The morning sunlight found them still nestled together, one asleep and peaceful, one awake and patient.
Eventually, Christian stirred.
Alexandra folded her wings back completely so they disappeared.
He yawned, stretched, then paused, re-evaluating.
“You're virtue is safe, dear,” Alexandra said softly. “I stayed to keep the nightmares away.”
“I know.” He hugged her. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” Just please not too often... “Are you okay?”
“I don't think I want to think about it much, but otherwise, yes.”
“Good. Don't. Your glasses are over on the dresser, by the way.”
“Figured you put them somewhere safe.” Christian nuzzled at her shoulder, one arm still over her, exploring in towards her chest and her throat; the top didn't interfere noticeably.
Amusement managed to override her instincts briefly. “What are you doing?”
“There's a gorgeous creature like you in my bed, and you expect me not to react?”
And now you know I'm willing and won't take it lightly. And you just had what I bet feels like a near miss, even if it was no such thing. “Chris, now is not necessarily the best time for this. I'm not entirely sure whether I can not feed right now.”
“Oh well. I'll take my chances.” He paused long enough to raise his head and meet her gaze. “I'm not scared of you.”
Was it worth the chance? She knew she wouldn't lose control enough to badly hurt or kill him, but she could easily frighten him.
Maybe, she reflected, not so easily.
She curved one hand around the back of his neck, bringing him to her for a very long kiss that left him more than a little breathless.
Hunger stirred, as they played, thousands of years of instincts crying enough kid stuff, fuck him now and feed, he's human prey and he'll taste so sweet. She pushed it away, locked it down ruthlessly, intent on the gentle exploration as Christian got used to this. Helpfully, she raised her hips so he could tug her skirt off, slipping it down over her bare feet, returning to stroke her long legs lightly. He found the row of small clasps along the front of her top and started on them; parting it, he sat back to look her over, smiling, tracing the lines of her body with one fingertip. The sheer intensity of his fascination made the barriers around her own hunger quiver, and his inquisitive nuzzling and nibbling as he leaned down made her breath catch, hard.
Speaking of hard, those jeans looked uncomfortable. She reclaimed control just long enough to deftly strip him, running her hands over his tawny skin in appreciation. He was a scholar, not an athlete, but a combination of good genes and the rapid metabolism of the gifted kept any excess weight minimal, and he was active enough to be in reasonably good shape. Christian shivered and moaned, his back arching, reaching for her to return the favour. Her panties were quickly disposed of, so they could intertwine themselves, skin on skin.
Alexandra pinned Christian on his back, encountering no resistance, and straddled him. He moaned again as she settled on and around him, and drew her down for a kiss. Acutely conscious of the strong pulse of his blood just under the skin, of the gathered power within, she nipped at his throat, barely stopped herself before she broke the skin.
“It's okay,” Christian whispered. “Take what you want.”
She hesitated, seeking the reason for the invitation—without blood, the connection was shaky, but this was easy to find, right on the surface: curiosity, a combined hunger to give her pleasure and to belong to her utterly for right now, and not the faintest hint of fear.
Only Chris. What difference does it make that he's in bed with one of the deadliest and most aggressive predators ever to evolve on any plane? I've saved him a couple of times and now he associates me with total safety. Go figure.
“Tease,” he laughed breathlessly, as she bit hard enough to let him feel the sharp canines, not enough to draw blood.
“Kinky little witch,” she purred.
“Oh well.”
He was twenty and this was all new to him. Under other circumstances, she’d have waited, playing with the hunger and drawing this out. As it was, she seriously doubted there was anything she could do to prolong this much more.
She allowed her teeth to slide through the skin. Since she needed mainly the connection it gave her on other levels, she had no need to go for the major vessels like a movie vampire. She felt him shudder, right on the very edge, and smiled to herself. She didn't often bother, but there was a reason so many stories were told of impossible pleasure with an inhuman woman. Delicately, she caught the energy, drew it into herself; even as he began to slip back down, she gave it back, and took it again at the last possible instant... each time, it returned to him more strongly, holding him exactly at the edge, effectively creating the sensation of sustained orgasm, though his body couldn't quite complete it until she allowed the feedback loop to collapse. It wasn’t altruistic, not entirely: while it didn’t give her more energy, it did alter the flavour, making it richer and stronger, more complex and satisfying, something to savour rather than just gulping and forgetting.
She released the loop at the same time as she raised her head, licking blood from her lips. She'd been careful not to take much energy, no matter how delicious, nor any more blood than she needed for a stable connection, and she half-closed her eyes, dreamily. She had deliberately not touched his gifts at all, but they flavoured the rest anyway. The combination was just shy of intoxicating.
“Kinky little yummy witch,” she murmured.
“I think... I might... be in trouble,” Christian panted.
“Most people would say you're in quite a lot of trouble.”
“Oh well. I'll survive somehow. I think.”
“I intend to make sure that you do.” She got them both arranged comfortably, and slid an arm over him. “Take a catnap, then we’ll find you something to eat.”
“Mmm... you spoil me too much,” he said drowsily.
“I do what I choose. Rest.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Alexandra let herself nap, too—she didn't need a great deal of sleep, but she did need some, and it was safe to let go now.
A couple of hours later, Christian's dark eyes blinked open, and he stretched lazily.
Alexandra kissed him gently and slid out of bed. Her earlier clothes, out of contact with her, had morphed back into Mark's jeans and T-shirt and underwear; she gathered them up.
“Take your time, have a shower. I'll start breakfast. Or lunch.”
Christian caught her around the waist and pulled her down; Alexandra swiftly throttled the instinctive reaction of a predator to an unexpected attack.
“Huh. I never noticed before. You don't have much scent at all.”
“Lamias don't sweat. Or have any body hair. Or get pregnant.”
He blinked, and his eyes widened, appalled. “Gods. That last possibility never occurred to me. And it really should have.”
“Always, always be safe if you're playing with another human, and I don't mean just from making little witches, but with me there's nothing to worry about. I can't catch or carry human diseases, and I can't conceive. That's about as safe as it gets.” She chuckled. “In that sense, anyway.”
“I'll say.”
“Let me up, or you won't get any breakfast.”
“You already had yours,” he teased, releasing her.
“Lexa did,” she agreed, borrowing the nickname he'd used when facing the water elemental. “Mark hasn't.” She leaned down and stole a kiss.
“Your life is complicated,” Christian observed.
Alexandra paused, and met his gaze with a rueful smile. My own kind will hate me if they find out I care about you instead of just using you, your kind will hate both of us if they find out I'm here and what I am, ordinary humans don't think either of us exist, and that's only the beginning of it... “Yes,” she said simply. “It is.”
It was much easier to concentrate on cooking as Mark. He ignored the cat asleep on one of the kitchen chairs. It annoyed him vaguely that it barely flicked an ear in his direction, not even really waking up.
Not that Mark was a spectacular cook, but he was capable of stirring water into pancake mix and pouring it into a frying pan, and of making a pitcher of frozen orange juice.
The pantry door wasn't quite closed; he pushed it open completely, and sighed. One side of the bag of cat food had been shredded with a thoroughness Alexandra might appreciate, spilling kitty kibble all over the floor.
“Your bowl is full, you little pest, I know bloody well Chris fills it up every day, and you get that canned stinky stuff too. It's not like you needed to make a mess.”
The cat paid no attention at all.
Mark stepped carefully around and over the kibble to gather what he needed. Uncivilized beast. First it was Chris bugging him not to scare it, then it was Chris bugging him to keep the toilet seats all closed so it couldn't get sick drinking out of them instead of the scrupulously clean water bowl. Now Chris would be bugging him to make sure the pantry door was closed tightly all the time, and Mark was fairly sure the witch would object if Alexandra wanted to add the creature to the pantry.
Well, he wasn't cleaning it up. He closed the door, and took everything to the counter.
Whether or not Christian wanted Alexandra in his bed again, Mark could relax for a while. Very little would dare to attack lamia-marked prey, no matter how tempting he was. Still, very little and nothing weren't the same thing, and it would be a bad thing for him to come to rely on Alexandra's protection any more than he already did; carelessness and overconfidence were not at all conducive to the development of his skills, even though feeling safe to explore was. Mark decided not to mention the psychic fingerprints or their effect.
He heard Christian on the stairs, just as he scooped the next-to-last pancake out of the frying pan. He greeted the witch with an easy smile.
He was not ready for Chris to come up behind him and give him a hug and a light kiss on the side of his throat. His surprise must have shown, because Christian backed up a step and crossed his arms, giving him a stern look.
“You keep telling me I don’t have to treat Mark and Lexa differently. Are you going to change your mind?”
“No.”
“Am I not allowed to be feeling kinda affectionate, and to show it?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then what exactly was that look I just got?”
“Surprise,” Mark said tartly, regaining his composure. “You grew up in a fairly homophobic culture.”
“Big deal. I told you ages ago that it makes no difference to me.” Christian came nearer again, stole a bit of pancake that had broken off, and nibbled it while he moved over to the chair the cat was asleep on. It raised its head immediately and mrrped at him, allowed him to pet it briefly before it jumped off the chair and prowled off. He opened the pantry and sighed. “Nice mess, Sid. I’ll clean it up later.” He retrieved a can of that smelly sloppy stuff the cat liked, and got its bowl. “Where'd you grow up?”
“Mostly this plane, mostly this country. Being both gives you an interesting perspective on gender and orientation.”
“Hmm. S'pose it would. Your mom was human. Or at least not a lamia.”
“Human. Technically, she was my mother—she carried me, but I didn't get much genetically from her.” Just enough, each time, to make sure we can fit in.
“How did she feel about you growing up on other planes sometimes?”
“I doubt she cared. She died when I was born.”
Dark eyes focused on him intently. He guessed already, Mark thought, but the witch asked anyway, gently. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Every lamia's first kill is her own mother at birth.”
“Which means growing up with just one parent for... how long?” Christian set the bowl down next to the crunchy stuff and picked up the water bowl to rinse and refill it. The cat reappeared to sniff at it, and started to eat.
Mark shrugged. “Depends on the current culture, I suspect, and individual development speed. Predators are still born vulnerable and have to learn skills and mature physically. A lot of lamia abilities don't appear right away, or they appear in one form and alter over time. A very young lamia is irresistibly cute instead of irresistibly sexy, thankfully, and parents just gradually supplement less and less as skills and abilities increase. Instinct can only cover so much, especially as far as blending in around humans. Until mid to late teens, usually, I'd say. I haven't seen her since I left her territory before she could chase me out. Lamias don't share very well, and aren't exactly sentimental. If I wandered into her city, she'd attack me just like any other intruder. And vice versa.”
“You're how old now?”
“I'm not sure. We don't count.” Technically true, but he could have made a good guess based on events he could remember, if he'd wanted to. “Not all that much older than you. Twenty-five-ish, maybe?” Probably a bit more, actually. He'd wandered around, avoiding claimed lamia territories, looking for a place worth settling down in, for what had felt like forever. Another thing that made him odd among lamias: though Alexandra could have claimed and defended a respectable territory, it had just never felt worthwhile for its own sake.
“And you've been alone all that time, without a whole lot even before that.” Christian nodded slowly, without waiting for an answer. “That explains a lot. So. Food done?”
Against his better judgement, Mark forbore to ask just what it explained. “Nearly, one to go. Here, you may as well start instead of asking nosy questions.” He handed Christian a plate with half the pancakes. “Which you probably didn't need the answers to.”
“Hey, you're talking to the witch who wants to know everything in the universe.” Christian dropped the flippant tone. “Especially when it concerns someone I care about.” He got the syrup from the fridge, sat down at the table, and proceeded to drown his pancakes into sticky maple sogginess.
Mark joined him, and they ate without speaking for a while. There was a kind of intimacy even in the silence, Mark mused, trying to decide why he felt vaguely uncomfortable. Friendship he was growing accustomed to, and genuine affection for Christian, more deeply with every passing day; this kind of intimacy was unfamiliar, and more than a little unsettling. He wasn't used to being vulnerable.
He had a strong suspicion that Christian knew it, too.
Christian finished, and wiped up a last bit of syrup with a finger. “I should go—I promised someone I'd come take a look at her cat. She thinks it's possessed. Judging from the description, the poor thing needs a vet, not a witch with only extremely marginal healing skills, but she's insisting I check it first.”
Mark nodded—this was safer ground. “No species comes to mind that's likely to possess an animal with humans available, but weirder things have happened.”
“'Kay. See you later.” He rose, and took his dishes to the sink.
“You can clean up the cat food all over the pantry when you get home.”
Christian stifled a sigh, and nodded. “If the domovikha or the brownies don’t beat me to it, I will.” He leaned down and gave Mark a gentle kiss. “You don't have to be in control to be safe, y'know. Sometimes it's worth it not to be.” He left for the front door. Mark heard keys rattle.
Reflecting on all the different layers of meaning Christian might or might not have intended in that final statement, Mark started cleaning up.
* * *
It took Christian longer to come home from looking at the possibly-possessed cat than Mark expected. “How's the cat?”
“Epileptic, I think.” Christian sank down on the couch beside him. “She's going to take it to the vet. The house is another matter. There was something in the walls. 'Bout six feet tall, incredibly angular and skinny—can't call it bony, it was all sharp angles. Changed colours like a chameleon.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Chased it around until I cornered it. For a second there I thought it might attack me, but it took off out of the house and I lost it.”
Mark's eyebrows rose. “You managed to corner something like that? Well done. I’ve seen them a couple of times. I’m pretty sure they can’t speak, or at least not in any way the rest of the universe can understand. They like houses, near as I can tell, and they rely heavily on being able to hide. You must've really had it scared, for it to even consider attacking you.” Christian would feel sorry for it if he had any idea how terrified it must have been once it got a good look at the lamia marks on his aura. Thousands of years of evolution and experience had taught the other liminal species a healthy paranoia about lamias.
“I'm not sure why, I didn't do anything I'd have thought would scare it, but I guess there's no telling. Maybe just the fact I could see it spooked it. I figure that accounts for the weird noises and things being moved that made her think there was something going on anyway, so hey, that’s solved too. I need a bath, after over an hour of chasing it around the house.”
“I'll come up in a bit and give you a back-rub, if you want.”
“I won't promise it'll stop at a back-rub.”
Right, and I'm so surprised. A healthy twenty-year-old male who just found an outlet for his sex drive? Of course it won't stop at a back-rub.
Christian, Alexandra mused, some time later, learned everything fast, and took endless delight in learning it.
Late in the night, she sensed a presence that shouldn't be there, slipping past the house shields with stealth she had to respect. The shields weren't exactly solid walls, more like a dense net, and like any net, halted larger things but smaller ones just might be able to wriggle through the mesh as this one had. Carefully, she eased out of Christian's bed, and tracked the intruder. Not something that would have any reason to go to so much effort alone; a spy, most likely. She killed it, and tossed the remains into the bottom of her own closet to fade away out of sight over the next day or so. She paused in the bathroom to wash her hands before rejoining Christian, who snuggled against her without ever really waking.
The morning sunlight found them still nestled together, one asleep and peaceful, one awake and patient.
Eventually, Christian stirred.
Alexandra folded her wings back completely so they disappeared.
He yawned, stretched, then paused, re-evaluating.
“You're virtue is safe, dear,” Alexandra said softly. “I stayed to keep the nightmares away.”
“I know.” He hugged her. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” Just please not too often... “Are you okay?”
“I don't think I want to think about it much, but otherwise, yes.”
“Good. Don't. Your glasses are over on the dresser, by the way.”
“Figured you put them somewhere safe.” Christian nuzzled at her shoulder, one arm still over her, exploring in towards her chest and her throat; the top didn't interfere noticeably.
Amusement managed to override her instincts briefly. “What are you doing?”
“There's a gorgeous creature like you in my bed, and you expect me not to react?”
And now you know I'm willing and won't take it lightly. And you just had what I bet feels like a near miss, even if it was no such thing. “Chris, now is not necessarily the best time for this. I'm not entirely sure whether I can not feed right now.”
“Oh well. I'll take my chances.” He paused long enough to raise his head and meet her gaze. “I'm not scared of you.”
Was it worth the chance? She knew she wouldn't lose control enough to badly hurt or kill him, but she could easily frighten him.
Maybe, she reflected, not so easily.
She curved one hand around the back of his neck, bringing him to her for a very long kiss that left him more than a little breathless.
Hunger stirred, as they played, thousands of years of instincts crying enough kid stuff, fuck him now and feed, he's human prey and he'll taste so sweet. She pushed it away, locked it down ruthlessly, intent on the gentle exploration as Christian got used to this. Helpfully, she raised her hips so he could tug her skirt off, slipping it down over her bare feet, returning to stroke her long legs lightly. He found the row of small clasps along the front of her top and started on them; parting it, he sat back to look her over, smiling, tracing the lines of her body with one fingertip. The sheer intensity of his fascination made the barriers around her own hunger quiver, and his inquisitive nuzzling and nibbling as he leaned down made her breath catch, hard.
Speaking of hard, those jeans looked uncomfortable. She reclaimed control just long enough to deftly strip him, running her hands over his tawny skin in appreciation. He was a scholar, not an athlete, but a combination of good genes and the rapid metabolism of the gifted kept any excess weight minimal, and he was active enough to be in reasonably good shape. Christian shivered and moaned, his back arching, reaching for her to return the favour. Her panties were quickly disposed of, so they could intertwine themselves, skin on skin.
Alexandra pinned Christian on his back, encountering no resistance, and straddled him. He moaned again as she settled on and around him, and drew her down for a kiss. Acutely conscious of the strong pulse of his blood just under the skin, of the gathered power within, she nipped at his throat, barely stopped herself before she broke the skin.
“It's okay,” Christian whispered. “Take what you want.”
She hesitated, seeking the reason for the invitation—without blood, the connection was shaky, but this was easy to find, right on the surface: curiosity, a combined hunger to give her pleasure and to belong to her utterly for right now, and not the faintest hint of fear.
Only Chris. What difference does it make that he's in bed with one of the deadliest and most aggressive predators ever to evolve on any plane? I've saved him a couple of times and now he associates me with total safety. Go figure.
“Tease,” he laughed breathlessly, as she bit hard enough to let him feel the sharp canines, not enough to draw blood.
“Kinky little witch,” she purred.
“Oh well.”
He was twenty and this was all new to him. Under other circumstances, she’d have waited, playing with the hunger and drawing this out. As it was, she seriously doubted there was anything she could do to prolong this much more.
She allowed her teeth to slide through the skin. Since she needed mainly the connection it gave her on other levels, she had no need to go for the major vessels like a movie vampire. She felt him shudder, right on the very edge, and smiled to herself. She didn't often bother, but there was a reason so many stories were told of impossible pleasure with an inhuman woman. Delicately, she caught the energy, drew it into herself; even as he began to slip back down, she gave it back, and took it again at the last possible instant... each time, it returned to him more strongly, holding him exactly at the edge, effectively creating the sensation of sustained orgasm, though his body couldn't quite complete it until she allowed the feedback loop to collapse. It wasn’t altruistic, not entirely: while it didn’t give her more energy, it did alter the flavour, making it richer and stronger, more complex and satisfying, something to savour rather than just gulping and forgetting.
She released the loop at the same time as she raised her head, licking blood from her lips. She'd been careful not to take much energy, no matter how delicious, nor any more blood than she needed for a stable connection, and she half-closed her eyes, dreamily. She had deliberately not touched his gifts at all, but they flavoured the rest anyway. The combination was just shy of intoxicating.
“Kinky little yummy witch,” she murmured.
“I think... I might... be in trouble,” Christian panted.
“Most people would say you're in quite a lot of trouble.”
“Oh well. I'll survive somehow. I think.”
“I intend to make sure that you do.” She got them both arranged comfortably, and slid an arm over him. “Take a catnap, then we’ll find you something to eat.”
“Mmm... you spoil me too much,” he said drowsily.
“I do what I choose. Rest.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Alexandra let herself nap, too—she didn't need a great deal of sleep, but she did need some, and it was safe to let go now.
A couple of hours later, Christian's dark eyes blinked open, and he stretched lazily.
Alexandra kissed him gently and slid out of bed. Her earlier clothes, out of contact with her, had morphed back into Mark's jeans and T-shirt and underwear; she gathered them up.
“Take your time, have a shower. I'll start breakfast. Or lunch.”
Christian caught her around the waist and pulled her down; Alexandra swiftly throttled the instinctive reaction of a predator to an unexpected attack.
“Huh. I never noticed before. You don't have much scent at all.”
“Lamias don't sweat. Or have any body hair. Or get pregnant.”
He blinked, and his eyes widened, appalled. “Gods. That last possibility never occurred to me. And it really should have.”
“Always, always be safe if you're playing with another human, and I don't mean just from making little witches, but with me there's nothing to worry about. I can't catch or carry human diseases, and I can't conceive. That's about as safe as it gets.” She chuckled. “In that sense, anyway.”
“I'll say.”
“Let me up, or you won't get any breakfast.”
“You already had yours,” he teased, releasing her.
“Lexa did,” she agreed, borrowing the nickname he'd used when facing the water elemental. “Mark hasn't.” She leaned down and stole a kiss.
“Your life is complicated,” Christian observed.
Alexandra paused, and met his gaze with a rueful smile. My own kind will hate me if they find out I care about you instead of just using you, your kind will hate both of us if they find out I'm here and what I am, ordinary humans don't think either of us exist, and that's only the beginning of it... “Yes,” she said simply. “It is.”
It was much easier to concentrate on cooking as Mark. He ignored the cat asleep on one of the kitchen chairs. It annoyed him vaguely that it barely flicked an ear in his direction, not even really waking up.
Not that Mark was a spectacular cook, but he was capable of stirring water into pancake mix and pouring it into a frying pan, and of making a pitcher of frozen orange juice.
The pantry door wasn't quite closed; he pushed it open completely, and sighed. One side of the bag of cat food had been shredded with a thoroughness Alexandra might appreciate, spilling kitty kibble all over the floor.
“Your bowl is full, you little pest, I know bloody well Chris fills it up every day, and you get that canned stinky stuff too. It's not like you needed to make a mess.”
The cat paid no attention at all.
Mark stepped carefully around and over the kibble to gather what he needed. Uncivilized beast. First it was Chris bugging him not to scare it, then it was Chris bugging him to keep the toilet seats all closed so it couldn't get sick drinking out of them instead of the scrupulously clean water bowl. Now Chris would be bugging him to make sure the pantry door was closed tightly all the time, and Mark was fairly sure the witch would object if Alexandra wanted to add the creature to the pantry.
Well, he wasn't cleaning it up. He closed the door, and took everything to the counter.
Whether or not Christian wanted Alexandra in his bed again, Mark could relax for a while. Very little would dare to attack lamia-marked prey, no matter how tempting he was. Still, very little and nothing weren't the same thing, and it would be a bad thing for him to come to rely on Alexandra's protection any more than he already did; carelessness and overconfidence were not at all conducive to the development of his skills, even though feeling safe to explore was. Mark decided not to mention the psychic fingerprints or their effect.
He heard Christian on the stairs, just as he scooped the next-to-last pancake out of the frying pan. He greeted the witch with an easy smile.
He was not ready for Chris to come up behind him and give him a hug and a light kiss on the side of his throat. His surprise must have shown, because Christian backed up a step and crossed his arms, giving him a stern look.
“You keep telling me I don’t have to treat Mark and Lexa differently. Are you going to change your mind?”
“No.”
“Am I not allowed to be feeling kinda affectionate, and to show it?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then what exactly was that look I just got?”
“Surprise,” Mark said tartly, regaining his composure. “You grew up in a fairly homophobic culture.”
“Big deal. I told you ages ago that it makes no difference to me.” Christian came nearer again, stole a bit of pancake that had broken off, and nibbled it while he moved over to the chair the cat was asleep on. It raised its head immediately and mrrped at him, allowed him to pet it briefly before it jumped off the chair and prowled off. He opened the pantry and sighed. “Nice mess, Sid. I’ll clean it up later.” He retrieved a can of that smelly sloppy stuff the cat liked, and got its bowl. “Where'd you grow up?”
“Mostly this plane, mostly this country. Being both gives you an interesting perspective on gender and orientation.”
“Hmm. S'pose it would. Your mom was human. Or at least not a lamia.”
“Human. Technically, she was my mother—she carried me, but I didn't get much genetically from her.” Just enough, each time, to make sure we can fit in.
“How did she feel about you growing up on other planes sometimes?”
“I doubt she cared. She died when I was born.”
Dark eyes focused on him intently. He guessed already, Mark thought, but the witch asked anyway, gently. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Every lamia's first kill is her own mother at birth.”
“Which means growing up with just one parent for... how long?” Christian set the bowl down next to the crunchy stuff and picked up the water bowl to rinse and refill it. The cat reappeared to sniff at it, and started to eat.
Mark shrugged. “Depends on the current culture, I suspect, and individual development speed. Predators are still born vulnerable and have to learn skills and mature physically. A lot of lamia abilities don't appear right away, or they appear in one form and alter over time. A very young lamia is irresistibly cute instead of irresistibly sexy, thankfully, and parents just gradually supplement less and less as skills and abilities increase. Instinct can only cover so much, especially as far as blending in around humans. Until mid to late teens, usually, I'd say. I haven't seen her since I left her territory before she could chase me out. Lamias don't share very well, and aren't exactly sentimental. If I wandered into her city, she'd attack me just like any other intruder. And vice versa.”
“You're how old now?”
“I'm not sure. We don't count.” Technically true, but he could have made a good guess based on events he could remember, if he'd wanted to. “Not all that much older than you. Twenty-five-ish, maybe?” Probably a bit more, actually. He'd wandered around, avoiding claimed lamia territories, looking for a place worth settling down in, for what had felt like forever. Another thing that made him odd among lamias: though Alexandra could have claimed and defended a respectable territory, it had just never felt worthwhile for its own sake.
“And you've been alone all that time, without a whole lot even before that.” Christian nodded slowly, without waiting for an answer. “That explains a lot. So. Food done?”
Against his better judgement, Mark forbore to ask just what it explained. “Nearly, one to go. Here, you may as well start instead of asking nosy questions.” He handed Christian a plate with half the pancakes. “Which you probably didn't need the answers to.”
“Hey, you're talking to the witch who wants to know everything in the universe.” Christian dropped the flippant tone. “Especially when it concerns someone I care about.” He got the syrup from the fridge, sat down at the table, and proceeded to drown his pancakes into sticky maple sogginess.
Mark joined him, and they ate without speaking for a while. There was a kind of intimacy even in the silence, Mark mused, trying to decide why he felt vaguely uncomfortable. Friendship he was growing accustomed to, and genuine affection for Christian, more deeply with every passing day; this kind of intimacy was unfamiliar, and more than a little unsettling. He wasn't used to being vulnerable.
He had a strong suspicion that Christian knew it, too.
Christian finished, and wiped up a last bit of syrup with a finger. “I should go—I promised someone I'd come take a look at her cat. She thinks it's possessed. Judging from the description, the poor thing needs a vet, not a witch with only extremely marginal healing skills, but she's insisting I check it first.”
Mark nodded—this was safer ground. “No species comes to mind that's likely to possess an animal with humans available, but weirder things have happened.”
“'Kay. See you later.” He rose, and took his dishes to the sink.
“You can clean up the cat food all over the pantry when you get home.”
Christian stifled a sigh, and nodded. “If the domovikha or the brownies don’t beat me to it, I will.” He leaned down and gave Mark a gentle kiss. “You don't have to be in control to be safe, y'know. Sometimes it's worth it not to be.” He left for the front door. Mark heard keys rattle.
Reflecting on all the different layers of meaning Christian might or might not have intended in that final statement, Mark started cleaning up.
* * *
It took Christian longer to come home from looking at the possibly-possessed cat than Mark expected. “How's the cat?”
“Epileptic, I think.” Christian sank down on the couch beside him. “She's going to take it to the vet. The house is another matter. There was something in the walls. 'Bout six feet tall, incredibly angular and skinny—can't call it bony, it was all sharp angles. Changed colours like a chameleon.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Chased it around until I cornered it. For a second there I thought it might attack me, but it took off out of the house and I lost it.”
Mark's eyebrows rose. “You managed to corner something like that? Well done. I’ve seen them a couple of times. I’m pretty sure they can’t speak, or at least not in any way the rest of the universe can understand. They like houses, near as I can tell, and they rely heavily on being able to hide. You must've really had it scared, for it to even consider attacking you.” Christian would feel sorry for it if he had any idea how terrified it must have been once it got a good look at the lamia marks on his aura. Thousands of years of evolution and experience had taught the other liminal species a healthy paranoia about lamias.
“I'm not sure why, I didn't do anything I'd have thought would scare it, but I guess there's no telling. Maybe just the fact I could see it spooked it. I figure that accounts for the weird noises and things being moved that made her think there was something going on anyway, so hey, that’s solved too. I need a bath, after over an hour of chasing it around the house.”
“I'll come up in a bit and give you a back-rub, if you want.”
“I won't promise it'll stop at a back-rub.”
Right, and I'm so surprised. A healthy twenty-year-old male who just found an outlet for his sex drive? Of course it won't stop at a back-rub.
Christian, Alexandra mused, some time later, learned everything fast, and took endless delight in learning it.
Late in the night, she sensed a presence that shouldn't be there, slipping past the house shields with stealth she had to respect. The shields weren't exactly solid walls, more like a dense net, and like any net, halted larger things but smaller ones just might be able to wriggle through the mesh as this one had. Carefully, she eased out of Christian's bed, and tracked the intruder. Not something that would have any reason to go to so much effort alone; a spy, most likely. She killed it, and tossed the remains into the bottom of her own closet to fade away out of sight over the next day or so. She paused in the bathroom to wash her hands before rejoining Christian, who snuggled against her without ever really waking.
