"I think it is time for us to leave. The hour grows late." Aidan broke the silence, afraid that she might forget herself in this man's arms.
"Of course." He stood, then extended a hand to help her up before dusting the mud and snow from his clothing. She picked up her bonnet from the ground where it fell and put it back while doing her best to tidy her hair. Her normally deep red curls were now wet from the snow and had traces of mud from the ground where she had fallen. The back of her long heavy coat was also soaked and marked with dirt. Erik had fared better, but the knees of his breeches were still damp and covered in soil. Being caught in such a disheveled state would have left both open to gossip and scandal, particularly Aidan. Neither seemed concerned about it as they walked together back to the horse.
The vampire turned to his lady and lifted her onto the animal's back. As he did, a question came to mind. Perhaps he thought of it because of what Athanasia had told him in his dream, or because of the physical reaction he had experienced holding this woman. Then again, it may well have been that for the first time in countless ages Aidan had brought a sense of calm and even hope to his dead heart. Whatever the reason, he found himself asking a question he had never imagined himself even considering. "A few moments ago you said that you were told there is someone for everyone," Erik looked up at her, recalling her words perfectly. "Do you think there is someone for me?"
"Yes I do. I don't flatter myself that it is me, but I imagine she is out there somewhere waiting for you to find her. She would be beautiful, accomplished, and have a good heart. I also believe she would be a woman of strong character."
"What makes you say that?"
"You don't seem the sort of man who is attracted to simpering little girls with no thoughts of their own." To her surprise he smiled again. Taking her hand in his, he studied her face. There was something about her he couldn't fathom. He had known many women over the ages and not one stirred him as she did. He felt as though their souls were connected and yet he knew that it was impossible.
"If . . . if you were to find out that the accusations leveled against me were not entirely false . . ." he started to ask.
"I don't want to hear about your past or what you may or may not have done. I know the character of the man standing before me and that is all I wish to know." So saying she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. Erik couldn't fathom this response and it vexed him. Climbing up behind her on the horse he found himself wondering how she could look into his eyes and not see the demons inside of him looking back at her.
With a flick of the reins they began their journey back down the dirt path to the main road, then into the heart of London. The horse's hooves clicked against the cobblestone passing various buildings with their dark windows. The only buildings boasting any light at this hour were the brothels and the taverns. One such place the horse passed was the Lamb & Flag also known as the Bucket of Blood. It had gotten this name because of its well-earned reputation of knock-down, drag-out, bare-knuckle fights. This was the place Emile had gone to meet the gunsmith he had hired.
Their meeting had been a quick one with Emile checking inside the box to make sure that the weapon was exactly what he wanted. Satisfied, he handed the man some cash then watched him leave while he ordered himself some Scotch. Naturally Emile didn't stop at just one as the night wore on the alcohol loosened his tongue more and more. At first he was simply warning the other patrons to be careful traveling home then after downing even more drinks he started telling them that there were dark unsavory creatures waiting in the shadows to pounce on unsuspecting travelers. Eventually his intoxication grew to a point where he was physically grabbing men trying to leave the establishment and begging them to wait until dawn because demons with red eyes were waiting outside the door.
This of course ended with him being punched in the jaw sending him straight to floor which solicited a hardy laugh from those still drinking. The only one not laughing was Alex Mabon. He had been watching the scene with a great deal of interest while eating a bowl of stew and nursing a glass of ale. While he firmly believed the man to be drunk, he also believed Emile's warnings about 'monsters', particularly when he mentioned their red eyes. He had seen those eyes many times over the centuries. Taking up his bowl and mug he went over to Emile's table and sat down.
"What do you want?" the tenor growled, looking at the hunter suspiciously. "Did you come over to laugh at me like the others? They think I am drunk or insane."
"Shhhh," Alex responded, motioning for him to speak quietly. "I know damn well you are drunk, but not insane." At this Emile stared at the hunter in surprise.
"You're mocking me," he sniffed with a roll of his eyes. Of course, the man had to be making fun of him, everyone else in the tavern had. He could still hear the laughter as he tried to warn everyone about the hidden dangers outside. This stranger had to be ridiculing him too.
Alex ate a spoonful of his stew then took up his napkin and wiped the juices from his mouth. He had tasted far better meals but this one passable, although it had little flavor. Perhaps his tastes had simply changed after a decade in the far East. He took a swallow of his ale then leaned forward conspiratorially towards the tenor. If he wanted to learn anything from this man, then he needed him to trust him.
"Tell me, my friend, did he seem inhumanly strong and have fangs?"
"Y-yes." Emile answered hesitantly, "He lifted me right off the floor, but how could you . . ."
