Garwen and Langan

The alley was dark. The smell of refuse clogged his nose and made him want to gag. The street squished beneath his feet as he carefully walked toward the lamp-lit opening of the alley mouth. Outside, a light flickered in the dark night, beckoning, calling to him. Bile rose to lie across his tongue. He breathed. He had made his decision.

He found a place along the wall to lean, still swathed in the confining shadow, while he watched the going's on of the street before him. He was waiting for Langan to come. He had been watching Langan's every move, pondering his every thought. He knew the other man's routines better than even Langan himself knew.

His name was Garwen and he was Langan's born enemy. The time had come for the games to end. He nodded shortly. It would be over soon.

Movement on the empty, cobble-stoned street caught Garwen's eye. He knew who it would be even before the man walked into the light. He could tell by the confident step and the soft approach. His keen ear could hear the soft swoosh of the tall man's cape. His steps were long, power and sure, taking him from point to point with a speed most men relished, and never had.

Garwen picked himself off of the wall as the angular face gained detail and depth. The mouth was a hard line under the aristocratic nose. The blonde hair was smooth and tied back in the fashionable queue. This man exuded a power that most people feared. Yes. Most people quaked when they looked at him. Garwen did not. He felt many things for this man, but he was not scared of this man.

Garwen stepped out of the alley and leaned almost casually against the wall. He felt anything other than casual. His decision had let loose a wild energy he could not command. His hands shook, eager and anxious. He crossed them in front of his chest to hide what he could not contain.

Langan turned toward him and slowed his pace, stopping in the middle of the trash-laden and deserted street, bathed in the meager light of the lamp. They stared at each other for a long moment before Langan said softly, "You wanted to see me?"

Garwen nodded. "You know why I have come."

Langan sighed and looked down, taking his tight-fitting, leather gloves off slowly. He caught the other man's eyes. "You wish to change me, to save my soul, I assume."

Garwen raised his chin, unable to take his eyes from Langan's. "That is what an angel is supposed to do."

With one glove off, Langan approached as if he were a wild creature on the prowl of something filling and tasty. "I thought vampires were unable to be saved."

"So had I once," Garwen whispered, watching with widening eyes as the tantalizingly menacing man approached. "But - "

Langan stopped within arm's reach and looked the angel up and down, taking in everything in a moment. The angel smelled of air and musk. The vampire felt the other's fear. He reached out with his ungloved hand to touch the angel's round cheek and brush the long, black hair from his eye. "But then you met me and things did not look so badly, did they?"

Garwen shook off the gentle caress with a slight toss of his head. "You're different. I've seen how gentle you can be to your . . . "

"Victims?" Langan chuckled. "I would call them dinner."

Garwen shivered, closing his eyes, his breathing rapid. When he opened them again, he saw that the vampire was watching him with . . . a hunger that could almost be felt. The angel expelled a long, surprised breath and backed into the wall he leaned against, straightening. His eyes never left the black, shadow-filled voids of the vampire. "You are different."

Langan leaned in, their heads in close proximity. In the poor light, color could almost be seen in the angel's sad and longing eyes. With a blink and a quick drawing of air, he rose and backed off. He stared in horrified surprise at the man who had called himself an angel. Fear rose in Garwen's eyes, fear of being rejected. "You-" Langan stopped, bent with surprise, breathing. "You want me to make you?"

Garwen stared deeply into the vampire's eyes. "You are different. You would understand." He looked beseechingly up into the heavens. "All is hurt. All is pain and it won't stop." He looked at Langan again, pleading. "I need you to make me."

"The hurt and troubled seek pain," Langan remembered softly. He looked at the angel and straightened shaking his head numbly. "No."

"Please," Garwen begged, stepping away from the wall. "You - "

"No!" Langan roared, a rushing waterfall of emotion engulfing his heart. He rushed the man, grabbing his shoulders and bearing him into the wall. The vampire stood in angry glory above the fallen and hesitant angel. The initial onslaught of terrible emotion faded to a streaming river as Langan gazed into the openly honest eyes of the angel. "No," Langan whispered softly against the angels full lips. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Garwen's for support.

"I need you," the angel said softly, his hands coming to rest on the relaxing hands of the vampire.

Langan raised his head and blinked into the unerring gaze of the angel. "No," he said, softly pulling away and stepping into the street. "I need you . . . " He breathed as he stopped, watching as Garwen picked himself off of the wall. "Go, angel of the light."

Garwen shook his head mutely.

"I need you -" Langan stopped, his breath short. "I need you to bring me hope."

With an confused frown, the angel turned and fled down the echoing, sleepy streets, but had he stayed, he might have seen the hunger in Langan's eyes.

This was not the end, they both knew. Oh, no. This was far from the end.