The doorbell jangled itself to silence as Ethan studied his final customer of the night.

“I’m afraid I’m virtually cleaned-out. You Americans do take this premature saturnalia seriously, don’t you?”

“Not a Yank.” The handsome face transformed. “Don’t need a mask either.”

Ethan edged away and came up against the counter, bare of anything he could use as a weapon. He still had his wits and a ready tongue though.

“Do tell me; as you’re nocturnal, will I be breakfast, not supper?”

The laughter brought back the human facade. “Neither, mate. Dru’d have my guts for garters and I like ‘em where they are.”

“Ah. You know what I plan to do, then?”

A careless nod and suddenly the creature was hard up against him. Literally. “And I’m grateful. Bloody boring night, usually, but this time I’ll be going home with a sackful of goodies. And a belly-full of Slayer’s blood.”

The counter dug into Ethan’s spine as exhaled air, smoky and metallic, cooled his face. Just fed then. Handy.

“No need for thanks. I’m happy to be left alive,” he said politely.

“Did I ask you if you wanted them?” Temper sparked deep in the blue eyes.

“Sorry.” Really, having to propitiating a vampire was the last bloody straw. His feet were killing him.

“You worship Chaos, don’t you?”

Ethan eyed him cautiously. “I do, rather. Is that a problem?”

A hand came to his shoulder and pushed him down.

“No. I’m in the mood for a bit of worshipping.”

Ethan resisted the tiniest bit. “You’re evil. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not quite the same.”

The strong fingers bit deep and he swallowed a moan of pain.

“Want to be dessert?”

An empty threat? Not worth testing. Ethan lowered his eyes and the vampire’s zip, and raised hell.




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13/11/04