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Moran nodded. "It's how he fights!" Moran said. "He may have been a do good bleeding heart when I knew him, but he was a motherfucker when it came to tactics. He could fight circles around almost anyone they put against him in training, and then in the field." Perhaps you are over reacting." Cha'talla spoke calmly walking forward. "It is well known that there are few Lycavorians that are superior to vampires in terms of tactics."Yuri motioned to the Captain of the Immortals. "Robert this is Cha'talla." She spoke. "He is the commander of my father's Immortals."Moran stared at Cha'talla. He was easily eight inches taller than him, and looked as if he could break him in two without a moment's pause. Moran knew he had to make it clear who was in charge here and do it quickly, for his sake as well as Yuri."Cha'talla right," He asked. "That is your name?" You are correct human." He spoke confidently."Have you ever fought Martin Leonidas, Cha'talla of the Immortals?" Moran asked in a harsh. He believed in the value of tears and told Emily that none were wasted. Each desperate move was noted. Each single prayer was answered. He believed in order. When Emily questioned how billions of silent requests could be heard together, Jack replied that he had no idea, he just knew they could. As they argued playfully on the balcony, the stars swung madly around the silver moon. The street below was empty but for the occasional couple, hot from dancing, making their way home arm in arm, high on wine and love and laughing. The sound of their chatter drifted upward. They whispered sweet nothings, teased, vowed, and gossiped ruthlessly. The girls wore summer dresses, and their men had collars pulled open and their ties pulled low. The night was filled with pretty people who walked side by side, bumped against each other, and laughed and swayed up the street until they disappeared from view. Emily guessed they made their way to homes, and then to bedrooms, and then to beds to fuck..
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I climbed the main flight, then turned up the three or four stairs that led on to a hallway that mirrored the downstairs one – to the right all the doors were firmly shut, but to the left, and at the far end, there was one almost wide open. I went straight in, and found myself in what was quite obviously Bethany’s room – decorated in shades of primarily old-rose and dusty pink, with glossy white paintwork that highlighted the delicacy of those shades of colour. Then, adding a couple of more dramatic colour splashes, were a few objects of either rich burgundy or muted emerald green. The bed, an over-sized one, had a throw-over that picked up those colours, contrasting with the crisp whiteness of what were obviously freshly-laundered sheets – and both those and the coverlet were turned invitingly down. But there was no sign of Bethany. ‘Wrong room darling!’ I heard her call – the echoing effect that I noticed from downstairs, now very much clearer. ‘I’m in the room next door.’ she.

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