Alaric had errands to do before his first shift at the gas station began at eleven in the morning. He'd never felt so mundane in his entire life.
Part of him absolutely hated the fact that he was running around the neighborhood talking to potential landlords, buying groceries, picking up prepaid phones, and just generally trying to act the part of a modern man.
Another part of him enjoyed it.
There was an unmistakable comfort to this low pressure lifestyle. Not having to worry about killing monsters and putting himself in danger day in and day out was already quite the comfort.
His past, his training at the hands of brutal task masters felt so very far away. At the moment, the largest, most indomitable stress in his life was the threat of giving into his lust for Dira. Countess. Whatever.
"This unit is pretty basic. One bed, one bath, a living room with a kitchenette, and two closets. I'm afraid you and your—"
"Partner," he muttered.
"Yes, your partner might find it a little cramped."
Alaric shook his head dismissively. "Space isn't our concern. Price is."
"Well, a room of this size and level of disrepair…"
The landlord grumbled, a portly man named Steve-O who smelled of cabbage and cheese.
"My asking price is one grand per month, plus utilities. I'll also need a two month deposit."
Alaric wasn't worried about the price. Dira could work her magic and talk the man down in her uniquely persuasive way. Although it was unethical, he didn't see much choice, at least not at the moment.
Whatever advantages they had, they would have to use.
"The price seems fair," he grunted non committally, "Would you be able to meet again tonight? I'd bring my partner along and let her have a look and meet you herself."
"I should be able to pry myself away from the TV long enough to do that," Steve-O answered, nodding half-heartedly.
"Sure thing. It's a date."
"Very well. Thank you for showing me all the properties you have available."
"I'm surprised you didn't take one of the bigger ones," he said, arching an eyebrow at Alaric.
"Will such a small space really be enough for you?"
In truth, it probably wouldn't have been if his companion wasn't able to conjure space out of thin air.
Within a matter of weeks, that apartment interior would resemble a gothic castle more than a dingy rat-hole.
"My girl's a bit of a shut-in," he explained.
"She doesn't go out much and likes a small, cozy space. We don't live very complicated lives, so it works for us."
"Hey, more power to ya," Steve-O chuckled, nodding. "What I'd give to have a cuddly shut-in girlfriend. Is she a cutie?"
Alaric's brow shined with sweat at the question. "Yes, she's remarkably pleasing to the eye. I've never happened upon a more comely maiden in my life."
"Right. Strange way of speaking you got there."
"I'm European," he grunted, offering a limp excuse if ever there was one.
"I gathered that. Anyway…" They shook hands and separated, Steve-O escorting Alaric to the elevator but staying behind.
He imagined the landlord was going to try and tidy up the shithole before Dira came to see itwith him. It would take a lot more than a bit of scrubbing to clean that place up, though.
Alaric had pretended not to notice the cigarette stains in the carpet, the peeling paint on the walls, and the general piss poor condition it was in.
Those concerns were going to be trivial to manage.
As he exited the apartment building, he felt some pain well up inside him, and he knew it meant that this spot was on the very edge of the distance he could handle from his bloodbonded partner.
He headed back to the motel, walking with heavy, plodding steps. His jaw set tightly as the Weekend Inn came into view and he made out the plate lettering on the door beside his room—the one that said twelve.
Approaching the entrance, he knocked a few times on the door, jingled the keys outside, and started unlocking it. The extra noise was to let Vladira know that he was coming in in case she was above the sheets.
He didn't want to let the sun's rays burn her.
The compassionate thought gave him pause. He stood for a moment with the key stationary in the lock, unturning, unmoving, as he pondered the meaning of that impulse.
Oh, how his mighty bloodline had fallen with him as its scion. He was supposed to slay the Countess of Transylvania—not caution her that a bit of sun might leak through the door as he returned home to her like a loving husband.
With a sliver of self-loathing, he opened the door. As he stepped inside, his eyes immediately went to the bed, but seeing nothing there, they drifted to the closet.
"Dira?" he called out as he closed the door behind him. "I have returned. I got a phone for you."
The closet door creaked open slowly, and Vladira stepped out into the room, stretching and purring like a black cat as she made her way over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
"Were you faithful to me?" She whispered.
"Of course."
"Did you meet any women who pursued you?" she asked, her tone a little rougher now.
Alaric swallowed and nodded. "There was one. But she was quickly dismissed. You need not kill her."
"Are you defending her?" she asked, her eyes slitting with suppressed anger.
"Don't you think that's a little indecent of you? Trying to stop me from punishing a temptress?"
Alaric sighed. "Can we be done with this?"
To his surprise, the vampiress giggled and pecked him on the cheek before walking over to the bed and falling backward onto her back.
She rested her head on her arms, folding them behind her—grinning up at him like a cat eyeing a mouse in a trap.
"So, you met a landlord already? How productive, Laric, Darling. You must really be eager for my praise." She spread her legs, revealing a lacy pair of red panties that were now visible beneath her hoodie.