BUSINESS OR PLEASURE

EPILOGUE I

Part I

BRAZIL, SOUTH AMERICA

Saturday, January 21st, 2045

Thirty years could change a lot about a person, but that wasn't likely for a man like Warren Howard. Like marble, always cold, sophisticated yet veined with darkness, most of all, he weathered well.

Another few chapters of his life had come to pass since things at the Compound had fallen apart. It was left uninhabitable by the third attack the mortals wrought upon it back in 2015. Everyone scattered for their safety, and that chapter of his life ended painfully.

Being free to escape the burden of living in a place tainted by Karou's memory was bittersweet, he supposed. Ultimately he'd departed in poor health and was ushered away by Magnus. Once his mortal blood farm, along with its sole vampiric occupant, had been discreetly relocated, unsurprisingly he'd moved back to Blue Ash and taken shelter within the walls of Davikov Castle.

That very same year saw the mass extinction event that tilted the scales towards a mythical war victory. Still, at that point, Warren couldn't see how anyone could genuinely win when the world's social and economic infrastructures had been laid to waste. The virus, which was rumoured to have been engineered, wiped out billions of the remaining mortal population. Some continents were even said to be utterly devoid of the primary race. The world had become a graveyard.

Fortunately for Warren, REDford didn't suffer what might've been presumed a devastating blow. Most of his blood products were grown in labs rather than drained from livestock like in the old days. It made the whole process less messy and more streamlined. Oh, and of course, more ethical.

Alas, he had troubles elsewhere. Unfortunately, for the Davikov Coven members, the threat of mortals having been diluted wasn't something they could take solace in while their coven lord, Roman Black, was running wild and descending rapidly into madness. He seemed to glean more and more pleasure from making the existence of those under his coven's protection a living hell. For a while, the elders had struggled to maintain control of the tyrant, and the Black Winter was starting to wonder whether it was time to take matters into their own hands. Koldan Vasiliev, general of the Davikov's military force, wasn't willing to bite the hand that fed him just yet. Regardless, his brother Taras put increasing pressure on him to initiate a mutiny.

With tensions rising in Blue Ash and drama imminent, Warren felt it was time to move on again. By 2020, he'd fled Russia to resume his residence in Paris.

Although his apartment had once resided in a lively and affluent neighbourhood, it was now a desolate district left to ruin. It offered some quality quiet time to invest in his work undistracted by politics and gave him peace of mind to know he was out of the action.

The peace and quiet had worn thin quickly. He supposed he wasn't lonely, but with REDford doing well, he had too much free time on his hands. His social schedule was admittedly sparse, he thought; perhaps a new project might alleviate his boredom.

Warren scouted for prospects, but in the end, it was a chance encounter with a Norwegian pure-blood vampire by the name of Thomas, who he came to know as Sven, saw another chapter of his life begin. Presented with the new business venture he'd been thirsting after, Warren's quiet life in Paris was over.

An exciting yet dark adventure, full of shady business, risky procurement missions, and trading of a particular type of blood, saw Warren and his new Norwegian friends make a ridiculous amount of money.

Consequently, he also kindled strong ties with another vampiric coven, The Dreyri. Of course, the fae-blood pool eventually dried up, and the dynamic of the Dreyri Coven altered. Sven's brother, Arvid, was made lord of their coven after the death of their father, so he could no longer dabble in blood procurement. Sven's unfortunate ex-communication meant that Warren again decided to distance himself from other people's tribulations.

After ten years of flitting between Paris and Norway, Warren was unsure where to settle for the next little while.

A solution came the same year as the world's second Mythical Conference. In 2032, Magnus decided to distance himself from the Davikov. It would be the fourth but not the final time in his lifetime. Using the excuse of his son's death as a valid reason to step back from his duties, Magnus moved to Italy. Enrique had been estranged from his father for two centuries, but while Magnus 'grieved', he and Warren bought a villa in Florence. They cohabitated there and ran REDford together for a decade or so.

Conveniently their move also distanced them from the fiasco that was their strange three-way relationship. After Magnus had brought Warren to Blue Ash from the Compound, Ellis had dropped her toy-boy from Budapest and swooped back in to play games with her fledgeling once more. Since she couldn't sever Warren from Karou herself, she decided to play the long game and wait for their inevitable separation to dig her fangs back into him. Still, it didn't take either Magnus or Warren very long to climb out from the long shadow Ellis had left on their lives while in Italy.

When his invitation to attend the world's third Mythical Conference arrived through the mail, Warren had been just about sick enough of talk of conflict to throw it in the trash without even opening the envelope. As always, Magnus talked him around to consider attending. Although Magnus would be, Warren wouldn't be there as an honorary representative of his estranged coven; he'd been offered an invitation as the owner of REDford. As a significant stakeholder in the vampiric community, he was requested to cast his vote on the outcome of the conference's main topic of discussion; how should the mythical community retaliate against the captivation of Alabaster and her resident's by a new mortal militia; The Sapien Creed. Magnus had flattered Warren's ego enough to convince him that his vote would matter and that the recognition he would get as REDfords fonder wasn't to be snubbed, so that was how he found himself on a plane, flying to Brazil.

Warren paid little mind to the stunning coastal view zooming past the windows of the backseat of a taxi cab. Rio de Janeiro's former glory as a holiday destination had faded. Still, seeing as it'd managed to remain mostly unscathed by the waging war, it had become one of the Southern hemisphere's mythical havens. Although the summer sun had vanished from the sky, a warm January night drew in. Warren checked his wristwatch for the time while he waited to disembark and was thankful to be sat in an airconditioned vehicle in case of a long delay. A dozen cars lined up outside the entrance to the sister hotels hosting the conference, and guests were still arriving in number.

When he finally made it to the front of the queue, two porters unpacked his luggage onto a trolley and followed him into the foyer. Despite the crowd, Warren checked himself in at reception without too much hassle and negotiated his way to the elevator - this time, followed by just the one porter and his cart of luggage. It seemed like an unnecessary amount of fuss made over one modestly sized suitcase. Still, it would be futile and more hassle to dispute the hotel's service protocols.

At his room, the two parted ways so Warren could settle in. He was used to hotel atmospheres, and the prescribed uniformity of clean and tidy homeliness, order and luxury was complimentary to ones stay. He appreciated all the things that came with fancy suite life because they emulated how he liked to live his life at home. Warren didn't spend too much time looking over the finer details of his temporary accommodation. To him, the true beauty of a hotel was that there were no surprises. Everything was of purpose and had its place. His suitcase sat in its place where it would remain for the duration; upon the purposefully designed luggage rack. The first port of call was to unpack his suits so that their creases could fall out overnight. Taking out the three-piece garments from his regimentally packed case, he hung them in the wardrobe and placed his pyjamas on his pillow. On the vanity unit in the bathroom, he'd arranged his toiletries and decided to rinse away the stresses of travelling on a commercial flight under the warm water of the suites shower. Warren was probably what people might call a snob, but he was at the charming end of the spectrum rather than the pompous end. Despite flying first class, he would've still prefered his private jet.

It was around ten-thirty, but Warren was hardly tired enough to sleep with the time difference. Dressed in fresh clothes, he vacated his room. He hadn't planned to go anywhere in particular but found himself back in the same elevator as before. His evening's schedule was taken out of his hands when he'd called Magnus to inform him of his arrival - he was invited to the hotel's restaurant and bar.

Warren found his mentor and ex-coven associates talking over drinks on his arrival at the watering hole. Unceremoniously, he seated himself at the table with a scotch over ice and introduced himself to the four men with a mere nod - they were all already very well acquainted because they were members of the Davikov Coven's Council. He'd dropped in mid-conversation; they were discussing a curious topic, but it was something that he'd noticed on his arrival too.

"Funny how they've segregated the darker races into this hotel, huh?" Armistead noted.

"I noticed when checking in the lack of elves." Mikhail smirked as he replied, "Not that I'm complaining. We'll have to listen to enough of their nonsense tomorrow as it is."

"It's rather considerate of the organisers to even think of such an arrangement, don't you think?" Warren interjected as he lit up a cigarette. Admittedly, he found the idea small-minded, but he could see how it would put fragile minds at rest to know they weren't expected to dwell under the same roof as a race they considered a threat. It would undoubtedly reduce friction and the possibility of conflicts occurring before the discussions even began.

"Considerate for who, though? The pray races, maybe. But here we are in such lovely place, only to be stuck with all the lycans." Armistead grumbled and pulled a face of distaste. Though Armistead was his surname, his friends knew Grindan as Armie. The burly auburn haired fellow was a six-hundred-year-old, old-school pure-blood Saxon vampire who still held a cliché grudge against those of the lupine race - it made sense seeing as he was a young man when the racial tensions were still high. The irony that Armie, who held a narrow-minded opinion about lycan's, was grumbling about the equally petty racial segregation at the conference amused Warren. Still, he kept a blank expression despite wanting to chuckle.

"I wonder if they've put demons in this hotel or the other one?" Magnus mused as he stared thoughtfully into his wine glass while swirling its contents. Warren's eyes darted to his mentor; he could see a thought swirling behind the Spaniards deep brown, pensive eyes.

"As long as none of the celestials have any grievances, I'll bet they're in the other one," Mikhail replied without understanding the motive behind Magnus' speculation. He'd posed the question merely to alert Warren to a possibility.

A spasm jolted Warren in his seat, and goosebumps prickled over the surface of his skin; it was a rather violent and involuntary reaction that surprised both vampires. Magnus glanced to Warren and noticed how he'd flinched as well as the look on his face; it was blank in bewilderment, but Magnus grinned mischievously.

For some reason, up until that moment, it hadn't crossed Warren's mind that she might be one of the higher-ups attending the conference as a representative of the celestials. Now he felt stupid; of course, she would be there; she was the Queen Regent of Enoch.

"I think it's time I retired to bed; sorry I haven't stayed long, gentlemen. I'm sure I'll see you at some point tomorrow," Warren said, downing the rest of his drink and stood to leave their table. "I'll speak to you in the morning Magnus." He said curtly before leaving; the particular meaning that spiked his words made Magnus smirk.

Ooo, am I going to be scolded? The Spaniard thought openly to Warren as he watched him leave the bar.

Sleep was elusive now that he'd been given something troubling to think about. Back in his room, he tried his hardest to convince himself it was a non-issue and that amongst all the people in attendance at the conference, it was unlikely that he'd bump into her. Even if it came to it, he would remain calm on the exterior, but in the privacy of his hotel room, he allowed himself a moment of panic. How could he endure a reunion with his estranged fledgeling?

Laid atop the bed, he realised he could be concerned for no reason; she might not even be there. Taking a deep breath, he sighed it back out and relaxed.

Still, just because he might not see her at the conference didn't mean that he couldn't see her if he really wanted to. Without giving himself time to think himself out of doing it, he sunk back into the bed linen, closed his blue eyes and did something that he hadn't in quite some time. Maybe even ten years. Though it brought solace once he was submerged, it could bring an incredible amount of pain once it was all over, and he was back in reality, but he submitted to his wandering mind and thought of nothing but Karou.

(Dream sequence)

A fan of dark blue, shimmering feathers fluttered before his mind's eye, but before he could envisage anything else of her perfect form, her celestial aroma hit him. The way her sweet scent warmed his chest was like heavy humidity. It was mouthwatering as he sucked it in through his nose and wet the back of his throat though it made it burn too. No sooner had he coughed; his mind allowed him some relief as he imagined drinking her. Ah, that was so soothing. It was never as good as the real thing, but it was as close as he'd been to feeling his thirst quenched thoroughly in decades.

While he was indulging in the memory of her scent and taste, the display of plumage shifted. Her long, almost raven hair hung in wavey swathes down the middle of her back beckoned his fingers. From his point of view, he saw his hand reach out, and beneath his fingertips, he could feel the texture of her hair; it was so real, so irresistible.

The scene that began to play out, he had no idea if it was an accurate memory or just something his mind was piecing together from past experiences; either way, what happened next was worth it.

The skin that swept down her shoulder came into view when he moved her hair aside to reveal the nape of her neck. The lace-like bite scars glistened golden in the low light that cast over her body. Slowly, she turned her head and peered at him over her shoulder and the arch of her wing. The way her eyes fluttered open teased him as if she knew what he really wanted to see. When she focused on him, she was gazing at him dreamily through her thick eyelashes with the beginnings of a coy smirk tugging at her supple lips.

Now he was gone, completely hooked on his fantasy. His willpower to shake himself out of a semi-dreamlike state evaporated in the heat of his desire. Warren submitted himself to his imaginary fledgeling. Yes, there she was His fledgeling. His Karou. Staring at him with wide gun-metal blue eyes, how the metallic silvery greys danced like kaleidoscopic patterns over the blue backdrop of her iris would never become mundane to him. With only one look, she could captivate him. Karou opened her lips to speak, and even though they moved to form words, he couldn't hear her voice but noticed her fangs hanging in the hollow of her mouth. He watched as her eyes shifted through deeper and deeper hues of blue until it was clear that she was thirsty. Thirst in mind, he looked back to her neck and felt himself lick over his lips. She must've noticed the gesture and tipped her head to one side. Was she merely curious? That was one of her cute mannerisms, after all, and signalled she was thinking about something. Or was it an invite? Either way, he approached and was suddenly aware that other parts of his body were in on the act, not just his eyes. Under his hands, he could feel more of her skin; the shape that formed beneath his palm was her waist, for sure, because of the way it synched in as he pulled her towards his chest. Her wings relaxed as he pressed himself into the space between their feathery arches and contacted her bare back. When his head bowed over her shoulder, and his lips lingered over her neck, he became acutely aware that his fangs were bare; she was ready and waiting for him to bite her.

In reality, he was still sprawled on the bed. Warren laid with his legs hung off the side of the mattress, at the mercy of his imagination, toes scrunched into the carpet. He'd always had a vivid imagination, especially for someone who wasn't very good at naming his feelings. He was pretty good at thinking over things that made him feel all the big emotions he struggled with the most. The skill was a double-edged sword - it made it easy to escape how isolating his real world was, but also made it incredibly easy to torture himself. Like, just now, what he was allowing himself to remember now was self-harming. The hollowness that could come with waking up would permanently devastate him as much as watching her climb into the back of that grey truck with Cambria had.

This time though, he wouldn't be in the haven of his unit where he could hide away and lick his wounds. No, tomorrow morning, he'd have to get up, get dressed, put on his façade and arrive at the conference as the Warren Howard his audience expected him to be. The face, the man, the world knew was cool, calm, and collected. An impeccable businessman as clean-cut as the suits he wore, but for six months after Karou had left, that man had vanished. The wreck that Magnus had found upon his arrival at the Compound, only nine days after Karou had gone, was enough to convince him that he would never let him get Karou back and interfere with her life in Enoch. He was sure that the vampire he'd come to love as a son wouldn't survive if, for some reason, she had to depart his life again.

(Flashback)

At first glance, the unit looked to be the same as usual; tidy, clean, and in order. With the initial scene assessed, the sight Magnus came upon in Warren's bedroom brought him a deep sadness. The scene wasn't harrowing, bloody, or violent, but it screamed of Warren's deprivation and grief. The bed had been abandoned, but not before the sheets had been torn asunder. Warren, in his frustration, had attempted to rip them from his mattress, but in his weakened, thirsty and feral state, he hadn't managed the task. It didn't matter anyhow; her scent still lingered on the mattress and not just the sheets. The flurry of motion had sent a collection of her feathers from the bedclothes and into the air; scattering her scent further. There was no escape, no way he would have been able to sleep peacefully in the bed he'd shared with her. If the memory of her being lay next to him wasn't enough to torment him, the presence of her scent aggrieved him.

The throws of withdrawal from her celestial blood had hit him hard and had brought about the second wave of torture. One worse than the emotional pain her absence brought, this one was very physical. On the inside, he felt to be burning, as if every fibre of his muscle were being torn from the other and his organs had shrivelled up, and been mangled by vampiric thirst. On the outside, he shivered uncontrollably; one moment, he craved the comfort and warmth of the only blanket he owned that she had never touched, and then the next, he wanted to be rid of not just the blanket but his skin too. Skin which he'd scratched into, leaving patches of raw-looking flesh all over his body but especially around his throat, where the itch had felt the worst. Usually, the wounds would have healed at the astonishing rate that was normal for vampires, but in his thirsty state, they appeared like mortal wounds and had only just scabbed over, only to be remade and worsened when he couldn't stop the itch.

Magnus found him curled into a ball beneath his piano. There was no dramatic cry of pain, no exclamation of his agony, just sombre speechlessness and acceptance of defeat. Warren huddled like a mortally wounded animal, anticipating, no, praying for death. Even when Magnus crouched down to look at him, try as he might, he couldn't gain the attention of Warren's eyes. They were open, black, and staring into space. What hurt the Spaniard more than anything was that around his eyes and down his cheeks laid the salty remains of dried tears. Even now, lingering in the bottom of his eyes, were fresh ones that threatened to trickle free any moment. He had never seen Warren cry and had thought it was probably impossible, apparently not.

"Oh, Dios Mio, Mijo," Magnus muttered and sympathetically stroked over Warren's clammy forehead, sweeping his hair away. "So, she really is gone? Ah, look what you have done to yourself…"

Warren knew Magnus had come to look after him. Although he was grateful, he merely nodded in reply to his question. He wasn't sure if he could talk, anyhow. His throat felt so raw even though the floor was littered with almost thirty empty blood bags. The empty liquor bottles hadn't gone unnoticed by Magnus either, but he wouldn't say anything about those. Right now, he just needed to get Warren better and out of this regressive fledgeling-like state in which he found himself.

Thirty years ago or not, Warren could remember that chapter of his life vividly. For now, he was still laid on his hotel bed, thousands of miles south of Montana in Brazil, indulging in a lucid dream about his fledgeling.

Feeding had commenced, and she'd been as sweet and satisfying as he had remembered. Another release had come to pass, which was equally as spine-tingling. The way it felt to have as much of her skin within reach, pressed up and perspiring against his, as they writhed against each other on their mutual quest for carnal pleasure would never sour for him - even if it was just imaginary. With nothing left to do other than just hold each other, Warren could feel the dream slipping away and the obis of a dreamless sleep encroaching.

Just when he had finally surrendered to the pitch blackness, he felt something. He had no idea, but somewhere between dreaming, he had reached out his consciousness for hers in desperation for the scene to be real.

Brazil's humidity was unpleasant. The heat she could deal with, but it wasn't the dry heat she had gotten used to in Enoch. The way it made her skin constantly feel sticky was beyond irritating. Fortunately, the air conditioning in the hotel was a slight reprieve, but now her sanity was threatened by the laborious duration of the meeting she was sitting in. She felt she should've gotten used to these sorts of things. Cambria and the two other Enochian Council members at her side, along with all the other race representatives present, were wading through the issues regarding Alabaster.

'Should someone, and if so, how should someone the captive populous?'

Yesterday, they finally agreed that someone should wage a counterattack on the mortals responsible for detaining Alabaster and her residents. Still, that day's meeting had been adjourned until today to start the discussion about who that should be. The 'how' would most likely be a discussion for the day after. Today's question at hand was: Which race? Which organisation?

Of course, all of the decisions made could still be blown out of the water by the final vote, which would be cast in the next few days. Another few hundred or so mythicals that weren't even present for the discussions would have a say as to what the broader community did in response to Alabaster's predicament, which to Karou's mind rendered the whole thing useless, to begin with. Political procedure will out, she told herself. Still some six hours in, with her attention span waning, Karou sat twiddling her pen between her fingers as the monotone voice of some elven fellow went on and on about how they were the best people to deal with the issue. A bell rang, cutting through the man's less than evocative speech, and with that, the days' discussion had ended with no clear-cut resolution in sight.

Karou sighed and peeled herself out of the chair she'd been sitting in all day. Cambria's energy had begun to flag, too. Without any summary speeches, her mentor separated from her comrades and retreated to her room for some rest.

Karou escaped too. On autopilot, she walked through the lobby to the elevator and in her wake, the heels of her shoes clip-clopped over the marble tiles. She also planned on shutting herself away in her room for the rest of the day.

The elevator music played as a backdrop to checking her cell phone for messages. Of course, there were many from Eamon, as well as half-a-dozen missed calls. How he could be so possessive and paranoid about her whereabouts when she was at a conference that he knew every single detail about boggled her mind more than the tedious discussion she'd had to endure all day. Ignoring the calls and leaving the messages unread for now, she shoved her phone back into her purse and told herself that she would make an effort to call him later. Deep down, she knew she wouldn't. Their marriage was becoming more and more of a facade by the passing day - but hadn't it always been? Hadn't it always just been what the Enochian Court wanted for her? Her wedding band was just another shackle and means of control.

The hefty door clunked closed behind her; with her wings and back pressed against the private side, she let go of a huge sigh. Pulling her four-inch heels from her dainty feet, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and scrunched her toes into the carpet to awaken them from the position her shoes had restricted them to. I have no idea how so many women walk in these all day. I've been sitting, and I'm in agony. She thought to herself.

Somehow, she had mustered the energy to get up from the bed and wandered into the bathroom, where she ran herself a nice, hot bath.

Reaching around her back, Karou tugged down the zipper of her tailor-fitted cream and navy peplum dress to stand before the sink in her under-things. While she stared at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the basin, she combed through her hair to brush out any remains of hairspray that had aided in holding her loose waves into place. Lastly, she took a facial wipe and rubbed it over her eyes to remove the black liner and mascara, her cheeks too, to remove any artificial blush and, finally, her lips. However, it only smeared the red across her face in a way that seemed to enchant her momentarily. The deep red shade gave the illusion of blood, and it aroused her vampiric thirst in a way that startled her. Karou let the wipe drop from her hand when she reached to trace her fingers over her lips as she locked eyes with her reflection. It wasn't often these days that she saw herself as a vampire, but her fangs sprung free.

The steam that was slowly filling the room crept over the mirror's surface and frosted over her reflection, interrupting her staring. Shaking the passing thought from her head, she grabbed another wipe and finished cleaning her face before she submerged herself into the bath to relax.

For a while, she just lounged there in the water, trying her best to think of nothing. Eventually, she'd gotten bored and decided to wash her hair. The act of massaging her soapy fingers into her scalp always relaxed her, and that night was no different. Rubbing a washcloth over her skin scrubbed her clean of that day's clammy perspiration but also seemed to polish up the scaly silver patterns that meandered here and there over her limbs, a sign that she was indeed in line for the Enochian Throne. Soon they would turn gold, and it would be time for Cambria to abdicate. While she was representing Enoch and in the public eye, her wings were to remain unglamoured and out of dormancy. Her scaly markings were also displayed with pride, while other aspects of herself stayed hidden. Her fangs were never to be bared; she was to keep herself as well-fed as possible so that her eyes retained their natural gun-metal blue shade, and most of all, she was to cover her bite scars that littered her neck with make-up. As always, she could only be half of herself, and it depressed her entirely, making the task of seeming cheerful and well-adjusted all the more difficult.

If her private, momentary lapse a few minutes ago hadn't been enough to bring up thoughts of bathing in blood that night, the act of scrubbing the make-up from her neck certainly was.

Wrapped in a plush, white hotel towel, Karou sat staring at the telephone on the desk adjacent to her bed. She was mulling over a possibility but hadn't plucked up the courage to make her call yet.

"Hello, room service?" A male voice answered when she eventually made the call.

"Uh- Hi, I need to make a very confidential room service order." Karou began to explain. "It is of utmost importance that what I order is in no way disclosed to anyone other than the waiter that brings it to my room, understood?"

"All of the room service orders are completely confidential, ma'am."

"This order is not to appear of my room bill, understood? If I have to pay a personal premium for this to be made possible, then that can be arranged." Karou had to make this clear as she was sure that at least someone from Enoch would see the room bill at some point.

"Uh- that won't be necessary, ma'am. Whatever it is that you require, The Sena Hotel will endeavour to deliver, completely confidentially." The man on the other end stated in a very professional manner it was obviously a highly scripted reply that gave Karou a little peace of mind. Surely, people ordered things much more immoral than what she required?

"Thank you for the peace of mind. I require blood. Hmm, about five pints of it and as fresh as possible."

"Ma'am, I am afraid that The Sena Hotel doesn't stock blood products. They're prohibited from our menu..."

"Prohibited?"

"Yes, Ma'am. My apologies, but these are the terms agreed between the hotel and the hosts of this week's conference. As blood consumption is... frowned upon by a number of the guests staying at this hotel for the duration." The man explained, but he added, "But uh- our sister hotel... The Vida, over the street, is hosting the 'alternative' members of the mythical community. I know that blood products are definitely available on their menu for the duration of the conference."

"And can I have something delivered from that hotel to this one?"

"No, ma'am, but you would be allowed to enter and order from The Vida's Hotel bar whatever blood product or beverage you require."

"Brilliant. Thank you for your assistance." With that, Karou hung up and flopped back onto the bedsheets feeling completely exasperated. There was no way she would get away with wandering into the other hotel unnoticed. For tonight she would give up on her mission to quench her thirst and resign to some much-needed sleep instead. Changing into her cotton sleep shorts and a simple camisole Karou climbed under the sheets, turned out all the lights, and lay in the darkness waiting for sleep to take her. What found her instead was a sinfully enticing and vivid dream.

Instantly, she knew who was behind her in the scene. When she turned to look at him, over her shoulder, she found his crystal blue eyes staring at her through the darkness. It was no surprise to her that after thinking of blood all evening, her mind brought him to the forefront. In her dream, her eyes fluttered closed as she revealed her neck to him, always willingly submissive to his fangs, as she felt him approach. As she had anticipated, he enacted the arousing and violent act of quenching his thirst upon her. The dream's detail, along with its lucidity, caused her to trace her fingers over the stippled texture her scars left upon her neck, just as he was doing in her imagination.

In the dream, when he explored her body further, her breath hitched in her throat; she could feel him. With his hands and lips all over her, she writhed in the satin sheets; the pleasure she gleaned was palpable; it made her feel hot and ache for more. She would have sworn blind that if she reached out her hands into the expanse of space above her bed, she would have found the cool landscape of his bare chest, and in turning her head, found his lips on hers... but of course, that wasn't true. He wasn't actually there; it was all just another dream. Like many she'd had before, she would have to wake up eventually. Still, she was lost in the moment and too enchanted by her make-believe Sire to let grief claim her yet. Suddenly, the sensation she felt between her thighs caused her to gasp. Ecstatic, she heard herself moan his name. "Warren..." That was what jarred her from her slumber, and she quickly found herself sitting upright in bed, alone and panting into the night air.

Warren, are you there? She asked in thought, a daring one that almost frightened her. Frightened that for once, he might answer, but wasn't she also hopeful?

In another room, in another hotel, he heard her voice as clear as a bell in his mind. Without contemplating or hesitating, he answered her question. Yes.

The next day, Karou sat through the duration of the discussion, completely distracted. Whatever was going on around her was a blur. She just kept replaying the moments of her dream that she could recall from the night before and sat biting at her fingernails. It was starting to annoy Cambria.

"Can't you hold yourself with a little more decorum?" The Dragon-Lady hissed in her direction.

Karou snapped out of her daydreaming and laced her fingers together on her lap to stop herself from fidgeting. Still, she managed to zone out again some moments later and was back in her imagination with a certain vampire.

Now, she was gnawing at her bottom lip as her cell phone began to ring. The vibration had disturbed everyone else sat at the Enochian's podium but not Karou; she was elsewhere. It wasn't until Callida nudged her and alerted her to the issue that she grabbed up her purse and excused herself, intending to take the call.

"Hello?" Karou answered without even looking at the caller ID.

"You're avoiding all my calls now, then?" Eamon grumbled down the line, instigating the conversation in Enochian.

"Eamon, I'm here on business. I can't talk right now. We're in the middle of some critical political discussions." Karou explained. Her tone was amicable, but she rolled her eyes.

"And these discussions have lasted for the last forty-eight hours, have they?" His anger had simmered that long, apparently. Karou could feel him losing his temper even down the phone, but she had grown used to his moods by now. "You don't have breaks? You don't go back to your hotel room to rest? There isn't a moment you have spare to answer the fucking phone? Is that what you're saying, Karou?"

"There is no need to use that tone, Eamon." Karou sighed. "I'm here on business, not pleasure. Any spare moment I have is spent doing what you and Cambria do best. 'Networking'..."

"Don't get too friendly when you're doing all this 'networking'. We wouldn't want any nasty, reputation tarnishing rumours finding their way back to the Enoch with you, would we?"

"What are you trying to say, Eamon?" Karou asked, even though she knew exactly what he was trying to insinuate. Gods, you're such an asshole. It was very accurate in Eamon's case that the 'jealous' spouse was, in fact, the one indulging in adultery. Still, he was so good at disguising his indiscretions that as far as the Enochian Council was concerned, he was 'the perfect husband', and the sun still shone out of his ass. Karou knew a vastly different side to her husband than the Courtiers; one that she was unfortunate enough to be intimately acquainted with.

"Hmph." He scoffed, pleased that he had gotten a rise out of her. "Nothing, my dear. Enjoy your business trip; I'll be here waiting for you to return home." With that, he hung up, and Karou was left alone in the middle of a desolate lobby hoping that no one had eavesdropped on their conversation. That would have been scandalous enough. She turned on her heels and returned to the meeting. She tried to deny that his call had riled her up.

Tonight, she would need more than wine and a bath to relax. Perhaps a wander over to The Vida Hotel wasn't such a bad idea.