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Siya didn’t like the traveling, it was too black, too still after the howling wind. The unrelenting black which had nothing to do with sight, was too like deep sleep for her. Sleep that was death for the little vampire. But like sleep the black ended and color slowly moved back into her awareness like “life” did back into her limbs. Then, in the blink of an eye she found she was in a cave in the exact same configuration she’d been in before. She looked to the others and then to the cave, blinking her dark eyes and trying to not be unsettled. It seemed wrong to her that they could have moved and yet not been moved. At least in the shade gate one walked in and one walked out, there was some physical exertion, not this simple relocation. She shivered and tugged at the ends of her soft grey scarf, tightening it around her slender throat. 

She jumped when the voice spoke and even emitted a little “eep!” of alarm which annoyed her to no end. She was a vampire, the last scion of a powerful line and she simply shouldn’t eep. She scowled which was an expression that did lovely things to her doll-like features, though it was never as intimidating or brooding as she imagined it was. She leveled that adorable ire at the figure whose voice had made her react so strongly and held her tongue. She liked the werewolf elder largely for Veti’s sake. For all that she found him hard to read, people she liked and respected, liked and respected the man. So she followed suit. Besides, things with him were considerably less complicated than when dealing with things involving the Bain end the company. 

She had moved to follow Atticus into the dark after Mr. Hoyle when the incubus turned and offered his advice to the lot of them. Her scowl flickered into hurt surprise and then tightened back into a scowl which was most certainly not a pout. Vampires did not pout after all. When had she ever been untoward? What had she done to require such a caution? She had always done her best to hide her nature, to be as human as possible because at heart, she hated who and what she was. She stopped and scowled and wondered if she’d made the wrong choice, if she’d gone with the wrong group? But it was done, she had no means to correct the mistake if a mistake it was. There was hurt no matter which way she went. This hurt, little needles of doubt and neglect was surely less damaging than having a chunk of her heart ripped out, surely. 

She took yet another step, trying to force her face into something like cool, detached professionalism, unsuccessfully, when one of her companions spoke. 

[i]“Sorry, but does anyone have any spare clothes I could borrow?” [/i]

She turned and felt her mouth twitch in a grin as she beheld the sight behind her. A tall, red-headed man with lovely pale skin dotted with ink in Celtic style runes stood nude in the cave. Not as impressive as Atticus’…. Ink… but it was not exactly a hardship to look at either. She seemed to recall Atticus speaking with him before they’d left. Maybe the mission hadn’t been a mistake after all. 

She bit her lip and walked towards him, her small fangs out, pressing into the soft flesh of her lips in bratty defiance of her orders. Her steps were graceful, hinting at the dance that was in her blood and even her hands as they rose to her neck and untied the soft grey scarf seemed to be part of the dance. She removed it just as she stood before him, tiny and fragile next to his height. She stood on her tip toes and looped the scarf around his neck and adjusted it so it was snug against him. It smelled faintly of lilacs but was cool to the touch as it settled against his skin.

“There you go.” She said, “All set.” And then turned and with mischief in her eyes and sauntered into the dark after Atticus, lips curled into a grin which covered her fangs but somehow the presence of fangs was conveyed in the motion of her hips and the proud cant of her head.