Legends Never Die

III. Old Friend

The next morning, in the middle of downtown Charleston, Sif sat in a booth at a modern café. Many eyes followed her and her male companion, but after living as a predatory species for so long, the stares were expected and ignored. The young vampire in front of her shifted in his seat, showing that he was either unfamiliar with the attention he garnered, or uncomfortable with her presence.

Sif smiled with indulgence and took a sip of her tea. The taste was bitter, settling on her tongue like an unwanted guest, but she hid her disgust in favor of basking in the aroma of freshly baked sweets. Nothing could beat the essence of fresh blood, but the chocolate and cinnamon was satisfying on her senses.

Discreetly, the blonde vampire in front of her spit out his own tea back in his cup with a look of utter betrayal. "What the bloody fuck-?"

Such foul language, Sif thought in slight approval. The last time she had met Jace Armstrong, he had been a prudish male that was hell bent on being proper around a lady. It hardly mattered that she had been far from a lady by society's view, he still insisted that using such language was for the uncultured.

"Disgusting, is it not?" Sif murmured quietly, not wishing to offend the workers. "I'd imagine that dishwater tastes much the same."

Jace snorted, his deep blue eyes finally meeting her own. "That's an insult to dishwater."

Sliding her cup to the edge of the table, she vowed not to take one more sip, as it would be a bother to keep up with pretenses no matter how nice the human workers seemed. Mournfully, she gazed at the sign hanging above the register, claiming to have the best tea on the East coast.

"Indeed," she replied in amusement.

There was a pause in conversation, and Jace shuffled in his seat once more. With a sigh, she realized that it was her presence that made him uncomfortable. From what she remembered, there was no possible way that he knew exactly who she was, so she guessed it was his insticts telling him to remain cautious.

Vampires, witches and werewolves had a...sixth sense, so to speak. Sharing space with another supernatural could at times set their intuition off like a warning signal, but being around a vampire as old as herself? The younger man must be feeling like a cornered animal.

It hardly mattered that she meant him no harm - his hackles were raised, and they wouldn't retreat until he was coaxed. So, while Sif wanted to skip the niceties, there were times where they were required.

"How has the last century treated you, Jace? If I remember correctly, you were living amongst the ancestral witches in England."

He relaxed minutely, but his guard still lingered. "I left for the states not long after we met. The coven was not overly fond of me after the fuss we raised."

"Ah," she exhaled in understanding. "I didn't imagine they would be."

To be fair, the only reason Sif needed his help to contact that particular coven was because she had owed a favor to a young warlock. The magic user had begged her to put an end to the young witch sacrifices that were used to fuel the family line of power.

Looking back, she held no regrets for ripping the coven leaders heart right out of his chest. Feeling particularly challenging, she held Jace's eyes as she told him so. Whether he agreed or not was of no consequence, because sometimes to beat the monsters, you have to become one yourself. There was a time and place for morals, and that time was not one of them.

"I cannot judge," Jace said with a heavy frown. "As you pointed out - I lived amongst those people. They were killing young innocents and I made no move to stop them."