By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero

Disclaimers: None needed. This is an original piece written by me back in the middle 80’s, and since revised for 2004. Since reworking this little tale, I have signed a contract with Limitless Dare 2 Dream Publishing (http://www.limitlessd2d.net/) and look forward to turning the entire tale over to them as soon it is completely edited.
Rated: NC-17, not intended, or suitable for children.
Violence: No mortal was hurt in the writing of this chapter.
Sexual Violence: Nope, none in this chapter.

Vampire Violence: Come on, it’s a vampire story, so of course there’s going to be some fang action going on. ;-)

Subtext:  Yep, there is "girl on girl" action in this chapter.

All feedback welcomed at: CrystalMichallet@aol.com

Crystal’s web site at: http: //www.charani.org/XenaFanFicMichallet.html

II. Briannon

As Briannon slept, she dreamt of the green pastures and the rolling hills of her beloved isle. Her dreams were filled with days from years past. She saw herself as the child who danced on the dew-covered grass in the early morning. The radiant glow of the sun shimmered off her long, red hair. In her slumber, the woman smiled slightly at the memories. She could almost feel the warm rays bask over her soft, youthful flesh. Within her dreams she felt only the peace and tranquility of her home. The sleeping woman inwardly smiled as she reached out toward the ocean’s breeze.

The young lass was born into a family of merchants. Although her father was not aristocratic, owing to his trade, he moved within high circles. It was because of this that the young girl aspired toward higher goals. In the youthful days of her mortality she had seen the beautiful clothing and trinkets of ladies greater than her and envied their status. Her aspirations were childish dreams that first emerged at an age of innocence, now, after her years of existence she understood that titles and jewels were as fleeting as the passage of time. What was not easily found was the soul that made one whole.

When Briannon thought of her past, she smiled at her naiveté. She originally assumed that she had planned her future carefully. With her own beguiling ways, she seduced the son of a powerful family, and through her father’s intervention, she was soon married to the youngest son of the Eoghanist clan. Being a member of a powerful family enabled her to move in the circles she had always desired, and once she held her husband’s status, she quickly had many trinkets at her disposal. Initially the marriage brought rewards, but she should have known what her future would be like from the first night she spent with her lord. The man she married held little love for her, and he took her without a concern for her own needs. If there had been any pleasure at all from him, she might have lived a satisfied life. But between his few occasional visits and his parading her around as if she were his property, her life was bleak. This would change…

The stranger entered their lives in the middle of the night. To all he was simply a tall, handsome young man. His clean-cut appearance and long dark hair had not raised suspicion amongst the Eoghanist clan. The boy, as they called him, was simply another traveler who had saved a cousin’s life. But for the new royal, this enigmatic stranger had captivated her in ways that no other could.

Her initial decision to follow the mysterious traveler was thought over in great depth. When she first met her lover of the dark, she considered all of the possibilities before her. She understood that joining the stranger would mean the end of her life as she knew it, yet she was aware that marriage was not giving her the happiness she craved. If his kin did not chase them down and return her to her husband, then she would surely be banished from the isle. Her parents would be devastated, and her husband would be free to choose another wife from one of his many mistresses. In all likelihood the lord would welcome an excuse to end their loveless, barren marriage she reasoned as she made the decision to follow the strange visitor.

Devin was her lover’s name. Taller than her and of medium frame, the foreigner’s dark hair and fair complexion first attracted Briannon’s attention. His soft, tender nature was a vivid contrast to her brutish husband. It was the alienness and tenderness that seduced the young mortal.

As the woman slept, her memories returned to that night from long ago. The redheaded lass remembered feeling the mysterious traveler beckoning her near. As darkness surrounded the castle, the voice of the tall enigmatic stranger floated to her on the wind. Like a wayward child, she wantonly left everything behind in order to journey down a dark road.

After two nights of riding and hiding during the day, they knew that they were finally out of the Eoghanist land. Once safe, they found an abandoned place to rest the night away. Unconcerned with their surroundings, Devin made the deserted stable as comfortable as possible. At first they hesitantly kissed like virgins. At the strength within the wanderer’s arms, Briannon smiled coyly as she allowed herself to be pushed into the hay.

While her tall lover fumbled with her dress, the shorter woman ran her hands over the length of his firm back. Although the smell of the barn permeated the air, she did not notice. As the sounds of the twilight wind rushed through the rafters, the mysterious stranger made sweet love to her. The shock of his cold flesh was overshadowed by the magic touches of his hands.

It had happened so fast. One minute Briannon was enjoying the sensations of Devin’s hands, the next she felt the brisk night air against her bare breasts. While Devin’s expert tongue made a cold trail over her flesh, she heard her erratic breath echoing in the air. With skilled ease her night-lover peeled open her clothing and paid homage to every inch of Briannon’s warm flesh. Unlike her husband, her new paramour moved slowly.

At first, her skilled lover touched her tenderly as he laid soft kisses over her body. But in a wild frenzy, Devin’s needs grew more urgent. Strong, calloused hands peeled open her clothing and left her bare. A sensuous mouth suckled on her bosoms even as expert fingers parted her nether lips. The instant Briannon felt her beloved’s touch she knew that she had never felt such arousal before. Even as her flesh shivered from the caress, her body released moisture. When Devin’s fingers entered her, she could only cry out and cling to his tall form.

Briannon did not know how long she lay there crying in pleasure, nor did she know how Devin knew where to touch her. The once royal lady only knew that she never wanted it to end. When she felt the traveler’s fingers leave her warm folds, a moan of displeasure escaped her control. With a slight smile, her companion held her gaze as he made his way down her body.

If Briannon had thought her beloved was skilled with his fingers, then she quickly learned that his mouth held more delights. When Devin moved lower, the smaller woman was at first shocked. At his bold movements she felt hesitant. She had never experienced this before and did not know what to expect. But the moment her alluring lover dove between her legs, she closed her eyes and groaned at the exquisite pleasure that his tongue brought her. With each gentle stroke she felt her body rise higher; her eyes closed as she was swept away in whirlwind of emotions. All she could do was to surrender her will to the mysterious stranger.

When it was finally over and Briannon could go no more, her paramour held her close. As her breathing returned to normal, the gentle lips that had just left her nether region now planted soft kisses on her cheeks, lips and forehead. When the runaway bride gazed into the dark depths of her lover’s eyes, she knew she was finally home.

Had she know the stranger longer, Briannon would have noticed his hesitation when she moved to unclothe him. But she did not notice his discomfort, and when she reached down to unfasten his britches, she was shocked when Devin took her hand firmly. A look of concerned fear crossed Devin’s eyes. Apprehensive, her mysterious paramour gazed deeply into her eyes. Sensing his hesitancy, Briannon reached up and ran her palm over the young man’s chillingly soft cheek. At her touch, her mate smiled.

"You must know," Devin’s soft, melodic voice whispered.

"I don’t understand," Briannon’s confusion kept her from probing deeper. Then with a slight smile, her lover took her hand and guided it within his clothes. As she began to explore the larger body, the stranger kissed her deeply.

Anxious to feel her beloved’s flesh within her, Briannon unbuttoned Devin’s britches and reached inside. Upon her discovery, her excitement overshadowed her initial disgust. She gazed into the stranger’s eyes as her hand explored further. In confirmation of her discovery, her gentle lover gazed down at her in stony silence.

The Irish woman had heard of such people before. Like tales told in hushed whispers, her social circle knew the rarity of these individuals. They were women in gender yet manly in guise.

With her new knowledge Briannon smiled at Devin. She now understood the mystery of her lover’s existence. From the depths of her mind the mortal heard a silent question. In a whispered voice, the redhead felt the melodic words coax her toward a realm of darkness. Understanding the stranger’s true powers, she smiled as she released all control to the gentle woman. Sensing Briannon’s desires, Devin returned the smile as she lowered herself over the lady.

That day remained firmly etched in the initiate’s memories. She remembered the slight sounds of their pleasure and could almost feel Devin’s womanly body close to hers. As if it were only yesterday, she recalled the taller woman’s sweet taste. When it seemed that they could go no further, the dark woman took control and led her into the twilight world.

Through the initiation, Briannon heard Devin’s voice deep within her thoughts. She felt herself being pulled along in a spiraling world of blood red colors and shapes. When she felt that their journey would end, she heard the unspoken question. For only a moment in time she thought of turning back. She felt a slight tug from her old life yet longed to follow the mysterious woman’s darkened path. Once her decision was made, she released all control to her lover of the night. Upon her acquiescence, the immortal held her tenderly as her mind whispered soft words of endearment.

By the moon’s glowing light, the Irish lady gazed at her lover. She watched Devin’s features change shape. Pleased, the taller woman smiled down at the red-haired lass. At the sight of the immortal’s sharp, pointed teeth, the human gasped in horror. Before she could change her mind, she felt her Devin’s teeth against her neck. The young mortal cried out as a fevered pain coursed through her veins.

As if understanding Briannon’s suffering, Devin took it unto herself. In an attempt to ease the initiate’s agony, she offered her the cooling liquid of her life. Like a greedy child, Briannon took all that her lover had to give. She drank until her initiator’s icy cold sea of blood sated the hot fires in her body.

That was the last day of Briannon’s mortal life. Initially, she became sick from the transition from life to death to everlasting life. She remembered the feverish pain of awakening to the hunger. Like a mother nursing a sickly child, Devin cared for her, kept her safe and gave her the nourishment that Briannon needed to survive from the prizes of her own hunt. Once her body had adjusted, the new initiate was able to move freely through the night.

After her entrance into the dark realm, Briannon traveled with Devin through the back roads of the isle. As the days turned to years, they journeyed to far-off places across distant seas. Together they saw sights she never dreamed existed. Through it all they spent their idle time making love. When the hunger consumed them, she helped Devin hunt their prey and devour their kill.

Briannon had never been so fully satisfied. Their style of dressing changed with the times, and Devin, who once had long hair, began to crop it in the shorter style that men now wore. She could not explain it, but Briannon loved the sight of her lover like this, with shoulder-length hair, and in the guise of a man. Under Devin’s tutelage she learned that everything she needed was found in the woman’s caring arms. Titles, wealth and prestige were nothing compared to the love that this woman gave to her.

Even after so many centuries since her demise, Briannon could not wipe Devin from her mind. The cold touch of her hand, the easy smile that revealed white vampire teeth, and her deep blue eyes were etched clearly in Briannon’s memories. Every portion of the tall woman’s finely chiseled features was ingrained in the Irish woman’s mind. Tall in stature yet modestly built, her lover dressed in the finest of men’s styles. The fashions and textures changed over the centuries, but the woman’s preference remained unchanged. Most importantly, the immortal lass remembered how their love was rekindled each time they were in each other’s arms, and she grew to miss her beloved desperately.

At the vivid memories, Briannon grimaced as the sorrow of her loss seared through her heart. In a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors, she watched the images of their last day together. She reached out in her dreams in the hope that she could stop the hands of time.

Briannon had been warned that some communities hunted and despised their kind. Devin always cautioned her about those who sought to destroy them, yet she did not know the severity of her lover’s warning until that fateful night.

Like animals on a fresh hunt, the village people chased them through the dark forest. Briannon remembered the sounds of their shouting voices and the smell of their warm mortal flesh. With each frantic step they took, the villagers gained ground. As fear alone kept them going, they ran from the maddening sounds of the hunters.

Despite their abilities, the two immortals could not outrun horses. Although Devin could have saved herself by transforming into a bird, Briannon was still too young to have mastered such a skill. Rather than leaving her behind, the tall woman remained by her side as they tried to outdistance the mob. With the night quickly disappearing, they found they had little strength to outrun their pursuers and felt their strength ebbing with the rising sun. At one point, Briannon was aware of her lover’s hold on her arm. Before she realized a change, she felt her mate pull her close.

"Briannon," Devin’s voice was harsh, yet firm, "Go Briannon!" In that instant, she saw into the pools of Devin’s dark eyes. A love that held no bounds gripped her in its warm embrace. With a deep inhale of breath, the lass tried to keep her emotions at bay.

"We go together, my love," the fear of losing Devin settled hard within Briannon’s mind.

"No, not this time," Devin’s voice grew suddenly calm. As they stood in the shadows of the night, Briannon felt the taller woman’s cold touch against her face. "You must go; you must survive, my beloved. Live as I’ve taught you to live! If possible, I vow to return to you in another life — another place and time," the tall woman promised before kissing her one last time.

With a slight cry, Briannon reined in her discipline. Like an obedient child, she ran from the noise as the men’s shouting voices rose through the air. She heard Devin’s defiant screams echo through the vale. As the surviving immortal reached the top of the hill, she glanced down in time to watch the men descend upon her lover. As if Devin were nothing more than a child’s doll, they tore her apart while the woman’s anguished cries of pain screeched through the air.

The young immortal felt Devin’s emotions like they were hers. The searing hotness of the early morning sun drowned the excruciating pain of the tearing flesh. As her beloved’s existence ended, the redheaded woman felt Devin’s eons of years fade away in the sun’s rays. With tears streaming down her face, Briannon moved instinctively. She remembered little except the feel of the earth as she dug a shelter for herself….

As the memories crossed her senses, Briannon heard a voice beckon through her dreams. Familiar and soft, the sound came like a whisper in the night. At its warming tone, the immortal woman inwardly smiled. "Briannon, jân," the soft accented voice brought her closer to reality. She felt the ancient memories of the past disappear from view as new remembrances formed before her sleeping eyes…

When Briannon met her current servant, she had gone for so long without a mortal beside her. Her life, her existence was filled with sating her own needs. As an immortal from years ago, she had the maturity and wisdom to live in both her world and that of the mortals. With her skills she had amassed a small fortune, and although she had been able to gather all of the material possessions that her heart desired, there was one passion that had eluded her. Never had she given up her search for her beloved’s soul.

Briannon did not know if immortals were capable of retaining their souls once brought into the darkness. She had contemplated the idea many times but could not find an answer within herself. All she clung to was Devin’s last promise to return to her if at all possible. So with this single promise, she never gave up hope of finding her true love.

With every tall woman Briannon met, the question remained in the back of her mind. Is it you? Are you my beloved? The whisper rose within her thoughts. Yet each time she met a mortal, she quickly discovered that their memories and past lives were not Devin’s, so she began the search again.

On the night she met Sahar, she had not been searching; instead she had been supervising the delivery of a valuable art piece. As the international flights arrived and the people from around the globe disembarked from their planes, Briannon stood next to her business assistant. With a clipboard in hand, the thin mortal man scribbled her instructions onto a notepad.

"Remember to tell the movers that these items are to be treated gently," Briannon had instructed.

"Yes Madam, gently," the assistant echoed as the freight doors opened on the large Boeing.

Within the cargo hold, Briannon recognized the handpicked group of men and women. Their crisp clothing, all similar yet void of military insignias, showed their level of organization. As their leader waved at her, she inhaled deeply as she watched the others begin to move the crates and boxes onto the lift.

Briannon was so intent on supervising the delivery that she barely noticed the handsome young man walking down the steps from the passenger’s side. Tall and modestly dressed, the foreign man looked out at the dark airport for a moment, and then began to cautiously make his way down the steps.

At a sound from the cargo hold, Briannon quickly turned her attention away from the stranger to the delivery of her boxes. The moment she saw one land roughly on the tarmac, she moved away from her assistant. "Attention imbéciles! Ces trésors ont plus de valeur que toutes vos vies mises ensemble!" she yelled, then added, for the benefit of those in the group who were not part of foreign crew, "I said, be careful, you fools! These items are worth more than all of your lives put together!"

At the sight of the cracked wood, Briannon hissed in anger as she began to open the wooden slat that held the treasure within. She quickly pushed aside the straw packing to reveal the canvas within. Beside her, her secretary stood scant inches away as the flashlight in his hand lighted up the painting. "Oh my!" a slight gasp escaped his control as he looked at the picture.

"My thoughts exactly!" Briannon smiled proudly as she carefully lifted the painting from its protection. Sealed within a plastic case covering for protection, the canvas remained fully intact. "Just look at it, Michael," she smiled as he turned off his flashlight. "Even with these runway lights, the beauty is still intact. You will never be this close to The Concert again," she referred to the precious painting she held.

"Ummm," her assistant’s feminine stance remained unmoving as he stood staring at the painting over thin, framed glasses. With his small hand to his lips, his eyes gazed at the prize with awe. "Madame, if I might be so bold to say, this is quite possibly the greatest painting that Johannes Vermeer ever created!" his voice was a soft whisper.

"Yes, I agree," Briannon smiled as her eyes gazed at the scene portrayed in the painting. "Just look at the tenebrism. The contrasting shadows and light are magnificent!" her words were filled with respect for her old friend from the provincial city of Delft. As she gazed at the sheer beauty of the picture, her memories took her to the exact moment of its creation.

"Poor Jan," she tsked. "No one ever appreciated him while alive," she whispered, almost to herself. When she heard the banging of crates, she quickly returned the container to its protective box.

"Putain, je vous ai dit de faire attention! Damn you, I said be careful!" she shouted at the mercenaries as she ran to the other crates. "Espèce de mauviettes maladroites, je vous ai recrutés pour votre experience! Allez, Allez! You clumsy fools! I hired all of you because of your expertise! Hurry up, hurry up!" she shouted at the movers, then shook her head and turned away from them. The group merely nodded, as they continued to carefully load the crates and boxes into a waiting truck.

Before she could call to him, Michael was by her side. "Make sure that all of these are set up in the climate controlled showcases at the house," she instructed as she walked quickly away from the scene. When she glanced at the gate and noticed the customs officials standing ready, she turned to the thin assistant.

"Have you made certain that all of their offshore bank accounts are in order?" she nodded toward the uniformed personnel.

"Of course, Madame, as per your instructions."

"Good…good," Briannon said, almost to herself as she began to walk back toward the terminal. She passed a portly woman with her clipboard ready to begin the inventory of the shipment. As Briannon cast a beguiling smile, the uniformed official winked knowingly and nodded as she turned her attention to the paperwork that Michael was handing her. Ever efficient, these people would see to it that the immortal’s precious cargo leave the airport safely.

Once inside the terminal, the bright lights and loud noises assaulted Briannon. Assured that her invaluable cargo would arrive before the sun rose over the mountains, the redheaded beauty began to make her way to the waiting car. As she passed a stranger, a familiar form caught her attention. Stopping in her tracks, she stood silent as she watched the tall young…no, she instantly realized that her initial impression was mistaken. This tall beauty was no man but in fact a woman. As she gazed longer at her, she realized that the person was nothing more than a child, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old.

Briannon smiled to herself as she moved toward the nearest wall. All sounds and movements in the busy terminal seemed to slow to a deathly pace as her eyes honed in on this figure. The man’s suit worn by the girl was baggy and ill fitting. Although its design was a decade old, the tall, dark-haired teen was striking as a young man. With shoulder-length dark hair and blue eyes, the lithe form held Briannon like a magnet. Just as time seemed to hold still, its pace quickened to hyper-speed when the noise from the nearby crowd shouted out to the girl.

"Hamish?" an old man called out to the stranger.

As if caught committing a crime, the young teen grew pale as she looked up at the aged man. Her eyes darted around in an attempt to find a quick escape.

"Hamish!" the toothless man started to make his way toward the young woman.

So, you are hiding! The immortal realized as a wry smile crossed her lips. Thinking quickly, she moved with confident steps toward the tall beauty.

"Salam, Omid! Khīsh āmadīd America! Welcome to America!" Briannon called out to the surprise of the exotic teenager. Extending her hand, she held the most beguiling smile as she waited for the stranger to talk. "Do you speak English?" she asked the foreigner under her breath.

"Y-Yes," the tall girl replied as she glanced nervously at the extended hand.

"Good, because my Farsi is not that good. Et le français? Any better? Betekallem Araby?" Briannon took control of the situation.

"Oui… Shwayah, a little," the soft voice replied.

"Good, then we have some common ground." Briannon cast a sidelong glance at the group of Persians who were gathering nearby. They spoke amongst themselves as they pointed toward the two. "Now, if you want me to get you out this mess just follow my lead, fahem?" she smiled.

"Yes," the dark haired teen glanced nervously around and then lowered her eyes when the old man’s voice grew louder as he continued to point their way.

"I trust your trip went well? We were worried about you when your plane was delayed," she said loudly for the benefit of those around. When she saw the tattered suitcase next to the luggage carousel, she leaned down and picked it up. "Come now, I hope you are ready to work first thing in the morning! Your services are greatly needed," she added as she walked confidently past the group of Iranians.

"Ummm," the young girl stammered as she ran to catch up.

As Briannon walked through the airport she kept up her chatter knowing that the girl was not comprehending a word of it. When they were stopped at immigration, Briannon only had to wave her special papers that allowed her and her guest through unstopped. It was not until they entered the comfort of her private car that she turned her attention on the young woman.

As she sat next to Briannon, the girl’s alert eyes darted at the interior of the Mercedes. When she looked at the driver in the front seat, she gulped as she looked at the commanding woman, and then shyly turned away. Smiling at the girl’s reaction, the immortal pressed a button on her side of the car that closed the glass partition separating the driver's seat from the passenger compartment.

"Again, salām. Esman é Briannon. Esmetān chī st?" she introduced herself in the girl’s native tongue, and then asked her name.

In that brief moment indecision crossed over the teenager’s features. The redhead scrutinized the young Persian as she pondered her predicament. When the girl appeared to have made up her mind, and she observed the shorter lady, a cautious expression etched on her face. "Esman é Sahar," she answered.

"Sahar," the older immortal ran the name over her tongue, familiarizing herself with the sound as she leaned back in the seat. "Sahar, here is my proposition to you. I gather that you are a runaway from a very far place." As the girl began to speak, Briannon raised her hand to silence her. "I care not for politics, and with what the Ayatollah Khomeini is doing…" she shook her head as an expression of disgust crossed her features, "well, let me just say that I’m surprised that more girls are not running away from that tyranny."

The young girl lowered her eyes and gulped nervously as she sighed deeply.

"Look, Sahar, you are underage, and if the authorities find you, they will deport you to your family. But don’t worry," Briannon smiled as she ran her fingers through the girl’s hair when she saw her look of fear. "Don’t be afraid; I have no intention of turning you in. I only want to make you an offer. You’re here now. My papers allowed you into this country, so you can leave my car, take your bag, and make a life for yourself in this country, or…." she turned away from the girl, almost afraid to ask — almost afraid to wonder if this was her beloved returned to her. With a smile, she looked back at the teen, "Or you can return with me to my home. I have need of a servant, someone to tend to me, to keep order in my home, to serve me with obedience and, most of all, loyalty. Is this something that you think you can do?"

Sahar held Briannon’s gaze. In the diffused light of the Mercedes, Briannon could see the mortal’s heart beating through the vein on her exposed neck. She felt the hesitancy and fears, but also the inner workings of the girl’s mind.

Once a decision had been made, the teen released a deep breath and settled back in her seat. "Oui," was all she said, and ever since that day, the Persian teen had been with her. Although the exotic child had never encountered a creature of the night, she was not afraid. In fact, as time passed and the girl grew from teenager to woman, she served Briannon as more than just a servant. She not only had become her caretaker by day, but also her lover by night. For this the Irish immortal would always be grateful for the dark haired woman’s fidelity.…

In a hazy dream, Briannon’s consciousness clawed its way through the darkness. The current of memories began to merge into a chaotic pattern of shapes and sounds. Standing in the center of time, she watched as the images of her home in the emerald isle and a remembrance of her entire life passed before her vision.

With shifting shapes, the images of her family turned into the many faces of those she encountered throughout her journeys. She saw Devin’s face change into the visages of every woman Briannon had ever loved and knew instinctively that within each lover she searched for a part of her immortal beloved’s soul. Each time she failed to find her inamorata, the uncontrollable rage took over her spirit.

Before she could dwell further on her sorrows a sharp, harsh scene filtered to Briannon’s senses. She heard a familiar, anguished voice whispering through the darkness. As she fought to hear the words, an image suddenly appeared within her mind. Like a slow moving picture, she saw the wise, aged face of her mentor grimace in fear. Although she could not perceive the dream clearly, she felt the matriarch’s sorrow through the thin bond that all of the clan held to each other.

Madame Tuscany was the only woman Briannon felt truly close to. Since Devin’s demise, she never had anyone to help her sort out her feelings and thoughts until she met the aged matriarch. As the oldest Night Person on the West Coast, the elder proved to be the perfect mentor for the grieving woman’s chaotic existence.

As the dream engulfed the old woman’s form, the redhead felt her mind calling out to her. Although only a vision, she felt a need to reach to elder’s frightened form. When it seemed that her efforts had failed, she heard the soft voice breaking through the chaotic images. Ignoring the whisper, she turned her attention to the disappearing image of the clan matriarch.

Filled with understanding, Briannon sent forth a soothing call. She felt her spirit reaching out in confirmation as her body climbed higher through the darkness. As reality settled in she heard the old woman’s voice accepting her response. A distant echo beckoned her once more. She instantly recognized the mortal voice and fought to waken from her sleep. In the blink of an eye, the immortal woman awoke and gazed at her servant, her lover.

"Briannon, jân," the tone was both obedient and tender. "Habebtee, you asked me to wake you," her mortal lover whispered, her lips gently kissing the woman’s cold cheeks while her hands reached into the confines of the coffin and began to lift Briannon from its protection.

The smaller woman did not know what compelled her to search out women who resembled her first love. She could not explain the anticipation that coursed through her whenever she found a woman with Devin’s similar features. Each time she found a handsome woman who looked like her first love, she would wonder if her search was finally at an end. Sahar had been one of many whom she thought would possess the memories of her ancient love.

At 5’9’ the Persian beauty stood taller than Briannon. With shoulder-length, neatly combed, raven black hair, blue eyes and lightly tanned complexion, she held a magnificence that the Irish woman remembered from long ago. In hopes of keeping the illusion alive, the immortal preferred that the runaway dress in manly attire. With her bearing and appearance, the newcomer was the perfect woman to be her lover — her caretaker while slumbering.

"Briannon, jân; Briannon, love," her mortal protector smiled as she gazed down at her, then gently lowered her to the floor. Reaching for her, the taller woman offered her hand.

Accepting her gesture, the Irish woman took the woman’s hand and began to walk from her sleeping chamber. She noted the single candle lighting the farthest corner of her crypt. As its dancing flame sent images across the barren wall, she leaned heavily against her young lover’s side. Never once releasing her hold, Briannon slowly moved up the white marble stairs that led into her home. She felt secure with the touch of her servant’s arm around her waist.

"Sahar," Briannon’s voice sounded like one just newly awake.

"Briannon, jân, my Habebtee, chetōr é? How are you?" the Persian woman’s words were a mixture of English, Farsi and Arabic

"I feel the hunger," came Briannon’s whispered reply.

"I know. You waited far too long," Sahar tsked as she helped her walk up the steps toward the main house. "I’m here now, my jân, my Briannon. I’m here for you," the tall woman promised as she held her mistress close by her side. Gauging her strength, the Persian gazed into her eyes as they stood at the top of the stairs.

Like an obedient servant, a large mastiff moved cautiously before them. In an attempt to read the immortal’s mood, he sniffed the back of her hand. Absently, Briannon lightly scratched the back of the animal’s head. Pleased by her contact, the burly dog released a deep bark as he wagged his tail excitedly.

"Back, Nafi!" the mortal’s firm voice ordered. With only a snapping of his jaws the massive beast retreated and watched them with expectant eyes.

In a dazed state Briannon turned her glance away from their pet. She looked around their elaborate home and noticed the numerous pieces of art hanging on the walls. When she observed the painting titled, The Concert, by Johannes Vermeer, safely in its climate-controlled showcase, she glanced up at her caretaker and smiled at the memory of their first meeting. "Do you remember?" she asked weakly.

"Oui," Sahar smiled as she guided her master to their room. "We will talk later of it, my habebtee. Right now, you are weak. Very, very weak," she seemed to chastise her mistress.

Grateful for the woman’s care, Briannon nodded and smiled. As she was led down the hallway, she glanced at each of the paintings carefully exhibited behind their protective cases. She remembered each artist’s name and their individual personalities. When she looked down at her feet, she became aware of the varied colors within the Persian rug.

As a way to give reassurance, Briannon firmly held her servant’s arm and allowed herself to be led away from her crypt. In silence they made their way to their shared bedroom. Against one corner of the room was a king size, gold inlaid, brass bed. Although covered with soft pelts of mink and sable, she rarely used it for the purpose of sleep. Glancing at its sturdy structure, she was reminded of the many rousing sessions of love play that she had with her Persian lover. At the vivid images she smiled as she lowered her eyes.

In her drowsy state the Irish woman allowed her mind to wander over the many memories of her past lovers. She could almost feel their warm, mortal bodies rubbing against her cold flesh. As if they existed for the sole purpose of sating her needs, they each gave their entire body so that she might survive another day. As the erotic images soared through her mind, she smiled as she glanced up at her current lover. Before her dreams could progress further she felt a gnawing pain in her abdomen. At the sudden reminder of her hunger, she closed her eyes as the reality of her situation set in.

Although she was able to go without it for great amounts of time, her hunger was never far away. Like an addictive drug, it remained hidden in the shadows until her body was unable to resist. Even though she cherished her dark existence, Briannon did not enjoy the pain of hunger. "Sahar!" her whisper held a biting edge.

The tall woman held Briannon close and offered her strength. She kept her wrapped in her firm clasp. At her comforting touch, Briannon leaned heavily against her human lover. Despite the fact that Sahar was only a mortal, the Irish woman had never felt so safe and secure as she did in the bigger woman’s strong embrace.

"Sahar…."

"Shush, Briannon, jân. I know, I know," Sahar softly whispered reassurance as she lifted Briannon from the thick rug and carried her the remaining steps to their bed.

"Everything’s ready, you’ll be fine," the Persian assured as she gently sat her lover on the clean, soft sheets of the bed.

In the peripheral vision of her mind, the shorter woman noticed the candles lighting up the room. She heard the soft, seductive music in their room. Were it not for her hunger, the immortal would have taken pleasure in her lover’s romantic intentions. As it was, it took all of her control to bridle her insatiable needs.

At the light touches of the exotic woman, Briannon smiled weakly as she felt the soft hands remove her white silk gown. When naked, Sahar pulled back the covers, and then laid the Irish woman on her back. Stepping away, the tall woman began to quickly remove her own clothing.

"Everything will be alright, my habebtee," the immortal heard her lover’s reassuring words. Through the haze of her pain, she watched as Sahar joined her on the bed. Like a dream, Briannon noticed the dark haired woman’s light brown complexion. Even in the dark, she delighted in her exotic beauty. As the bigger woman moved over her, she smiled as she gazed at the Persian’s modest, firm bosoms. The coldness in the room caused Sahar’s nipples to grow erect.

Before her lover could begin to move against her, the immortal reached up and took a nipple between her lips. Without waiting for Sahar’s pleasure, she latched on to the soft flesh. In the back of her mind she heard the gasp of pain from her servant but continued to hold on fast. At the first taste of the mortal blood, the lass reached around Sahar. With supernatural strength, she held her tight. Each grunt of pain, each hiss only spurred her on.

"Briannon, jân, p-please…." the voice of her servant broke the spell. Instantly, Briannon stopped suckling her lover’s breast.

At the pain, the taller woman pulled away and lay on her side, her breath rapid as she tried to fight back her suffering. Slightly sated, the immortal was now able to feel the pain of her servant.

"Oh, my Sahar, my habebtee, I’m sorry, so sorry," Briannon whispered as she turned her attention to ridding her lover of her pain. Tenderly, she stroked the mortal’s shoulder until the woman turned around. In the darkness, she began to reach out with her mind. With her dark powers, she soothed her lover’s pain as she set out to bring her pleasure. When she heard the woman gasping for a different reason, she smiled as she lowered herself to the nipple. In a slow, gentle manner she began to lick the dripping blood away. After enough pressure from her tongue, the bleeding stopped even as Sahar’s pleasure began to grow.

Pleased with herself, Briannon inwardly smiled as her lips moved over her lover’s body. She paid special attention to her striking breasts, making certain to not cause her pain again. When her tongue ran over the human’s firm abdomen, she felt the woman gasping as her hips arched upward. As she made her way lower, she smelled the strong, musky scent of arousal rising from between Sahar’s legs. At its intoxicating scent, the immortal closed her eyes and took in the woman’s aroma before diving in the patch of soft, brown hair.

The moment Briannon’s tongue pressed against her lover’s clitoris, she heard the Iranian groan. The taller woman’s legs shook with anticipation even as her hands were entangled in Briannon’s long red hair. Guiding her, Sahar held her firmly in place even as the lass’ tongue worked magic upon her. Each stroke, each lap, brought the Persian closer to the brink. Whenever the smaller woman held on to the swollen clitoris and suckled, she felt herself fighting back her own urges as she strived to bring her partner pleasure. After the young woman’s body violently quivered and then released her pleasure, the immortal greedily drank, all the while wishing that it was the liquid needed to sate her hunger. When it seemed that she could not control herself anymore, she pulled away and climbed back up her body.

Instinctively, the Irish woman stretched her voluptuous body over her lover. She buried her face against the mortal warmth of Sahar’s soft neck. With the human scent so close, she closed her eyes as a groan escaped her control. "Sahar jân, I-I…." she shook her head as she felt her body reacting to her own primal needs. "I must…now," the immortal whispered as she they laid entangled in each other arms and legs. Her Persian lover gasped from her aftermath of pleasure and then nodded understanding.

Before the redhead could begin to feed, the mortal reached out and stopped her movements. "Briannon, jân, my habebtee, please take me with you," her words pleaded.

With an angry snarl that revealed her sharp teeth, the un-dead woman pushed her servant’s words aside. Now, while in the throes of hunger, she would not be swayed. Nothing the mortal said would stop her from her task.

At her slight touch the smaller woman growled as she prepared to feed. With head thrown back she felt the unholy transition of her immortal condition take form. She felt the heat course through her being even as the taste of blood registered in her senses and instantly, she recognized the alienness of her animalistic needs. When the pain of her hunger consumed her, she cried out as she glanced down at her mortal lover.

Turning away, Sahar offered her neck for Briannon’s needs. With a mixture of excitement and frustration, the Irish woman groaned. When her teeth latched onto the familiar spot, the taller woman flinched as a muffled cry of pain escaped her control. Even as Briannon’s teeth were finding their mark, her fingers reached down between her lover’s legs. She felt the moisture of pleasure bathe her digits as her teeth latched on to the familiar spot. At the initial pain of her lover, the immortal opened her mind and allowed Sahar to experience the exquisite sensations of this union.

In a tender manner Briannon reached out with her mind and soothed her mortal lover. As she continued to drink Sahar’s life-offering liquid, she used her powers to wrap a protective shield around the fragile mortal. Like a warm cocoon the immortal surrounded the Persian woman. While her fingers danced artfully over the taller woman’s nether lips, she drank of the mortal’s blood.

The sating of Briannon’s own hunger pulsed with a cadence that matched the rhythmic movements of her fingers. With each stroke, she felt Sahar’s hips rise up to meet her touch, even as her heart pumped the red wine from her neck. The intoxication of sensations led them closer to their own pleasure and heightened the sensations for both. At the exquisite taste of her partner’s life, the immortal greedily drank. With each pump of her lover’s heart, she felt a pulsation within the warm, thick blood. Ignoring all but the taste of blood, the Irish woman drank until the madness of her thirst subsided. Only then was the hunger slowly sated.

When she felt her craving diminish, she began to feel the intense sensations of her servant. With one final stroke, Sahar’s body shook as something close to a cry escaped the mortal’s control. Drinking deeply one last time, Briannon inserted her fingers into her lover’s body and was rewarded with another powerful shudder from the woman.

The immortal had stopped feeding long before damage could be done. Below her, the Persian woman’s movements grew deathly still. As she released her hold, she lapped at the wounds until the blood ceased to flow. With the pains of the hunger sated, she rose from her mortal lover and smiled as she licked the remnants of blood from her lips. Weak from both her orgasm and loss of blood, Sahar gasped for air. Her eyes were closed as she remained still, the deep breaths that she took being the only evidence of life.

"Oh, Sahar…" the immortal’s whisper seemed to echo through the room.

Sahar was many things to Briannon, confidant, lover, protector, and friend. After only a short time together the un-dead learned to value the Persian woman’s presence. Like water and land they needed each other to survive. Understanding this, the Irish woman held the mortal close and whispered soft words of love.

When calmness resumed, Briannon lightly ran her fingertips over her lover’s exotic features. She felt the sheen of sweat over the woman’s body. In the diffused light she sensed the young mortal’s eyes upon her. At her inquisitive look the smaller woman lightly brushed her fingers through the Persian’s dark hair.

"Please take me with you," Sahar softly implored.

Briannon felt a sadness enter her heart. At her lover’s request, she shook her head negatively as she ran her fingers over Sahar’s collarbone to her neck. You are not the one, she thought to herself, but remained silent.

No, Sahar was not the one. Initially, when Briannon had thought the teen was the incarnation of her love, she had almost initiated her. But after realizing that the woman’s spirit was not her first love, she would not bring the tall beauty into her dark existence. She was right, Sahar was not Devin. Her heart and soul were pure and because of it, Briannon feared what her touch would bring. If there was any truth to the myths of the immortals being soulless, she did not want to take the chance on her faithful servant becoming a part of their clan. I don’t want you to become like me, she thought with sadness, but then said out loud, "No. Never."

Knowing her resolve, Sahar sighed. With a slight smile, she reached up and lightly traced a trail down Briannon’s spine, as she slowly fell asleep. Now that the pounding hunger of her feeding frenzy was over, the smaller woman cradled her beloved in her arms. Pale and drawn from the feeding, Sahar lay motionless. But at a single touch from the immortal’s hand, the Persian stirred and smiled weakly.

Filled with compassion, the creature of the night hugged her close. "Ana ba hebik awe…I love you very much," she whispered in her lover’s ear. Unable to respond, Sahar wrapped her arms loosely around Briannon’s form. "Rest," the smaller woman commanded as she left their shared bed.

Now filled with her familiar strength, she walked silently through her home. As she made her way through the shadows, she licked the last remnants of blood from her lips. Despite her ability to hunt, Briannon discovered that this form of nourishment was the easiest to maintain. It never aroused suspicion from the authorities, and it was willingly given and always available.

With a slight frown, the Irish woman wondered if she was making a mistake by not bringing over her mortal servant. While she moved to the medicine cabinet and removed some items, she contemplated her decision. Doubts always filled her mind when it was clouded with thoughts of her departed beloved. Although a part of her realized that she might never see her true love again, another part could not help but hold out hope.

After gathering together a small basket of medical items, Briannon returned to the side of the bed. She gently turned her sleeping lover onto her back and began to clean the wounds on her breast and neck. The moment she touched the tender spots, she heard Sahar’s deep hiss, followed by a groan.

"I know, Sahar, I’m sorry," Briannon whispered as she poured the disinfectant over the wounds. Once Briannon cleaned the puncture marks and applied the antibacterial ointment on them, she tenderly covered the wounds with bandage gauze. "There now, you’ll be fine in no time," she whispered as Sahar turned away, her body seeming to protect her injuries as she fell back to sleep.

Briannon sighed as she lightly ran the palm of her hand over the younger woman’s warm flesh. Rising from Sahar’s side, she returned the medical supplies to their proper place, and then discarded the bloody gauze before washing her hands.

As she made her way through the quiet house, her thoughts never stopped churning. It had been so long since she was with Devin, yet she never forgot how it felt to be in her arms. Although Sahar was, by far, the best caretaker she had ever had, and even though she felt close to the mortal, Briannon had never allowed herself to consider bringing the woman over. She contemplated her situation as she took some oranges from the refrigerator and proceeded to make fresh juice.

The lass always knew that someday she would bring over a lover but hoped that it would be the reincarnation of Devin. Yet if the stories were true, then reincarnation was not meant for them. They were the un-dead. The few who believed that they existed viewed them as being soulless creatures that were worse than animals meant for hunting and sport.

At the vivid memory of her lover’s demise, Briannon frowned. Thankfully there were not many today who believed in their existence. Night People were considered myths. Those like her were thought of as fairytales. Better we remain myths, she thought as she took the glass filled with fresh juice back to the room. As the cold chill of her house surrounded her, she continued to contemplate this dilemma. Following close by her side was the mastiff guard dog. His tail wagged as he kept pace with her. When she entered the dark room, she glanced at the animal.

Sit, Briannon’s mind thought, and the dog obediently sat near the doorframe. When she settled herself on the bed beside her lover, she lightly shook her mortal’s shoulder. Sahar moaned as she pulled away from Briannon’s touch. Looking back at the beast, she could almost hear him chuckling at her predicament. Not a word from you, she ordered the beast, which immediately lowered his head upon his folded paws, a muted whine coming from his dejected form. His eyes held a look of sad dejection whenever he occasionally glanced her way. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and released a sigh as she gazed back down at her weak lover. If only mortals were as easily controlled, she mused.

"Sahar, jân, drink," the smaller woman commanded as she held the glass of juice to her lover’s lips. "Habebtee, you must regain your strength. Drink."

Like a woman just freed from a desert prison, Sahar drank the quenching liquid. After several glasses, the Irish lady laid Sahar’s head gently on the pillow. "Sleep, my love," she whispered as she pulled the covers over her mortal lover’s naked shoulders.

"You’re leaving tonight?" the pale woman asked.

"Yes, for a short time," Briannon spoke softly as if her words alone would answer her servant’s questions. In a tender manner, she gently ran her cold fingers through the Persian’s dark hair.

"Briannon, jân, I’ll go with you," Sahar said as she tried vainly to rise from the bed. Once she was sitting upright, the mortal closed her eyes as she lowered her head. The movement alone caused her to become disoriented. Seeing her weakened condition from her lack of blood, the red-haired woman smiled as she laid her servant back on the bed, and gently tucked her in.

"No, my sweet lover, you need to rest. I’ll be back by morning, I promise. You’ll have your strength back and we can lay the day away together in each other’s arms," Briannon whispered to the woman then added, "When night falls, we’ll go out. Would you like that?" At the affirmative nod of her lover’s head, she smiled as she kissed the woman’s forehead tenderly. Unable to offer resistance, Sahar mumbled as she closed her tired eyes.

"Sleep, my habebetee, sleep," Briannon whispered even as she felt the dreams begin to take her mortal lover away. When she passed by a mirror, she stopped to look at her own reflection. Like a careless child, her lips were covered with the brownish, dried residue of Sahar’s blood. After a single lick, she wiped the remaining moisture away with her tongue before entering the custom-made shower to wash herself clean.

Just as it had been all of her life, the immortal woman had everything that her heart desired. With her exceptional skills of foreseeing the future, she was able to utilize the mortals’ world for her own benefit. Now, after her many years of existence, her wealth allowed her to have anything and when it came to her home, a custom-made shower was what she longed for.

After her shower, Briannon left the round cubicle, dried herself off, and then moved to her walk-in closet. She instantly bypassed the Dolce & Gabbana and went to her white Armani suit. Ordinarily, she only dressed formally for business. But since she wasn’t certain why the clan matriarch had summoned her, she decided to don her best white suit.

Briannon stood before the full-length mirror once she was fully clothed. With a smile, she looked lovingly at her own reflection. The tailor-made pants fit like a glove, the fabric showing off her firm, round buttocks. When she pulled on her waist-length white jacket, she noticed the waves of her long red hair cascade over her shoulders. With a slight shake of her shoulders she adjusted her ample bosoms until enough cleavage was shown past the low cut silk blouse. Satisfied with the effect, she brushed the palms of her hands over her tight fitting white suit. With a pleased smile she looked over her waist and hips.

When satisfied Briannon returned her gaze to her other appealing features. She noticed the color of her green eyes and the shape of her full pouting lips. Although pale in complexion, her skin held a healthy sheen. Initiated at the age of twenty-two, she remained forever young. She would not age and would not wrinkle. As food was no longer necessary, she would never have to worry about gaining weight.

As she gazed in the mirror, Briannon knew what captured the hearts of her lovers. With a lack of modesty she acknowledged that it was her outstanding features combined with her long flowing red hair and shapely body that attracted others to her. Even her own kind, Night People, were swayed her way and she knew that she was able to win her lovers’ unfailing loyalties.

At this thought, Briannon turned and made her way to the bedroom. Sahar remained deep in sleep. With Nafi at her feet, the tall woman laid curled in a fetal position. In a loving manner the immortal gently brushed away an unruly strand of dark hair from her lover’s face. In the diffused light, the Irish woman smiled as she admired the Persian’s innocent beauty.

Briannon never wanted to take advantage of Sahar. She initially thought that she could awaken the sleeping memories of her first lover, Devin. Later on, when she discovered her error she knew that it was too late to release the young mortal. Although her feelings for the woman were great, she could not bring herself to give in to her deepest desires and she knew that she would never love the mortal enough to initiate her into her world of darkness.

With a shake of her head, Briannon turned away from her sleeping lover. Now was not the time to concern herself with such matters. She could not allow herself to be consumed with regrets. Perhaps later, if she were able to find the right words, she would explain to the woman the story of her life. In some way she hoped to make her mortal lover understand that she could never initiate someone who did not hold the memories of her long lost love.

As the immortal made her way through her home, she noted the various items of her wealth. When she stood at the entrance of the living room, her eyes fell over the expensive furniture and electronic gadgets. Housed within protective encasements were the various sculptures and paintings that she had acquired over the centuries. Ever since becoming immortal, she had always obtained whatever her heart desired. If there was a trinket, or bauble that attracted her attention, she did not hesitate to own it. Even when she was with her first love, Devin was always quick to give Briannon everything.

As Briannon remembered her time with Devin, a sad frown crossed her lips. She lowered her eyes as the memories of their last days together replayed in her mind. Everything they had, everything they built was taken away in the blink of an eye and there was nothing that she could do about it. As quickly as the villagers murdered her beloved they looted their home, took what they wished, and burned the rest down.

In a conscious move the redhead pushed these thoughts away. A tired sigh escaped her control as she moved toward the door. The sound of her high heel shoes echoed off the marble tiles.

Despite all of her wealth, Briannon was unhappy. Although she had everything that any mortal or Night Dweller could want, she longed for more. Within her soul she understood that without the presence of her true love, wealth held little value. Like a child displeased with her birthday gifts, she’d simply set aside one object in search of another illusive, more valued item. As with her women, the immortal was never satisfied with her tangible assets. With this thought she glanced over her belongings as she moved silently from the room. Ignoring everything around her, she made her way to the garage.

Briannon noted Sahar’s sleek midnight blue Porsche Carrera sitting next to her own black Mercedes SL600 convertible. In a darkened corner of the garage sat two identical BMW motorcycles. She had not purchased them for their performance abilities as much as the status they gave. Although they were less than a year old, she and the mortal rarely rode them.

With a sidelong glance at the vehicles Briannon turned and left the garage. In a casual manner she closed her eyes and began to call upon the magic from within. She felt the awesome powers of her immortal existence take hold. When she began to take two long strides, the exquisite transformation gripped her being. As the feel of weightlessness took over, she opened her eyes and watched as her arms melted into the shape of white flowing wings. While the darkness of the night sky hovered above her, she began to rise in the air. She allowed her mind to relish in the gentle sensations of the flight.

Now a bird of flight, Briannon rose steadily in the air. As she watched the objects on the ground suddenly grow small, she cast a glance over the structure of her home. Despite the darkness, Briannon knew that it was being monitored by an elaborate security system. Although she was confident with her own abilities to protect her home, she knew that Sahar did not possess the same capabilities. Understanding this, she felt comforted knowing that her lover was safe on the nights when she chose to take flight.

Briannon’s home was situated on the highest point of the San Madrone Hills. She had chosen this location for its scenic beauty at night and its closeness to the city limits. Nestled on forty acres of land, she was afforded the amount of privacy she required.

Nothing can equal the sensations of free flight, Briannon thought as she suddenly soared high in the sky as she made her way toward the twinkling lights of San Madrone. When she got close enough to the city limits, she swooped down and gazed at the mortal people. She listened to the thoughts of their hopes and fears. Slightly amused, she noted their insecurities as she made her way toward her destination.

As the sound of roaring engines rose in the air, she glanced down in time to watch the motorcycles revving through the city streets. Somewhat amused, she watched as her night sisters rumbled past the mortal creatures. Although she had seen them many times, their exact origins were unknown. Despite the fact that they too were creatures of the night, she never felt the need to socialize with them and cared little of their favor or disapproval. To Briannon they were simply another element, which existed within her dark little world.

Like a private club open only to a select few, the motorcycle women dressed in identical style of clothing. With a mixture of blue jeans, leather chaps and jackets, they seemed to delight in the fear their appearance caused. With little evidence of other activities, they seemed to exist for the single purpose of sating their insatiable needs. Accustomed to their presence, Briannon continued her life while knowing that the dark city streets held others like her.

With no further thoughts to the group, Briannon instinctively flew over the city. Although she missed the rustic days before the city was built, she took pleasure in the sight of the twinkling lights. She found herself marveling at the high-rise structures that seemed to reach toward the highest stars.

At one time the entire area was covered with lush orchards and lavish mansions, and the sound of crickets ruled the night. Briannon remembered when the city streets were made of dirt and felt only the wheels of horse-drawn carriages. Back then the city was young, and the nights were pitch-black. Now, with the rows of electric lamps lining every avenue, the city nights were bright. Like a fairy-tale land meant only for them, an eerie, yellow glow chased the darkness away. Sometimes she longed for the peaceful nights of yesteryear instead of the noisy scene around her. Yet if given the choice, she would never return to the harsher conditions of life. Like it was yesterday, she remembered when the hunting was much more difficult for her kind. But that was long ago, the immortal thought as she flew toward a private estate.

With graceful ease the small, white falcon floated over the estate and then landed majestically on the soft green grass behind the mansion. Just as magically as she had taken flight, Briannon transformed from the bird of prey into her own body. When the wings gave way to her arms, she stretched and looked around at the neatly manicured lawn. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes giving silent thanks for her safe arrival. Once prepared, she opened her eyes and turned toward the large, lavish estate. The clicking sounds of her heels echoed off the Italian tiles that were laid out in an intricate pattern. If she had more time to spare, she would have enjoyed their beauty, but as it was, she felt compelled to answer the call of the grand matriarch of their clan.

Upon entering the estate Briannon was met with the bright lights from within. The servants smiled a greeting as they continued their nightly chores. Briannon nodded at a few as she walked into the entryway. Each servant, mortal and immortal alike, worked tirelessly through the house.

"Bree!" a melodically soft voice greeted her at the main door.

At the familiar sound, Briannon inwardly groaned before masking her emotions behind a smile. By the time she turned to greet the woman there was no evidence of her annoyance. Like old friends they greeted each other with a momentary hug and a false kiss. As time seemed to stand still, they gazed at each other’s familiar forms.

"Bree, I’m so glad to see you," the young voice seemed to sing.

"Briannon, if you please," the redhead gently corrected.

The young immortal teen glanced at Briannon with a look of surprise. Her eyes took on a vacant stare as if simply attempting the feat of understanding caused her brain to stop working. With a wave of her hand, the girl pushed away the visitor’s words as a façade of pleasure crossed her features. "Whatever!" Aurore exclaimed and chuckled softly before she schooled her features. All the while she held Briannon’s hand in hers.

Although their body structures were different, the two women were identical in height. While the Irish woman had long flowing red hair that bounced from natural waves, Aurore’s brown hair lay straight over her shoulders. The Irish lass, having been taken in the prime of womanhood, had full round breasts and voluptuous hips that when used right, could entice even the most reluctant prey. For Aurore, losing her mortality at sixteen meant that the girl was forever trapped within an adolescent body. Regardless of how mature her mind might be her waif body, thin hips and barely budding breasts would always remain in limbo between that of a child, and a woman.

Angry by this fact, the teen turned her biting emotions on those of whom she was most jealous. "Bree," Aurore gave a toothy smile, "Grandmother will be so happy! Did she summon you?"

"Briannon, please," the Irish woman added again, in hopes that the girl would begin addressing her by her preferred name. Then she continued, "Yes and no. I just had a hunch that she would want to see me," she tried to conceal her memories of the dream.

"Oh really, Bree? One of your hunches again I see," the girl released her hold as she gave an incredulous look.

Ignoring the child’s bait, the woman smiled as she looked deeply into the teen’s eyes, "Tell me, how is your grandmother? I hope she isn’t ill!" she tried to keep her concern at bay.

"Oh please, Bree, really! Grandmother ill?" the young woman seemed to wave away Briannon’s words as a chuckle escaped her control. "No, she is not ill. Her health is good, and I’m not certain why she would summon you. But I’m sure she’ll fill you in," the teen smiled impishly.

Aurore Tuscany was an image of angelic beauty. With light brown hair, round hazel eyes and high cheekbones, she held the genetic combination of diverse kinship. The one attribute not genetically inherited was her milk white complexion. At their visibly shared trait, the Irish lass ignored the younger woman’s skin color and gazed over her form. Like a nymph, Aurore’s slight frame showed the beginning of adolescent curves. Yet Briannon knew that despite her appearance, this immortal could be a challenging foe. Understanding this, she was careful around the clan matriarch’s granddaughter.

Seemingly reading Briannon’s thoughts, Aurore gave her a calculated look and leaned forward to whisper mischievously, "We should get together after your meeting with Grandmother!"

Aurore’s girlish charm caused the older immortal to lower her guard as a smile formed on her lips. "No, I’m sorry," the redhead had become accustomed to such flirtations.

"Oh, why not?" Aurore pouted as she ran her slender fingers over Briannon’s cheek and down her neck. "We could have so much fun together," she cooed as her lustful eyes fell over the red-haired woman’s bosoms.

"Aurore, I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I have to decline," Briannon insisted once again.

"It’s that mortal woman, isn’t it?" Aurore hissed in anger as she pulled away from the visitor. Her features changed to that of a hunter for a nanosecond but quickly returned to normal. With a frown, she angrily gazed at Briannon. "Why are you always with mortals? Mortals are only meant to be used as food! Why not try out one of your own for a change?" the anger etched every word. She quickly added with slight disgust in her voice, "I’ll wear Shannon’s trousers and shirt if it will inspire you."

As if being summoned, the slight frame of the man/boy appeared at the top of the spiraling staircase. Although older than he appeared, Shannon had crossed into the darkness after two decades of mortal life. Like Aurore, he appeared far younger than his true age.

Briannon glanced over the young man and noticed his finely chiseled bare chest glistening from body oil. His long blonde hair hung loosely over his shoulders. With each step he took his eyes scanned the room like a panther hunting its prey, taking everything in. Like magic he appeared to glide down the stairs and stood behind Aurore’s smaller frame. With their similar features they could have been mistaken for brother and sister instead of lovers.

"Not that it’s any of your business, but I have tried my own, Aurore," the redhead stated as her stony gaze fell over the two, "It is not to my tastes."

"Aha, yes, and tastes mean so much, do they not?" Aurore cooed as Shannon’s arms wrapped easily around her waist.

"How long will you keep this mortal?" Shannon’s blunt comment brought forth a frown to Briannon’s features. "After all, I heard they get…old when kept too long. You should take them younger; I know I have," he gave a toothy smile as he affectionately nipped at his shorter lover’s earlobe.

"Shannon, don’t upset things! I want her to join me in a romp," Aurore coquettishly giggled as she chastised the young man.

"I doubt you will ever succeed in that," a crisp exotic accent called their attention. Briannon turned from the two lovers and watched as a tall, ebony woman entered the room. It had been so long since she last saw Tamara’s radiant form that she could not help but smile. With light ash flesh and colorful, loose fitting garments, the African woman made her way down the spiraling staircase and stood beside Aurore’s smaller frame. Like familiar lovers, the women exchanged a long, drawn out kiss. When they pulled apart, the taller woman took Aurore’s hand in hers.

Tamara was poised like a proud Bantu queen. An easy smile showed her bright, white teeth. Although the red-head did not know the woman’s age, she could only guess that the tall, exquisite beauty was initiated when she was in her mid-twenties.

"Briannon is a woman not accustomed to our ways of shared love," Tamara’s voice was filled with compassion as she smiled at the two impish forms then back at the visitor.

"It is not a matter of being accustomed to shared love, it’s a matter of being accustomed to a single gender," Briannon spoke with an Irish brogue and her eyes lowered flirtatiously as she suppressed a smile.

"I stand corrected," the African woman nodded with a grin, and reached out her hands to embrace her friend. "It has been too long, sister. Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you Tamara. I thought you planned to not return for another year? Change of plans?" Briannon inquired with an arch of a brow.

"I missed my two birds," Tamara’s clipped accent stated with humor as she glanced at Aurore and Shannon. "I had not thought it at the time, but I’ve learned that I favor both genders."

"I’ve always favored both genders," Aurore giggled as she seductively wiggled her hips against Shannon, bent her body forward and allowed both women present an ample view of her pink nipples. At the desired effect upon Shannon’s body, Aurore feigned an expression of shock and pushed her young lover away looking reproachfully at him.

"Get away from me, you dog! Go use you hands; don’t expect me to sate your needs!" Aurore angrily stated then turned to her female lover. "You can’t give these men a single inch or they’ll take a mile!" the teen groused.

With a hurt expression, Shannon turned and walked slowly up the staircase. At his forlorn expression, Aurore smiled as she shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "Oh, but what a mile it is!" she wistfully said as her eyes remained on his ass. With only a sigh and a nod toward the visitor, the teen turned and ran up the stairs behind her lover.

"Shannon, wait! I’ll come with you," Aurora’s voice was girlishly sweet. Suddenly remembering something, she looked down at Briannon. "Men can be such dogs!" she chuckled as she ran her palm over Shannon’s firm butt cheeks. "But they can be so loyal," she added, then smiled before being swooped up in the young man’s arms and carried away.

"Tamara, don’t be too long. You know we can’t have fun without you!" Aurore giggled and called from over Shannon’s shoulder.

With a knowing smile, Tamara turned to Briannon. "It’s a pity you’re so exclusive," the Nubian remarked with a gleeful expression.

"If I ever become a free agent, you will be the first to know," the redhead promised as she ran her hand over the charcoal woman’s soft, cold cheek.

"I look forward to the night," was all Tamara said as she turned and walked seductively up the stairs.

Briannon had little time to contemplate the conversation. Before she could grow bored, the sliding wooden doors of the parlor opened. Madame Tuscany, family matriarch, was dressed in her familiar male garments. As the rumors stated, after the sudden and unexplained death of her spouse, the elder woman began to dress in her deceased husband’s style of clothing. Although the fashions might have changed, the old woman never was seen out of men’s clothes.

While most of the nightwalkers had been taken at young ages, Madame Tuscany had been initiated at an elderly age. Although the redhead could not speculate on her body’s actual age, she assumed that the matriarch was older than any of the Night People. The grande dame stood with a slight stoop. Her leather worn features and pale, coarse skin spoke of her years as an un-dead. Only when one looked deeply within her dark eyes was a vibrant youthfulness detected.

"Briannon, hija! I somehow knew to expect you today!" the elder gleefully smiled as she waved the woman toward her.

"Madame," the Irish lass, ever polite took the older woman’s hands in hers. She respectfully bent her head and kissed the cold, rough hands.

As a way to dismiss her actions, Madame Tuscany lightly tapped Briannon’s shoulder as she led her from the entryway. "Let’s dispense with formalities, shall we?" she smiled at her guest as she guided her into a room.

The room they entered was a large area that had a lit fireplace. Over the fireplace hung a single portrait of a man dressed in ancient clothes. Along the walls were built-in bookshelves that held a wide array of leather bound books. As if expecting them, a mortal female servant stood near the two chairs. Obediently, she poured two cups of warm red liquid from a silver kettle. After a nod from her mistress, the mortal turned and left the room. When the double doors closed Briannon turned her attention to her hostess.

"Did you notice the Victorian House next door?" the clan matriarch’s gruff voice asked as she stood by the window and gazed into the darkness.

"I’m afraid I didn’t," the Irish visitor apologized as she moved behind the woman.

"They’ve converted it into offices!" Madame Tuscany spat the word out. "Real estate offices, no less!" she groaned as she turned and made her way to the small table and chairs. "That’s all this world needs, more realtors!" the grand dame hissed as she sat in a high backed chair.

"Come, Briannon, sit!" Madame Tuscany commanded as she patted the second chair lightly. While the younger woman made her way across the room, the older woman took a china cup and drank some of the thick metallic liquid. "Mmmmm, perfect. Fresh!" the old woman gave a toothy smile as she licked the red tinge from the corner of her lips. "Please, help yourself," she instructed her guest.

Briannon took the second cup and drank the warm liquid. At the familiar taste she smiled as the sensations flowed down her throat. Although Sahar gave her all of the sustenance she required, sometimes a little refreshment could quench the slight thirst that tended to linger.

"This city used to be so grand," Madame Tuscany pulled the woman out of her thoughts. Turning her attention away from her drink, Briannon listened to the matriarch’s words.

"When I first came to the San Madrone area there were acres of land open and fresh. Back then the founding fathers had strict regulations on who and where a person could build. Back then, they never would have allowed San Madrone to change like this," Madame Tuscany lamented the song of the aged. With a shake of her head, the old matriarch looked up at her guest. Her eyes grew cold as seriousness crossed over her features, "They would have kept it pure…simple, do you follow me?" the elder squinted, her alert eyes holding Briannon’s captive.

"I believe I do, Madame," the Irish woman feigned understanding.

"Enough with the Madame bullshit! Either call me Grandmother or call me by my real name," the older woman’s tone grew soft as a smile softened her hard features.

"May I ask, what is your real name?" Briannon returned the smile as she took a sip of the warm blood.

Like a student trying to remember a lesson, the old woman leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. Her fingers lightly drummed against the leather chair even as her mind seemed in search of an answer. After a moment of thought the elderly woman shook her head and laughed. "Damned if I know!" she chortled, "I’ve been called Grandmother for so long that I’ve forgotten my real name!"

"I can understand how that can happen," Briannon hid her smile behind the cup of blood.

"No you don’t, not yet anyway. If you had been initiated when you were already old, when your mind was already on the verge of feebleness, then maybe you’d know. That’s our problem. We never age beyond the year we were initially taken. What good is eternity if you can’t remember a thing!" Madame Tuscany chortled then grew somber, "Me, I was taken so late in life that I was already beginning to forget things when I was still alive! Why, if it weren’t for my granddaughter and the servants I’d forget who I was and walk out into the sun!"

The elderly woman sighed as she shook her head sadly, and then, as if remembering something, she tilted her head and tapped her fingers against her chin. "Aurore isn’t actually my granddaughter. Oh, she’s a grandchild alright," Madame Tuscany answered her guest’s unspoken question, "I simply can’t remember how far down the line she goes…humm, I seem to forget," the wizened woman sighed and shook her head in confusion.

"Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we are familia - family," she smiled a toothy white smile at the redheaded woman. "Do you know what the word familia means?" the grande dame asked.

"I believe I do," Briannon answered as she absently sipped from the china cup.

"Good," Madame Tuscany seemed satisfied as she set her cup on the table and leaned back in her chair. In a casual manner she removed a black pipe from her coat pocket, and after striking a match, she lit the aromatic leaves, and inhaled deeply. As a floral scent filled the air, the elder sighed, and then turned her gaze to her guest.

"My husband, may the devil keep his soul," she shook her head, a deep-set frown crossed her features as she nodded toward an oil painting on the wall, "he was familia by marriage. He took me away from my kin when I was only a child of this high," she said as she held her wrinkled hand out to demonstrate how small she was. While waiting for a reaction, the grande dame deeply inhaled from the tip of the pipe. At Briannon’s shocked expression, the matriarch gave an affirmative nod as the rat-tat-tat sound was heard from the pipe’s stem

"Yes, I was only a niña, far too young to even know the ways between men and women," the aged woman leaned forward, removed the pipe from between puckered lips and held it loosely on the chair’s arm. "Mister Tuscany arrived with his band of thugs. They cared little for us and treated us all like slaves — worse! They treated their damned horses better than us!" her voice grew in volume as she leaned back, her frail body seemingly eaten by the large, leather chair. In a casual manner, the aged matriarch crossed her thin legs as a sigh escaped her control. "But, of course you’re probably aware of the Spanish exploration of Mexico, am I right?"

"I’m aware of it, yes, but I never actually visited the country at that time period." Briannon answered.

"Before your time?"

"Ummm," Briannon lowered her eyes as a way of avoiding the question. Although she had never questioned it before, she assumed that the grande dame was the oldest of the clan. Now, after learning of the era when she was brought over, the Irish woman realized that their matriarch was younger than her. Despite her discovery the visitor kept her silence. Ruling a clan, negotiating the various personalities was not a power she had ever desired, nor sought out. When she returned her gaze to the woman, she noticed a knowing smile.

"Of course," Madame Tuscany grinned; a slight twinkle in her eyes showed her understanding. Rather than discussing the matter further, the grande dame waved her hand in the air as she settled her pipe on a silver dish.

"So you understand where I was coming from. Here I was a poor Indian girl of Tenochca farmers, given, like an animal, to man of a band of invading thugs. I didn’t speak his language, didn’t know what to expect. Of course he took me that night, no fanfare, no romance; he just took me and didn’t care that I was only a child," sadness laced the old voice. "He took me every night after that," her eyes got a far away look.

Briannon watched, as the woman seemed to be reliving a time from long ago. Before she could respond, the tired voice began once more. "We traveled throughout the land, journeyed to places no one else explored, or so he bragged," a mocking laugh escaped the old woman’s control. "All the while I cooked, cleaned and carried his baggage. He took me whether I wanted him or not and treated me worse than his horse. In the end I birthed his children. Only four survived beyond childhood, three boys and one girl. The others.…" her voice grew solemn.

"Somewhere along the line he got it in his head that we should be married and give the boys a proper home, so he found a priest out in some small village and we were married. Years later, he grew tired of wandering the lands, so we settled in a village controlled by the Spaniards. Around that time he changed. Oh, not anything overt. He still beat me, still tormented me with words, but he changed," the old woman explained as her brows creased in concentration.

"He no longer went outside in the sun. He slept all day and left the house at night, which didn’t bother me. When he was gone it only meant that I’d have a good night’s sleep or maybe a few days of peace," Madame Tuscany chuckled.

"One night he decided that I should join him. After all, we were married, why not make it for an eternity!" the aged voice seemed to echo her late husband’s thoughts.

"He initiated you," Briannon voiced her next words.

"The bastard decided I needed an eternity of his pestering! Imagine it, me with my womb shriveled and my skin wrinkled, my memory not quite as sharp, and the bastard decided that I would remain like this forever!" her words took the Irish lass by surprise.

Without skipping a beat, Madame Tuscany continued. "He was not satisfied with beating me to my grave, no, he wanted to be able to beat me throughout eternity! I can tell you, it sure annoyed the piss out of me!"

Briannon felt confused by the tale. Now that she knew how young the matriarch was, she was still surprised by the woman’s honesty, and a part of her felt privileged to hear this story. By all appearances, everyone assumed that the matriarch cared deeply for her deceased husband. Everyone said that never a day passed when the grand dame wasn’t seen talking to the memory of her husband, she thought as her eyes glanced up at the large oil painting on the wall. Sensing her confusion, the matriarch smiled as she followed the visitor’s gaze. Dressed in fine garments, the stoic man seemed to stare down at them.

"You’re wondering, if he was the one to go first into the darkness, why is it that he’s gone and I’m still around?" Madame Tuscany smiled as she leaned back in satisfaction.

"The thought did cross my mind," Briannon nodded.

"Simple, it was all very simple," the wizened woman smiled slyly as she tilted her head. "I had quite a few years to think it through. I watched our mortal children go out and procreate children of their own and their children after them until I nearly lost track of who was who. I listened to my husband’s abusive words, and I put up with his beatings. Then one night while he was out cavorting with some mortal whore I drilled holes in his coffin!" the woman’s craggy laughter rang through the sitting room. Pleased by her own words, the elder slapped her own knee with the palm of her hand as she leaned back in the chair.

"Mind you, they weren’t big holes; no, nothing that he could have seen sober. If he had seen them, he would have beaten me until I was near death. No, I was more clever than that! I made the holes so small that he’d have to look for them in order to find them! Not only that, but once he retired for the day, I went in quietly and removed the curtains from all of the windows," a wistful smile crossed the wrinkled lips.

"So when he returned to sleep in the morning.…" Briannon saw the humor in the matriarch’s story.

"Yep, by the time our servants opened his coffin, they found him completely burned to ashes!" Madame Tuscany’s laughter was contagious. "We put his ashes in a jar and left it on the mantelpiece and that’s where he’s been ever since, safe in the vase above the fireplace!" she chuckled as she nodded at the blue vase sitting on the mantel.

For a moment they shared in the humor. As Briannon gazed at the stoic figure in the oil painting she noticed a difference within the man’s eyes. Like a castrated dog, the man’s features seemed to gaze down at them forlornly.

"Things are never what they seem sometimes, are they?" the elder’s wizened voice turned solemn.

"So tell me, hija, what does familia mean, and who qualifies under the word?" Madame Tuscany asked softly as she leaned toward her immortal guest. "Is that man in the painting part of my familia? Is the man who is responsible for both my greatest joys, and my deepest misery, my familia?" she asked as she leaned back in the chair. Her eyes grew serious as she held the younger woman’s gaze, "What about you Briannon; who is your family?" The seriousness of her question was the only sound heard in the room.

"I-I…hadn’t really thought about it," the redhead lowered her gaze as she set the empty teacup on a silver platter. "I imagine I might have some family left on the Isle, some kin ties, but it’s been so long ago that the ties would be diluted by now," she thought about it for a moment, "I guess I have no family."

"Wrong, you have family! They’ve been with you all along. They’re right under your nose, but it’s up to you to see them because they’re not going to come out looking for you," the woman smiled as she reached out a bony hand and lightly tapped Briannon’s arm.

"I am your familia. Aurore is your familia, even Shannon. We people of the night, we are all each other’s relations now that our ties have been broken with the mortals. Sometimes we even view those who initiated us as our kin. Since we certainly have nothing in common with the mortals anymore, doesn’t it seem reasonable for all night people to view each other as kin?" Madame Tuscany asked, but did not wait for a response.

"The mortals see us as alien, monsters who stalk their night dreams. They don’t understand that we are not those creatures written about in books, nor are we phantoms out to cause harm. We have a purpose on this earth, just as they do. Perhaps our purpose isn’t all together clear, but we are here, we do exist for a reason. Otherwise why were we created?" the old woman asked Briannon.

The Irish woman felt confused. She had never thought about family and belonging. She prided herself on her ability to be self-sufficient in all ways but one. At this thought she envisioned her servant’s smiling face. Sahar was mortal yet she was closer than anyone else. As if reading her mind, the withered woman gently patted her arm.

"Sometimes even mortals can be familia; especially those who understand us and accept what it is that we are," the aged voice was a hushed whisper.

"Briannon, what matters most to you?" Madame Tuscany’s voice grew serious. "Do you really care so much about acquired wealth and status? Are you still searching for the soul of your first love?"

The Irish woman felt taken aback by the old matriarch’s question. She had always been discrete, never allowing her personal life or desires to be aired in public. Like a government spy, she kept her thoughts, her searching a carefully guarded secret.

Sensing her confusion, the elderly woman smiled as she retrieved her still lit pipe from the plate. "Oh, I know everything that goes on with my children," her tender voice said. "Yes, although I didn’t initiate any of you, to me you are as much my child as Aurore and the others are. Only Aurore is blood kin and she is like a daughter. I know everything about that child, what she thinks, what she desires — everything," the grande dame stated. "Does it not make sense that I would know everything about all of you? For instance I know that Anecita craves the love of a mortal who, in all likelihood, will not choose to follow where she goes. It’s not that her love for Anecita is weak. It’s simply that her love of life, all life, is greater," Madame Tuscany explained with a soft voice. As a way to collect her thoughts she leaned back and gazed downward into her lap.

"I also know that Aurore harbors a deep jealousy. It is a jealousy which may eat her very soul," the old woman sighed and shook her head. As if to end her train of thoughts, she looked directly into Briannon’s eyes.

"I know that Destiny and her gang of motorcycle vamps take great delight in living like the night creatures from the Bram Stoker’s novel. All night she and her fellow bikers fly around town scaring the poor mortals out of their wits, then they return to the abandoned warehouse by day to live in the darkness like bats!" the matriarch chuckled, and then shook her head in delight.,

"If I know so much about your sisters, doesn’t it stand to reason that I know about your need to find your first love?" Madame Tuscany asked as she sucked on the pipe. The smell of smoldering rose petals wafted in the air. "I’m also very much aware of the mortal who shares your life."

"I-I.…" Briannon felt at a loss for words. She heard the older woman’s underlying meaning and felt the beating of her heart pounding within her ears. Afraid of her own voice, the Irish woman lowered her gaze.

"You care for your mortal caretaker, don’t you?"

"Yes," she heard a whisper that sounded like her own.

"Yet you’re afraid to initiate her?"

Briannon closed her eyes as the dam of emotions suddenly burst open. She saw the images of all the others who had joined her and was reminded of the shared joys and sorrows. Unable to speak she sighed as she leaned back in the chair. Like a frightened child, she shook her head at the thoughts racing through her mind. "It’s not that easy," she half smiled as she gazed at the older woman, a trace of a tear threatening to fall down her cheek. She saw the kind wisdom within the dark Aztec eyes and was aware of the empathic bond they shared.

Understanding her fears, the woman smiled as she set her pipe aside and took Briannon’s hand in her own. "Nothing worthwhile is ever very easy. The only easy choice is cloistering yourself away, pining over and searching for a mortal who may never come your way again. Oh, yes," Madame Tuscany nodded as if she knew Briannon’s thoughts.

"You could go to every one who resembles your love and with your great beauty you could capture their heart, but then what? Are you so bent on turning away someone who cares deeply for you all in hopes of being able to initiate the one that you think is your love? What if your first love never comes and you have turned away the one who can help you live through this long cursed life of ours?" the wise woman asked. "You see, either way, it’s a dilemma, this craving of yours," the matriarch stated with a sigh.

As an afterthought, Madame Tuscany stared deeply into her visitor’s eyes as she asked the next question, "Briannon, what if she never returns to you?" Her words were clear and neutral.

The redheaded woman thought over the questions. Intellectually she knew what she should say, yet doubt caused her to hesitate. She was uncertain if she would ever find Devin again. If their kind could reincarnate, was it possible for her lover to be so near, so close to her again?

With only a sigh, the Irish lass smiled as she turned her gaze to the old woman. "Grandmother, do you think we have a soul? Do you believe there is a place for us?" she asked.

"After this life?" Madame Tuscany understood her unspoken thoughts. Her eyes remained intent as she leaned back in her chair. She seemed to contemplate her words carefully before speaking her thoughts.

"If nature is the soul’s expressive act, and we are a part of nature — good or bad, then yes. It stands to reason that even we, the creatures of the night, have souls," the aged woman stated confidently.

"Then you believe that when our time here is finally over, our spirits, our souls, will return again as mortals to live our lives over?" after asking the question, Briannon found herself hanging on to the elder woman’s words.

The corner of the grande dame’s lips curved into a smile as she leaned back in her chair. Her eyes grew to slits as she contemplated her visitor’s words. For what seemed an eternity in time, the elder gazed at the farthest wall. With a slight smile, she turned to the immortal and nodded, "I believe that there is a place for us. Do we return as mortals again?" She shook her head and folded her hands in her lap, "That, I’m afraid, I do not know."

Hearing her words, Briannon’s lips grew into a thin frown as she rose from the chair. In a nervous manner, she slowly paced the length of the room. "I know this may sound foolish, but I do believe that the souls of the damned can be reborn again. And I believe that Devin is out there…somewhere! Sometimes I feel that she is so close that I could reach out and touch her," the redheaded woman stated as she returned to sit on the edge of her chair. "I believe that when I find her I can awake her memories."

Madame Tuscany frowned as she leaned toward Briannon, "And if the one you seek turns out to be right under you nose? Would you so easily discard Sahar to follow your plans?"

After a moment of thought Briannon looked the old woman in the eyes, "If I found the woman who housed my beloved’s spirit and I was certain that Devin’s memories could be awoken, I would go to her regardless."

"How would you be sure that you have the right one?" the wise woman asked.

"I wouldn’t be certain, I couldn’t guarantee anything. I would simply hope that I was able to trust my intuition," Briannon said.

Madame Tuscany remained silent. The Irish woman heard the distant clock ticking away the minutes. With a slight nod, the older woman gazed at her guest, "If you found her, would you really want to awake her memories?"

"Yes, more than anything, I want Devin back!" Briannon stated with conviction.

"And if you awoke her memories? What then?"

Briannon lowered her eyes. She knew what she intended to do. She had spent so many days making her plans, and if by some small miracle she found the woman who held the spirit of her love she would stop at nothing to get her back.

"When you find her, how could you be certain that she will not turn on you? Could you really trust such mortal with your own existence?"

"I’ve trusted Sahar enough to put my life in her hands," Briannon said without thought.

At her words Madame Tuscany seemed pleased. With a smile she inhaled deeply as she gently squeezed the other woman’s hand. Like a teacher delighted with her pupil, she leaned back with a satisfied expression. "Yes, you have trusted Sahar, a mortal, with your life, and she has given you many years of her life," was all she said.

Confused by the train of thoughts, Briannon turned her gaze away from the woman. She understood where the line of questioning would lead. As if afraid of the truth, the guest turned her thoughts inward. "It’s not time for Sahar," she tried to explain. "She is not the one. In the beginning I thought perhaps my search was at an end, but I was mistaken." She shook her head as she tried to explain her reasons behind denying the Persian’s request. "I was mistaken to think Sahar was the one," Briannon said.

"No, perhaps not now, but someday," the older woman countered. "When you are lonely and need familia, think about what I said. Remember who is truly close to you. Remember where your real ties lie. It is folly to throw away someone who is right in your line of sight in order to move toward the distant treasure because once you have that treasure, another one is just on the horizon," the matriarch whispered.

"I know; I understand what you say, Grandmother," Briannon was unable to hide the sorrow in her voice.

Sensing her pain, the elder leaned toward her and lightly touched the redhead’s hand. "Briannon, if you cannot find the one that you lost, don’t ever feel that you are alone. Do not ever forget that your familia, your family, is here for you. Sahar is there for you, all you need to do is ask," her wrinkled face smiled.

"You speak like you’re not going to be around," Briannon felt the nervousness rise to her throat.

Without an overt expression, Madame Tuscany nodded agreement. "This is because I will not be here," her voice seemed tinged with fatigue, "That is why I hoped you would come today. You and only you will know of this."

"You’re not ill? There isn’t anyone hunting you. If there is, tell us and we will end their hunt!" Briannon’s voice grew angry.

"No, no child. I’m not ill, nor am I hunted," Madame Tuscany stated. "It’s simply a dream. It was a dream where we, the children of the night, are gathered together in a circle and I cannot see myself," the woman’s eyes narrowed as she recalled the dream once more. "After the gathering all of you separate and scatter to the winds. I hate to seem egotistical but I believe that once I am gone you will all disappear across the land and our familia will be no more."

"And in your dream I went…."

"To another place in search of something you lost long ago. I wish to spare you the pain of discovery, if I can. I hope to show you what is right before your eyes before I leave," the old woman smiled slightly.

Briannon felt the weight of their conversation. Suddenly fatigued, she leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes as the pain of loss filled her being. Her thoughts took in all the news. She was aware of the distant clock chiming in the hallway.

Filled with understanding, Madame Tuscany gently held her hand. "Anything worthwhile will take you effort to cultivate. If it’s familia you want, go after it! If it’s Sahar, go to her! But don’t let it slip away from you! Sahar may not be the Devin you remember, but I’d wager that her love and loyalty are unfailing. A stranger without a shared history with you may not be as loyal to you. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?" she asked Briannon.

With a slight smile, the lass nodded understanding as she gazed into the woman’s dark eyes. "I believe I do," was all she said.

Pleased by her response, Madame Tuscany nodded as she glanced at the nearby clock. Like the rabbit in Wonderland, she removed her pocket watch and compared the time. "My, my, where does time go?" the wise woman tsked as she returned her watch to her pocket. "Briannon, it is late, hija. You should return before the sun rises," she advised as she rose from her chair. Understanding her concern, the visitor stood and followed the smaller woman from the room. For the first time the Irish woman noticed how frail she now seemed.

"Briannon, thank you…." Madame Tuscany seemed at a loss for words.

"No, Grandmother," Briannon used the title knowing that this woman was indeed worthy to be their clan matriarch. "Thank you for showing me the way," she replied as she took the older hand between her palms, "I’m very grateful, really I am!"

Hearing the sincerity of her words, the grande dame’s eyes seemed to well with tears. To dismiss the sentimentality, the older woman brushed her hand through the air as she shooed her visitor toward the door.

Sensing the matriarch’s embarrassment, the redheaded woman smiled as she waved goodbye and made her way toward the open patio. "You will call if you need anything?" she called back at the slight form standing in the doorway.

"Yes, you will be notified," the slight voice answered.

With little else to add Briannon turned and made her way toward the open grassy area of the estate. Just as she did before, she began to concentrate on the powers from within. As she felt the transformation take hold, she closed her eyes to the oncoming wind. The feel of her arms suddenly grew light as she transformed herself into a bird of prey. Accustomed to the flight, she allowed herself to gracefully soar over the city as she thought over the old woman’s words.

Although Briannon had not explained the whole story to the matriarch, the elder knew her thoughts. She seemed to feel her pain and indecision and with just a few chosen words, she helped Briannon clear up her thoughts. The immortal was not certain what she would do. She was not sure if she should acquiesce to Sahar’s request and bring her over, but at least she would consider everything that Madame Tuscany had said.

When Briannon saw the familiar green grass of her land, she flew over the familiar trail. As the light of dawn slowly ascended, she noticed the figure running along the trail. With the mastiff in tow, her mortal lover jogged along the trail near their home.

Inwardly smiling, the bird of prey flew past her lover and toward her home. As she began to gently glide downward, her human body slowly took shape. Once she landed her talons transformed to feet, and she sighed as the magical powers altered her back to her previous state. Glancing above her, she smiled and stood quietly under the twinkling night stars. As she walked across the dew-covered lawn, she turned back in time to see the first rays of sun glinting over the distant mountain. She noticed the distant sky turning a lavender shade of blue and watched as the darkness began to disappear.

The immortal quickly made her way into the protection of her home. Once inside, she draped her coat over a leather chair and moved toward the windows. With a single flick of the remote control, the shutters slowly opened to reveal the vast grassland in front of the house. When she saw her mortal lover jogging up the hill, she broke into a smile as she crossed her arms.

Sahar saw her standing in the home, the shutters that once closed up the windows now acted as awnings that reflected the sun away from the windows. They both knew that as long as she remained within the protective shadows of the home, Briannon would be safe from the rays of the sun. Confident with the engineering of her house, she smiled as she moved to sit in a soft chair near the glass window.

The Persian lover waved at her. The sweat from her morning jog fell heedlessly down her brows. Her short sleeved tee shirt was soaked along the back and under the arms. At this very display of humanness, Briannon felt her desire mounting. Unaware of her thoughts, Sahar grabbed something from the grass, and began to run in front of the window. In their usual play routine, Nafi began to bark before he chased after his mistress in hopes of capturing his prized ball from her grip. The immortal woman leaned back in her chair and watched as the human and dog played their game of tug-of-war

From as far back as Briannon could remember she had always been this way. When in Ireland, she strived for more. The lass could never be satisfied with what she had and she realized that she longed to find a place — a people to call her own.

At this thought Briannon continued to watch her lover at play. Like a rock suddenly hitting the surface of a pond, she heard the words of the clan matriarch echoing in her mind. She realized for the first time that her cravings were unnecessary. The immortal now understood that she’s always had what she was looking for.

Searching for a soul long gone was only a time consuming venture that would, in all likelihood, prove fruitless. She finally understood that all she needed were family ties and someone to love. The love she longed for was found in Sahar. The family ties were in the children of the night. With this realization in mind, Briannon smiled as she gazed upon the woman who could save her life.

part 3

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