Sometimes it paid to listen to the little voice inside your head.

She didn't know if it was because some time had passed since she'd seen him, or perhaps the air had an extra tang to it, but Sanan found herself detouring on the way back to her hotel room to the lobby bar.

More than one pair of eyes followed the pale, slender woman as she crossed the vaulted lobby, her high heels soundless on the rich carpeting. Men, women...both sexes cast glances in her direction. The black cashmere dress lovingly clung to her curves, the color highlighting her blonde hair as it fell in thick waves below her shoulders.

Pausing at the door to the lounge, she examined the urge to push it open. Bars were for hunting, not socializing. It hadn't been that long since she'd fed...three, four days at the most. There was no earthly reason to go in. In fact, she was looking forward to a long bath and time to examine the new purchases for her Santa Claus collection. Why would she be stopping in a bar when they doubtlessly would have little she wanted to drink?

Once inside the dim room, she let the door shut behind her and looked around. Perhaps a half dozen people sat in the booths that lined one wall. It was mid afternoon, not yet late enough for the working crowd to arrive. Automatically she noted their positions and faces, disregarding them as easily as if they were cattle. Only one occupant held her attention. His back was to her, but she would recognize the mane of moonlit hair and the set of those shoulders anywhere, in any time.

The television softly played in the background, but she ignored that as well, approaching the man from behind. It tickled her to note that he was surreptitiously watching the commercial. She could understand why; many were the times she watched advertisements rather than the television programs. They were far more fascinating and chronicled human nature better than the shows themselves.

This one had to do with a product for covering gray hair. As if he'd ever do anything to disguise the lovely mane of white hair he'd had ever since she'd known him. The man had some vanity; every man did.

"Everyone will be gray sooner or later. Why all the fuss?" she asked lightly.

"Seems somewhat of a waste to worry so much about hair," he answered without looking around. "I've been gray since I was sixteen."

"Genetic, or were you scared witless?" Sanan hid a smile as she took the seat opposite of him and set her shopping bag down on the floor next to her chair. She settled back and crossed her legs, silk stockings sliding easily under her skirt. Smoothing the fabric over her thighs, she looked up at him from under her lashes and found him watching the motions of her hands. "Hello, Caleb."

"You want me to admit to being scared witless?" He grinned at her. Caleb Wayward had come to know Sanan's voice and the odd sort of luck that brought them together when neither expected it.

"Will you ever admit to anything?" Sanan countered.

"Maybe it's just a reflection of my life, Sanan...shades of gray." He offered as he picked up the scotch glass. Fresh condensation ran over the tips of his fingers as he brought the glass to his lips.

"Perhaps you should purchase a new looking glass."

"Perhaps you should stop looking for some secret 'me'." His eye looked from inside the glass to her at last, his gaze meant to punctuate his statement.

"You're all secret, dear Caleb. Care to share a few draughts of blood and let me learn a secret or two?" Leaning forward over the small table, she touched his hand.

"I think the real secret here is why you insist that I'm something more than what you see. And no thanks, your bloodletting is a nasty habit." He set the glass down, looking back to the television but not paying attention to any of the images that flashed by.

"Everyone is more than what they appear, even you. You collect your demons; I prefer to collect secrets. The blood... well, you don't believe me about the blood."

"I prefer the red...wine, thanks."

"Interesting thing about red wine...you can hardly taste the blood in it."

It looked as if Caleb chuckled but he made no sound. He shook his head as if disappointed in her. "Every time I think I've figured out your fetishes you prove me wrong. I'm not sure the bartender has O Negative, Sanan. Settle for a Bloody Mary?"

"Few bartenders do in this enlightened age. A Bloody Mary would be nice." She turned to the bartender with a smile. "The bloodier the better, please."

"Why, Sanan, don't you care for the enlightened? That was almost a snarl I heard." He followed the bartender with a gaze, studying how the man reacted to Sanan's request.

The bartender's sleepy-eyed gaze didn't waiver. He nodded and set about preparing her drink.

It was and trust Caleb to tease her about it. There were some things she enjoyed about the passing years, but humans as a race seemed to progress in reverse as their technology leapt forward. "Can you honestly say the world is better now? All I see are people who reach out and touch each other with too great an ease."

Caleb looked down into his glass and shook it, the ice jingling unevenly. "It's the New World Order, luv. Maybe now people will realize the cost of knowing too much."

"There was very little wrong with the Old World Order." Nothing a good flood or baptism by fire wouldn't do wonders for. "Of course, it -is- easier these days to satisfy my urges for bloodletting, as you put it."

"In the Old World Order we had secrets, Sanan. If you have that much distaste for enlightenment then isn't it for the better that I secrets of my own?" The edge of his lips rose into a playful smirk, amused that she was making his argument for him. "I mean, what other reason would you have to stalk me across the ages?"

"Your vanity knows no bounds, Caleb. This isn't stalking."

"No? What is it then?" His playful banter continued, though he was careful to reign in any hint that he was having fun with her.

What was this, anyway? "Not stalking. If I were stalking you, I'd have dressed the part. No, we're two old friends meeting unexpectedly for watered drinks and conversation. If you don't want me to be here, say the word and I'll go." She brushed a lock of hair back from her shoulder. "I just thought you were lonely. Sitting alone in a bar tends to give that impression."

"Oh don't play the victim role with me, Sanan. Not without handcuffs anyway." He watched her eyes, waiting to catch a glimpse of familiarity in them, testing her to see if she remembered.

"It doesn't surprise me you remember the handcuffs. Play one little game..." She paused as the waitress set her drink down on a napkin in front of her. "For someone as secretive and uptight as you present yourself to be, you did take to handcuffs rather quickly. That must be yet another secret you're hoarding."

His head fell back slightly, his mouth open as if making an ancient discovery. "So now I'm hoarding." His smile was harder to hide now.

Sanan half-smiled, the corner of her lush mouth twitching. "Are you admitting it?"

"Admitting what?" Caleb teased while feigning innocence.

"Are you dissembling?" Lapsing into a dramatic expression, she covered her mouth with her fingers. "I do believe you are! And look, you're showing some humor. When was the last time you truly smiled...three...four decades ago?"

Rational thought considered the reason why it had been so long. It didn't take long to remember why and Caleb's smile faded away. " I don't have much to smile about, Sanan. Not seeing the things I see."

"That is precisely why you must. You think I'm frivolous and that I have nothing better do than stalk you," her lips twisted in a slightly mocking expression, "but I'm right."

"You'll agree the emotional detachment is needed. And I'm still not sure what it is you do when you're not stalking me."

Again, he turned the conversation back to her. Caleb was the master of redirect. Sanan picked up her drink to take a sip. Her nose wrinkled as she inhaled the aroma. Apparently the bartender interpreted her request for 'bloodier' as an opportunity to add extra vodka and hot sauce. Licking a drop from her lips, she set it back down. "According to you, I do nothing but stalk you."

"Well, maybe I'm giving you a chance to convince me otherwise." He wasn't letting her get away that easily.

"Perhaps I occasionally cross paths with you for the same reason you do nothing to avoid placing yourself in my way."

That was easily explained, according to Caleb Wayward. "It's a small world, Sanan, and you have a remarkable gift of not aging. When you've been around the world so many times, you're bound to run into the same people once in awhile." He flagged down the bartender, finding an absentminded need to do something with his hands. "But I have a reason for me
frequent flying...what's yours?"

She shrugged and focused on her glass. Why was he interested in her life after all these years? "Believe it or not, Caleb, I have a home and a life. I indulge my interests, my needs, to my heart's content. But sometimes I find I crave conversation with someone who not only shares some of the same memories but is also an untapped source of a very special vintage." Smiling teasingly, she couldn't resist the jab. "I do so enjoy rare old vintages."

The bartender returned with a refreshed glass of Scotch and Caleb accepted it as he listened. "And so we come back to wines."

Caleb chuckled into his glass and sipped slowly. "I use the word 'stalker' loosely, Sanan. I've known you long enough to know the difference." He saw her get ready to reply but interrupted, wanting to add a more important point. " And no, I don't especially hate running into you now and again."

"Be still my unbeating heart." Faint praise, indeed.

He took the rib and shook his head, ever so ready to add realism to any suggestion of fantasy. "Whatever, luv. You know I can't risk much more than that."

"You'll be stopping soon enough to breed an heir...or did you intend to live forever racing around the world on your hunts?" She sipped again; it was not getting any better. "I'll gift you with the very same handcuffs you enjoy so much when the time comes. You may need them."

"An heir?" Caleb almost choked on his drink. " ME?!" A fit of laughter drew much undesired attention to the table.

Sanan glanced around as several people began staring. Little did they know they were witnessing something very rare. "It's a shame this moment isn't being recorded for entertainment later. I take it you're either not fully functional, or you're not interested in heirs. How odd."

"Well you know that I'm functional and I assume I'm able to have minions but..." he frowned, silver eyebrows drawn into harsh angled lines. "I won't have any. And this jaunt through history of mine is finite, luv. There is an end."

"Minions, what a word. Only you would refer to spreading your seed as 'having minions'. I could almost feel sorry for your phantom offspring."

It was time to shift the spotlight again. "Well you haven't said the 'C' word either, Sanan," he grinned. "I almost called them "demonspawn," he muttered into his glass.

"It is enough I keep watch over the family I do have that managed to survive the centuries." Had she ever told him about her human family? Possibly, but she didn't think so. "If I had offspring now, you may be forced to put one of your long held beliefs to the test."

"How so?" A genuine look of curiosity enlivened his features.

"Tell me, Caleb," she turned the glass idly in her hands, "do you still insist that vampires are creatures of myth and shadows?

This was something Caleb was obviously not prepared to talk even though it came to no surprise that it had come up yet again. "This again..." He set his glass down a bit too hard, creating an audible plop. "In the sense that you mean them, yes. Crosses, garlic, morphing between bat and wolf... It's all the stuff of fiction, Sanan."

She smiled at his recitation. Yes, it did sound as if he'd practiced that particular speech. Who was he kidding? "You ask the questions, but you refuse to listen to the answers. You are correct about that. What you're describing is all fiction. Happy now?"

"What, you're not going to argue with me? Talk about a red-letter day!"

"I can't argue about what you just said. You're correct, that is a creature of fiction. I know how you love to be right. Well, you're right."

Being patronized was another one of Caleb's "not-favorite" things. He sighed out loud and looked away from her. "You'll never understand it."

She sighed as well, looking off to the side and into the interested face of a nearby patron. She leveled a look at him, the glint of a slightly elongated canine marring the red of her lips. The man blinked in confusion and turned away. "I can say the same of you, dear Caleb. Where does that leave us now?"

"Same as it has for centuries. And you keep stalking me and I keep letting you." A finger pressed against the warming drop of moisture on the table, dragging it along to form some sort of arcane symbol that was mostly harmless.

"I do not stalk you." His insistence was beginning to strike a nerve in her. Cat-and-mouse did not work with two cats. How hard would it be for him to admit he was not her prey and would never be so? Would their encounters always be guilty pleasures to him?

"Keep leaving breadcrumbs for you to follow." He continued as if he hadn't heard her disagree.

"Breadcrumbs." She shook her head. "It's no wonder I don't find you more often. Promise me a good red vintage and I'll find you much quicker next time."

"That would be too obvious, wouldn't it?" Caleb was able to quickly resume the banter, a mechanism he relied on to avoid admitting painful feelings like guilt, sorrow or disappointment. Still, something Sanan hinted to bothered him and he decided to address it with absolute finality. "And I'm still not letting you drink my blood, Sanan. For all I know there's too much Hell in my blood and I don't know what that'll do to you."

"Are you admitting you care what it might do to me?"

Caleb merely grunted and welcomed the arrival of the bartender, letting him freshen up the glass. "Maybe I mean that it might turn you into some hellish monster with ten eyes and razor sharp stumps that'll require my killing."

"It hasn't yet."

"What?" Caleb's jaw fell open and suddenly everything around him ceased to be. No sound, no visual, just Sanan and an expected explanation.

"Old age affecting your language comprehension? I'm sure I said that in English, but I suppose I could repeat it in Italian if you need a reminder."

"Don't be a smartass about this, Sanan. This is serious. What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting nothing. I think it's a testament to how well I've honed my skills over the years, don't you think? A mouthful here and there is missed by no one, not with the method I use." The way he spoke, the hint of distaste in his voice, one would think he didn't enjoy the luxury of being able to turn his back on someone without fear, or her attentions when she soothed and licked the small passionate wounds she inflicted without rational thought.

"Dammit, Sanan!" His closed fist slammed into the table, giving the glasses and any onlookers a jump. "I'm not playing games here. Have you or haven't you?!"

A dark brow rose at his show of temper. "Caleb, I'm not playing games, either. You do recall the circumstances of our first meeting, don't you? I'm not saying I'd want a steady diet of your blood, but yes," she paused to lift her glass to her mouth again and couldn't take a drink. Not with the sudden memory of that meeting now flooding her senses with the phantom taste of his blood. Some nights alone, and lonely, she could bring back the memory of Caleb and the rich fiery blood coursing through her veins at his moment of bliss. What she said was no lie; she couldn't survive on his blood. She didn't want more than an
occasional taste. It would kill her to have more.

"I have tasted your blood in full and I'm not a monster with ten eyes. Perhaps I'm just an ordinary monster." A monster that stalked the rich and anonymous, and bled them for more than just their life's essence.

"Then that would makes two of us," he replied, looking away but calming back down. "Two peas in a pod." The silence that came next was uneasy but brief. "You got a place to stay? Got room in my 'pod.'"

She considered his words, openly watching his face. He must need someone very badly to be showing this much emotion to her in public. Surely he knew she was registered in this hotel. "Is this an invitation, or are you offering because you feel you must?"

His hand vanished inside his coat and revealed a set of keys that he jingled for her. "You ask too many questions. You going to follow me or do I go out trawling for demons?"

"And you offer too few answers." Sanan smiled and pushed her glass aside. "Be honest with us both for once, Caleb. Do you want my company?"

He looked pained, distressed that she forced him to spell out what she knew damn well. "Sanan, I'm in town and so are you. I wouldn't miss the chance...but you know the rules. No blood. Never again."

The offer was bold and she might have considered it insulting if it had come from anyone else but Caleb. "I can respect your rules, but answer the question. Do you want my company?"

"Yes," he admitted with noted defeat.

The admission warmed her. He needed her now; otherwise he wouldn't have been waiting for her here. She might wonder what happened to bring him here rather than her tracking him down. She would wonder later. "All right, then." Picking up her bag, she uncrossed her legs in a soft rasp of silk and rose to her feet.

After depositing a large enough bill onto the table, Caleb waved to the bartender and looked back to Sanan, offering his arm before they walked off. Without pausing or slowing he looked over to her with one eyebrow raised and his patented smirk clearly present. "Did you bring the handcuffs?"

One more thing she would never admit to him; she loved the flashes of humor he displayed in moments like this. "I always bring the handcuffs when I'm stalking you."