Chapter Five

Elizabeth rarely felt at ease. Despite her kinds reputation as loners, there were pack tendencies. She despised the mentality of the groups, the familial simulacra, when all anyone in them cared about was hunting and feeding.

Sometimes she wasn't sure.

She sat up and took in her surroundings. She examined the placement of the windows and the doors. She memorized the floor-plan. She made a mental She made a mental note to peer outside later and take in the street. She needed an escape route for when things would go badly. She wanted to make sure she could leave, if she was wrong about Bishop. She hoped the planning would avoid a scene later.

And yet, as she settled back into the couch and entered the not-quite-awake state she called sleep, she realized she wasn't worried about escaping too much this time. That a twinge of hope was growing in her. And then, as she drifted off, she murmured "I miss my son."

***

Bishop liked his coat.

No. More than that. He loved it. It had a certain heaviness to it. A musty smell. A certain importance hung about it.

It made him feel like a man.

Not a man as defined by what was between his legs, but rather a man as defined by the sound of a heartbeat and the breath one could see on a cold, damp morning like the one he had stepped out into. The manhood that surrounded him in his city as he began the dark, familiar path to work.

Bishop missed his manhood. He missed things he never would have expected. Scraped knees from falling down. Sweaty palms. Paper cuts. He missed the horrible feeling of a flushed, warm face when a pretty girl turned to him. He wish he could have blushed for Elizabeth. It would have made her more relaxed.

He had gained confidence and looks when he had changed, but he had never lost his sense of the awkward man he was.

Bishop was rarely part of a group. As a human he had been too inept and shy. As a vampire, he was too different in his habits and desires. He had always been an observer and loner, and it was why he was such a good detective, albeit a non-traditional one.

He rounded the finale corner to his office and lit a cigarette. The nicotine had no effect and the effort of inhaling was almost too much work, but he loved the way it made him look, for a moment, like a man in a warm coat on a cold day.