Title:Lost and Found 2 / 6Author: dolphin
Email: morpheus_kannon@y... or over the ML
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two: darkness follows dawn
The alley is very dark, but he doesn't care. He slides down to sit on the hard asphalt and buries his head in his arms, the tears flowing so fast that he can hardly breathe between sobs. Nobody wants him, and nobody ever will. What will he do all by himself? He's never been alone before, his mother has always been there-rarely with him, of course, because she had to work and he likes to wander-but he could always go home and there she would be, waiting for him, and he was safe then, but he isn't safe now. Not anymore, not ever again.
After a moment, he stops crying and sniffs miserably. Surely there has to be some way that he can make someone want him; they want lots of other kids, don't they? What's wrong with him? He wipes his eyes and nose with the back of his hand before scrutinizing as much of himself as he can see without a mirror. Maybe if he were a little cleaner? He's kind of dirty, and-he sniffs tentatively-he kind of smells too. That must be it. So all he's got to do is find a place to get washed up...
He hasn't been looking long when the first pangs of hunger find him. He tries to ignore it-he only ate a few hours ago, after all! That reminds him of the man at the store and his rejection, the reason he is wandering around, looking for water of some sort now, so he pushes the hunger to the back of his mind and goes on searching. Maybe it'll go away. This isn't real hunger, it's the bloodhunger, and that can't be. His stomach is just playing tricks on him, is all. But then pain shivers down his back, and he gasps. Oh, no. Not this, no, it can't be, he ate! He didn't let himself go hungry, he took care of it! Another shock of pain trickles down his spine, and he lets out a wail of denial. No, it's not fair! This isn't supposed to happen! What is this? He sinks to the asphalt, feeling desperate. His mum told him never to take someone, not ever, and if he mutates, he won't be able to help it. But he can't be mutating! That only happens when he gets really hungry, when he forgets to eat! And he did eat, he did! Oh please, not this...
He whimpers, beginning to pant softly to ease the shards of pain shooting down his backbone and out through his arms, down his legs, collecting in his tummy and making him cry out. He knows what is happening: his body is changing, his mind blurring and shifting into the mind of a blood drinker, a deadly creature who can kill without thinking twice about it. He will be stalking the very humans he walked among today soon, and they won't be his fellows. He will be the hunter, and they the prey.
The panting is getting louder now; he can hear it echoing off the brick walls of the alley around him, and with it comes a little, feral growl, half of pain, half of hunger. A tearing shred of pain travels down his spine, and he hears a low howl break from his throat, his head twisting to the side and making a hollow thud as he hits it against the bricks in an attempt to stop the pain from spreading further, even though he knows it's no good. Once the mutation comes, it can't be stopped. But his mum told him not to take someone! And he always does whatever his mum says, but he is so hungry, and he can't stop it, and once he's mutated he won't care anymore: he'll take someone for sure then.
There is one more sliver of white-hot pain down his spine; then it is gone, and he flops down against the wall, his breathing returning to normal. He licks his new fangs, trying to halt the annoying ache at the roots of them, which somewhere in his mutated brain he knows is there because the fangs are still growing. He licks and licks at them, and finally it stops aching and feels like it always does after the mutation is done.
For a moment he rests, but only a moment. The hunger claws inside of him, and he can smell blood somewhere among the honeycomb of alleyways and city streets. He is a hunter now; a predator, prowling the city streets for his prey, and he was right before. He no longer cares what his mum said. He wants a meal, and there is someone out there, walking these night streets, who is just that. His meal.
So who will it be? he thinks, grinning to himself and enjoying the feel of his fangs pricking his lower lip. I like to play games, mother city. Which one of your children wants to come and play with me tonight?
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It was just a little kid, sitting on the asphalt in the soft light from the nearly burned-out streetlamp. A tiny pretty blond boy. The perfect easy kill for a relaxed Saturday night. He moved enough to glimpse the soft lines of the innocent little angel face and smiled to himself, imagining the eyes wide with childish terror, the guileless expression replaced by one of pain. Perfect.
A few silent steps took him around behind the child, who, oddly enough, didn't seem scared. He shook his head, rolling his eyes in disbelief. Not even smart enough to be scared on a street like this in the middle of the night. Oh, this would be almost too easy. And yet-he paused a moment as an idea came to him. Since it was so easy, why not wait a few moments and watch the kid first?
So he leaned back against the wall, to indulge himself in a bit of spying. It really was a pretty kid, he thought to himself admiringly, angling his neck to get a better view of the tender, powder-pink lips, now moving through the motions of a soft, wordless crooning. The dark blonde hair looked almost punk in this light, but as he looked closer, was really just unkempt, which he found reassuring. The boy was an innocent still, then, and not one of the young clubgoers. He could have one of them any night he wanted, but an innocent on the streets was rare. A delicacy, he thought with a smile. He watched for a few moments more, then began stirring impatiently. He wanted to see the eyes, feel that small body in his arms and know that it was his, and his alone. Time to play.
And then he walked up behind the 'perfect kill', reaching out to touch, and time blurred. He was vaguely aware of hitting the wall hard, of a sharp pain in his throat, almost like little, razor-sharp teeth...
The last thing he saw was the child's face, grinning like a wolf who has found prey that is to its liking. A tiny, pointed pink tongue peeked out and delicately licked the blood-his blood-from the creature's bared teeth, long and shining in the reflected light from the streetlamp: then nothing.
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That was a good game, he thinks to himself, regarding the cooling body with an almost affection. He smiles with the irony of it all. This man came for blood, did he not, mother city? You know your children's hearts, you cannot lie to me. I saw it in his eyes, it was in the way he touched me. Blood was what this man wanted-and blood he got, but not the way he had thought to. Oh, no.
That blood is warm in his belly now, but he does not need the flesh. He turns his back on it and sets off down the alley-way behind them, the dark closing in on him as he goes. He will not need more blood tonight, but he feels a sudden and undeniable urge for company, now that he has drunk, and he sets off into the maze of back ways and side streets, sniffing. He runs his hand along the brick wall as he walks, following it, and the old, red cement of it is rough, clammy, and slightly cold against his fingers. The air smells like stagnant water, old gasoline, and musty, mildewed stone of the buildings around him, stifling his senses and making him want to howl in frustration, and a sound-
Footsteps. He turns quickly, a breath catching in his throat, to look: but there is nothing. Only darkness, shadows...
The attack comes so fast that he has no time even to yelp, but somehow, instinctively, his head twists down, hides his neck away from the searching teeth, and the crown of his skull comes into muted contact with the chin of his attacker. He hears a muffled crack, followed by a growl of annoyance and anger, and hands come up to grip his hair and hold him still, forcing his head back and bringing him face to face with a tall, pale-faced ghost of an apparition in the possession of two burning, electric-blue eyes and a thatch of wild orange hair. The hunger-light in those eyes is bright, and flaming; the hands hold him firmly and insistantly. Something inside him goes quiet, and he tips his head to the side, baring his throat meekly to the apparition's attack, and waits.
The bite does not come. After a moment of silent waiting, the stranger makes a soft, keening sound in questioning wonder, and begins sniffing out all the crevices and creases in the small one's flesh. He sits still, allowing it, and after a moment, it begins to feel good. He whimpers, shifting closer to the questing nose and tongue, and the other responds with a soft growl, nipping gently at the skin of his throat, but still not letting his teeth cut through it: then he sucks there where his teeth bruised and kisses it wetly before keening again, nudging the littler of the two down onto the asphalt to curl up together.
Heat seeps into the little one's cold flesh, and he moans appreciatively, snuggling still closer, accepting this new and abrupt development without question. After all, who is he to argue when someone finally wants him?
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The sun painted odd shadows over the asphalt where they had slept, telling Onyx that morning had long since come if the sun was high enough to reach this narrow little alley. He still found it odd, that the Change could be so obvious, when one could sleep through changing back. But that did not matter, not now. Not when he had found a Kindred, a new one that he had never seen before, when he had at last courted and been received well. He looked the sleeping boy over pensively, remembering his many other failed courtships. And yet-he frowned, tightening his arms around his new found lover possessively, as if afraid that he might disappear at any moment. The scent the night before had been so faint he had thought the little one was a human child, meaning that this was only his first or second mating season. Still too young to couple with, too small to bear fruit...Was he important enough to love? Important enough to care for for years with no chance of cubs, no release in coupling, no return at all except perhaps love of his own and a warm little body to cuddle up against at night?
He shook his head, reprimanding himself. You are getting ahead of yourself, Onyx. Let the courtship play itself out first, that answers all questions you may have. He let fall a kiss on the little, rumpled gold head tucked into the curve of his arm and untangled himself from the small limbs wound about him, rising softly so as not to wake his small lover, making his footsteps silent as he made his way out of the alley and away home.
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He wakes slowly, snuggling comfortably into the warmth that was there last night, only to find that it isn't any longer. He lifts a sleepy head up off the asphalt, feeling dread slither into his chest, and sweeps a quick glance around, confirming his fear. The tall, orange-haired one is gone.
A tiny whimper of despair makes its way up his throat and out as he uncurls and pushes unruly gold-brown hair away from his eyes with a shaking hand. Almost frantic, he rises and, clinging to the wall to steady the still sleepy muscles in his legs, follows the alley to its very end, searching a few of the streets branching off of it as well, feeling panicky. There is no one there. An ache stronger than anything he has ever felt in his life collects in his throat, but he can't get rid of it: he can't cry, he can only sit in a corner and gasp in breath after breath, lightheaded and dizzy with a rising grief and a fear so strong that he starts trembling all over. He doesn't know how to deal with this, with being so alone! Please, please, he wants someone to hold him, to take away the terrible fear and the ache...He hides his head in the crook of one arm in an attempt to shut out the world. Why don't they want him? Why do they always leave him by himself, why?
Time is passing, he knows. The daylight wanes around him: a darkness creeps up to fill the already dim alley. His head is spinning so fast that he can't sit straight anymore, and the ache has not subsided, it's gotten worse. He can't think, can't breathe: he curls and uncurls in his corner, unable to get comfortable, his head lolling unsteadily while he sobs for air. The shivers have increased to the point where his teeth chatter. So cold...he's so cold, inside and out. If only he could get warm...
Somewhere within the whirling chaos inside if himself, he finds the knowledge that he may never be warm again.
three: foundations
He first picked up on the scent somewhere between his usual Changing place-a deserted alley far enough from true civilization that he would harm no one-and his usual hunting grounds, situated behind one of the smaller clubs in the city, the one where he knew all the most miserable and most depressed teens in the city went; the ones who were so hurt and alone that they fairly welcomed him and the oblivion he brought. This scent was very like the ones those teens gave off, the odors he smelled every aching night of his lonely mating seasons, a scent filled heavily with distress and with the sharp tang of panic. But it lacked in something. His nose perked up, searching for the familiar sharp chemical bite of makeup, hairdye, alcohol, but there was nothing there. Only the strong smell of fear. And for some reason unknown to him, he decided to follow this scent.
As he drew closer to his source, the signs grew stronger, easier to read with accuracy. His ears found quiet, gasping sobs riding the few air currents that dared to blow among the musty maze of dark alleys he now perused; his keen nose caught also the salt of tears and the soft sweetness of a child, but no sign of the Kindred's scent. A human child. The teachings of his youth reminded him that a human was below his caring, but he pushed the thought indifferently aside and went on. He trusted his intuition. Human or not, there was some reason why he needed to go to this child, to help it, and that was what he intended to do.
The scents led him well into the darkness, and, though his own Changed eyes could see easily, he was beginning to understand how it was possible for a little human to be frightened here. For a human's eyes, the darkness would be almost impenetrable-
He rounded the last corner and stopped short, eyes and nose trained upon a scene that he had never thought to see in all his life. A young Kindred after all, but barely older than a cub by the weakness of the scent it was giving off, lay on the ground in the throes of what could only be the Lonely Sickness or a premature death. It did not smell like death.
Jade's mind didn't have time to argue that the Lonely Sickness had not been manifest among the Kindred since ancient times, or that the scents of the child itself were far too faint to be passed off as the result of youth; he put the rebellious brain to work before it could object at all, thinking up a way to save the youngling now wavering on the edge of consciousness. What were the lessons again? Jade chased down a quick path of reasoning, beginning with the root of the problem and working backward. The lessons taught that the Lonely Sickness manifested only in cub-bearers who had been abandoned by all who anchored and cared for them, and was the result of a lack of a protector, the lack of safety. He knelt next to the youngling while working it out, finally pinning down the elusive answer. The youngling needed someone to hold onto him, to make him feel secure again, as a mate or a parent would. Slowly and as nonthreateningly as possible Jade curled his body around the softly panting youngling, who let out a small, hitching sob at the skin contact, brown-gold head falling weakly back to rest on Jade's shoulder, eyelids half-opened on clouded green orbs that must have been very beautiful in health, Jade thought admiringly-then felt guilty for it. He shouldn't have been thinking of such an ill little one in that way.
He nosed into the boy's hair, trying to be comforting, and felt almost triumphant when his new charge responded weakly with a low moan and tiny movement closer. With a gentle keen of reply, he lowered himself against the wall, curling up on his side around the child in an attempt at making it feel secure. The gesture worked to some degree; the youngling's breathing seemed to slow a bit, and it cuddled as close as it could get into Jade's chest, falling into a deep, exhausted slumber before long. Jade remained awake for nearly the whole night, watching and waiting as the youngling's scent slowly became calmer, fear dissipating into the tranquil lethargy of rest. Only then did he curl up and go to sleep himself.
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The panic and pain is still there, just under his surface, he knows it is, but at least it no longer controls his entire world. And the presence beside him is so like the orange-haired one's...nearly the same tender, comforting voice, an almost identical scent. He has not looked at the colour of this one's hair-his head is too heavy to lift-but he knows that it cannot be the orange-haired stranger, it just can't. The scent, however similar it may be, isn't exactly the same, and this one's skin is ever so slightly softer. He should not care, really. This one, this new one, is warm and gentle too...
But, as he falls into soothing darkness, he cannot help but wish regretfully that it were his orange-haired stranger holding him now.
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The sunlight flowed over the bedspread like liquid gold, but its presence only deepened the darkness inside of Onyx. He lay very still on his bed, trying drearily to not think of the little honey-haired lover that had never met up with him the previous night. Onyx had wandered well past sunup, hoping even after he'd changed back that the small stranger might still show up, but without luck. Another failed courting to add to the list, Onyx thought bitterly, starting another train of the same depressing thoughts that had been the only inhabitants of his mind since the night before.
Finally, he couldn't think anymore. He sat up with a groan, dropping his head into his hands and quailing at the thought of staying alone here all day, prey to the pain and the daydreams. He had to go somewhere, and there was only one somewhere he was always welcome at, no matter how early in the morning or late at night it was: Jade's apartment, two floors down. The smell of the dark coffee that Jade kept brewing 24 hours a day, except on nights in mating season, sprang to his nose from mere memory, and he stood with a faint half-smile-all he could manage at the moment. Surely Jade, his twin brother and greatest confidant, would understand. He always had. From the very moment they were born Onyx had always been in the front, the muscles and the protector, while Jade had patched his emotions up from behind, delving into his precious books for remedies, answers to any question Onyx might have. At the memories of a six year old Jade, begging a Kindred psychology book from his parents as a birthday present, and then consulting it for years afterwards, carefully explaining and soothing away any bad feelings his twin came up with, Onyx couldn't help a real smile. Yes, Jade would understand.
Sighing, he lifted himself up off the bed and headed down the stairs.
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The light on his eyes almost hurts. He shifts, his throat constricting in a little whimper, only to discover that he is wrapped up in some sort of cloth and can't move. This makes him pay attention, so he untangles one hand and feels around with it, finding something soft and yielding beneath his fingers. A bed. Is he still at home after all, then? he wonders blearily, venturing to open his eyelids just a crack. No, this is a strange house. Has he found somebody to take him, maybe? He struggles upright and yawns, wriggling his way out from under the offensive sheet and throwing it back to lie in a heap at the bottom of the bed before slipping down off of the overly high bed and onto the carpeted floor, clinging to the mattress to prevent his sleepy legs from folding up. Another yawn, this one so wide it brings tears to his eyes. Where is he?
Slowly, groggily, he shuffles through the sleep-soaked memories in his head. Orange and bright blue. What was he doing? Oh! The stranger, with the orange hair and the blue eyes. Is that where he is, at the orange-haired one's home? A memory slips back into place, making his heart sink. No, the pretty stranger had left. And then-then he had been sick, and somebody else had come to him, and-
Oh. Everything clicks into place. That's where he is, at the new stranger's house. He recalls now, being picked up and carried somewhere, although he'd been much too sleepy then to really know where they were going. But that must be it. His new stranger brought him home.
He looks around the room curiously. There are books everywhere. He peeks furtively into all the corners to make sure that no one's watching before sidling over to one of the piled volumes on the floor at the foot of the bed and opening it gingerly. But his interest is lost when he sees that it hasn't got any pictures in it, and he lays it gently back down where he found it, his curiousity passing on to the next thing. He lacks his jeans. He recalls wearing those, and a t-shirt, and now he's in only a very long shirt. It covers his ankles, so modesty's not a problem-but he wonders where the jeans and his own shirt are. Maybe he should go looking for them? He tries to take a step and almost falls flat on the floor, so he stays, leaning against the bed for support and trying to remember if he ever saw the new stranger. The scent, he recalls, was very like the other's...Are we all like that? he questions himself, stopping to sniff briefly at the crease of his own elbow, a soft place where scent tends to collect. This brings to his attention the fact that he has been bathed, and the question is forgotten in the delights of flowery soap smells.
And then, suddenly, beyond even the strong soap scent, he detects it. An even more pleasant scent, one somehow both familiar and unknown. The smell of a memory, something...
The realization hits him so hard and so fast that he's off running before his legs even have time to remember that they're too weak to hold him. The scent draws him, telling his feet where to go, and they don't stop going till he finds the source and throws himself headlong into his orange-haired stranger's arms.
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It was several moments before it actually registered through the shock what exactly had happened. Even then he could only blink down at the little soap-smelling bundle now cuddled contentedly in his arms, its small nose burrowed into his neck, sniffing happily, and wonder if he had somehow gone mad. Surely it couldn't be who he thought it was, that wasn't possible, was it? That his own lover had somehow gone to his twin?
"Jade?" he asked dazedly, looking over the rumpled gold head at his surprised yet pleased looking brother. "What is...this doing here?"
"It's a 'he', not an 'this'," Jade reprimanded him with a grin, missing the recognition that had passed between the two. "He seems to like you."
"But-what is he doing here?" Onyx asked blankly.
"I picked him up on the street last night," Jade replied, his face and voice becoming serious. "He had the Lonely Sickness, and he was pretty close to giving up. I thought I had better bring him back home and keep an eye on him until he was fully recovered."
The little one in his arms was now occupied in playing with Onyx's hair, cooing in a joyful tone something about 'orange', and he had to shake his head to clear it before a reply was forthcoming from his bewildered brain. "The Lonely Sickness?"
Jade only nodded, reaching out to pet the child's mussed hair into some semblance of tidiness. Onyx gazed down at the small shirt-clad figure in his arms guiltily, beginning to realize what this meant. He had left, at the exact moment when the youngling had needed someone to stay with him and care for him the most, and in fact, his leaving had most likely been what triggered the attack in the first place. And while the youngling lay in pain, alone, he, Onyx, had been sitting in his apartment acting like a spoiled cub, pouting over what he couldn't have.
The little one, seeming to sense Onyx's self-reproach, finally disconnected his nose from the elder Kindred's neck and, leaning back just enough to see Onyx's face properly, singsonged lightly, "Y're not s'posed t' stare! 'S not p'lite."
Onyx shook his head, refocusing his eyes to look beyond the small one at his brother. "I...I'm sorry, little one."
"Name's not 'lithl 'un', name's Sineult," the small one chided him, beginning to run gentle fingers through wild orange hair. "Sineult Brady."
"Sineult..." Onyx said softly, letting it fall from his tongue in a test of the sound. Yes, it fit. "Are you-are you better now, Sineult?"
The little one, Sineult, nodded cheerfully. "Yup. 'M all better." He punctuated this with an energetic wriggle, burying his nose in the loose ends of the hair hanging in disarray all around Onyx's face and telling their owner in a muffled voice, "Y'smell nice."
"Good," Onyx replied, a short, happy laugh bubbling out of him suddenly. "I'm glad."
"Onyx?"
Onyx lifted his head, noticing Jade again. "Oh, I'd forgotten you. I'm sorry."
"So I see," Jade agreed sarcastically, gesturing to the contentedly sniffing youngling. "I assume you two have met before?"
"Yes," Onyx said rather regretfully. "I met him the night before last. We...got together."
"Ah." Jade nodded understandingly. "You tried to fulfill the courting?"
Onyx stroked a wisp of soft gold-brown hair back from Sineult's now upturned and questioning face. "Yes." He paused a moment, trying to come up with a way to say what he wanted to. "I thought...that he would meet me, so when he didn't I just-came home." He cast a mournful look at his brother. "I didn't think-if I had known he was sick, I would have-" He stopped with a sigh of defeat.
Jade reached out and squeezed his arm. "It's alright. He's okay now." He paused, then gestured to the little living room. "You want to sit down? We can talk better that way."
Onyx nodded, feeling the small one's eyes fixed on his face. "Okay." He followed Jade into the room and sat down next to him on the small stuffed couch, shifting the youngling's legs up and bending them at the knee that he wouldn't sit on them. For a minute or two there was total silence, but then the youngling moved, pressing his legs more firmly around Onyx's hips, and asked, "Wha's you two's names?"
Onyx turned surprised eyes on his twin, and a silent question passed between them. "I was Changed when we met," Onyx explained after a lull, "I didn't get to tell him anything."
"And he slept all morning, so I never got a chance to talk to him," Jade countered goodnaturedly, smiling at Sineult. "I'm Jade, and this is my twin brother Onyx," he explained.
"Oh." Sineult looked from one to the other and back, then giggled. "He lo'ks jus' th' same as you do!" burst out a delighted exclamation in Onyx's direction, with a hyper nod in Jade's. Onyx opened his mouth to explain the concept of twins, but Sineult was already off again. "I 'ad a brother too, a day," he told Jade matter-of-factly. "He died."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jade said sympathetically, putting a comforting hand up to touch the youngling's forehead.
Onyx felt the small one in his arms nestle closer into the caress, and guilt crept in as he remembered why Sineult needed that so much now. Little cub-bearers who had been through the Lonely Sickness were said to need a good amount of touching, talking, reassurances, for weeks afterwards. It could be months depending upon how traumatized Sineult had been by the experience before he could be left alone for a moment without feeling afraid and lost. And even if wasn't entirely his fault, part of the blame was still his, and always would be.
"H' w's awf'lly little," Sineult went on in a muted tone. "Go' sick. M'mum trie' to make 'im bett'r, b't sh' couldn't do it right. Sh' cried, a lot an' a lot. Then after, m'mum go' sick too, an' sh' died, so I went away."
She? Onyx wondered, but Jade only nodded at the feminine title, seeming confirmed in a theory. "But what about your father?"
"He di'n't want me, wh'n I w's born," the small one told him. "He went away fr'm us, to another place, and he don't answer when y' call 'im. An' th're wa'n't anyb'dy else wanted t' take care o' me. I look'd an' look'd, b't nob'dy wanted me."
"So how long have you been alone?" Jade asked the child softly, the gentle movement of his hand slowing and then stopping as Onyx's hand came up and began to do the same.
"D'know. Um...lots of days. Can't spell numbers," he said apologetically.
"It's supposed to take about a week for the final stages of the Lonely Sickness to begin," Jade said, half to himself. "It's probably been six or seven days since your mother died."
"His mother?" Onyx asked, bewildered.
But Jade only nodded, totally nonplussed, and lifted Sineult's chin to look into his eyes. "Your mother was a girl, wasn't she, Sineult?"
Now Sineult looked just as confused as Onyx. "Uh-huh. Shes are girls."
Jade grinned. "I know. I just wanted to make sure." He lifted his sight to his twin and began to explain, his eyes and voice taking on the cool, quick tones that Onyx knew meant that he'd been hitting the books again and had found something exciting. "Last night, I found him because I smelled his fear and followed it. I couldn't scent the Kindred on him when I was tracking him, so at first I thought he was a human, but when I got there and saw what was happening to him..." Jade shrugged. "I knew he had to be Kindred. So I looked it up this morning while he was asleep, and now what he says has confirmed what I read. He's a halfbreed. He comes from a human mother and a Kindred father which is why the scent was so faint. Not only because he is very young, but also because his Kindred blood is not as potent as ours." Jade paused before going on. "But the books also say that a human and a Kindred becoming true mates is impossible. When a Kindred falls in love with a human, it's usually just a crush. And of course there are one-nighters. But there has never been a recorded human/Kindred pairing that lasted for more than a couple months, and that's most likely why Sineult's mother ended up alone. Although, I would have expected a little more from a Kindred than just abandoning their own cub like that." Jade shook his head ruefully as he began to wind down from his excitement. "But that's just the way it is, I guess."
"Mm," Onyx agreed softly, his blue eyes meeting with the pair of wide green ones that watched him from his lap. "What?" he asked the youngling softly, reaching down to brush a tuft of rumpled hair out of his eyes.
"Wha's Kindr'd?" Sineult asked curiously.
Jade sighed, looking at Onyx, then rose and headed for the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, "It seems that we have a lot of explaining to do, brother mine. Come on, let's get some breakfast, and then sit down and do this right."
Onyx sighed too, but was helpless to resist the call of his stomach: so he gave up, bestowing a kiss upon his new mate's snub of a nose, and got up to follow his twin with Sineult still wrapped around his middle.