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.
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