Crouching low over the corpse of that beautiful mortal she had left the bar with three nights previous, she sits back on her haunches as she wipes the still warm blood from her chin. Thankful that she need not feed for another cycle, she turns and glides away from the carnage left from the fighting constantly echoing across the plains of this land. The warring she has witnessed over the last eight years has reinforced her view that innocent blood is not to be shed. Her choice of prey is of those who choose to die defending what they love. Kaliteena has not murdered for a hundred and seven years. Her strict diet has given her a heart of loyalty, courage, strength, honor, compassion and all those enduring qualities that soldiers exhibit. Everybody knows that, just as too many carrots will tint the skin, constant supply of blood from one similar group has likewise the effect on who you are. She remembers well the decision not to murder for herself.

***

Aeriden sat there, staring at the beautiful madam sitting just opposite him on the rim of the fountain. The droplets of water separating them blurred the woman, but her radiance could not be mistaken even through obscured eyes. They, alone, had sat there every Wednesday for six in a row. Aeriden never saw her come. He had always just looked up to see her figure opposite him. This night he had doubted whether she would show, considering the sheets of rain that massaged his shoulders as he waited. Yet there she sat, forever looking onward into him. Though he had decided tonight would be different. Standing in the shin deep water, he walked straight through the cascades, which were hardly noticeable due to the rain.

"Ma'am?" His words were lost in the water. Speaking louder, he announced "my name is Aeriden."

Her lips stayed.

"I said 'my name is Aeriden,'" he spoke louder as he moved forward. "What's yours?"

"Kaliteena."

Almost faint from the beauty of her voice, Aeriden stumbled. When he glanced back, there was no one around. Alone he stood in this fountain on the hill overlooking the great cemetery of Isabella. Technically within the gates, this fountain had been built to commemorate the wife of Kenneth Porting, founder of the town directly to the east.

"Aeriden." The sound caught him off guard and he stumbled.

"Kaliteena?" he called to her phantom.

"I am here." The sound startled him so bad he jumped three feet forward before turning to see her clearly for the first time, as the moon slipped from behind the clouds just long enough to see her face painted blue in the light.

That siren's arm stretched forth as though to take his hand. Offering up his, she accepted, pulling him closer to her. He could now tell that she was a good four inches shorter than he and her hair was black and wispy, even when wetted. His nostrils tasted the scent she wore which flooded his heart with butterflies. As they circled each other, he gazed into her deep green eyes. He had never known eyes like those. The bright yellow near the pupils to the deep forest green out at the rims.

When he finally pulled his eyes from hers, he found himself among the more common head stones, hundreds of yards away from their meeting place. This thought he pushed aside as he realized that she was speaking.

"I have seen you wandering these graves for many months. Not many villagers can walk comfortably here. I was so fascinated by your comfort here at night, I accidentally allowed you to see me."

"Accidentally?" Aeriden asked. "So you hide among the graves frequently?"

"I prefer my peace alone."

"As do I, but I’m guessing it’s for different reasons."

"That is probably right."