Time stretched as Jaron waited for someone to answer his call for aid. His fingers, fumbling to brush stray strands of hair from his face, smeared his most recent client's blood across his drawn face without comprehension. The small vampire hugged his knees to his chest and rocked.
Jaron jumped at the sound of pounding on the door, his undead heart racing with fear and confusion at the scene around him with renewed force. When the small vampire heard his lover's voice, he scurried from his spot on the floor and ran toward the door, his hands reaching for the portal as if it were his deliverance from the nightmare he found himself in, his only salvation.
Blood drenched hands slipped on the knob as he frantically tried to open the barrier between himself and Thorne, finally whipping the door open to throw himself at the handsome Commander of the Peace Keepers. Jaron gasped for air, his head still pounding, eyes wide as saucers. He clung to the man who stood on the other side with a strength that belied his tiny frame.
With a shiver, he buried his head into the familiar scent of the man's leather coat and cried. "They killed her. She was making me tea and they killed her." The diminutive courtesan had no idea who 'they' were but he already pictured the criminals within his mind as being those who had been so rough with him at the club a month prior. Those vampires now represented all the violence and evil within the city and Jaron could think of no one else who would have done such a cruel and undeserved deed toward another of their own.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered against the soft leather, knowing he had broken his promise. He had brought more trouble to his lover's door, even without trying.