For the first couple of minutes after they left the club Kemp and Owen just walked, saying nothing but somehow comfortable in each others presence none the less. There were very few people around now as they strolled toward the river front—other than an occasional tourist couple wandering their way back to their hotel.
“I love this time of night,” Owen said softly, “Nobody to bother you, just the stars and the breezes.”
“And the guy you picked up at the club,” Kemp responded with a chuckle.
“And him.” Owen stopped to look at Kemp, his eyes taking on a slightly feral gleam.
‘Oh hell,’ Kemp thought, backing away even as he met Owen’s gaze.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Owen purred, reaching out to trace a finger down Kemp’s cheek. Then he frowned, abruptly pulling his hand back.
“You’re not going to feed from me either.” Kemp sighed deeply. “And here I thought you wanted me for me, not for my blood. I should have known better.”
Owen’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know what I am?”
“I knew the moment I saw you.” Crossing his arms over his chest he stared at Owen. “So I’m just dinner for you, nothing more. You had me fooled for a while.”
“No! I mean, well at first I thought so and then, well, I thought maybe not because as weird as it probably sounds I feel drawn to you but then the hunger hit and…”
“And I stopped being a person again and just became supper on the hoof.”
“I’m sorry,” Owen whispered. “I wouldn’t have hurt you, you wouldn’t even have remembered. My father taught me that at least.”
Uncrossing his arms Kemp leaned back against the wall behind him. “You’re Sire you mean. How long ago were you turned?”
“Six months ago." Owen paused, then asked, "Kemp, why are you taking this so…so easily? I mean I know you’re not a vampyre.”
“I’m half vampyre, if that tells you anything.”
“Dhampir.” Owen’s face paled even more than it had been already.