By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero

Rated: NC-17, not intended, or suitable for children.

Violence: There is a scene of domestic abuse in this chapter. If you have a friend who is going through this, just continue to offer your support by being a friend. If you recognize yourself in some of this, then always know that help is there for you. There is a way out of your situation and you are not alone. http://www.ndvh.org/

Sexual Violence: Nope, none in this chapter.

Vampire Violence: It is a vampire story, so of course there's going to be some fang action.

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

Ana bahebik owie (Arabic) - I love you very much.

Habebtee (Arabic) - My heart. Used as a term of affection.

Hijab (Arabic) - Women's head covering.

Jân (Farsi) - Love, as in my love.

Mensos (Spanish) - Stupid.

Motashakkeram (Farsi) - Thank you.

Mujer (Spanish) - Girlfriend

Shab bekheir (Farsi) - Goodnight.

The orange glow from the early morning sun sent warmth over her bare skin. The lone figure wore a white tank top with a white sports bra under it and dark blue jogging shorts with comfortable running shoes. After her early morning jog, Sahar returned to the house. As she sat on the lush green grass, she watched in silence as the dawn ate the darkness in the sky. By her side Nafi, her mastiff guard dog, seemed to smile his toothy grin as he excitedly wagged his tail. In an absent manner she reached over and lightly scratched the fur on his head.

Each morning was always the same for Sahar. Knowing that Briannon was safely resting the day away in her coffin, Sahar spent her mornings, and most of the days, in solitude. Sometimes her mistress would stay awake during the day to keep her company. But most days, the mortal was left alone to her own devices.

As the night sounds of crickets gave way to the song of the morning doves, Sahar watched the changing colors around her. When the morning sun cast its first rays upon her flesh, she closed her eyes and basked in its warmth. She began contemplating the changes in her life. Her past childhood in Iran was all but a faint memory. The feel of the hijab that she had to wear when she became a teen was like a dream of someone else's life, not hers. Now at the age of thirty, she began to wonder where her life path would lead. Although she knew her past, the Persian was not certain of her future. With a tired sigh, she closed her eyes to the bright morning glare as her memories took her back to that time from long ago.…

With little hope for a future, Sahar left her home for America where she had no friends or relatives. She felt that she had little choice. With her older brother dead since the war, her family was left to try to survive in the harsh regime of a religious fanatic. If they had been poor farmers during the Shah's rule, they would have faired better, but her grandparents had been educators. With their status they had sent their children to the finest schools in America in order that they could bring their knowledge home. But once the children returned and married, and the politics of the government changed, their world was turned upside down. Their once liberal government was overturned in the blink of an eye, or so the story was told. Sahar was only five when the Shah was sent into exile, and although she was too young to remember the details, she knew that their lives would never be the same.

The country was sent into turmoil. Sahar's mother, a once beautiful fashion model, was forced to cover up when in public. Although a Harvard educated doctor Sahar's father, the second son of her grandparents, worked for meager wages. When not fighting to keep his patients alive, her father had to fight the dreaded Khomeini regime and the unruly band of Shi'ite thugs. They all seemed to know that at one time his parents had been well known professors, and he was branded an American sympathizer. If it had only been the taunts, her brave father might have withstood their abuse. But many times he came home nose bloody, eyes blackened and body bruised. Sahar's mother would weep as she tried to clean his wounds.

Sometimes when it seemed like he could take no more, Sahar's father would turn on her mother. At first, it began with his shouts but quickly led to his beatings. Sahar remembered the number of times when the sounds of her mother's screams rose through the house followed by the sound of her father's fists hitting, slapping and beating her until there was only silence. Once, when it seemed that the abuse was going on for too long, her older brother, Hamish, tried to intercede. At sixteen he was taller than anyone Sahar had ever known, but he was no match for the fury of their father's rage.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, Hamish left and was never heard from again until the uniformed men arrived at their door. Sahar's mother had not said it openly, but she blamed their father for her son's death. If he had not beaten her, then her son would not have tried to defend the mother. Had Hamish not failed in his attempt, the young boy would not have felt the need to join the Khomeini's army in hopes of growing physically stronger.

Hamish died in the Iran-Iraq war when Sahar was thirteen years old. Although he had been gone for only a few years, she was already beginning to forget his face. As the family mourned his loss, she saw a picture of her brother on the kitchen table. So grief stricken was her family that they didn't even notice when she secreted away her brother's passport. Night after night she sat by the single light and stared at the image of her older brother. In the daytime, she hid his passport in a crack between her floor and the wall.

At the time, Sahar did not know that this single act would one day save her life, but it did on her sixteenth birthday. Under the Khomeini regime, girls were only educated in the holy Qu'ran and wifely duties. By day she was taught how to tend to a house, make food and care for infants with the intent that one day she would be wed. But by night her grandparents would close the curtains, and in hushed words they would teach her all that they could. In addition to the studies that were once their specialty, she learned some French, the language that her grandmother knew. From her grandfather, she learned not only to speak but also to read and write Arabic, and from her mother, she quickly picked up the English words that had enabled the former model to move through the streets of London.

Although they were teaching Sahar many subjects, her relatives knew that her father could never know. They understood that if he were ever to be picked up again by the Shi'ites, that their beatings might cause him to betray their nightly lessons. As far as he knew, they were only teaching her what would be useful to a wife.

The idea of being married, although alien, was not repugnant to Sahar but it was something that she hoped she would have a voice in. But as was the case with her family they not only had no choice, but they also could not voice their objections in the matter. Unbeknownst to her, a leading Imam had spotted her in the market. Although he already had a handful of wives, they apparently were not enough to keep the old man busy. The choice that her family had was simple. She would marry the old man or her father would go to prison. In exchange for her compliance, her male cousin, Harish, would be given special papers and a passport to travel to Europe in order to be educated. His family would remain in Iran to insure that he would return.

Sahar felt that a death sentence had been issued. The idea of such an old man, someone older than her grandfather, touching her caused her stomach to lurch. In a panicked state, she kept her silence while her mind churned with ideas. A week before the wedding, she knew what had to be done.

As the large family gathered in the farthest part of the house, Sahar went to her cousin's room and searched through his belongings. When she found the special government papers, she saw his passport stamped with a French and American visa along with a thick envelope. Glancing over her shoulder, she made certain that she would go undetected, and then slowly opened the envelope.

They would have surly heard Sahar's gasp of surprise had she not been alone. Never in her life had she seen such large amounts of cash, all of it foreign currency. When a small paper fell out, she read the note that was written to her older cousin.

Harish,

Your assistance in this marriage has not gone unnoticed. May Allah bless your education!

When Sahar realized what her cousin had done, her anger began to boil. But rather than bring his actions to light, she took the envelope and paper and secreted them away. Later that night when the house was dark she took the document that would be her ticket to freedom and carefully altered the single lettering. Then, in her best effort, she replaced the marking with the one that matched her dead brother's name. From there all she had to do was to cut her long hair.

It was at this point that an unexpected noise caught Sahar's attention. Turning from the mirror she stood face to face with her grandmother's shocked expression. At first she thought the woman was going to call the others awake, but instead she shook her head and moved to Sahar. After sitting Sahar down in front of her, the old woman took out some proper scissors and carefully cut her hair as she always did with the male cousins. As the old woman's hands snipped away her identity, the tears slowly flowed down the withered woman's cheeks.

When it was over, the grandmother took a strand of Sahar's hair and held it to her heart. "You must go tonight," she said even as the girl looked at her reflection in the mirror in shock. "But wait!" the old woman whispered as she quickly left the room. After a short time, her grandmother returned to her room with a package in hand, "Here, here, this was to be your brother's, now, Sahar jân, it is yours."

When she opened the package, Sahar saw a new suit carefully folded. Shocked by her grandmother's actions, the young girl felt her tears slowly falling. Suddenly angered, the elder woman shook her head as she wiped Sahar's face. "Shush, boy, don't be such a girl! You are leaving your family to go to school. You must be happy. Now quickly, dress before you miss your flight!" she ordered.

Sahar acted on pure adrenaline. She quickly threw together a few clothes, but when her grandmother saw what she was doing, she shook her head. A slight tsking sound came from the aged woman as she pulled the women's clothes from the suitcase. "No, no, my grandchild, not those clothes! They will inspect your bags when you leave. Take only these," the old woman admonished as she began to fill the travel bag with Hamish's clothes.

Once packed, Sahar quickly grabbed her single sketchpad and followed her grandmother through the quiet house. When they stopped at the end of the home, the teen glanced at the door of her parents' room but remained frozen as her grandmother gave her a warning glance. "No one must know," she whispered as she continued to lead her toward the dark entryway. When they stepped outside Sahar was surprised to see her grandfather waiting by the old, battered Mercedes. He nodded as he gave a toothless smile.

"But I thought?" the girl turned to her grandmother even as the old man took her bag and put it in the back seat.

"No one else must know but your grandfather and me. We are too old for them to do anything with," the shorter woman smiled and for a moment Sahar thought she saw a twinkle in the old woman's eyes. "Now go quickly, and study hard," she whispered as the girl entered the passenger's side.

Through the streets of Tehran Sahar listened to everything that her grandfather said. He gave her instructions on how to act on the plane and how to remain silent until it was safe. Most importantly, he taught her how to be quiet and respectful when in front of a government official.

At one checkpoint where they were pulled over, Sahar grew fearful when she saw the Shi'ite soldiers waiving their guns, but her grandfather quickly took control. In a nonstop chatter he told the guards that his grandson had received special permission from the Ayatollah Khalaf to go abroad for studies. Even as the guard was looking at the paperwork, her grandfather pulled her sketchpad out and began to show the man the various sketches of buildings that she had drawn. But when the man glanced down, he only mumbled something as he handed them back the paperwork, and then waved them by.

That night brought many close calls, but her grandfather seemed to talk his way out of every situation. At the ticket counter the old man spoke softly to the man behind the counter. Occasionally he pointed to Sahar as a wide smile crossed his lips. Then, with ticket in hand, he returned and continued to walk with her to the waiting chairs. When they sat waiting for the plane he spoke softly to his granddaughter. He assured her that the family would be well as long as they knew that she was free to study.

When it came time to board the plane Sahar could not help but shed tears because she knew that she might not ever see her family again. Understanding her sorrow, her grandfather cupped her face before he laid a soft kiss on each cheek. Always free with his smile, he looked deeply into her eyes as his own silent tears shed. "Go, my grandson, and learn well. Make us proud," he had said before he pushed her to the waiting attendant.…

In this manner, Sahar became a runaway at the age of sixteen. Although she had no family or friends in America, it was the first place to which she thought to run. She could not have explained her reasons except to say that her brother, Hamish, had always talked of going to America. So when her KLM flight landed in Amsterdam she wasted little time in exchanging her Paris bound flight for one headed to San Francisco, California.

Upon arriving on the west coast of America, Sahar had the good fortune to meet Briannon. The strange woman was like something out of an American glamour magazine. Wearing an all white pant suit with tan high-heeled shoes that she later learned were Valentino Garavani and a matching tan purse, the smaller woman held an air of sophistication. The white wrap over her shoulders lent to her exoticism. When the young teen looked closer at the woman she felt an unfamiliar stirring as she gazed at the smaller beauty's long, wavy red hair and her milk white complexion. Her delicate nose over full pouting lips brought out a feeling that Sahar had never felt. When Sahar looked into the woman's intense green eyes, she felt her breath being taken away. She knew from this first glance that this stranger held much power.

While Sahar felt an underlying fear toward her mysterious savior, she felt pity for her. She knew, although she could not voice it, that this woman was not a whole person. The small woman appeared as if she was missing a part of her soul. Only later did the Persian teen learn that Briannon had lost the person who loved her dearly. In a miscalculation that proved beneficial for Sahar, Briannon had thought that the runaway was the embodiment of the woman she once knew.

As if it were only yesterday, the Persian allowed her memories to take her back to their first meeting. The moment an old man in the airport called her by her brother's name, Sahar began to panic. If it had not been for Briannon, she might have inadvertently revealed herself. Thankfully, the mysterious woman stepped before her to save her from being discovered.

The moment Sahar gazed at the stranger, she felt an unfamiliar feeling deep within her stomach. Obviously a woman of wealth, Briannon was filled with a silent courage that brought awe to the Persian teen. Although short, the woman's bearing held unbridled power. At the sight of Briannon's beautiful features, Sahar felt her heart beat out of control as her palms grew suddenly wet. She remembered the open reverence she felt toward her savior. Once inside the stranger's luxurious car, Sahar listened carefully to the woman's speech. Although she was not as familiar with the English language, her Arabic was able to decipher what Briannon was asking.

"…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?" Briannon had asked the teen.

For Sahar the choice was simple. She had nowhere to go, her language was limited and since she had arrived on her brother's passport she was technically an illegal alien. The risk of being sent home to face the punishment of the Khomeini regime wiped away any apprehensions she might have held. So on that day she accepted this stranger's help.

Throughout the long ride back to the woman's home, the young woman could feel the stranger watching her. Sometimes it felt as if she was searching within Sahar's mind. But each time the teen sensed it, she brushed the idea away as mere nonsense. After all, no one can read a person's mind, her innocent thoughts assured.

"This is the city of San Madrone. Have you heard of San Madrone before?" the stranger had asked as the car whisked over the busy freeway and past the multitude of city lights.

Sahar had turned her attention from the window to the smaller woman sitting beside her. With a brow arched in a question, her mind slowly translated the woman's words. It was then that the stranger smiled slightly, her rosy red lips curved so beautifully that the young teen felt an unfamiliar stirring between her legs.

"Never mind. As time goes by, you'll begin to understand me more," Briannon sighed as she turned her attention to the window.

Once or twice, Sahar heard what sounded like a whisper. At first it was so low that she almost missed it. But once it was heard, she could not mistake the words that were said. Is it you? The invading question entered her thoughts. When Sahar would look at her new mistress the woman remained silent, her eyes ever watchful.

Later, when Briannon took her to the small servant's room in the farthest area of the house, Sahar remained silent as the mistress was showing her around. "This will be your room. The facilities are here, and I'm sure you'll find everything that you need…shampoo, soaps, towels. If there is anything special you need, you can make a list, and I'll make sure you have it," Briannon spoke quickly, almost too fast for the girl's mind to translate. "This bed is brand new. You will be the first to sleep in it. The television is right there," the woman touched a single button by the bed and the wall opened to reveal a hidden television. "Eventually you'll understand how to use it."

While Sahar took in the lavish room, Briannon's ominous presence bore down on her. Like a customer, the woman's eyes glanced over her. As she paced before Sahar, her gaze held the Persian girl captive. After a moment of silence she stared deeply into the teen's eyes. "Is it you?" Sahar heard Briannon's hushed words, but did not understand her.

Confused by the question the girl nervously gulped as she averted her eyes. At this move, Briannon reached under her chin and forced their eyes to meet. "Child, are you the one?" the woman's strange accent asked again.

Unable to speak, Sahar backed slowly away from the woman. While a part of her was confused, another part was afraid. Her mind frantically tried to decipher what the stranger was asking, even as the shorter woman stared up at her. "Do you remember me? Is it you?" the questions continued.

With only a shake of her head, Sahar pinned herself against the wall. As if sensing her fears, the woman retreated long enough to allow the girl to calm herself. When it seemed as if Briannon's strange behavior was gone, the Persian girl glanced up at her mistress who was looking at her intently.

"Tomorrow you'll get a proper haircut," Briannon said as her fingers reached up and touched her hair. When Sahar felt the woman's deathly cold fingers against her cheek, she looked sharply at the woman. At the chillingly cold touch, she began to wonder about this strange person before her.

"I sleep by day, so keep quiet during these hours. By night is when I work. If I have need of you to perform a task, you'll receive a message," the smaller woman stated as she quickly moved away. When the small beauty stood at the door, her head bent in thought, Sahar took in her features. She noticed how her brows arched delicately over almond shaped eyes. Her nose, small and angled seemed to compliment her rosy red lips.

As if hearing her thoughts, Briannon looked up at her. A smile curved her lips and her gaze grew soft. Sahar noticed the woman's pouting lips slightly apart and the way the tip of Briannon's tongue lightly traced her own lips even as a smile crossed them.

"Shab bekheir, Sahar," the redheaded woman tilted her head slightly, her radiant smile causing the Persian's heart to skip a beat.

When Sahar realized that her mistress was waiting, she gulped and quickly pulled herself together. "Shab bekheir, Mistress Briannon…G-Goodnight," she nodded as she tried to master the foreign language.

That was the first night in her new home. True to her word, the mistress was never seen again, except late in the evenings. Even then, Briannon was only seen walking back and forth within her office, her voice low and flowing as she issued orders to unknown people on the other end of the phone. For many months the only way that Sahar knew of her employer's requests was through the messages delivered from her assistant, Michael.

Michael was a small little man who walked with a funny gait. Unlike the men of her country, this man cared greatly about his appearance. Like a little peacock, he would spend most of his days primping his hair, face and nails. On truly disturbing days, he would have a woman come in and fix his toenails. Every time he had this done, he insisted that Sahar have the same treatment. At first she tried to balk, but when he stated that it was the mistress' orders, she felt compelled to comply.

In Sahar's mind, Michael's only purpose was to continually remind her of where she came from, and how she would never be good enough for the madam. Even when he took her to purchase the clothes that she would wear, his slight comments never went unnoticed. After a while the Persian girl began to believe him because, after so many months of not seeing the woman, she wondered if perhaps the mistress had second thoughts about having her around. A few times she thought of trying to go out and find her own way in this country. However when she realized that she knew no one and still had difficulty with the language, she chose to work even harder.

The first thing Sahar tried to do was to keep Briannon's house tidy. She kept the house spotless and the yard immaculate, but this quickly ended. With his scolding tone and biting words, Michael chastised her for performing such menial labor. "That is what the maid and gardener are for!" he exclaimed as he paced in front of her. Never before had she seen the sweat break on his forehead as it did this day. With a red, puffy face he explained that the mistress had heard about her antics and that she was very upset. Briannon did not want Sahar's hand calloused like a day laborer, and she did not want the smell of disinfectants lingering around her.

After that day Sahar could do nothing but try to find ways to occupy herself. Although she had not brought many things with her, the one cherished item she had was her sketchbook. Every time while she watched American television, she would sketch little images within her book. Knowing that she did not have many pages, she was careful to ration out the space. When every page was full, she began to sketch images on the back of the pages that were already used. Once, when her book was almost full and she wondered what she would use next, she returned to her room before nightfall to find some items on her bed.

Sahar did not know how the tablets, pencils and charcoals arrived on her bed. As she glanced over the items a smile crossed her lips. Never before had she seen so many different types of papers. Each tablet had a different texture and the pencils were not like any she had ever used. The charcoals, unlike what was found in her country, were of the highest grade.

When the shock wore off, Sahar went out into the dark house. She called out to Michael but he was nowhere to be found. After seeing his car missing from the parking area she knew that it was only herself and the mistress in the house. She instantly went to Briannon's office, but found it empty and dark. As she stood in the center of the room she held a tablet in her hands. A slight smile crossed her lips before she looked out at the darkness of the room. "Motashakkeram…thank you," she spoke out loud, hoping that her mistress would hear her.

With nothing else to do with her time, Sahar spent the days sketching and the evenings watching television. It was some months later when she began the habit of running every morning. When she began to feel her new clothes fitting tighter around the middle, she took matters into her own hands. With only her tattered shoes, she took her brother's old pants and cut them into shorts. Wearing one of his tee shirts that she still had in her suitcase, she would go out early in the morning and run around the property line. It only took a few days before her brother's ill-fitting dress shoes began to cause blisters, but she didn't care. Simply jogging gave her a satisfaction she had never felt before, so she reasoned that cleaning up the bloody blisters at night was a small price to pay. After a week of running in that state, Michael instructed her that he was to take her to town for more shopping.

Filled with dread Sahar complied and went with the man thinking that she was going to be subjected to an exclusive tailor who had her try on the men's suits that Briannon ordered. To her surprise Michael took her to an American mall. If she had not been so interested in observing the shoppers, she would have noticed his disdain as he guided her through the crowd. When they entered the women's athletic shoe store, she was surprised, but not as surprised as by the number of salespeople who waited on them, handing her shoe after shoe, and running clothes.

"Madam has truly gone mad now," Michael mumbled under his breath as he pranced away from her, his look of distaste falling on the shoes and clothes.

Sahar ignored him as she happily chose some apparel. After that day she was able to run in comfort. The blisters that her old shoes had caused never returned. Eventually not only did her pants fit comfortably again, but they also became loose. Elated, she continued to run every morning through Briannon's property.

Once, before the sun even rose, she made the mistake of going outside of the boundaries but was quickly stopped by the mistress. "What are you doing out here?" Briannon had appeared out of nowhere on the trail.

At first Sahar was surprised by her anger. With sweat dripping down her face, she panted as she glanced around, trying to discover where the woman had come from. Taking her surprise for disobedience, Briannon growled as her hand struck out. Sahar had been hit before. She had not been immune to the wrath of her father, so when Briannon's open palm left a burning against her cheek, she remained silent as the stinging of her mistress' touch caused tears to well in her eyes.

"You stupid child! Don't you know how dangerous it is?" Briannon hissed as she moved before her, "NEVER, NEVER leave my property before dawn, do you hear me? Do you?"

Sahar could only hold her stinging cheek as she nodded obediently.

"Good, then go back to the house. I'll deal with you later," the smaller woman stated, anger lacing her voice.

Later that evening Sahar had felt just a fraction of her mistress wrath. Pacing back and forth, Briannon spoke too quickly for her to understand. With Michael by her side, she listened to the woman's words and knew that they were directed at her. After that day, she had been locked within her room at night, and only at sunrise would the small man unlock her door.

If she had been angered by it, Sahar never showed it. Instead, she continued to do as she was told. After going for her morning run she would shower and change in whatever clothes Michael laid out for her. During the day she would sit on the lawn with her sketchbook and draw new images into the book. By night, she sat in her room alone and watched the images on the TV screen. Sometimes she practiced saying the words that she heard.

This is how Sahar's routine began. At times the little annoying man would take her to the stores to buy her new men's clothes even when she insisted that she didn't need them. If she broke out with a blemish, Michael ran her to a spa for a facial. Her nails, both fingernails and toenails, were the greatest of his obsession. Although Sahar never really understood his reasoning, she maintained her silence knowing that it was what the mistress ordered.

After a few months of this routine, Michael showed up with a man in tow. His look of distaste let her know that whoever this man was, he did not like him. "Madam seems to think that you require a tutor," Michael glanced at the young man.

That was the day that Sahar met Philip, a student from the University of San Madrone. To supplement his wages he had hired himself out as an English tutor. From Philip, she learned how to pronounce words. He showed her how to read books and how to structure sentences. The combination of his daily visits and her long nights of staying up late to study helped her pick up the language of this new country.

"I guess I'm not needed anymore," Philip had said on his last day, a sadness tingeing his voice.

Sahar never thought she could be sad to lose a teacher, but on that last day she felt a melancholy in her heart. A part of her wished that she had not mastered the language as fast as she did so that Philip could stay and visit her daily. But she knew she had no choice in the matter. Briannon paid his wages, and it was Briannon's decision to make.

After she waved goodbye to her friend, Sahar stood in the driveway. The battered Ford he once drove had been replaced with a new Honda Accord. His student loans were paid off, and he had earned enough money to afford the tuition at Stanford for his PhD. studies. Sahar may not have understood where his path was taking him, but she knew that by simply tutoring her, his future was suddenly brighter.

For the most part this is how her first years with Briannon played out. What glimpses she had of her mistress were few and fleeting, and although there were times of loneliness, Sahar utilized her time well. When not sketching or watching American television, she read anything she could get her hands on. At first she read the papers that the cook and maid brought with them. But after a while, Michael showed her where the mistress kept her private library. Once set free amongst the numerous books, she found a private happiness that she had never known.…

Like a pleasant memory, Sahar recalled the early days with Briannon. As she walked back into the house the sound of paws following close behind echoed in the kitchen. She moved to the refrigerator and poured herself some juice, grabbed a piece of bread and began to eat her breakfast as she walked to her room.

The entire house was bathed in silence. Although her lover had promised to stay with her for the day, such promises had been made and broken in the past, so the Persian woman gave little thought to it. Instead she drank her juice down and ate her meal as she made her way to her private room.

Ever since becoming the immortal's lover, Sahar no longer slept in the small servant's room. Her room on the corner of second floor of the house overlooked the scenic view of San Madrone. By day one only saw a dotting of buildings and the purple haze of pollution high in the air. But at night when darkness fell, it turned into a canvas of twinkling lights that still held the Persian spellbound. On two walls of her room were large, paned glass windows. The glass French doors opened to a large tiled balcony where she could sit late at night or paint by day.

When Sahar finished eating her meal she moved to the large window and looked out over the hills. Absently, she grabbed the bottom of her sweaty shirt and pulled it over her head. One by one she kicked off her shoes and socks and removed her smelly workout clothes until she was naked. As she stretched out tingling muscles, she looked at the view from her room.

Before retreating into the restroom Sahar took the remote control and activated the window blinds. In less than a minute, steel blinds covered the glass windows and door. As soon as the sun was completely blocked, she entered her private bathroom to shower. When she passed the mirror, she noticed the bandages on her neck and nipple. With a slight tsking sound she carefully removed the gauze and winced as the dry fabric peeled away from her skin. After tossing the material in a trash bin, she examined the bruising on her flesh.

Ordinarily Briannon was never this rough when she fed. It was only when she was deep in the hunger that she was this forceful. Hopefully, she'll never let her feeding go for this long again, the woman thought as she opened the glass door of the shower, reached in and turned on the warm water. As Sahar entered the tepid shower she concentrated on washing away her sweat. With the coconut smelling shampoo and soap, she cleansed her body of any traces of her workout. When finished she closed her eyes and lowered her head so that the jets of water could massage her in warmth. Taking these extra few minutes, she allowed her thoughts to clear as the steaming rays of water suddenly washed away any worries or concerns.

Before Sahar could leave the confines of the shower a sudden breeze crossed her back. Opening her eyes, she smiled when she saw the smaller woman moving to her. Her lover's long flowing hair hung seductively over her breasts.

"Briannon jân," Sahar reached out and pulled the icy cold body against her. Even under the warm shower, her lover's body remained the same frigid temperature.

"I told you I would stay with you today, didn't I?" the smaller woman smiled up at her, the corners of her lips holding a mischievous smile. As the warm shower cascaded over her back, the Persian woman leaned down to kiss her beloved's sumptuous lips. At the feel of the immortal's mouth, Sahar inwardly groaned as she pulled Briannon close. In a familiar move, she reached around the smaller woman's bottom and lifted her from her feet. With fingers interlaced she picked up Briannon in her arms even as they kissed deeply. When she felt her mistress' parted lips, Sahar's tongue eagerly entered the woman's mouth to dance against hers.

This was a familiar game they played. Ever since they had become lovers, Sahar had learned the many ways to please her mistress. Although she was only a teen when she first made love, her body instinctively knew what it desired. Just as she did then, she moved naturally against her immortal. When she felt her own excitement mounting, Sahar fought with supreme effort to control her own needs. As if hearing her thoughts, the smaller woman's hips began to grind against her abdomen.

With a slight growl, the Persian turned in the shower stall until Briannon's back was against the wall. Sahar lowered the woman to the floor as their lips locked in a kiss. When she pulled away long enough to gaze down at her lover, she noticed the sparkle dancing in the immortal's eyes.

"I-It…has been too long," Sahar managed a whisper as her hands began to massage her lover's smaller body. She took care to gently knead the woman's pliant breasts between her fingers. When her thumbs ran across the hard, erect pink nipples Briannon threw her head back, and a slight hiss escaped her control.

When Sahar first had made love with Briannon, it was her first time ever. Although Sahar had never heard of this form of love between women, she soon realized that not only did she like it, but she was also good at it. All she had to do was touch her lover as she longed to be touched. This she quickly learned after her many nights of being locked away. With only her imagination of Briannon and her own hand, she learned to pleasure herself in a way that her mother's marriage instructions had never spoken of. At first such a discovery surprised her, but once she realized how good it felt to touch herself, she made excuses to spend time alone in her room. The Persian never thought that there could be anything more pleasurable, but her opinions quickly changed after the first time that Briannon made love to her. Everything that the small woman did brought her such gratification that she never wanted it to end. Eventually Sahar learned that pleasure was also derived by giving to others, which she tried to do every time she was with Briannon.

As the warm water of the shower cascaded down their bodies, Sahar left a trail of kisses down her lover's neck. When she fell to her knees and came face to face with the reddish patch of hair between Briannon's legs, she inhaled her mistress' musky aroma. With a slight smile the dark haired woman leaned forward to bury her nose between Briannon's hidden lips. At the audible groan from her mate, she inwardly smiled before she lapped out to taste between the folds.

Each time they made love, it was always the same. Sahar felt Briannon's intense desires as if they were her own. With each stroke of her tongue against the woman's cold flesh, the Persian perceived the immortal's needs in her brain. As she dove between the smaller woman's legs, she saw the visions of ecstasy passing before her mistress' tightly closed eyes as the familiar questions swirled in her mind. Is it you, are you the one? The question wafted in the air.

Sahar responded as she always did. The first time she heard the query, she was confused and startled. But as their lazy days of lovemaking passed, the Persian maintained her silence. She pushed the question aside and simply concentrated on the pleasure of their bodies. Although she felt Briannon's need for an answer, the mortal woman was unable to give the response that her lover wanted. So instead she simply made love to Briannon as best as she could.

With each stroke of her tongue, Sahar felt Briannon's pleasure rising as the smaller woman released an audible cry. As if drowning in a sea of emotions, the redhead cried out as she begged Sahar for release. When her fingers pushed up into the body of her lover, the immortal gasped as her legs began to tremble. Sometime between stroking her velvety inner walls with her fingers and licking circles around the tip of her protruding flesh, the immortal woman cried out her pleasure. Briannon's fingers held on to the Persian's hair and kept her in place. After a few more strokes, the mortal woman felt her lover climax. When it was complete, Briannon sighed as her body grew slack.

No, nothing Sahar's mother had ever told her entailed this form of love. She did not know of all of the places where pleasure could be discovered, nor was she told of how exquisite it was to give pleasure to another. Although she had always heard the stories of Alexander the Great's Persian male lover, she never knew that the love of a woman could be so sweet.

Pleased, Sahar pulled away long enough to rise to her feet and lift the woman in her arms. Briannon held her gaze as her arms instinctively wrapped around the mortal's shoulders. After so many years together, Sahar was accustomed to the feel of her beloved's smaller, cold body. Her pale complexion, the lack of ruddy glow meant little to the Persian. All she knew was that this small woman was her world and that she loved her dearly.

"We're still wet," Briannon whispered with a smile as Sahar carried her into the room.

"I don't care," the tall woman stated as she deposited her dripping lover onto the bed. Without fanfare, she climbed over her mate's smaller body.

Last night was Briannon's time to feed. It was her night to sate her insatiable hunger and take what Sahar had to offer. But on this morning as the sun was shining outside of their protective shields, it was time for the Persian to take from her partner what was offered. Knowing exactly what she desired, Sahar parted her lover's legs and nestled her lower body against her partner. When she felt the all too familiar sensations of the immortal's pubic hair against her own, she gasped as she fought for control. As she looked down into her lover's eyes, she watched her mistress' intent gaze. Smiling, the mortal reached down and parted their lips until their protruding flesh was pressed against each other.

Instinctively, Sahar ground her hips against the smaller woman. She felt the sensations centering in her clitoris and moving up her spine to land in the middle of her brain. With each grinding of her hips, Briannon sensed the Persian's desire and wrapped her slender legs around her tall lover's waist.

Feel me, my love, Sahar heard the familiar whisper of her lover's thoughts. Of all the gifts that immortality granted, this was perhaps the one that brought such delight to the mortal. Never had she thought that one day she would be able to experience what a partner felt as they made love. She had never known of anyone who could open their mind and share so fully with another. Each time they shared, the Persian not only felt the pleasure of her own body, but Briannon allowed her to feel the intense sensations that she received from Sahar. With the heightened dual sensations, their lovemaking was always intense.

On this morning, it was Sahar's turn to concentrate on her own needs. With wanton lust the Persian took as much as she could until her body could not go on any longer. Only when she was worn out did her movements stop. As she lay upon her beloved's bosom, she kept her eyes closed. She listened to the hollow sound of where Briannon's beating heart should have been. The perspiration on their bodies glistened like crystal droplets.

"Enough, my love?" Briannon's accented voice was like a whisper in the room.

Although she did not know it at first, Sahar later learned that her immortal lover spoke with an Irish accent that the Persian had picked up. At times, some of the Iranian's words were a mixture of Farsi and Irish. Despite this mixing of dialects, the mortal managed to maintain a large part of her distinct heritage.

With a slight groan, Sahar snuggled deeper into her lover's embrace.

"That's all you have to say, my habebtee?" the immortal chortled

The human reveled in the icy coldness of Briannon's flesh. She loved the feel of her lover's soft, pale skin against her own. Whenever they lay in each other's arms, the Persian marveled at the sight of the immortal's hard pink nipples against her white flesh. She wondered how much longer they had together before time caught up with her mortal body. With each stroke of the Irish woman's fingers in her hair, Sahar smiled even as she pushed her disturbing thoughts aside.

"Sahar jân, my love, you are disturbed," Briannon's voice grew soft as she continued to stroke her taller lover. Her artful fingers moved from the Persian's hair to the smoothness of her back. Unable to answer her mistress, Sahar closed her eyes to the tears that threatened to spill.

"I know you are troubled, do not try to close yourself off from me," the redheaded woman spoke knowingly.

The mortal tried to find a way to voice her fears. Sahar wished that she were able to speak clearly, that her hopes and dreams could be conveyed to the woman. When the thoughts could not be silenced, she sighed deeply as she held on to her immortal beloved. "My Briannon, ana bahebik owie," Sahar wept as she clung to her lover's cold body.

"Oh, Sahar jân, I love you very much too," the undead woman pulled her into an embrace. "Why do you weep, tell me my beloved, what hurts your heart so?"

Sahar wanted to tell the woman everything. She longed to convey all of her fears, but her inability to speak clearly kept her voice silent. Instead, she sat up and turned away from her mistress. When the smaller woman reached for her, Sahar turned and looked at her shadow in the dark. "You still call for her," the Persian's voice was soft.

"What?" her immortal sounded confused.

"Briannon jân, we are so close, do not deny it to me. Even today after all of this time, your heart calls out to her," the accusation registered in Sahar's voice.

Angered at herself for her lack of control, Sahar reached to the nightstand and removed a Salem from its packet. She took the silver lighter and lit the cigarette, then lay down upon the pillows. With each puff she took, she felt the sweet burning taste deep in her lungs. This was not a habit she was accustomed to but one she had picked up recently. Although Briannon expressed her disfavor for the smell, she did not forbid Sahar from smoking. So within the Persian's mind, this simple habit was the only thing that was truly hers. It was not governed or regulated by Briannon, and if the truth was told, Sahar liked the fact that Briannon disapproved. As she inhaled the pungent fumes, she rejoiced in this small act of defiant freedom.

"You don't understand," Briannon's voice grew solemn.

Ever since the first time that they made love, Sahar knew that Briannon did not desire her. Through the shared link she saw into the woman's mind. The images of the immortal's existence were laid bare before her eyes. Like a reflection in a mirror she saw the face of Briannon's first love. She knew the longings and cravings of her mistress and understood that the only reason she was with Briannon was because of this past lover. Each time they made love, each time they were simply in each other's company, the Irish woman always asked the silent question that Sahar could not answer.

The Persian did not know who Devin was, but she realized that this woman had captivated her mistress' heart as no other could. Because of this, Briannon could not surrender herself completely. Knowing her true role, Sahar willingly accepted her duties in Briannon's life. Throughout their years together she gave Briannon what only she could give. In the day, when the woman slept through the sun's harsh rays, Sahar became her fearless protector. At night she was Briannon's loyal and willing lover. She allowed the small redhead to take the nourishment which she required to live.

"You think I don't understand, but I do," Sahar's voice replied. When she felt the smaller woman crawl into her arms, she held her lover close. "Devin is the only one for you, and I am not she."

"Sahar, please, I do love you," the Irish woman said.

"Just…not enough," the Persian sighed as she took a drag on the cigarette.

"Why do you smoke those nasty things?" her smaller lover chided.

"Why? Are you afraid they will kill me?" Sahar looked down at the woman, her eyes searched for meaning.

Briannon watched her through the darkness. She remained quiet even as her body language began to change. When it seemed that she could not win, the small immortal pulled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

At the abrupt movement, Sahar rose from the bed and moved to the distant window. With cigarette in hand, she opened a single shutter and sat upon the window's ledge. As the warm sun bathed her naked flesh, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

At thirty Sahar knew that she was attractive. Her convictions were reinforced each time a woman, mortal and immortal, glanced her way. With each fleeting look, the strangers communicated their unspoken desires for her.

Visibly frowning, Sahar brushed aside a loose strand of her hair. She stared out at the scene of the rolling hills and distant mountains. When she heard the rustling of sheets, she turned to the shadows in her room. "Briannon jân?" Sahar made certain to proceed with caution.

"Yes, darling."

"Why won't you take me with you?" she asked softly. "Am I so…hideous that you would not want me to follow?"

"Oh, no my love, no my habebtee, you are beautiful! Can't you see that?" Briannon rose to move to her but stopped before stepping into the rays of the sun.

"All I know is that each time we make love, you call for her. You wonder if I am her and you will not take me with you. What am I lacking that she had?"

"You don't understand," Briannon began to pace the darkness of the room. "I-I love you, it's just that…I-I don't know," an exasperated sigh escaped the woman's control.

"What don't you know?" Sahar snuffed her cigarette out in an ashtray before moving to her lover.

Briannon paced the length of the room. Her gaze was lowered as she shook her head.

Hoping that she would see reason, Sahar moved to her immortal lover. "Please, Briannon my jân, take me with you!" she pleaded, not for the first time, in a whisper.

"No," Briannon said with finality.

"Please tell me why?"

"It's a serious matter. Once initiated, you can never return. This life, living an eternity," she shook her head. "It is so difficult going night after night…it's just so hard to be.…" Briannon cut her words short.

"It is hard to be alone," Sahar finished her beloved's sentence. "But if you brought me with you, you would not be alone."

"It is not that easy. Believe me, this is a hard way to live, a difficult way to exist," the smaller woman turned to her, her small, cold hands lightly rested against her flesh. Her words appeared sincere enough, yet Sahar's insecurities reigned.

"You do love me, don't you?" the Persian asked, almost afraid of the answer.

As if shocked by the question, Briannon pulled away and looked up at her. When the silence threatened to take control, the smaller woman stepped toward her. Her cold, gentle touch began to stroke the Persian's warm cheek. "What do you think," was all she said.

With only a sigh, Sahar closed her eyes in frustration. She did not know what to think. In fact, she did not want to think. All she wanted to do was to try to make sense out of the fears and insecurities that plagued her mind. When the task seemed impossible, she pulled physically away from Briannon.

"If you don't want to initiate me, I'm sure I can find someone who does," Sahar spoke out of frustration as she gave a challenging look at her lover. "There are plenty who have already offered to...."

"Shut up! You don't know what you're saying!" Briannon's unbridled anger began to flourish. As if impatient, the smaller woman moved away from her. Her hands were bunched into fists at her side.

"I do know!" Sahar felt the strength of her words fill her being. "I know I love you, and I want to always be with you. If you won't bring me with you then I'll find someone who.…" she was unable to finish her sentence.

Visibly angry, Briannon turned toward her, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Why wouldn't I, Briannon? It's true! There are many who would be more than happy to bring me into your world! If you cared at all about me, you'd bring me with you! You think I don't know my own mind; you're still treating me like a child!" Sahar felt her thoughts escaping freely through her words. "If you're reluctant to initiate me, then I will let another bring me into the darkness!" she threatened, fully aware of the anger it would unleash.

With a cautious nod, Briannon moved before her, "You would do that? You would let someone else…touch you…defile you like that?"

At her question Sahar felt her resolve melting. She felt the fear of losing her lover weigh heavily against her soul. With only a sigh, she closed her eyes as she sat weakly on the edge of the bed, "Why Briannon? Why won't you bring me with you? Can't you see, my Briannon jân, Ana Bahebik owie, I love you more than you will ever know. Don't you care?"

"You don't understand," Briannon's words softened.

"I don't understand?" Sahar's tone of voice mimicked as she shook her head negatively. "I understand that when I first came to you, I was but a child and you an older woman. Time does not change for you. Now, the years have passed and I am the one who looks older and you are the younger woman," she shook her head as she looked away from her lover. "I understand that time does not change for you, but for me, it passes by far too fast. Soon, I too shall be as old as Madame Tuscany and you will still look as beautiful as you do today. Someday you will be the one to take care of me, or perhaps to send me away where I will be forgotten. You will not take me with you and all because you still search for someone from your past - someone I can never be," the sadness filled each word.

"If I was the one you searched for, you would have brought me over a long time ago," Sahar's accusing words had the desired effect. As if suddenly reminded of a memory, Briannon's cautious gaze fell on the mortal.

"You do not think that I hear you call to her each time we make love?" Sahar asked as she rose from the bed and stared down at her naked lover's shorter form. "Do you not think I remember you asking if I was the one? Do you not think that my mortal memory can go that far back? Do you think me so blind that I don't notice your obsession for a woman who's dead?" Sahar's voice grew harsh as she stared into Briannon's eyes.

"I know that if I were the one you were looking for, you would bring me along!" Sahar stated as she stared down at her lover. "Briannon, do you think I'm so stupid that I don't notice what goes on around me!" her accusatory words asked.

"What are you talking about?" the Irish woman hissed.

"You know what I am talking about. Do not think me a fool. Remember, I am with you almost every night. I see how you look at women; tall, dark-haired women. I hear your thoughts always asking the same thing," Sahar's voice grew soft as she spoke the words of truth.

"I know that you are still searching, but what I do not understand is why you continue to keep me near?" the Persian asked, then moved closer to her lover. "Briannon jân, you will never find her. She is gone. But if you do not believe me, then please, set me free. I do not want to grow old in front of you. I do not want to die before you, or worse, be sent away to spend my final days alone with others waiting to die. Don't you understand that?"

Briannon turned away. Her gaze lowered as she turned her back. For a moment, the Persian thought she heard the murmurs of thoughts filter through their bond. Just when she thought that her lover had understood her pleas, a deep-set frown crossed her features as a wave of anger spilled from the smaller woman. "You don't know anything!" Briannon whispered as she turned to face Sahar who stared at her in defiant silence.

"I may not know many things, but I do know that I am not the one you seek, and I will never be her. But nor will the other women whom you seek!" Sahar allowed her anger to rise in her voice. "I want this Briannon. You may not love me, but I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of eternity, and if you will not bring me over, I will find someone who will," she whispered close to Briannon's ear.

At her words, the immortal turned her anger on Sahar. Before the taller woman realized a change she felt the full force of her lover's palm stinging against her cheek. Like a mad woman, Briannon's hand came down hard against her face. As if pushed by a gale wind, Sahar fell to her knees as blood seeped from her swelling nose.

"Damn you!" Briannon hissed as the back of her hand landed against the Persian's face. At the blinding pain, Sahar crawled away. Just as she used to do in the past when faced with her immortal lover's wrath, the tall woman instinctively braced herself. Raising her arms above her head, she closed her eyes to the pain as blow after blow landed against her body and face.

Consumed with a blinding rage, the immortal grabbed Sahar by the arms and lifted her to her feet. The Irish woman was filled with fury as she clasped a palm around the taller woman's neck and easily lifted her off the ground. As if the Persian weighed less than a rag doll, the smaller woman held the mortal in the air as she violently shook her body. Unable to fight against the steel-tight grip, Sahar weakly attempted to pull the cold hand from around her neck and then closed her eyes as the oxygen left her body. When it seemed that her life was nearing an end, Briannon casually tossed her through the air. At the feel of the hard wall against her back, Sahar grunted in pain as she fell in a heap on the floor.

"Damn you Sahar!" Briannon whispered as she grabbed the Persian by the hair and lifted her face. "How dare you even think of letting anyone touch you!" she spoke inches away from the bruised and bloody face. "You are mine, do you hear me, mine!"

Shaken and visibly hurt Sahar gasped for air as she gazed into the eyes of her lover. For the first time she noticed a deep red glow emanating from the depths of Briannon's pupils. As the tears of pain and shame flowed down her cheeks, the Persian sighed as she nodded understanding. The beaten mortal could only weep as she tried to pull away from the smaller woman.

"You ungrateful little whore, I gave you everything! Everything, do you hear me?" Briannon screamed as she towered over the mortal. "Without me, you'd be nothing!" she kicked the Persian hard, causing the woman to cry as she lay on the floor in a fetal position.

"I gave you everything!" the immortal screamed, her rage falling upon her mortal protector. "You listen carefully to me, you ungrateful little slut, you will do what I tell you to do and when I tell you to do it. Do you understand?" Briannon asked as she grabbed Sahar's hair and spoke close to her battered face. The Persian only whimpered as she weakly nodded.

Seeing her lover like this, bruised and bleeding, Briannon released her hold and began to pace the length of the shadows. "How dare you even suggest that you'd let another touch you," the Irish woman began to speak, her voice low as her breathing decreased. "You're mine, Sahar, since the first day I saw you, you became mine. No one, not a mortal or immortal, will ever touch you. I won't let them; I'll kill them first," she began to mumble to herself.

Weeping, the Persian laid quietly on the floor. She felt her eye closing from the swelling of the bruise. The blood from her nose mingled with the metallic taste in her mouth. As the tears fell down her cheeks, she tried in vain to block out the pain of her body. Just as she used to do in the past when Briannon lashed out at her, Sahar began to turn inward.

As if it were all a mistake, Briannon moved to her. When she first tried to touch the Persian, Sahar cowered, her body quivered as she tried to pull away. With a look of remorse, the immortal gently brushed her fingers through the dark hair. "Oh, Sahar," Briannon whispered, "I'm so sorry, my habebtee. Ana bahebik owie oh my Sahar, my jân, I love you, I'm sorry."

The taller woman wept as her lover gently lifted her from the ground and carried her to the bed. Shaking and in pain, Sahar tried to shrink away. When Briannon disappeared in the bathroom, she rolled onto her side as she wept uncontrollably.

While the abuse in the past was bad, Sahar could not remember her lover's wrath ever being this severe. Yes, there had been times when, after they were lovers, the small immortal grew angry at things that the Persian did, but usually it resulted in nothing more than a harsh word, a slap, or even an occasional punch. But something this severe had never happened before. When her mistress returned to the room, the Persian wept softly as she tried to pull away from her lover.

"I'm sorry, Sahar jân, I really am," Briannon said as she began to gently clean the taller woman's face. "Sometimes you just say things that make me angry. Sahar, you have to know how much I love you. Just the thought of anyone else touching you.…" the woman shook her head, then continued to clean her lover's bloody face. "My habebtee, I love you so much and I can't bear the thought of anyone else touching you. Please, Sahar, I'm so very sorry."

The immortal woman continued to apologize as she tended to Sahar. With each soft touch, the Persian's tears slowly subsided. She watched her immortal through her one good eye. When she was finished, Briannon disappeared for a bit, but then was back on the side of the bed. Her gaze held the mortal's as a weak smile crossed her lips. When she reached out and touched Sahar's hand, a sigh escaped her control.

"Sahar," Briannon shook her head as she looked away. "My jân, you are my heart, don't you understand that? When you say things that make me angry, it just breaks my heart. Please Sahar, I am very sorry for hurting you like this, but you've got to stop making me angry. Do you understand?" she asked as she tenderly brushed the back of her hand over the Persian's warm cheek.

Sahar gazed cautiously at her lover and blinked but remained silent. Her breathing now even, she took in everything that her mistress said and nodded when it felt appropriate. Almost satisfied, Briannon sighed deeply as she turned away for a moment. When she looked back down a familiar smiled broke across the immortal's face.

"Good, then we won't talk about this again, all right?" Briannon asked, and after the Persian nodded, the Irish woman smiled. "Good, because you know I hate when this happens. I really hate when you make me do this, my habebtee. Remember, I've given you everything that you could ever want. I took you in when you were almost caught. If it weren't for me, you would have been deported that day. Do you remember how close you came to being caught?" Briannon asked, but did not wait for an answer. "I saved you. I'm the only one who was there for you. And since then, I've given you everything your heart desired. Do you remember what I gave you on your twenty-first birthday?" she asked, and quickly answered. "I gave you your papers. Do you remember how happy and surprised you were? I do, and it gave me pleasure to help you with this. You know that I was the only one who could get the legal paperwork through for you and now, you don't ever have to worry about being deported again," Briannon smiled as her gaze got a far away look. When she turned her smile back down at Sahar, her hand gently brushed across the mortal's cheek, "Why spoil what we have with your questions? Please, my Sahar jân, don't make me angry again. It tears me up inside when this happens, please, don't ruin what we have."

With a nod of assent Sahar closed her eyes as her breathing returned to normal. Smiling at her, the immortal woman took the edge of the sheet and gently wiped the tears that streamed silently down the battered woman's cheek. In a tender move, she joined the Persian on the bed and pulled her into her arms. With an air of amazement Briannon caught a single drop of the mortal's tear and examined it closely.

"How fortunate you are Sahar, to weep so easily," Briannon's hushed words cut through the shadows. "I can't weep anymore, not since.…" But the Irish woman did not continue. Instead she flicked the tear off of her fingertip and pulled the mortal into a tight embrace. "No matter, you can weep for both of us now, my Sahar, my jân. You are the one who will express my deepest sorrows now and your tears will be my tears," she whispered as she lightly laid a kiss upon the Persian's bruised forehead.

As a soft humming came from Briannon, her fingers lightly brushed through the taller woman's hair. The surreal experience of her life caused the mortal to sigh as she closed her eyes. Sensing her changing moods, the Irish woman pulled away and glanced down at her.

"Good, close your eyes, my love. Get some rest, all right?" Briannon smiled as she untangled herself from the mortal, then leaned down and kissed the taller woman's forehead.

"I will see you tonight over dinner. I'll have Michael bring Sultanee and some of your favorite side dishes from Maykadeh's. Would you like that?" the Irish woman smiled as she tenderly stroked the Persian's hair, "and I'll have a very special present for you. I bet that would make you happy, humm?" But Sahar never answered. She only watched as the woman smiled, then rose and left the room.

In the silence of the room, Sahar began to weep softly. Her newly applied bandages became soaked with her tears. Sensing his mistress' sorrow, the mastiff entered the room and moved by the side of the bed. After sniffing at her, he jumped onto the bed and snuggled close to her. As the rampant thoughts raced through her mind, Sahar unconsciously petted the beast's fur. "What am I to do Nafi?" she asked. In answer, he whimpered as he moved closer to her battered body. Saddened by her future possibilities, Sahar shook her head as she nuzzled deeper into the blanket.

The thought of living the rest of her life as the unfailing servant of her immortal beloved did not please Sahar. Yet, the idea of living without Briannon in her life left such emptiness within her soul. With only a shake of her head, Sahar allowed her tears to reign as she closed her eyes to the deafening thoughts that consumed her.

At the reminder of the beating Sahar reached up and lightly touched her bruised cheek. With a slight wince of pain she sat up in the bed, cradling her aching side. At the initial pain she inhaled deeply, gasped at the ache and then rose on wobbly legs. Like a person half-dead, she managed to dress herself slowly. Once dressed, Sahar turned to her dog and waved him to her side. Wincing at the pain, she closed her eyes before slowly walking from the darkened room. With each step she took she felt the tenderness in her bruised body. Despite this, she made her way to the garage where her car waited.

"Come Nafi," Sahar commanded as she took her keys and entered her car. The dog barked once. His gaze looked from her, to the darkened house. A low whine rose from him. When the animal would not move, she sighed deeply and closed her eyes. With a slight smile she looked back at the beloved beast. "It's ok Nafi. I know the hold she has over you, she has it over me too," she half-whispered before she activated the remote control that opened the garage door.

As Sahar gunned her Porsche from the garage, she allowed her tears to fall. With the top down, she felt the wind in her shoulder-length hair as the sun bathed her skin. No, she was not certain where she would go, but she knew that she could not stay in Briannon's home, at least not tonight. Yes, she had left the woman before, especially after the immortal's temper rose, but she had always come back. Although a part of her hoped that it would be different this time, another part knew that sooner or later she would return to her beloved.

Deep within the house, Briannon watched her lover's car speeding down the driveway. The glint of the sun reflected off of the rearview mirror. As the simmering anger began to awaken, she frowned deeply as she watched her mortal caretaker driving away from her home.

"Shall I lock the front gates, Madam?" Michael asked. Standing obediently near her, he watched the images on the security cameras in her office. Long before Briannon met Sahar, Michael was in her service. Not only was he a skilled administrator, but he was also capable of loyalty and obedience.

"No Michael, let her go, but find out where she goes. I want to know who she turns to," Briannon instructed as she sat behind her desk. In an absent manner, she pulled the white silk robe closer around her body as she leaned back in her executive leather seat.

"As you wish, Madam," the thin, feminine man said before he turned and left her office.

"She'll come back," Briannon confidently said as she watched the Porsche disappear from view. "She always comes back."

Even before she reached the last gate of the estate, Sahar thought about turning back. As she sat in front of the open gate, she thought about what she was doing. She allowed her lover's face to surface in her memories. Briannon's small stature, the way that she smiled so easily and how she flicked back the long strands of her wavy, red hair was what caused the Persian's heart to soar. Sometimes, just when it seemed that no one would understand her, the Irish woman was there to listen to the mortal's thoughts, and she would offer encouragement.

Then there was the ugly side, the part that Sahar hated. There were the times when Briannon chose what clothes the Persian was to wear, or how she would cut her hair. And there were the times when the Irish woman would treat her like a child by locking her in her bedroom or by speaking as if she were only a kid. Then there was her temper, something that she could never get away from. It struck when least expected and always resulted in abuse. Yes, it was true that Briannon would apologize and sometimes give her gifts afterwards, but the pain, the swollen flesh, was still present. And the memories were deeply engrained in Sahar's memory. Nothing could take those away, not even the apologies and gifts.

With a shake of her head, the mortal woman gunned the engine and drove out of her mistress' estate. As long as the sun was shining, she knew that she was safe from Briannon's wrath. But when the sun set, the immortal would hunt her down as she did in the past, and would bring her back. Knowing this, Sahar drove to the only safe refuge she could think of.

Sahar did not know Madame Tuscany at all. Mortal servants like her were never given formal introductions to a woman of such high stature. As the Queen of the San Madrone clan, the aged woman was seen only by a few, and Sahar was not one of them. But the person she had befriended was Fernando, the servant of the wealthy woman.

Fernando was unlike any man she had ever known. Once she understood about the existence of immortals, she learned that this servant was part of the clan. Although he had great powers like the rest of the un-dead, he seemed to be happy in the position of servant rather than master. It was because of this that he had quickly befriended her. As she made her way down the mountain and toward the city of San Madrone, she remembered the last visit she had with him…

While Briannon was in a meeting with several other immortals, she waited down in the kitchen with the other human protectors. A secretive bunch, the other mortal servants kept to themselves, and for the conversation hungry Persian, she sought out the friendship of anyone in the room. Although Magdalena was friendly, she was far too busy to talk, which is where Fernando came in.

Wearing his black uniform, crisp white shirt and black tie, the tall immortal was the most handsome man she had ever seen. His usually free shoulder-length black hair was tied back. The neatly trimmed goatee enhanced his finely chiseled features. As Fernando carried in an empty tray, he put it on the counter before sitting at the table across from her. With great theatrics, he sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Aye, those mensos will be the end of me yet! Always demanding this or that like they were kings and queens!" Fernando exclaimed with a slight lisp as he fanned himself, and then turned his dark eyes upon her. "You are Briannon's, aren't you?" he asked as he revealed a toothy white smile.

Sahar smiled as she lowered her eyes, a red blush crossing her cheeks, "It is that obvious?"

"Oh pah-lease!" Fernando grinned as he leaned over the table, inhaled deeply, then sniffed the air. "Let me tell you, mujer, I can smell Lady Briannon's scent all over you!" he smiled knowingly, winked, and then leaned back in his chair, "and I must say, at least her taste is getting better!" The lisp, something that he carried over from his Castilian language, was always heard in his speech.

This is how Sahar's friendship with the immortal servant began. Sometimes when Briannon slept, she tried to make her way to meet with the charismatic man. She listened to his tales of life, how he had seduced both princes and kings alike, and she took his words of advice. He seemed to know when she was unhappy or when she simply needed another person to talk to, and he was always there for her.

As if he knew that she belonged to another, Fernando never once asked for her to feed him. Instead, he would drink his nourishment from the glass bottles that were delivered on a daily basis. Although accustomed to seeing Briannon after she fed, Sahar found it interesting that Fernando never seemed filled with the blood lust. Once she even had the courage to ask her friend about this. "Oh, girlfriend, that's only because you're not my type!" he had said once as a giggle escaped his control. "Isn't that right, Magdalena?" he asked the other servant who was ironing some clothes. The other mortal only smiled and shook her head, as she continued with her duties.

"You see, Magdalena will always be safe around me. But now that cute gardener," Fernando made a growling noise as he tipped the glass and drank of the red liquid. "That gardener is marvelous and I am so tempted to go out there and taste what he has to offer," the immortal servant quipped, and then added with a chuckle, "but that damned sun always gets in the way!"

Once, when they had been laughing and joking, Aurore, the granddaughter of the clan matriarch, entered the kitchen. The room grew suddenly quiet as the immortal teen looked around the room. The short woman took only a moment to glance at the shuttered windows, and then stepped over to the refrigerator that contained the glass liquid of blood. Without caring for who was in the room, the small girl popped the lid open and drank the contents before returning the half-drunk bottle to the shelf. With a slight frown, the teen looked around the kitchen. When she saw Sahar, she smiled as she moved toward the kitchen table.

"The bottle variety always leaves me wanting for more," the teen's girlish voice said as an evil smile crossed her lips. "I've never had Persian before; I wonder what it tastes like?"

"You can keep on wondering," Fernando's words caused Aurore to hiss. Her features instantly changed as she growled down at the immortal servant. At her open challenge, the tall man rose to his full height and glared down at her, his facial features became menacing as he bared his teeth. "You can go right out and find yourself another Persian to try out, Little Miss, because this one belongs to Lady Briannon," Fernando's voice was deep and commanding as he held the girl's steady gaze.

Aurore released something like a growl as she turned on the only other mortal in the room. Before they realized what she intended, she grabbed Magdalena and pulled her close. Her teeth latched on to the young servant's neck and began to drink. With slight groans of pain, the young mortal grew suddenly pale until Fernando stepped in.

"That will be enough, child," the tall man moved to the two and pulled the mortal from the smaller woman's grasp. He quickly placed his palm over the woman's bleeding neck as he stared down at the immortal teen. "I suggest that you stick to finding your sources outside of this house! Your grandmother will not be pleased that you did this to Magdalena."

With an angry hiss, Aurore snapped at Fernando and then turned to leave.

Having witnessed this much anger during feeding for the first time, Sahar remained silent. Her heart was beating out of control. When Fernando covered Magdalena's open wound with his mouth and began to lick, the Persian was surprised to see that this was always done after a feeding. Although everything seemed like a dream to her at the time of her mistress' feedings, she knew that this was the last thing that Briannon always did after she fed from her.

Once the bleeding stopped, Fernando called out for some help. When the servants took the mortal from the room, her tall friend returned to sitting next to her. With a look of disgust, he stared at the door that led to the main house.

"Have you ever had that truly bad date that you'd rather forget about?" Fernando asked as he leaned on the table and looked at her. His shoulder-length, dark hair was now loose and hung seductively past his shoulders. With only a shrug, he smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "Of course not, you are far too pure for such a thing," he sighed as his eyes got a far away look.

"Oh how I wish I could say the same thing," Fernando bemoaned as he shook his head. "Well, mujer, I have experienced that. That little trick that just left is my constant nightmare," Fernando groaned. When her eyebrows shot upward, he sighed theatrically, and nodded.

"Yes, yours truly has the unhappy memory of having bedded that spoiled brat. Mind you, the young lad she was feeding on is what got me going and well, when she presented her posterior, what could I do?" Fernando feigned innocence. "Of course that is the horror of my life, to always see that wretched child and know that I was the first man to have her when she crossed over. Why, I tell you, it's enough to make me swear off women all together!" he exclaimed. Then, after a moment of thought, he smiled at her and winked, "What am I saying? I've already sworn off of them!"

The two shared in a moment of frivolity before seriousness crossed Fernando's features. "Mark my word, mujer, that Aurore is a bad seed!" he whispered softly, then turned and looked at her with a stern expression. "Don't you ever cross her path, do you hear me? She doesn't like your mistress one bit, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if she didn't try to make trouble. You listen to your Fernando, I'll take care of you," he had nodded sagely as he drank the rest of the red liquid…

Sahar had avoided Aurore. Whenever she visited, she made sure to enter through the back door. She never wandered through the house without Fernando or Briannon near. Ever since that day, the Persian had not seen Madame Tuscany's granddaughter. So on the day when she needed a friend the most, she did not think twice and drove directly to Fernando's house.

"Aye, mujer, what has happened?" was the first thing that came from the immortal's lips as Sahar walked slowly through the servant's door and into the kitchen. With the window blinds closed and curtains drawn to stave away the sun, the kitchen remained dimly lit. Through her one eye, she saw her tall friend wave to Magdalena before he moved to Sahar's side.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," Fernando's voice grew soft as he began to help her to a chair. When he saw her grimace, he sighed deeply then reached under her legs and lifted her into his arms. "I knew this would one day happen," he spoke almost to himself as he carried her past the kitchen door and into the dark house. Taking her into a room she had never been in, Fernando settled her down on a large sofa. His cold compassionate hands took a washcloth from someone nearby and began to wipe it tenderly over her flesh.

"That eye of yours is going to need a cold slab of meat," Fernando tsked.

"S-She already cleaned the cuts," Sahar explained as she winced from his touch.

"Oh, how awfully nice of her to show you that kindness," Fernando's sarcasm laced every word as he continued to minister to her wounds. "I told you that her abuse would get worse, didn't I? But did you listen to your poor old auntie? No, of course not. You're drawn to that immortal like a fly to a flame, and just like a fly you got burned, burned big time!" he exclaimed.

"I-I…made her mad," was all Sahar could say as she closed her eyes to his chastisement.

Sahar heard him sigh deeply before Fernando's hands returned to gently wipe the cool towel over her face. As she waited for him to speak, she heard a clock ticking away the minutes somewhere in the distance. When he placed his deathly cold hand over her swollen eye, she felt a sudden relief.

"Poor, poor mujer, always thinking that this is your fault," the gentle man spoke softly. "Sahar, girlfriend, this was not your fault. You give Briannon everything; you give her nourishment, protect her from anything that might harm her. No, honey, you do not deserve to be treated like this," he said as he replaced his hand with a cold slab of meat. At the weight of the steak against her eye, she gasped until she became accustomed to the difference.

"Someone needs to have a talk with that mistress of yours and make her realize that she cannot do this to you," Fernando grumbled as he pulled a small blanket over her legs. "You just lay here and rest, honey. I'm going to have a talk with Madame Tuscany. If anyone can reason with that woman of yours, it's her!" he exclaimed. When she tried to protest, he reached down and forced her to lie down.

"No arguments from you. Just close your eyes and sleep. You'll be all right in here, no one will disturb you," Fernando insisted as she closed her eyes in the dark room. In an attempt to block out everything, Sahar sighed deeply as she tried to ignore the pain in her body.

As the sounds of the house disappeared around her, Sahar found herself drifting off into sleep. Her dreams recalled images of her family, and a part of her heart mourned their absence. Before the dream of her family could take hold, she saw Briannon and felt her immortal beloved holding her close, her words of apology rising around her. In the comfort of her lover's embrace, she felt at peace. It was hard to explain to Fernando the peace and security she had with her mistress. Sometimes it was even hard for her to understand why she loved the small Irish woman so much.

While her mind drifted, Sahar's memories replayed the journey that brought her to this place. It seemed like forever since she was a child in her parent's home and an eternity since she last wore the hijab. Although her freedom was curtailed by Briannon's control, Sahar had never been so free when she lived under her parents' control.

Before she could drift into a restless sleep Sahar felt a familiar yet frightening presence. Suddenly fearful of the unseen powers around her, she removed the steak from her eye and glanced around the darkness. Although she did not know why, she suddenly longed for Fernando's return. She felt a fear and longing for her mistress to be near.

"So it's Briannon's puppy that I smelled!" Aurore's familiar voice whispered as she moved from the shadows of the room. "Oh goody! Now we can have some real fun!" the young immortal teen said as she smiled down at Sahar.

"Little one, she belongs to Briannon," a voice from the dark was heard. Moving closer, Sahar saw the tall, dark woman who lived in the house.

"But Briannon is not here, and she is!" Aurore stomped. "Besides, Tamara, she wants us; just listen to her mind!" Aurore's voice took on a slight whisper as she moved closer to Sahar.

"Briannon will be most disappointed if you touch her 'puppy'," Tamara reminded as she retreated from the light and stood in the shadows of the room.

"If she didn't want her puppy touched, she wouldn't have beaten her and make her run away, now would she? And at any rate, I think her puppy wants to play, don't you?" Aurore asked as she leaned down over Sahar for a kiss.

"Little one, you tempt the wrath of one far more powerful than you. I suggest, little one, that you leave the mortal alone," the black woman said in what sounded like a warning.

Sahar didn't hear Aurore's mumbled reply. She only heard the tall African woman say, "Good," before her words of warning disappeared behind the sound of her heels against the tile. When Tamara exited the room leaving the mortal with the teen, the large wooden door scraped against the frame.

"Just as soon as I'm done playing," Sahar felt an instant fear when she heard Aurore's final words. Even in the darkness, Aurore's eyes glowed a brilliant yellow color. When her fingers began to brush through the mortal's hair, a toothy smile seemed to shine in the darkness. As the immortal teen lightly brushed her fingers over the Persian's bruised flesh, a slight hiss of pain escaped Sahar's control.

"Awe, poor puppy, does she hit you often?" the question seemed to come from nowhere. Confused, Sahar turned to Aurore. With only a slight frown, Aurore lightly touched the mortal's swollen eye, and then ran down her shirt and rested on the bruised portion of her torso. "Briannon, does she hit you often?" the teen seemed generally interested.

Ashamed by the question, Sahar looked down as she felt her heart suddenly racing.

"How can one not notice the bruises," gentleness laced the immortal's words. With a slight smile, the teen forced the mortal to look into her eyes. "And even if the bruises weren't visible, I can see it in your eyes," her voice was soft as she tenderly stroked Sahar's cheek.

At her words, Sahar grew silent. She felt the weight of existence suddenly weighing upon her soul. As the memories of her relationship with Briannon flooded her senses, she thought over her circumstances.

Briannon was her savior. The Irish woman had taken her in when Sahar had nowhere else to go. She clothed and fed her, and in return she asked only that Sahar stand watch for her in the daylight hours. On nights when she required feeding, the Persian was more than willing to oblige. If on occasion her temper was vented, the mortal felt it was a small price to pay

Sahar's expression held confusion and indecision. As if angered with herself, the Persian pulled away from the cold touch. As she drew back she noticed Aurore's wide smile. She glanced at the pearl white points of the teen's canine teeth and saw the familiar saliva building on the sharpen tips.

"You do want to play, don't you?" Aurore asked as she pushed into Sahar. "You are such a good puppy," Aurore cooed as she began to unbutton Sahar's shirt.

"Has your mistress promised to initiate you soon?" the young woman asked as the mortal refastened each button. A part of her felt the sting of the question as sorrow filled her heart. At her sudden emotion, Sahar felt the vampire's head snap upward with a smile.

"That's it, isn't it?" Aurore seemed to be asking in a whisper as her mind thought over the dilemma. "I could get in a lot of trouble for what I'm about to do," Aurore's voice was low and evenly controlled. Not understanding, Sahar cast a quizzical glance at her.

With a slight smile, the teen shrugged her shoulders. "What the hell, I'm not afraid of Briannon. Are you?" she asked.

At Sahar's continual silence, Aurore only smiled as she lightly patted the mortal's shoulder. "Poor thing, of course you're frightened of Briannon. Why else would you have stayed so long with her?" she seemed to answer her own question.

As if contemplating her words, Sahar stared intently into the immortal's glowing eyes. She remained silent as the sound of the gong from the ticking clock sounded off the hour. When it seemed that her thoughts were collected, she turned her eyes to Aurore. "You won't be the only one who could get in trouble. The fault will rest with me," Sahar's voice was laced with pain. "Briannon does not understand my needs. She has a single obsession. Unfortunately for me, I am not her obsession."

Sahar knew that Aurore was feeling the barrage of her mortal emotions bombard her senses. Untrained, the tall woman's thoughts whispered her pain. She felt doubt and confusion over her next steps. As if she were in her mind, she allowed Aurore to see the argument she had with Briannon.

Skilled, Aurore hid her smile as she lowered her eyes. As the silence of the house surrounded them, the immortal teen took in all of the new information. With a gleeful smile, she discovered all of Briannon's dirty secrets.

"Perhaps she will blame you, but you are only a mortal. You don't know any better," Aurore stated sarcastically as she glanced at Sahar through the darkness.

As if saddened by her words, Sahar kept her eyes downcast as she shook her head in defeat. "Only a mortal as if I'm a child," Sahar echoed as she tried to rise from the couch to move away from the teen.

Pleased with the way the conversation was going, Aurore pushed down on the Persian woman's chest until she remained lying on the sofa. With a smile she gazed down at Sahar's taller form. "Oh, but you are," the teenager half-smiled as she reached out and brushed aside a dark lock of Sahar's hair, "Compared to the years that we've lived, you are just a babe."

"I'm old enough to have experienced many things. I'm old enough to know what I want from my life!" the mortal argued.

"Perhaps so, but to Briannon you will always be a child…her child. Didn't you know that when you became involved with her?" Aurore asked as she listened to the trail of Sahar's thoughts. With a visible smile, she tilted her head as she gazed at the mortal's sad eyes.

"She took you into her service when you were just a teenager, and now she will always see you as a child. She probably never planned to initiate you to the darkness. Since the first day you served her, she was waiting for another," Aurore absently stated as she leaned back, a wry smile crossing her lips. Revealing in her conquest, she gently reached out and lightly touched the mortal's warm flesh.

"You see, Sahar, she will never bring you over. She will always keep you as you are, nothing more than a child of an immortal. If she brings you over, then the knowledge and gifts that are ours will be yours. You will no longer be a child; you'll know our secrets, the secrets which your mistress covets as her own," Aurore's honeyed words slithered off her tongue and coiled around her prey.

"Briannon has always looked out for my best interest." the doubt was clearly etched in Sahar's voice.

"Perhaps Briannon feels your best interest is to remain a mortal, to remain innocent - ignorant. As a mortal you can always tend to her needs. When she finds the one that she seeks, you'll have two mistresses to serve! You'll always be there to see them go off to their bed to sleep the day away. As your mortal body ages, they will remain young and invigorated. The knowledge that is ours will be given to the other. Think Sahar about how wonderful it will be to watch your mistress' future happiness in the arms of the other woman!" Aurore's voice was laced with irony.

As if striking a nerve, Sahar turned sharply away. Filled with rage, she frowned as she tried to keep her anger at bay. She seemed to be concentrating on a number of possibilities. When her mind was made up, she looked at Aurore. "What about my happiness?" the anger broke through her voice.

"Will I ever be allowed to experience pleasure? Will Briannon ever accept me as more than just a simple mortal? I don't care about the wealth and the knowledge. I only want to be Briannon's equal. As her equal she'll respect me, she'll understand that I can give her more than any other woman can give her!" Sahar's words were filled with anger and conviction.

"What is it you ask of me?" Aurore felt the corners of her lips curve into an evil smile as her fingertips lovingly touched the mortal's warm flesh.

Before Sahar could respond, a sound caught their attention. From the darkness, another immortal emerged. With a bare chest and only underwear on, the immortal man stood nearby and glanced down at Sahar. By the diffused light in the room, the Persian saw his defined muscles. His entire body was finely sculpted and his long blonde hair hung loosely over his shoulders. In the darkness, she thought she saw his eyes glowing red as he watched the teen's hands move over her.

"Aurore, come, let's find another to play with. Tamara is right, Briannon will be angry," Shannon interjected. With a waving of her hand, Aurore silenced his next words and dismissed him as she maintained eye contact with Sahar. As she looked deeply into the mortal's thoughts, her hands were kneading the woman's flesh, her fingers grasping her breasts roughly.

For what seemed an eternity in time Aurore contemplated her next move. "Has Briannon told you how much she cares for you, puppy? Has she given you a peek at the dark side yet? Did she promise to bring you into the shadows so that you will always be together?" the young woman whispered as her hand casually unfastened the mortal's pants and then snaked past Sahar's belt and into her jeans. As slender fingers found their mark, she began to slowly speak.

"Briannon doesn't love you," the teen whispered softly even as her fingers were running along the mortal's nether lips. Instinctively, the Persian's legs parted further as the sensations caused her to shudder. "She hasn't shown you the dark side yet, she doesn't care about you…like I could," the brown haired girl whispered just as her slender fingers entered into the mortal's warm body.

The taller woman suddenly groaned as she threw her head back. While a part of her wanted to fight, to push the girl's hands away, another part of her body could only respond to the exquisite pleasure. The pain in her body, still fresh, became dull as the pleasure from the immortal's touch took over.

"I will love you, puppy; I will care for you always. Come with me and I'll bring you into the shadows of our existence. I'll make it possible for you to always be with your mistress," Aurore's whisper sounded like a soothing, melodic lullaby. As a fog suddenly engulfed her senses, Sahar felt her world slowly spinning out of control.

Sahar felt the familiar heat coursing through her being. As the singsong voice continued its hypnotic melody, she closed her eyes to the deafening sound of her own heartbeat. The Persian felt herself being pulled through an ochre-colored world. She was aware of the soft voice cooing in her mind. Unable to control herself, Sahar felt the painful waves of orgasmic pleasure surging through her being and envisioned herself surrounded by a blanket of red liquid. Above her Aurore's lithe body pressed against her own excited form. She watched in silent awe as the young woman held out a finger and held it over the tall mortal's lips.

Drink, little one, I offer a taste of what Briannon will not give, Aurore's thoughts whispered as she held a delicate finger close to Sahar's lips. Like a dream, the Persian watched as the immortal cut open her own flesh with a sharp fingernail. The slow trickle of blood gently flowed from the seams of the immortal's skin. With the first single drop of blood, the prey felt hypnotized by the sight. As the red teardrop seemed to fall heedlessly though the air, Sahar reached up instinctively to the offered appendage. Like a hungry babe she longed to swallow the cooling hot liquid fire.

As if reading her mind, Aurore visibly smiled as she pulled her bloodied finger away. With a broad smile, her touch slowly danced over Sahar's flesh. At the sight of the two razor sharp teeth, Sahar inhaled deeply as she instinctively tilted her head and offered her own blood for this immortal's nourishment.

In a move of gentle patience, Aurore shook her head slowly as she softly stroked the Persian's dark hair. "Not yet, there's still time," Aurore's soft voice filtered through the darkness as an evil smile crossed her lips.

When Fernando had left his friend, he knew that he would have his hands full with convincing Madame Tuscany to talk with Lady Briannon. He was fully aware that when it came to Briannon and her granddaughter, Aurore, the old woman had blinders on. Within her eyes, the two could never do any wrong.

After being a servant for so long, Fernando knew that his mistress held a lot of hope in Briannon. She was to be the next in line of succession. With her years of immortal existence and her knowledge of their ways, she was the most likely candidate to take over as the clan matriarch Madame Tuscany had once said. Although he may have had personal reservations, he did not dispute his mistress. Instead, he said a silent prayer that the old woman lived a long and healthy immortal life.

For Aurore, she was the apple of the wizened woman's eye. Aurore could do no wrong. When she bit Magdalena, the older woman brushed it off as her granddaughter's insatiable hunger. After only a few minutes of talking and a few apologies from the girl, all was forgiven. Meanwhile, the poor servant girl was left wrecked and frightened. If it had not been for his assurances that he would never let anything happen to her again, the mortal woman would have left their services. Thankfully, Magdalena felt confident enough with him that she knew he would keep up his promise.

As he walked through the quiet house, Fernando mentally rehearsed what he would say to the old woman. First, he would apologize for waking her up during the middle of her sleep. Then, he would remind her of his years of loyalty. If all of this worked, then she would listen to him when he pled his case and asked her to intervene on behalf of his mortal friend.

When he turned the corner of the hall, he heard slight voices at the end of the hallway. Freezing in his steps, he stood still and listened to the sounds, his acute hearing attempting to decipher the slight noises. When this failed, he glanced around the corner in time to see Aurore talking with Briannon's mortal assistant. The weasel of a man had his mouth slightly covered as he whispered in the teen's ear. Occasionally, the mortal glanced over his shoulder suspiciously and then returned to speaking softly to the girl.

After they finished talking to each other, Aurore's smile seemed to light up her features as she turned and ran up the stairs. When the mortal began to make his way through the house, Fernando decided to follow him. He wanted to see what this man was up to in hopes of understanding what length Briannon would go to get back her mortal servant.

If Fernando had chosen to remain in the shadows longer, he would have seen the immortal teen turning at the top of the steps and run back down. He would have known that his friend would be the target of this immortal adolescent's rage. But he did not. Instead, he followed the little peacock and watched everything that he did as his friend, Sahar, became the object of Aurore's diabolical plan.

part 4

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