Waiting For Sunrise

"IRENE!"

At the call of her name, Irene's eyes thrust open. Her consciousness and coherent thought lagged behind, trailing cautiously back into being. There were no thoughts in her mind as she looked down at herself. Where there weren't scorch marks on her shirt, there were dark red stains around a small hole. Her view trailed down to the floor, where blood stained the wood. Heat had caused it to bubble up, creating a sickening display. She heard feet rushing towards her, and she lifted her dry eyes.

"Cyrus," her throat burned as she spoke, but the fact that she spoke almost surprised her. "I'm alive."

Cyrus paused a moment, staring down at her, as though he was equally surprised, and even horrified. He hesitated, before kneeling down, and sliding his arms beneath her to lift her up. Irene watched as his eyebrows drew together in an expression she often hadn't seen. Something was troubling him, and for once, he avoided eye contact. "No time to talk, we need to get out of here before this room collapses…"

"I saw…" Irene began, uncertainty in her voice.

"Shush," Cyrus said as he carried her over to a window. He threw back the curtains, tore down the sheet, and began to tear away at the wood planks. Finally when he'd made a large enough hole, he forced the window open. He glanced behind him, where some beams came tearing down only a few feet away. Irene looked out the window.

"We're jumping?" Irene asked, wrapping her arms around Cyrus's neck tightly.

"Yeah, I can hear them coming…" Cyrus said. Irene blinked. She could hear them too… calling out for any survivors. She wasn't sure why 'they' were, though. Irene inhaled about to call out to them and announce herself, but Cyrus quickly covered her mouth. "Be quiet!" Irene hiccoughed, and blinked away moisture that was finally revitalising her burning eyes. Everything was confusing.

Cyrus crawled onto the window sill, crouching awkwardly as he tried to manage Irene's limp body. Irene suddenly realized that, except when she spoke, she felt no pain. She didn't feel weary, or bruised, or sick, or choked. She also felt the cold air rushing up at her as Cyrus leapt down from the window, but no thrill or fear. She barely felt jarred when Cyrus landed on the pavement in a side alley. Irene frowned. Something was terribly wrong. Nothing felt real anymore. Life had been unbelievable as of late, but it always at least felt real. She always felt something.

"We need to get far away first, then we can talk…" Cyrus said, looking around. He stepped into the shadows for a moment, as if expecting someone else to come lurking about. After scanning the area, Cyrus set Irene down on her feet, but kept a hand around her wrist. "You're well enough to run," he said, as he stooped down, and grabbed a pack that had been lying on the ground. He slung it around his shoulder and peered both ways down the alley.

"…I... I was shot…" Irene looked down, holding out the bottom of her shirt to better examine the bloody bullet hole as confirmation of her words. However, it still didn't feel real to her.

"Do you NOT feel well enough to run?"

Irene looked down at her legs, and shifted her weight experimentally. "I…"

"Let's get going!" Cyrus jerked her into a gallop with him. Although Irene could feel the ground every time her feet struck it, she felt no pressure from the impact or the weight of her body as she ran. She'd never felt this sort of weightlessness when she was awake. Irene's thoughts drifted to the face she saw moments before losing consciousness, or, as she had thought it was, dying. She'd lost consciousness a few times, accompanied with extreme pain and stress, but that last time felt different. It felt final. Why then was she running through these streets with Cyrus? That face… was it real, or an apparition? The skin was pale, and yet, somehow looked bronzy. The hair was so black and thick, and the eyes were dark and piercing. It had to be her, but was she real?

Cyrus slowed until he and Irene were finally brought to a stop. "Let's head back to your place. There'll be no reason for Gabriel's men to watch it now."

"If it isn't burnt down too…" Irene responded dismally.

Cyrus clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Such a pessimist…" Cyrus muttered, glancing off into the distance. Irene sniffed. She felt she had every right to be pessimistic, all things considered.

Cyrus crept over to a car parked out on the curb, peering into the window. Cyrus knelt by the driver's side door and dug something out of the pack he'd slung about his shoulder.

"…What are you doing?" Irene asked.

"Stealing a car. What does it look like?" Cyrus responded as he jammed a wire down the crevice by the window. Irene leaned against the hood of the car, watching him work at it for a moment. However, she lost interest fairly quickly and glanced around. It was dark. She knew it was dark. But everything seemed in such concise contrast. How odd. With a resounding pop the door swung open. "Get in."

Irene didn't condone being part of a car theft, but her state of mind left her apathetic towards commonplace principles. All she wanted was to figure out what had happened this time, and why she felt the way she did. As her mind trailed back to it, her stomach began to churn unpleasantly, and Irene let out a groan. Cyrus glanced over from fiddling with some wires. "You alright?"

"I suddenly feel… very nauseated…" Irene reported, her voice more of a whimper than she would have liked. She gently rubbed her hand over her upset belly, but a part of her felt better feeling SOMETHING.

"It will pass," Cyrus said without moving his eyes from the task at hand. Finally there was a rumble as he got the engine started. Satisfied he sat up and shut the door. "Alright… here we go."

"I'm going to be sick…" Irene moaned as the car pulled out. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders at her. Irene began to feel several unpleasant sensations in her abdomen that were very unfamiliar to her. She curled up in her seat as best as she could.

"Like I said, it will pass. When we get to your place, I'll make you a warm drink to soothe your stomach," Cyrus reassured, keeping his eyes focused on the road in front of him. Irene glanced over at him. Seeing Cyrus drive a car struck a strange nerve in her. It seemed almost TOO normal for him. She slowly let her eyes drop and stare at her singed and blood-stained clothes. Without thinking about it, her hand went into her pants pocket. Her fingers closed around something warm and metal. She hesitated, but then brought it out. It was the locket and key. Her eyes slid over to Cyrus, whose eyes were, thankfully, still on the road. She quickly slipped it back into her pocket before he noticed. How did that get there? She remembered throwing it back into the drawer. Another ominous feeling came over her.

Irene was relieved when the car rolled to a stop in her long driveway. Her house was still there. More importantly, her father's car was not present. She did not want her father to see her like this. Relief swept over her as she shakily got out of the car. She hadn't realized how much she was shaking until she tried to stand, and almost fell over. This felt right. This was normal. She should be weak. She felt Cyrus bring her arm over his shoulders to offer support. Slowly, the two of them walked towards the house. Irene's eyes darted to the horizon, where the slightest hint of light was forming along the outline of the mountains. It felt so familiar, except this time she was the one who was injured, and it was Cyrus carrying her to the old porch. The sun would rise soon, and they had to be inside before it did. She felt unusually apprehensive.

The door swung open as Cyrus lightly pushed on it. Irene felt alarmed at first, but then remembered she didn't have time to lock the door when she ran out in response to hearing Amber scream. Once inside, however, her house showed signs that someone had been in there. The kitchen chairs and table were all moved to one side, and a small pillow, which was usually on her bed, was lying on the ground in front of the basement door. Irene paused, and she could feel Cyrus' was just as disconcerted.

"Did some rearranging, did you?"

Irene shook her head. "No… I didn't do this…" she whispered, slipping away from Cyrus and kneeling down in front of the pillow. There was a vague dirty shoe print on it. Irene frowned and looked up, towards the hallway. Keeping one hand on the wall, she walked carefully towards her bedroom. Peering in, she saw that her bed had been removed, and her nightstand was across the room. Irene closed the door and stumbled into the kitchen. From there she could see Cyrus staring down at the basement steps. "Cyrus… my bed is gone."

"Strange thing to take," he said before descending. After a moment she heard him call up. "Found your bed."

"What?" Clinging to the wall Irene hobbled down the steps, one at a time, only to have Cyrus come up and block her path. He took both of her hands and stared at her.

"If you even think I had anything to do with this, which knowing you, you would, I didn't. Look, I'll help you to your bed, get you a drink, then we can exchange stories," Cyrus said. Irene nodded. Cyrus turned sideways, guiding Irene past him, and then followed her down into the basement. Irene stared at her bed, set right in the middle of the room. It was too bizarre. Who would do such a thing? Irene made her way to her bed, and crawled into it. Relief swept over her as she laid down, the familiar smells - HER smell - reaching her. She closed her eyes and curled up, thinking over what had happened to be sure that she could give a somewhat comprehensive account to Cyrus.

Cyrus eventually came down with a mug and sat beside her. He held the mug in his hands, staring down into it with a sigh, and then looked at her. "Irene, sit up and drink this. Try to ignore the taste, I assure you that it will do you some good."

Irene slowly sat up, knitting her eyebrows together, studying Cyrus. His warning made her a little unsure about drinking whatever was in the mug. There was a thick, dark, ugly looking liquid in it. It was almost black, leaving a residue on the sides of the mug that looked like some horrible colour TRYING to be purple, but failing somehow. She purposely did not sniff it, and tipped the mug to her lips, a little afraid of what the taste might be. When the substance finally greeted her tongue, it was pleasantly warm. The taste instantly made her hair stand on edge, and a tingling sensation to prickle along her jawbone. It was a familiar blend of salty and metallic. There was also a bitterness that was out of place. Still, she drank the entire cup, trying her best not to think about it.

"Good." Cyrus took the mug from her as soon as it was empty. After analysing the flavour more, she realised she could also recognise the bitter taste. It was food colouring. Se just drank dyed blood. But the effects were almost instant, as she felt the shaking leave her, and most of the pain and discomfort fled.

Irene lowered her head and glared at Cyrus. "What did you do to me?" she quietly accused.

Cyrus shook his head, setting the mug on the ground. "I didn't do it…" Cyrus insisted, bringing up his hands with the palms outwards. Irene continued to stare at him.

Irene began feeling about her mouth. Something had been off, but she had been too distracted to identify it. She expected to feel long sharp fangs when she brushed her tongue along her canines, but instead felt gap and a fleshy mass there instead. But she became aware of a pressure on her palate as she applied pressure to the excess gum tissue. Irene stuck her finger in her mouth, palpating around until something triggered, and fangs which had been nestled against the roof of her mouth flicked forward on a hinge, catching her finger and making it bleed. This confirmed her suspicion.

"Who else would do this to me?" Irene asked, aggression filling her voice. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know Irene! But trust me, you're no use to me like this!" Cyrus argued, holding up a finger in protest.

"Oh yeah? Or maybe you would because it'd force me to obey you!" Irene accused, violently shoving Cyrus. He wasn't the immovable statue he used to be, but he still offered her some resistance. He grabbed her hands and pushed her back, pinning her to her bed, baring his fangs at her.

"Listen to me!" Cyrus snarled, his face inches away from hers. "I never wanted this!" He drew his head back, the folds in his face relaxing into a deadpan, but he remained on top of her. Irene struggled, and could feel that he was having to exert himself to keep her pinned. "Hey! HEY! Blood chalices lose their value when they become vampires!" He released her and drew back to a sitting position, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, the last thing I need is the IMMORTAL wrath of a scorned woman."

Irene went quiet. As soon as he released her, she pulled away, knocking her pillows off the end of the bed. As angry as she felt, she knew, for once, there wasn't any point of directing it towards Cyrus. She also knew, remembering Cody, that as a new vampire, she could not stack up against older ones like Cyrus, or Gabriel. Shivers ran through her spine. The only other person who knew she was there was Cynthia, but it was unfathomable to think Cynthia could be her dam. Irene brought her knees to her chest. She watched Cyrus as he sat with his arms crossed, sulking like a petulant child.

"Let's just compare stories. What happened with the raid?" Irene felt a change in topic was necessary.

Cyrus unfolded his arms, instantly coming out of his sulky posture and his expression lightened up. The man changed demeanours like flipping channels on a television. "Well, as you know, I used my charms and winning personality to rally the remnants of my followers to go take out Gabriel in his den!"

Irene's face drooped at the sudden transformation. Whenever he changed tones so quickly, she often wondered how she could have taken him seriously.

"We arrived at his nice little cabin in the woods. That was suspicious itself, as Gabriel was never one for rustic. We surrounded the place, expecting it to be a trap and there to be an ambush inside." Cyrus gestured to Irene. "It wasn't a trap like you suspected," Cyrus said in an irritatingly smug tone. Irene found, however, she wasn't as annoyed by this as she knew she ought to be. "But it was... complicated in a different direction."

Irene picked up her pillows and burrowed under her blankets for comfort as Cyrus continued his story. "Complicated how?"

"Gabriel wasn't at the cabin. There were only a few vampires posted there, and we took them out really fast. Now a few of my vampires are very, uh, blood thirsty, and they get a certain momentum and it gets hard to stop them. When I stormed inside, expecting more opposition, I only found one more vampire.." Cyrus paused dramatically as his tone hushed, "...and a child."

"Not a child vampire?" Irene was horrified by the concept, but reassured by that horror.

"Oh. No. Heavens. No. Turning children has undesirable results. It isn't done. It simply isn't done." Cyrus sat down on the floor next to Irene's bed, placing his elbows at the foot. "The woman put herself between my men and the child, and I had to put myself between her and my men. This caused them to believe I wasn't as dedicated to the cause, and it got messy."

"They turned on you?"

"Yes. Some of them. The few that were actually loyal backed me up. But my priority became securing that child, because I knew what his presence meant."

"What did it mean?" Irene asked, growing tense.

"Gabriel has a fixation with children." Irene felt her stomach lurch, and she put a hand to her mouth. Seeing this, Cyrus shook his head. "Not in that way. Though sometimes I do tease him. No, no, he kidnaps them, spoils them rotten, then turns them into vampires when they come of age. Though that's still horrifying, I suppose. Flynn and Roan were his, ah, adopted children. And there have been others, but you haven't met them."

Irene took this in. The idea of Gabriel raising children was highly disturbing. "So that's what you meant by grooming. Preparing them to be vampires?"

"Yes. Then he gets them to make more vampires to keep his numbers strong, but he'll never turn someone he didn't hand raise from childhood himself. It's compulsive behaviour in him. I guess I can share with you most vampires develop some sort of obsession or compulsion," Cyrus looked at his own hands for a moment or two. "It started when he turned his biological son, but it didn't turn out."

"He had a son?" Irene asked, completely surprised. She never put any thought to who he may have been before he became a vampire.

"Oh yes, Gabriel was married and had two children when Lysandra snatched him away and turned him into a vampire. But he was a troubled soul before he became a child of the night. He doted on his son, but pushed his daughter away and treated his wife abominably. He hated all the women in his family. He never confided in me the reason for this. But that's irrelevant to the here and now. What is relevant is Gabriel needs to be stopped,"

"Agreed."

"Well, in the aftermath of the carnage we did capture the vampire and child. I instructed two of my vampires to make sure the child safely got to the authorities. A child raving about vampires isn't going to cause as much of a ruckus. Psychologists will just assume that a child invented such fanciful stories to cope with trauma, so he wasn't a threat to our identities. As for the woman..." Cyrus straightened up and rubbed his hands together. "...it was interrogation time."

Irene wrinkled her nose. "Did you have to say that so... gleefully?"

Cyrus put on a cheeky smile. "Yes, I think I did. I need to maintain my bad boy reputation. Now then, we learned that Gabriel, knowing we'd taken losses from the previous skirmish, had found OUR location and that an assault was underway. So I rushed back and found the place in flames. I wasn't sure if you'd been kidnapped AGAIN or if you were inside. So I ran inside to search for you, and found you lying in a pool of blood. At first I thought you were dead, but then I realized something much more sinister was afoot. You had been turned into a vampire, which meant that I lost my secret weapon," Cyrus explained. Irene winced again at the words. While she was chewing on this difficult truth, she glanced up to his eyes. He gave a quick wag of his eyebrows and an open hand gesture towards her, prompting her to share her story.

"Oh…" Irene fiddled with a pillow. "I was asleep. I woke up when I heard some crashes down below. I heard voices, and I knew they were looking for me…" Irene hesitated. "I hid behind the door. Then Cynthia forced her way in," Irene paused to watch Cyrus's reaction. He was listening intently, but she only saw a mild reaction to Cynthia's name. Irene frowned. "She mocked me, then demanded that I got onto my knees to beg her not to deliver me to Gabriel's men."

"I have a hard time imagining you beg for anything…" Cyrus murmured.

Irene scowled and continued, "I got to my knees. I didn't trust her, but I also didn't want to end up in Gabriel's clutches again…" Irene was embarrassed to admit that she was so compliant. Cyrus lifted an eyebrow at her, suddenly looking a lot more interested. Irene gave him an odd glance. "What?"

"Oh nothing… just go on…" Cyrus said airily.

Irene eyed Cyrus warily, her next few words elongated. "She told me it was 'good enough'. For a moment I thought she really was going to let me go… but then she took out a gun and shot me," Irene's heart raced at the recollection, and her mouth became dry. She looked at the empty cup, longing for something to wet her lips. Cyrus's eyebrows relaxed and he seemed somewhat disappointed. His reaction irritated Irene. "What now?"

"Nothing… I mean good! I mean… oh drat. I was expecting this to go in a different direction." Irene remained unimpressed. "Really, it's good she shot you, all things considered."

"Why's that a good thing?" Irene didn't find it so great.

"Well, for one, she didn't give you over to Gabriel. It was a mercy kill… which is unusually compassionate for Cynthia. To be frank, she's pretty twisted herself. She got us a LOT of information on Gabriel, so I suspected she was playing both sides, looking for an opportunity for her own rise to power. I used her as much as she used me… so I'm not terribly surprised or broken up," Cyrus rolled back his shoulders and picked some imaginary lint off of his shoulder. Irene threw out a balled hand and punched Cyrus in the side of his arm. He let out a small startled sound, and put his hand on his arm, rubbing it, and looking mortally wounded at her. "What?"

"You are a pig…" Irene muttered.

"Yeah, yeah I am," Cyrus admitted complacently.

Irene tried to get her thoughts in order. She was shot. She was shot. That was one experience she was having a very difficult time coming to terms with. Irene fidgeted. "Anyway… I thought I was dying… and time was all mixed up. It seemed like an eternity before I realized there was fire, and yet, it seemed to go from a quiet, empty room, to a roaring inferno in a single second," Irene grappled with describing her experience. "Then…" Irene's eyes became dull. "I saw… a face… and I vaguely heard a woman's voice…" Irene shook her head. "I couldn't make out everything she said… but she did say 'forgive me' before everything went black."

Cyrus leaned forward, becoming keenly attentive. Irene's eyes darted around, anywhere but to him. She didn't know how to explain the rest. Irene dug her hand into the pocket, balling the locket and chain up in her fist. She hesitated, then let go. She wasn't going to tell him. She knew it could have been a hallucination. Someone could be playing some mean trick. "I vaguely remembered my mouth being flooded with the taste of blood. Upon thinking back, it wasn't rising from my lungs as I had first thought. Now that I really think about it, it entered through my lips."

"That tracks... but no recollection of who was there? Do you remember seeing anyone at all?" The steady gaze Cyrus was giving her was not like the times he was trying to mesmerize her. He seemed to have his cautious suspicions about the identity of her sire, but was still seeking more information.

"Sorry. It's all blurry." Irene said. She wasn't ready to reveal what she saw. Not until she knew for sure. "I suppose… whoever it is… came here and moved my bed into the basement… knowing I'd return here."

"Yeah… someone who knows you live here… and didn't take you to Gabriel," Cyrus said skeptically. Irene lowered her head. She felt her gut begin to hurt again, and the rest of her just seemed to squirm on the inside. She felt as though her body contained a large bowl of spaghetti, and someone was slurping one tangled noodle out at a time. Cyrus looked over at her, noting her discomfort. "It'll pass… but your body is going through changes to properly adapt to your new diet. Other changes will happen, some slower than others will. It usually takes up to a year to fully evolve…"

"It feels disgusting…" Irene muttered.

Cyrus reached over and rubbed her back. "Yeah… it won't hurt like that the entire year… these are just the changes that need to happen now. Some of your organs will shut down entirely, since they won't be necessary anymore. Others rearrange themselves to serve a new purpose. You will only age for a year more… so you'll be immortally a very late teen or really young adult."

"If I live that long…"

"Don't talk like that," Cyrus reprimanded firmly.

"I don't want to become a monster… I don't want to get used to hurting people…" Irene sniffed.

Cyrus shook his head. "Sorry, breaches… there is nothing I can do to change you back. All I can do now is help you through the transition," Cyrus sighed, continuing to rub her back. "Get some sleep. It's the best thing to do right now. Want me to read you a bedtime story?" Cyrus got a pillow in the face and a discontent grumble in response. "I take that as a no."

Irene had begun to feel too ill to even risk speaking. Instead she pulled the covers over her head, burying her face in the one large pillow she had left. Although she wouldn't say it, even if she could, she wanted Cyrus to stay right there. She had finally ended up in his world now, and with no turning back, she knew she'd have to rely on his guidance. That is, if she wanted to even try to survive at all.