that not all mortals in Kindred society are maltreated, or even looked down upon. She called in Alice and Vladimir, and asked them if they were ill-treated. Alice looked at her as if she were nuts, and Vladimir just laughed... I don't fear treatment at the hands of the Tremere. Your clan has been the only one to treat me decently, other than perhaps Clan Malkavian -- almost outcasts themselves -- and isolated others. The worst the Tremere have done to me is ignore me, and in some ways, I consider that a blessing. I would rather be ignored..." She stopped, and took a breath. "Doesn't being ghouled make it more possible to... become one of you?"
He cocked his head, and nodded slowly. "Kindred are often Embraced from ghouls. Especially in my clan, ghouls tend to either be only those who serve a short term purpose, or would be considered for Embrace." He stressed the consideration. "Many ghouls stay that way for centuries, without becoming Embraced. It depends on their domitor's wishes, and whether or not they were given permission to Embrace, by their Regent and their Prince."
Rebecca shook her head. "What about accidental Embrace?"
He frowned, puzzled. "Accidental?"
Her voice shook a little. "I knew the risk, back when I offered my blood to you, of the possibility that you would take too much. I know enough about the Embrace to know that that's part of it."
He nodded once, understanding her thought. "To be Embraced, you would have to drain all of your blood, and replace it with our own."
Her eyebrow cocked. "So it's basically no more of a risk than I've been running."
"No, it's not. And by being a ghoul, you will have the ability to take back some of the blood, and rekindle your supply." He watched her relax a bit at that.
Rebecca smiled. "Well, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that way."
Steven frowned again, puzzled. "Such as?"
She raised her eyebrows with a wry smile. "I realized that carrying blood around in my car isn't exactly the most tidy solution..."
He smiled. "Yes, that often looks bad."
She chuckled, and went on. "You lent me your lab to fix an elixir --" He interjected, a little defensive, "It was just... odd, seeing you do it on the kitchen stove."
She blushed, sheepish. "It's what I'm used to... all I need is a saucepan and a burner."
Steven let out a small sigh. "That's... unconventional style for my clan."
Her grin was one of genuine amusement. "The look of horror told me that."
"Although, I do remember Piter, in Berlin, using the chantry stove on occasion. He was always a bit odd." Steven's voice was distant, remembering. "He lightened the spirits of our chantry."
Rebecca went on after a moment. "The elixir -- I used part of it this last weekend, and I have the other part here."
"Part?"
"It was a double batch." He nodded, and she continued, "As I said, I have a few tricks up my sleeve... I asked around and looked in books, and got a few hints from my mentor, and found out how to make the body replace blood faster. That's what the elixir does."
"Ah." His look was one of fascination.
"It takes a couple of hours to make -- it's not hard." He murmured again, and she added, "There's rumor of other things that cure wounds, and can help stave off sickness and the like, and I figured it wasn't that different."
Steven smiled. "You could make a fortune selling that to the Ventrue, for their herds." He laughed, still slightly giddy.
Puzzled, she asked, "Why the Ventrue? Other than the fact that they're into money matters."
He shrugged. "They're the ones most likely to pay... and they generally have a very restrictive diet."
Considering, she said slowly, "I should think the Toreador would pay, to have the loveliest ones recover faster."
Steven laughed again. "Yes, I think all Kindred would find this very intriguing."
"Yes, well, I'm not sure I can make batches of eighty." Rebecca smiled. "I can, however, make enough to make myself an insurance policy. They last about a week -- I was told not to try and use them after that. They didn't say exactly what, but images of rye bread came to mind."
He was puzzled. "Rye bread?"
"It may be that it's been a long time since you've eaten, but... Bread mold is generally fairly harmless; I've used it in a couple of my things. It's what they made penicillin out of." He nodded. "But rye bread, once it's gone moldy, should not be eaten. There are huge warnings telling you to throw it out. Apparently that's part of what caused mass delusion in Europe a long time ago, people eating moldy rye seed. Apparently it's a... it induces hallucinations. A psychotropic."
"Ah." He raised his eyebrows. "I was only used to it from the occasional sandwiches at delis when I was alive. I never was much of a cook myself."
"Well, I was cautioned at one point that if I used mold, never to use it off of rye bread if it's supposed to be something edible. First by my mother, and then by my mentor... I'd hate to think of what that potion would do after its expiration date."
His expression was wry. "Yes, that might be a little worse than ground beef past its due date."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I don't think I need to ask whether you want to have me as a ghoul." He smiled a little, and she withdrew into thought again. Finally she whispered, "Have you told me everything?"
"Yes." His voice was as soft as hers.
"I don't see any reason not enter into this. I've been afraid too long..." She looked over at him. "You said you would protect me."
He didn't hesitate. "Yes, I will."
"Will you still?" Her words were fragile, broken.
"Yes." His voice was firm. "I will."
She thought a minute more; when her reply came, it was nearly inaudible, whispered into her steepled fingers. "Yes."
Steven shifted, turning toward her a bit. "Are you sure?"
After a moment, she nodded slightly. "I really don't see any other option."
Watching her intently, he asked, "But are you sure that this is what you want, and not simply a default?"
"I know that as... one of yours, you will treat me well... And I would have so much less to fear. The drawbacks are minimal... And, heaven help me, I love you." The last words were a rush, an almost helpless confession. She sobbed a little, and he gathered her to him again, letting her release some of her emotion as she relaxed into his arms.
He gave her some time to compose herself, then bent his head, his words infinitely gentle. "Do you want me to do it now?"
She pulled back, gathered herself a bit, and considered. "Rationally, I want it -- it is not an impulse, it is logical... and I don't want the chance to second-guess myself."
Steven persisted. "You're ready for it now?"
Whispered, "Yes." Then, sardonically, "Can I be?"
He gave a half-chuckle. "I guess not." He caressed her, softly. "I'll have to take some of yours, first, for there to be room, so to speak." Holding her in the crook of his arm, he smoothed her hair back, running his hand along her neck, her chin, her shoulder. Her breathing quickened and she leaned into his touch, becoming almost fevered under his fingers. She shivered; he leaned her into his shoulder, then bit deeply into the expanse of smooth, fair skin between her shoulder and cheek.
She moaned and relaxed, and he drank, savoring the sweet saltiness, letting the warmth join with the seed of joy in him to drown his last reservations. Lust rose in him, and he gripped her tightly, feeling her go limp with the ecstasy of the Kiss. She moaned a little, again, as he drew back and closed the bite, restoring her skin to its former unmarked smoothness, licking the last of the blood away. He released his hold, and she slumped; he laid her down on the bed, gently, and after a moment her eyes opened. Still caught in the sensation, she stared at the ceiling, gradually coming back to herself.
Steven rolled up his right sleeve, then bent down and put his arm under her shoulder, half-propping her up. "Here." He brought his wrist to his teeth, tearing through the veins in a shallow slash, then lifted his arm to her lips. "Drink."
Still a bit dazed, she looked for a moment at the blood pooling sluggishly on his wrist, then moved forward and put her mouth to it. After a tentative sip, she made a small sound and took his arm in her hands, holding it as she drank. A rush of pleasure flooded him, and he tipped his head back, feeling her suck hungrily at his blood. He came to himself after a moment, and murmured, "Stop." He drew his arm away, fighting her a little as she tried to take more, carried away by the drug-rush of the vitae. "Not so quickly..." He licked the wound, letting the pleasure fade, as she shuddered and leaned against him.
He looked down at her, as she shook with reaction from the twin sensations. "Feel better?"
She gasped a little, and took a shaky breath. "I didn't expect that..."
He brushed her hair away from her face; she shuddered when he touched her, leaning into his hand and throwing her head back, trembling with reaction and desire. Watching her, he murmured, "The power of the blood..." He shivered a little himself, remembering the rush of feeding, and being fed from; they held each other for a few minutes, her arms around his waist, rocking gently.
He stroked her hair, her head pressed against his chest, feeling his love for her. "You have a place now," he whispered, and she sobbed a little with relief. "With the Camarilla, with the Tremere... and with me." He held her tightly, feeling her warmth against him.
When he released her, she sat up in the circle of his arms, murmuring, "Everything feels different, somehow..." He nodded. Lapsing into thought, she was quiet for a while, then pulled away and looked at him, first studying his face, then dropping her eyes to his chest.
"Is something wrong?" He couldn't read her expression.
After a long moment, she whispered, "It's just... being with you changes how I think... about a lover." A little color came into her cheeks. "I haven't had one for many years. To be one -- to a Kindred..." She laughed, unsteadily. "Let alone for you to be... a domitor?" She spoke the foreign word with uncertainty. He nodded, and she went on, "To have you as my master..." She bowed her head. "The strangest part is -- that I want you to be."
He drew her close, then laid her down on the bed again, feeling his desire stirring; he pulled her shirt aside, and bit her in the hollow of her shoulder, taking a small sip as she arched her back in ecstasy. He closed the bite, then sank his teeth carefully into her exposed neck, just below the chin. He could taste her pleasure, her release from the fear, her weariness, spicing the drops of blood. He licked the wound closed, and she lay there for a moment, her breath rapid.
He sat up, watching her as she surrendered to the sensation, understanding fully her addiction to it. She had obviously never encountered anything close to that level of ecstasy -- sex could come close, but she had evidently never experienced it at that level. It overwhelmed her completely, taking all ability to think or react; the purpose of the Kiss, really, to ensure that prey couldn't struggle. She found a high in it that she had never felt before, and she wanted it badly.
He found a certain amount of amusement in her need, and a great deal of satisfaction that he had that power over her, and that he could bring her that pleasure she craved. She looked to him for it, and he was more than happy to indulge his own desire and give them both what they wanted.
She quieted, and looked up at him. "Does it taste any different?"
"From a ghoul?" He smiled. "Somewhat, at least to a Kindred."
"Your blood certainly tasted human to me." She chuckled, uncertainly.
He smiled a bit more. "You haven't quite developed the taste..."
She laughed. "Well, I imagine it's much like wine... you drink a lot of it, and you can discern subtleties."
He steadied her as she sat up. "You may want to take things easy, until your body becomes used to it."
Her eyes widened a little as she looked around. "As it is, everything seems a bit clearer, more vivid."* She leaned her head against his shoulder, far more relaxed now, and chuckled again. "I've got it -- vampires are all pushers."
He laughed. She went on, a little shakily, "Of course I'm addicted too... Addicted to the Kiss, and now I'll also addict myself in the other direction." She sighed. Turning toward him, she studied him, and frowned thoughtfully. "You don't seem so... afraid anymore."
He blinked a little, not having thought about it, then smiled. "Yes... because you have chosen to stay with me, and you have returned my love." He brushed her hair tenderly away from her cheek.
She pulled back, frowning more deeply, and whispered finally, "This wasn't a trick, was it? To lure me in?"
He shook his head, trying to put as much sincerity into his voice as he could. "No, it wasn't. You have nothing to fear from me."
The frown eased, and she bowed her head, eyes closed. Looking her over, he could see fatigue in her face, in her slumped shoulders, in the hands dangling limply between her knees. Gently, he eased himself a few inches away, and said softly, "You should rest." He got to his feet, standing in front of her. "It's been a long night."
She raised her head. "What am I supposed to do now?"
He considered the clock. "You can rest, sleep for a few hours."
"I think I'd rather distract myself." There was still tension in her voice, though much less than before.
Nodding, he replied, "Of course."
She paused. "Is this the end of my time in court?"
"Not unless you want it to be." He perched next to her, holding her hand. "As a known ghoul, it will not be unusual for you to attend court, and Kindred society will be a bit more open to you than it was as a mortal. You are still mortal, but also, at the same time, something more."
She looked down again, then up at him. "As a ghoul, any interest you might take in me is easily understandable..."
"Yes." His voice was satisfied, then amused. "A maltreated ghoul is not likely to stay around for long..."
Her voice was wry. "I guess you had thought of that."
"Yes." He grinned. "And besides, you have to be careful with someone who knows where you sleep during the day."
She fell silent again, looking away. "The Garou..."
A sudden doubt struck him. "Will this strain relations with them?"
"I don't think so..." Her tone became regretful. "Spirit would have been crushed. Jennifer, I think, will accept it. I think she's one who believes in free choice. I don't think there will be any retribution to worry about, not if I tell them it's my personal choice. Many of the sept do believe that kinfolk should have their own minds, so that's to my advantage." She sighed. "I'll write her a letter -- and she can brave Arnold." She gave a wry smile. "Ghouling is nowhere near as dire as embracing."
She sighed again. "Now, so long as I don't second-guess myself, it should all be fine...
"I think... I'll go talk to someone. Maybe to Ezra. Maybe to Vladimir -- though he's a little smooth, always, for my taste..." She trailed off.
Steven watched her a moment longer to make sure she was all right, then stood and moved to the door again. She sat, relaxed, on the edge of the bed; her posture was one of uncertainty, but no longer had the earmarks of the killing strain she had been carrying. He wished she would rest, after the long court and the ghouling, but he trusted her judgment; she probably wouldn't be able to sleep, and might lie in bed and brood. Better that she go and talk to someone, as she said.
He bowed a little, and she smiled faintly; then he turned and made his way out, closing the door carefully behind him.
Footnotes
the hunters. Rebecca was visited by Nora, one of the hunters of the supernatural in the area. See the timeline.
checked the gun. By edict of Prince Steven Millan, only officers were permitted to carry weapons within Elysium; even then, guns were frowned upon, being noisy and prone to police notice.
"the matter with the Archon". Archon Federico DiPadua demanded that Rebecca be bound or destroyed. Ezra Darke put mental restrictions on Rebecca such that she was incapable of revealing Kindred secrets to others, thus technically carrying out the Archon's orders.
Alice, Vladimir, Michael. Ghouls Rebecca has met at the chantry; two of them Ezra's, the other one Steven's.
"the Pyramid". The Tremere, like some other organizations, have a pyramidal structure of power. Just don't compare them to Amway within one's hearing...
"clearer, more vivid". As Steven's ghoul, Rebecca automatically gained Heightened Senses, the basics of his Auspex discipline. Though specific uses would need to be learned, Heightened Senses make everything more detailed, more immediate.