Page 8 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

Later, Hawk lounged on the couch, completely naked and perfectly relaxed with his legs stretched out in front of him and an arm propped behind his head. He watched as Amalie, her smooth skin bare as well, moved behind the bar. She poured two glasses of red wine, and joined him on the couch.

”May I ask you something?” she asked, as she passed him a glass.

“Of course.”

“Why are you called The Hawk?”

He laughed softly. “The reason isn’t remotely interesting. My name is Jonathan Hawker.”

“How can you say that isn’t interesting?” She traced her finger across his forearm. “I like learning about you.”

“Do you? I’d like to learn about you, too.”

“Please. I’m sure you have many questions.”

Hawk set his glass aside, and took Amalie’s hand. “I saw you walking in sunlight. It doesn’t burn you.”

“My skin is very sensitive, and I will have a nasty burn if I remain in the sun for too long, but it’s not like the movies. I won’t turn into a pile of ash. If I was a newer vampire, it would be different.” She hid a smile behind her wineglass, and added, “Were you planning on feeding me garlic just to see what would happen?”

“Never,” he replied, hoping he hadn’t said his earlier comment about garlic bread out loud. “Have you been a vampire for a long time? Wait, is vampire the politically correct term? Person of blood, perhaps?”

“Vampire is correct,” she replied. “As for how long I have been this way, when I came of age my clan gave me to a vampire warlord as a payment for his continued protection. He collected a tithe every time he passed through the village, and that year the payment was me. I stood next to his throne and sang for him for many, many years. He liked my voice so much he made me like him, so he would never be without my songs. Then, he made me his queen.”

Hawk almost choked on his wine. “You’re married to a warlord?”

“Was,” she corrected. “We had a good run, then our disagreements outnumbered our happinesses, and I led a revolt against him. This,” she indicated the garnet at her throat, “marks me as the clan leader.”

Hawk stroked the skin below her necklace. “Did you rip this bauble from his throat?”

“His mother’s, actually.”

“And now you run a shop selling trinkets to tourists.” Hawk shook his head. “Your life has taken some turns, my nightingale.”

“And you run a club where you fuck vampires in the back room,” Amalie countered.

“Vampire,” he corrected. “You are the only one allowed to bite me.”

“Loyalty is a very attractive trait.” Amalie set her wineglass aside, and Hawk saw a pale web of scars on the curve of her left hip.

“How did this happen?” he asked, as he stroked the scars. They were so long healed there were little more than silver streaks meandering from her waist downward.

“The warlord I mentioned? We had an altercation.” She nestled herself against his side, and stroked the top of his thigh. “He made plans to turn me, but his mother was not pleased. She thought I was a bad influence on him, and thought if I was turned it would be increased tenfold. So, she set my bed on fire.”

“With you in it?”

“Oh, yes. It was quite the spectacle. Screaming, crying, all of it.”

“Did he turn you to save you?”

She laughed softly. “No. He turned me because he wanted to own me.”

“Then he was a fool,” Hawk declared. “No one owns you. If he’d ever truly seen you, he would have known that.”

“You think so?” Amalie asked, as she straddled Hawk’s body.

“I’m certain of it.” He gently squeezed her hip. “Does it still hurt?”

“No. Those wounds healed a very long time ago.” She dragged her finger from his throat to his navel. “You’re the first mortal I’ve bitten in a very long time.”

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