Downtown tonight, to hunt, Alexandra decided, sauntering along the street in no particular haste. The tourists were out in droves, this late in the summer, desperate not to miss out on the opportunity to have culturally-mandated “family time” before the kids went back to school soon, but they were no use to her; the university students who had gone home to their own parents for the summer hadn’t started to return yet. There were always men here alone on business trips or groups of them on their way north to fish, but her best bet tonight would be locals, and after the heat of the day, there was a good chance a lot of them would be out taking advantage of the evening's relative cool. The patio bars down by the lake should give her a choice of prey.
The heat didn't really bother her, but she'd chosen black denim shorts and a stretchy T-shirt and heeled sandals, her long legs bare, her hair pulled up in a tail off the back of her neck. She liked the freedom of it, nothing to interfere with movement at all.
There were a few people around, and more arriving, but not enough to be worth the effort yet. She headed for the park across from City Hall, and settled herself cross-legged on the grass near the edge of the water, where she could look out over Lake Ontario and enjoy the breeze and the sounds of life around her.
She was hungry, but not extremely so; she was in a predatory mood, anticipating the pleasures of the hunt, yet at the same time felt relaxed and mellow. It was a distinctly unlamialike state, but it wasn't hard to explain. Not with her endlessly enthusiastic, inquisitive, playful witch at home, and the comfortable, easygoing rhythm of their lives these days. Christian had no interest in domesticating her, and seemed to prefer her with all the sharp edges intact. She kept those edges honed by hunting, by patrolling her territory, and by killing the occasional nasty that Chris' housecleaning jobs unearthed or that ventured into their house. That didn’t mean she hadn’t changed, though.
She couldn't remember ever being happy before. About the only thing she could really ask for was a few more things to fight, opponents that offered a challenge worthy of her skill. She didn’t like Christian being in danger, but did look forward to those occasional calls when he encountered something he needed her to deal with.
She watched the ferry pull out of the dock and move away across the dark water. Lamia eyes could still see it, even after it was far enough out for only the lights to show to human eyes. Losing interest, she stretched lazily, and got to her feet in a single motion. Time to go see about finding more active entertainment.
The dark ripples of a lamia aura brushed against her awareness; she halted instantly, shadowed by a tree, searching for the source. Not hard to find: not twenty feet away, an anorexic-skinny girl was looking around warily. She had her arm looped through that of a boy who probably wasn't old enough to get into the bars. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, which likely reflected reality rather than her personal style—for one, that would be improbable, and for another, her aura lacked the full rich depth of maturity.
Which meant she'd probably only been out on her own for a matter of months, if that long.
Her short hair was an unrealistic poppy-red, and had a hasn't-been-brushed-in-a-week look, with a couple of butterfly bobby pins added; her earrings and the slave bracelet on one hand both had more butterflies, and there was another on the front of the dress that looked like an overly-long navy blue tank top. There were probably more on her platform shoes, Alexandra thought in distaste.
She dares come into my territory? To hunt in my territory? To hunt children in my territory?
The butterfly girl spotted Alexandra, and her eyes narrowed. She said something to the boy, who protested, but she repeated it firmly, and he reluctantly left.
Alexandra strode away from the tree, hands curving into claws, wings starting to spread. “How dare you?” she spat.
The butterfly girl shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. I'm supposed to be scared?”
“This city is my territory. Get out.”
Butterfly's wings shivered and spread, the shadowy blackness of them glaring contrast to the rest of her look, and her hands—the nails were glittery gold—curled. “And what if I say no?”
“I'm trying to give you a chance to leave alive, you stupid little bitch!” It wasn’t an effort most lamias would make, but she couldn’t help giving her at least that much warning.
Butterfly spat a curse and lunged at Alexandra, nails raking towards her face.
Alexandra, rather than meeting the assault head-on in proper lamia fashion, stepped out of the way. Butterfly stumbled, caught herself with a hand against a tree, and whirled in rage.
“Coward!”
“Smart,” Alexandra corrected. “There are too many potential witnesses, and besides, what would I do with your body? It's easier to let you walk under your own power to someplace more convenient, and then kill you.”
Butterfly scowled at her, then, suddenly, laughed. “Yeah, right,” she said, with total—if misplaced—self-assurance. “If you could kill me, you would have by now, instead of all this talking.”
Alexandra shrugged, and gave her an angelic smile that happened to show her teeth. “I guess we'll see who's still alive, come sunrise, won't we? I'll even give you fifteen minutes' head start before I come looking for you.” Ignoring a snarl of utter fury from Butterfly, she turned her back—an insult, though she doubted this child would understand that—and walked away.
Out of sight past an evergreen tree, she switched to Mark—her altered clothes translated back to basic cutoffs, a slightly tattered grey T-shirt, and well-worn running shoes. Butterfly would be watching for a lamia aura, and was likely to look right over one more human man out for the evening.
It wasn't like he needed extended senses to track her, anyway. The girl was hardly subtle, flirting blatantly with every male in range. She settled herself on one of the restaurant patios nearby, and in no time at all, had a trio of admirers competing for her attention—not one, Mark thought, was even Christian's age. Either she'd decided there was actually no threat, or she'd decided it would be best to face it well-fed. Either one was a mistake. Some of the men on the patio, and one of her attentive trio, looked vaguely confused as well as enthralled; maybe they had better taste, when lamia fascination wasn't in force.
He gave her the promised fifteen minutes, and even a few extra to see what she'd do. Being ignored was annoying and insufferable; he switched to Alexandra, and sauntered onto the patio.
Instantly, the attention of most of the men and a few of the women swung to her. She wove her way over to Butterfly's table, leaned down, and murmured in the ear of her nearest starry-eyed companion, “She'll have sex with any man who asks her, y'know.” His eyes widened; he licked his lips, and swallowed hard. Alexandra smiled, and added, “As long as she can get something between her legs, she doesn't even care what diseases she's spreading around.” She straightened, and left the patio, switching back to Mark as she came around a corner. Had the remark come from a human, Butterfly could probably have talked her way out of it; backed by lamia fascination even stronger than her own, it was likely to throw a wrench into her hunting.
Sure enough, moments later, Butterfly stormed off the patio. Mark stepped back, into the shadows on the far side of the building, and she strode right by him without noticing. Which confirmed his guess, that she would rely entirely on sensing Alexandra's aura. He followed her, in plain sight, but she never looked behind her.
This wasn't going to be much of a challenge. But it was better than nothing.
Butterfly found herself a different patio, and a new cluster of hopefuls. Mark claimed a small table and ordered a drink, keeping an eye on her, which wasn't something that would single him out. Her eyes kept roaming the area suspiciously, watching for another interruption.
The girl had no patience, or maybe she was just in a hurry. After barely one drink, she chose a boy-band lookalike, and left the patio with him. Mark finished the last swallow of his ginger ale and trailed them. Where would she take him?
She followed the trail that hugged the waterfront, to a bench that was relatively isolated; while they sat down, Mark worked his way with unnecessary stealth to a place behind one of the sheltering trees. Less than a dozen feet away from her, he watched her kissing and stroking and being kissed and stroked.
Just for the amusement value, he switched to Alexandra—in a deliberate mockery of the girl's outfit, with the butterflies now bats, the dress thin black latex. She strolled along the paved path, and paused right in front of the bench to look at the boy and smile. “Nice catch,” she purred, backing it with all the seductiveness and intimidation at her disposal. “I'm not sure he'll last long enough, but then, they never do, do they? And there are always more.”
The boy went white, and inched away from Butterfly, shooting her a distinctly nervous look. He stammered something, gave up, and simply fled.
“Bitch,” Butterfly snarled.
Alexandra smiled. “Believe it, little girl. I don't like being ignored. This is my city, and I'll harass you if I wish to. If you have a problem with that, then find me and fight me.”
Butterfly lunged off the bench, directly at her. Alexandra sidestepped again and was mildly impressed that this time the girl kept her balance and spun in place for another attack. Not that it helped; Alexandra evaded it and walked away, turned off into a covered parking lot, switched to Mark, and ducked down behind a car. Butterfly's shriek of frustration, just outside, made him grin to himself.
Silence made him peek out; the butterfly girl was looking thoughtful. She turned away, her strides long and purposeful. Hm, this might be interesting. He gave her a bit of a start, and went after her.
She left the downtown area, and went further along the water to where it was quieter. There she slowed, scanning the area intently. Looking for Alexandra? No, not entirely, Mark thought; she was checking out the terrain. In the block-sized vacant lot the city had been wrangling over for years, she slowed even more. During the day, there were people walking dogs; at this hour, it was deserted, clumps of trees shielding the bulk of it from the lakeside trail, too far from the street and too low for passersby to see much.
Mark took his time, and turned off the trail casually in her direction, hands in his pockets. Butterfly froze, watching him—confused? Trying to decide whether he were prey or threat, when he wasn't acting like either one?
“What do you want?” she asked tightly.
“A comfortable home, an understanding lover, enough to eat, and occasional quality entertainment?” he offered. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean, what do I want?”
“Exactly that. What do you want?” He walked right up to her and faced her.
“Fuck off!” She struck straight for his stomach. When frustrated, kill something, anything, messily. Perfectly predictable.
Mark switched to Alexandra, and tore her throat out with one efficient swipe of glossy black nails.
Butterfly crumpled, and landed in a careless heap.
Alexandra sighed, reached down to seize a handful of the girl's dress, and stepped through to the next plane. She heaved Butterfly's body off into the unformed chaos, and stepped back to the mundane plane. The trip back and forth was tiring, but it was the one way she could be absolutely certain no one would find the body. Lamia bodies took longer to disintegrate to dust than most liminals, thanks to their human blood tying them more closely to this plane, and there was ample time for unfortunate questions to be raised, followed by more when it finally did decompose.
Idiotic girl. Too convinced, like most lamias, that male phase was weak and useless, that thinking things through was pointless, that lamia speed and strength and senses were all it took.
The waterfront area was no good for hunting tonight; everything was too stirred up. Back in her shorts and T-shirt and sandals, she headed uptown. There was a bar there that the younger crowd favoured, and she was currently not well disposed towards the young.
A couple of hours later, sated, she wandered home.
There was no immediate sign of Christian's presence; she found him in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book, with Sid stretched along the back above him.
Chris looked up immediately. “Good hunting?” He sat up to make room for her, and rearranged himself so he was sprawled on his back with his head on her lap; she smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair. “You look like something happened.”
“Something did. Another lamia decided to visit.”
“I thought you had the borders all marked and stuff?”
“I do. She ignored them.”
“You aren't hurt?”
“No.”
“You aren't being very informative.”
“She was very young and too stupidly arrogant to take the many chances I gave her to leave alive, and now she's dead. End of story.”
“Do other lamias wander in very often?” It just wouldn't be Christian, if he didn't ask questions, Alexandra thought ruefully. So she surrendered gracefully.
“Once we're on our own, young lamias wander around until we find a place to settle down. It's not all that different from some of the big predators I like watching on TV. One who's smart and strong can claim a prime territory. One who's smart but not as strong can and usually will find a territory where there won't be much competition. One who's strong but not so smart will probably die trying to get one of the prime territories, or might get lucky and grab one but will get outsmarted before too long.”
“You're smart and strong,” Christian observed. “Why don't you have Toronto or something?”
The compliment, stated so matter-of-factly, made her smile. “Toronto's been broken up between multiple lamias, all of them very good, and several other kinds of liminals who are rivals in different ways, and they all spend huge amounts of time fighting off ambitious wanderers and walking their borders to keep an eye on each other. It's not worth all the trouble. Big cities are generally like that. The hunting is excellent here, and it's less obvious a target. And you're here.” Christian nuzzled against her hand, eyes half-closing. “This is the first place I’ve ever been that felt like it was worth fighting to keep it instead of just moving on. I'm not even into my prime yet, I can hold this territory for a very long time, and I intend to.”
“Good. So this one was not very smart?”
“She was bloody stupid. I warned her and gave her a head start. If she had any sense, she would have switched to male so I couldn't find her, and gotten the hell out of the city.” She'd done it herself, more than once, when she was much younger—most often, while running from a lamia who hadn’t offered a warning first and was actively hunting her with violence in mind. It galled, every time, but it kept her alive. It had been a long time since she’d doubted her ability to hold her own, but she remembered. “Lamias don't have a fear response, but one who wants to survive had better have common sense and know when she's facing a superior opponent. It's definitely bitch-eat-bitch. That's one reason why we're rare.”
“Pretty ruthless survival of the fittest. I'm glad you lived long enough to be here with me.”
Alexandra thought of years of wandering, choosing small cities at random and moving on when she got bored and restless. And she thought of being here, and of sitting by the lake earlier.
“Me too,” she said softly. “Don't worry about it, okay? My territory markings will keep most out. It takes uncommon idiocy to deliberately provoke a meeting that will probably leave one of you dead, unless you know for sure you have an advantage. It'll never be much of a problem. What are you reading?”
“One of your sillier mysteries. I needed a change. Sid looks at me funny every time I laugh.” He yawned, and looked surprised. “How late is it?”
“Well past midnight.”
“Wow. I lost track of time. Bedtime, I think.”
“Bedtime sounds good.”
Downtown tonight, to hunt, Alexandra decided, sauntering along the street in no particular haste. The tourists were out in droves, this late in the summer, desperate not to miss out on the opportunity to have culturally-mandated “family time” before the kids went back to school soon, but they were no use to her; the university students who had gone home to their own parents for the summer hadn’t started to return yet. There were always men here alone on business trips or groups of them on their way north to fish, but her best bet tonight would be locals, and after the heat of the day, there was a good chance a lot of them would be out taking advantage of the evening's relative cool. The patio bars down by the lake should give her a choice of prey.
The heat didn't really bother her, but she'd chosen black denim shorts and a stretchy T-shirt and heeled sandals, her long legs bare, her hair pulled up in a tail off the back of her neck. She liked the freedom of it, nothing to interfere with movement at all.
There were a few people around, and more arriving, but not enough to be worth the effort yet. She headed for the park across from City Hall, and settled herself cross-legged on the grass near the edge of the water, where she could look out over Lake Ontario and enjoy the breeze and the sounds of life around her.
She was hungry, but not extremely so; she was in a predatory mood, anticipating the pleasures of the hunt, yet at the same time felt relaxed and mellow. It was a distinctly unlamialike state, but it wasn't hard to explain. Not with her endlessly enthusiastic, inquisitive, playful witch at home, and the comfortable, easygoing rhythm of their lives these days. Christian had no interest in domesticating her, and seemed to prefer her with all the sharp edges intact. She kept those edges honed by hunting, by patrolling her territory, and by killing the occasional nasty that Chris' housecleaning jobs unearthed or that ventured into their house. That didn’t mean she hadn’t changed, though.
She couldn't remember ever being happy before. About the only thing she could really ask for was a few more things to fight, opponents that offered a challenge worthy of her skill. She didn’t like Christian being in danger, but did look forward to those occasional calls when he encountered something he needed her to deal with.
She watched the ferry pull out of the dock and move away across the dark water. Lamia eyes could still see it, even after it was far enough out for only the lights to show to human eyes. Losing interest, she stretched lazily, and got to her feet in a single motion. Time to go see about finding more active entertainment.
The dark ripples of a lamia aura brushed against her awareness; she halted instantly, shadowed by a tree, searching for the source. Not hard to find: not twenty feet away, an anorexic-skinny girl was looking around warily. She had her arm looped through that of a boy who probably wasn't old enough to get into the bars. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, which likely reflected reality rather than her personal style—for one, that would be improbable, and for another, her aura lacked the full rich depth of maturity.
Which meant she'd probably only been out on her own for a matter of months, if that long.
Her short hair was an unrealistic poppy-red, and had a hasn't-been-brushed-in-a-week look, with a couple of butterfly bobby pins added; her earrings and the slave bracelet on one hand both had more butterflies, and there was another on the front of the dress that looked like an overly-long navy blue tank top. There were probably more on her platform shoes, Alexandra thought in distaste.
She dares come into my territory? To hunt in my territory? To hunt children in my territory?
The butterfly girl spotted Alexandra, and her eyes narrowed. She said something to the boy, who protested, but she repeated it firmly, and he reluctantly left.
Alexandra strode away from the tree, hands curving into claws, wings starting to spread. “How dare you?” she spat.
The butterfly girl shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. I'm supposed to be scared?”
“This city is my territory. Get out.”
Butterfly's wings shivered and spread, the shadowy blackness of them glaring contrast to the rest of her look, and her hands—the nails were glittery gold—curled. “And what if I say no?”
“I'm trying to give you a chance to leave alive, you stupid little bitch!” It wasn’t an effort most lamias would make, but she couldn’t help giving her at least that much warning.
Butterfly spat a curse and lunged at Alexandra, nails raking towards her face.
Alexandra, rather than meeting the assault head-on in proper lamia fashion, stepped out of the way. Butterfly stumbled, caught herself with a hand against a tree, and whirled in rage.
“Coward!”
“Smart,” Alexandra corrected. “There are too many potential witnesses, and besides, what would I do with your body? It's easier to let you walk under your own power to someplace more convenient, and then kill you.”
Butterfly scowled at her, then, suddenly, laughed. “Yeah, right,” she said, with total—if misplaced—self-assurance. “If you could kill me, you would have by now, instead of all this talking.”
Alexandra shrugged, and gave her an angelic smile that happened to show her teeth. “I guess we'll see who's still alive, come sunrise, won't we? I'll even give you fifteen minutes' head start before I come looking for you.” Ignoring a snarl of utter fury from Butterfly, she turned her back—an insult, though she doubted this child would understand that—and walked away.
Out of sight past an evergreen tree, she switched to Mark—her altered clothes translated back to basic cutoffs, a slightly tattered grey T-shirt, and well-worn running shoes. Butterfly would be watching for a lamia aura, and was likely to look right over one more human man out for the evening.
It wasn't like he needed extended senses to track her, anyway. The girl was hardly subtle, flirting blatantly with every male in range. She settled herself on one of the restaurant patios nearby, and in no time at all, had a trio of admirers competing for her attention—not one, Mark thought, was even Christian's age. Either she'd decided there was actually no threat, or she'd decided it would be best to face it well-fed. Either one was a mistake. Some of the men on the patio, and one of her attentive trio, looked vaguely confused as well as enthralled; maybe they had better taste, when lamia fascination wasn't in force.
He gave her the promised fifteen minutes, and even a few extra to see what she'd do. Being ignored was annoying and insufferable; he switched to Alexandra, and sauntered onto the patio.
Instantly, the attention of most of the men and a few of the women swung to her. She wove her way over to Butterfly's table, leaned down, and murmured in the ear of her nearest starry-eyed companion, “She'll have sex with any man who asks her, y'know.” His eyes widened; he licked his lips, and swallowed hard. Alexandra smiled, and added, “As long as she can get something between her legs, she doesn't even care what diseases she's spreading around.” She straightened, and left the patio, switching back to Mark as she came around a corner. Had the remark come from a human, Butterfly could probably have talked her way out of it; backed by lamia fascination even stronger than her own, it was likely to throw a wrench into her hunting.
Sure enough, moments later, Butterfly stormed off the patio. Mark stepped back, into the shadows on the far side of the building, and she strode right by him without noticing. Which confirmed his guess, that she would rely entirely on sensing Alexandra's aura. He followed her, in plain sight, but she never looked behind her.
This wasn't going to be much of a challenge. But it was better than nothing.
Butterfly found herself a different patio, and a new cluster of hopefuls. Mark claimed a small table and ordered a drink, keeping an eye on her, which wasn't something that would single him out. Her eyes kept roaming the area suspiciously, watching for another interruption.
The girl had no patience, or maybe she was just in a hurry. After barely one drink, she chose a boy-band lookalike, and left the patio with him. Mark finished the last swallow of his ginger ale and trailed them. Where would she take him?
She followed the trail that hugged the waterfront, to a bench that was relatively isolated; while they sat down, Mark worked his way with unnecessary stealth to a place behind one of the sheltering trees. Less than a dozen feet away from her, he watched her kissing and stroking and being kissed and stroked.
Just for the amusement value, he switched to Alexandra—in a deliberate mockery of the girl's outfit, with the butterflies now bats, the dress thin black latex. She strolled along the paved path, and paused right in front of the bench to look at the boy and smile. “Nice catch,” she purred, backing it with all the seductiveness and intimidation at her disposal. “I'm not sure he'll last long enough, but then, they never do, do they? And there are always more.”
The boy went white, and inched away from Butterfly, shooting her a distinctly nervous look. He stammered something, gave up, and simply fled.
“Bitch,” Butterfly snarled.
Alexandra smiled. “Believe it, little girl. I don't like being ignored. This is my city, and I'll harass you if I wish to. If you have a problem with that, then find me and fight me.”
Butterfly lunged off the bench, directly at her. Alexandra sidestepped again and was mildly impressed that this time the girl kept her balance and spun in place for another attack. Not that it helped; Alexandra evaded it and walked away, turned off into a covered parking lot, switched to Mark, and ducked down behind a car. Butterfly's shriek of frustration, just outside, made him grin to himself.
Silence made him peek out; the butterfly girl was looking thoughtful. She turned away, her strides long and purposeful. Hm, this might be interesting. He gave her a bit of a start, and went after her.
She left the downtown area, and went further along the water to where it was quieter. There she slowed, scanning the area intently. Looking for Alexandra? No, not entirely, Mark thought; she was checking out the terrain. In the block-sized vacant lot the city had been wrangling over for years, she slowed even more. During the day, there were people walking dogs; at this hour, it was deserted, clumps of trees shielding the bulk of it from the lakeside trail, too far from the street and too low for passersby to see much.
Mark took his time, and turned off the trail casually in her direction, hands in his pockets. Butterfly froze, watching him—confused? Trying to decide whether he were prey or threat, when he wasn't acting like either one?
“What do you want?” she asked tightly.
“A comfortable home, an understanding lover, enough to eat, and occasional quality entertainment?” he offered. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean, what do I want?”
“Exactly that. What do you want?” He walked right up to her and faced her.
“Fuck off!” She struck straight for his stomach. When frustrated, kill something, anything, messily. Perfectly predictable.
Mark switched to Alexandra, and tore her throat out with one efficient swipe of glossy black nails.
Butterfly crumpled, and landed in a careless heap.
Alexandra sighed, reached down to seize a handful of the girl's dress, and stepped through to the next plane. She heaved Butterfly's body off into the unformed chaos, and stepped back to the mundane plane. The trip back and forth was tiring, but it was the one way she could be absolutely certain no one would find the body. Lamia bodies took longer to disintegrate to dust than most liminals, thanks to their human blood tying them more closely to this plane, and there was ample time for unfortunate questions to be raised, followed by more when it finally did decompose.
Idiotic girl. Too convinced, like most lamias, that male phase was weak and useless, that thinking things through was pointless, that lamia speed and strength and senses were all it took.
The waterfront area was no good for hunting tonight; everything was too stirred up. Back in her shorts and T-shirt and sandals, she headed uptown. There was a bar there that the younger crowd favoured, and she was currently not well disposed towards the young.
A couple of hours later, sated, she wandered home.
There was no immediate sign of Christian's presence; she found him in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book, with Sid stretched along the back above him.
Chris looked up immediately. “Good hunting?” He sat up to make room for her, and rearranged himself so he was sprawled on his back with his head on her lap; she smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair. “You look like something happened.”
“Something did. Another lamia decided to visit.”
“I thought you had the borders all marked and stuff?”
“I do. She ignored them.”
“You aren't hurt?”
“No.”
“You aren't being very informative.”
“She was very young and too stupidly arrogant to take the many chances I gave her to leave alive, and now she's dead. End of story.”
“Do other lamias wander in very often?” It just wouldn't be Christian, if he didn't ask questions, Alexandra thought ruefully. So she surrendered gracefully.
“Once we're on our own, young lamias wander around until we find a place to settle down. It's not all that different from some of the big predators I like watching on TV. One who's smart and strong can claim a prime territory. One who's smart but not as strong can and usually will find a territory where there won't be much competition. One who's strong but not so smart will probably die trying to get one of the prime territories, or might get lucky and grab one but will get outsmarted before too long.”
“You're smart and strong,” Christian observed. “Why don't you have Toronto or something?”
The compliment, stated so matter-of-factly, made her smile. “Toronto's been broken up between multiple lamias, all of them very good, and several other kinds of liminals who are rivals in different ways, and they all spend huge amounts of time fighting off ambitious wanderers and walking their borders to keep an eye on each other. It's not worth all the trouble. Big cities are generally like that. The hunting is excellent here, and it's less obvious a target. And you're here.” Christian nuzzled against her hand, eyes half-closing. “This is the first place I’ve ever been that felt like it was worth fighting to keep it instead of just moving on. I'm not even into my prime yet, I can hold this territory for a very long time, and I intend to.”
“Good. So this one was not very smart?”
“She was bloody stupid. I warned her and gave her a head start. If she had any sense, she would have switched to male so I couldn't find her, and gotten the hell out of the city.” She'd done it herself, more than once, when she was much younger—most often, while running from a lamia who hadn’t offered a warning first and was actively hunting her with violence in mind. It galled, every time, but it kept her alive. It had been a long time since she’d doubted her ability to hold her own, but she remembered. “Lamias don't have a fear response, but one who wants to survive had better have common sense and know when she's facing a superior opponent. It's definitely bitch-eat-bitch. That's one reason why we're rare.”
“Pretty ruthless survival of the fittest. I'm glad you lived long enough to be here with me.”
Alexandra thought of years of wandering, choosing small cities at random and moving on when she got bored and restless. And she thought of being here, and of sitting by the lake earlier.
“Me too,” she said softly. “Don't worry about it, okay? My territory markings will keep most out. It takes uncommon idiocy to deliberately provoke a meeting that will probably leave one of you dead, unless you know for sure you have an advantage. It'll never be much of a problem. What are you reading?”
“One of your sillier mysteries. I needed a change. Sid looks at me funny every time I laugh.” He yawned, and looked surprised. “How late is it?”
“Well past midnight.”
“Wow. I lost track of time. Bedtime, I think.”
“Bedtime sounds good.”
