Waiting For Sunrise

“You really are moody tonight, aren’t you? I'd ask if it was that time of the month, but I'd know…” Cyrus said, tapping his nose. Irene responded with a scrunched up face and kept walking in silence. “You're friend sounds like a loose cannon, but I do commend you for not telling her our little secret, Irene dearest.”

Irene shot him another sharp glare. Our little secret… our little secret? There is nothing we share except maybe space and matter. However, Irene kept these thoughts to herself. Her heart was pounding and her ears felt hot. But she just tensed and kept walking.

“Goodness, you are just a seething furnace, aren't you? Perfect. You can keep me warm and cozy,” Cyrus teased, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder. He was baiting her, and she was not going to snap. She was going to keep her lips sealed and continue walking home. Then the next day she would take stock of her resources and figure something out.

Cyrus paused, as if alerted to something and he looked around. His eyes narrowed. Irene lifted her chin. No. She wasn't going to ask. But now that she was drawn out of her own thoughts, she had the vague impression there may have been a sound. A sound like someone running off. But it was probably her imagination. Cyrus also shrugged and continued, seeming unconcerned.

Once on the bus, Irene pointedly sat beside someone so Cyrus could not. Instead he took up a spot behind her. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time. When they got off the bus again, she gave him a glare, but continued on her way home. He trailed her closely, as the indecisive weather occasionally dusted them with sky spittle.

The closer they got to home, the more Irene dreaded it. But she was also anxious to be home where she felt she could finally be alone to unleash all of her pent up frustration. If only Merle had seen how uncomfortable she was. Irene's shoulder, aching from the tension, slumped as shame encroached. Irene often used Merle's exaggerated mode of expression and shallow capacity for empathy as a blind to disguise her own feelings. But this time, Irene needed someone to read the signs and save her from having to put words to the danger. Irene shot another dark glare at Cyrus, who began whistling and twirling his umbrella.

Then he stopped. Irene glanced at him, seeing his eyes widen momentarily.

An imposing, dark clad individual stepped out in front of Irene and Cyrus and tilted back his umbrella. Orange light streamed down from the streetlamps, but it didn't do the stranger's pale complexion any favours. His broad face was framed by straight blonde hair and the high, upturned collar of a dark trench coat. Irene glanced back at Cyrus who had inclined his chin, his nasolabial crease momentarily deepened before he put on a passive, bored mask.

With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, the blonde stepped forward. “Cyrus… how many times have we told you not to play with your food?” His voice was deep and rich.

“Hmmm never, actually,” Cyrus retorted, stepping forward as well. "But if we're discussing common manners, Gabriel, you oughtn't talk with your mouth full. And it's lately it's been full of sh..." Cyrus paused and glanced at Irene then back as he folded up his umbrella, "...excrement."

A prickling sensation in Irene's nose and a squirming in her gut made Irene want to get away. Is this the response Cyrus warned me about? Is this man a vampire? Irene drew in a breath and steadied her nerves. She dropped her duffel bag and prepared to run as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“Still a wisecrack. Nonetheless, I'm relieved to see you. Last I heard you were a pile of ashes,” the man referred to as Gabriel said. Irene strained to listen. His tone and cadence sounded local, but the throaty, rubbery quality of his R's betrayed the hint of another accent. Cyrus brushed his black bangs away from his eyes, lifting his chin a little as he did so.

“Relieved? Tch, relieved… OH you mean disappointed, right? Because the rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” Cyrus riposted. Irene glanced between the two of them, but stayed as still and as quiet as possible. She did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. Perhaps she could get away if the two of them were too focused on each other.

“Cyrus, you injure me." The blonde man placed a hand to his chest. "I was truly disturbed by the news. I don’t know why anyone would spread such lies,” Gabriel said, speaking in satin tones. Cyrus tucked his umbrella under his armpit and crossed his arms.

“I can think of a few. Those two russet spuds and Louis are among my suspects. Where is Louis anyway? He wouldn’t be hiding nearby, waiting to ambush me, would he?” Cyrus asked, a sharp edge slicing through his tones. Irene took a few steps away, trying to hedge her chances of retreat.

“Tut tut, Cyrus, you are being quite foolish. Why don’t you drop your groundless suspicions and come back to us? You wouldn’t want to end up like that traitor Layla, would you?” Something malicious and prowling slid into Gabriel's sonorous voice. Irene noted Cyrus's balled fists. Cyrus's smile widened, but scorn flashed in his dark eyes.

“Sorry, but I must decline. I won’t forget your ‘kindness’, Gabriel. Now please, step aside,” Cyrus said through clenched teeth, making a sweeping motion with his umbrella. The man didn't move. Irene began tip-toeing away.

“The night has just begun, what is the hurry?” Gabriel looked over at Irene, who froze. In spite of her racing heart, Irene stood tall and lifted her chin. He gestured to her with a gloved hand. “Why don’t you bring her along and it can be like old times?”

“Old times are done, Gabriel. Now will you please move out of my way? I have an intimate, candlelit dinner planned, and I could scarcely forgive myself for ungentlemanly tardiness.” Cyrus bared his teeth through a large, nasty grin. Irene felt Gabriel's eye on her again. She watched him unflinchingly as he sauntered towards her. Soft leather pressed firm against her skin as he placed his hand to her cheek. Irene glared into his pale irises and pulled away. Cyrus put his arm around Irene’s shoulders and protectively pulled her close to him.

“She’s young… probably still in school,” Gabriel's tone shifted to disapproval. Irene arched an eyebrow, mixed feelings of apprehension and hope. Apprehension because this man was imposing. Hope that this man may remove Cyrus from her life.

“She’s a big girl." Cyrus held her tighter, making Irene's escape now impossible.

Gabriel chuckled and took a step back. “Doesn’t matter. She looks like a minor. A white, likely middle-class girl." Irene did not like the stress he put on the word girl, as if it were something distasteful to him. "The sort with parents that will harangue the authorities if anything should happen to her."

Irene stared down at herself, then her eyes darted back up at Gabriel. Was Cyrus bluffing about not being afraid of the authorities?

"Girl, how old are you?” Gabriel asked, for the first time addressing her directly. Irene stepped away from Cyrus’s protective arm to stand on her own.

“That's none of your business,” Irene firmly stated.

“She has quite an attitude, just like most of them…” Gabriel sighed. He stepped aside. “Do whatever pleases you, Cyrus, I will not stop you this time. Although the younger ones are much sweeter, their parents create such a fuss… farewell, my brother… we will meet again.”

Gabriel turned and strode away with an eerie grace, his departure marked with dribbles of rain. Once the man was out of sight, Irene pivoted to face Cyrus.

“The sort with parents that harangue the authorities? I thought you weren't afraid of the cops." Irene crossed her arms, looking archly at Cyrus.

Cyrus raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders coolly, releasing the umbrella's hood. “Not here, peaches.” Cyrus unfolded the umbrella and began walking.

Irene furrowed her eyebrows, resentful of his nonchalance. Grumbling, she picked up her bag. "The moment I get home I am calling the cops. I suggest you find somewhere else to be."

"The cops can't protect you. Unlike me, Gabriel would be very motivated to kill you if he suspects you know what we are."

"Why didn't he, then?" Irene challenged.

Cyrus shrugged, holding the umbrella out to make room for Irene. She refused to walk beside him, even for cover. "Out in the open isn't his way. And he is mighty stuck in his ways."

The rain started coming down heavier, making it harder to talk without shouting. This was not something she necessarily wanted every passer-by to overhear. Thus she decided to delay the rest of the conversation until she got home.

Finally, the pair stood at the long gravel driveway before her house. Never had the sight of her home been both such a great relief and source of dread.

“Ladies first.”

Irene sighed and went to unlock the front door, but it was already unlocked. She stared at it for a moment, hand shaking. Impatiently, Cyrus prompted her to go in while he shook excess moisture from the umbrella. Irene reluctantly stepped inside, looking around for signs of a break in.

Click.

The door closed behind Cyrus.

“Alright… who is Gabriel?” Irene demanded. Determination had accumulated in her; she was NOT going to show her unease.

“A very dangerous man.” Cyrus glanced around, then focused past Irene at the window. “Let’s finish this conversation in the basement, shall we?”

"No." Irene shook her head. She strode over to the phone, picking it up while fixing Cyrus with a dripping glare. Within the blink of an eye he rushed over and placed his hand over the cradle, holding down the disconnect button.

"No time for this..." Cyrus quickly glanced out the kitchen window, and then down the narrow hall to the narrow window by the front door. "You think I'm worried about men with kevlar and tasers?"

"And guns." Irene slapped Cyrus's hand to try and move it away from the phone base. He ignored her, still keeping his eyes on the windows.

"Do what you want, call who you want when the sun rises. But we need to get out of sight as soon as possible."

Irene looked at Cyrus, noting his furrowed eyebrows and constantly darting eyes. He truly seemed apprehensive. “…Fine,” Irene reluctantly consented.

Cyrus darted past her and opened the door to the basement, disappearing into the darkness below. Irene placed the receiver back on the hook and followed. As soon as she stepped inside, Cyrus immediately slammed the door behind her. She jumped then glared at him.

“You’re afraid of Gabriel, aren't you?” Irene asked. Cyrus looked at her with brooding eyes, before going and sitting on the bed.

“Absolutely terrified," Cyrus said in a matter-of-fact tone, a slight accent creeping into his voice. Irene slowly walked a little closer, sitting down on the carpeted portion of the basement. She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees.

“Then why bring up my age? If he's so dangerous, I doubt that he cares how young someone is if they get in his way.”

"Oh, he doesn't care about the age of his victims." Cyrus turned up his lips into a nasty smile. “Gabriel runs this city's vampire population with an iron fist. He stipulates who vampires prey on. You’re young and would be missed too soon, and spring an investigation. If anyone gets too close to the truth, we kill everyone involved, and then start over fresh someplace else." Cyrus gestured towards Irene. "You're involved. Ergo, if there's an investigation, you will die."

Irene snorted. "We?"

"You heard Gabriel. I used to run with his pack." Cyrus took off his wet shoes and set them aside. "We usually try to hit vulnerable populations that the law ignores."

"And that doesn't include teenagers?" Irene removed her shoes as well, suddenly aware of how cold her feet were.

"Only the indigenous kind." Cyrus peeled off his soggy socks and draped them over his shoes. "You are protected by your age, race and class."

Irene's eyebrows furrowed as she looked around her unfinished basement in wonder. Class? What class? While Irene had experienced grief and hardship, classism was not something she had struggled against.

Cyrus's voice interrupted her ponderings. "However, Gabriel doesn't obey his own rules, nor does his posse." Cyrus rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them up. "Just imagine those really horrible college fraternities and replace the rambunctious young men with a bunch of blood-sucking fiends, and there you have it! Challenges and contests to test each other's mettle and pride were frequent. And for entertainment, it wasn’t uncommon that some of us would lure out some pretty young birds, and bring them back to our nest. We’d have just about as much fun as we could get from them before we feasted." Cyrus's gaze grew distant, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Irene was unsure if this was a repressed snarl or smile. His tone was too even and neutral to detect any evidence of remorse.

Irene's stomach lurched. “Despicable…” Irene muttered, fear prickling along her spine. She looked at the door longingly. Cyrus shook his head, lying back on the bed.

“Anyway, that lifestyle no longer suits me. An intimate, cozier setting is much better for dining.” Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest.

“They mentioned a traitor. Who was that?” Irene asked, trying to change the topic. If there was a traitor, perhaps there were others who could stand up to these monsters. Irene was eager to know.

Cyrus let out a sigh and went quiet. Irene cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced over at her, and then up at the ceiling. “Layla. She can't truly be called a traitor since she wasn't a part of the brotherhood. But she got in Gabriel's way, which is very foolish,” Cyrus said, his voice gradually draining of emotion.

“What did she do?”

“She tried to expose Gabriel's hypocrisy. It wasn’t long before she was ashes blowing in the wind…”

“You knew her well, didn’t you?” Irene prodded. Cyrus turned on his side to stare at Irene.

“Don’t pry, peaches. That’s enough Q and A for today. There are better ways to get to know me,” Cyrus said as he sat up. Irene watched him warily. As he rose, she also quickly unfolded herself and stood up. However, before she could blink, there he was in her personal space again. It amazed her how quickly he could bring his hand to her cheek.

“Cyrus… keep your distance,” Irene warned.

Cyrus grinned defiantly. “As much as you detest me, I am very fond of you. You are such a delight to tease,” Cyrus said softly, whispering into her ear. It tickled her senses, resulting in a tightening and tingling in her jaw and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. Irene tilted her head away in irritation. She tensed as she felt a tickle down her neck as his lips dusted along her skin like delicate butterfly wings.

Irene glared at him and he paused, locking a gaze with her. "Come now, Irene. Relax. Gabriel and I are through, you needn't fear me." She wanted to push him away, but paralyzing chills ran up her spine, and shot into her extremities. Why can't I move? Like before, despite the fear she'd been feeling, a sort of drowsy haze came over her, causing her breathing and heart to slow down. She felt locked inside.

He placed his hands on her back, one just between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back. She shuddered. Irene did not like being handled like this, and when he kissed her neck again, she experienced visceral repulsion. She tried several times to tell him to stop, but her mouth just couldn't form words. Irene closed her eyes and concentrated until she was able to finally get her larynx back under control. “Stop.” Irene felt his chuckle before it belted out into the air.

“I said I wouldn't kill you... but I never said anything about having a harmless little taste...” Cyrus murmured amidst nuzzling her. Heavy as her hands felt, she used all of her strength to lift them. Her eyes burned and her head felt like it was full of cotton. Teeth prickled against her skin and she winced. Irene focused all of her willpower to finally place her hands on his chest, pushing with what little strength she had left. He was as immovable as a statue. She grunted and whimpered trying to shove him away. She felt him tense and he finally let her go, and stepped back, leaving her skin only lightly grazed.

“Don't...” Irene said as firmly as she could, but it came out more sluggish and plaintively than she intended.

Cyrus shook his head, and ruptured with another chuckle. Anger cut through the haze, bringing her compromised situation into sharp focus. Her faculties all returned and she scowled. "This isn't funny! What's wrong with you?"

“I’m only human… well… sort of,” Cyrus responded as he leaned close again.

Fully alert again, Irene turned and ran for the exit, only to stop short when he managed to dash in front of her. “I think not… you’re staying down here tonight.”