The Vampire's Requiem II [malexmale]

Chapter Four

Chapter Four (Xed)

Newell was furious by the time we returned to the apartment.

I could feel the heat of his rage boiling the air in the room as he stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a blood bag from the fridge. He tore it into after turning on the news that was giving another report about the witch couple killed in the Haight. Newell just rolled his eyes and set it to the mute as he drained the bag.

I just stood nearby as he did so, watching him blow off steam.

The woman known as Alora Hemingway, the witch from Newell's dreams, had been dangerous and I'd known the moment she'd weaseled her way into my head to discover my feelings for Newell. The way she had looked at me and spoke to me was threatening and I did not like it. The aura in her shop was full of deception and danger. The room pulsed with an unseen power that made me wonder if she was actually who she said she was, or pretended to be.

Of course, I couldn't tell Newell my suspicions so I could only watch him throw a temper tantrum before he calmed down and slumped on his recliner. He paused, patting at his jean pocket before taking out the small vile of alcohol he'd purchased from the crazy old psychic lady. I frowned. I didn't approve of his drinking and to think he'd actually still do it after the time he kissed me and created a mess between us was stunning.

He didn't drink it, though. Just studied the liquid inside before he got up and hid it at the back of one of the cabinets that Daimonas wouldn't think to look in-- hopefully. Daimonas was insanely curious and got into everything, and sometimes he didn't like what he found. While curious, he was terrified of almost everything and it actually hurt me to see him so timid.

I knew something had happened to him to make him that way, but Vladimir had told us nothing before we took him away and Newell didn't seem to know anymore than I did, so we could only guess that Daimonas had experienced some horrors within the walls of the Zephyra headquarters back in Michigan.

Speaking of Daimonas, we heard the front door open and Newell and I looked up, walking out into the hallway where Daimonas was standing flush faced and a big grin on his face. It would seem his worries about school were in vain.

"I take it school went well." Newell stated, trying to appear calm and casual as he made his way into the living room and Daimonas followed him like a puppy, still grinning eagerly as he sat on the sofa, without taking his shoes off. Newell gave him a pointed look and Daimonas rolled his eyes, kicking his shoes off onto the floor before sitting with his legs underneath of him.

"It was great," He exclaimed animatedly, eyes dancing as he waved with his hands for emphasis, "So, I made friends on the first day! Three of them! They're so nice to me and they said they'll wait for me in the morning so we can go to our classes together and we'll eat lunch together! It's so cool!"

"Oh?" Newell asked. I could tell he was mostly interested in Daimonas' friends, as Daimonas may be tempted to invite them over and as much as we wanted Daimonas to become social, he couldn't bring them over. It was far too dangerous. If one of them opened the fridge and saw severed body parts or bags of blood mingled with cartons of Juicy Juice and grape jam, they'd probably have something to say about that-- to the police.

"Yeah," Daimonas went on eagerly, "There's Kiki. She's really cute and funny and nice and she's kind of small, but that's okay. Then there's Ana, who's also pretty and funny, but she's mature too, like she knows what she's doing and she stood up to a guy who was calling me something I don't remember now, but whatever, Ana and Kiki were there and then there's Starling--"

"Who?" Newell cut him off sharply. The name struck a cord with both of us.

Starling had been the dragon child we'd taken in years back when we had a painful run in with a werewolf pack. Starling was orphaned, his parents having been killed in some kind of accident. He had been living on his own for years and hadn't learned how to speak or understand much very well on his own. We'd managed to teach him a few things in the short time we had him, but we were forced to hand him over to Vladimir, where he would be safer.