Maybe, just maybe...

Sara, closing the bathroom door behind her and twisting the stainless steel doorknob in place - damned thing never just shut itself - deftly paced down the hall to her room, breathing in the crisp, clean air.

The four post bed had been a gift from Wendy when she had finally settled down here. It had been hand crafted by the local carpenters over a period of several months, with intricate carvings of felines on each post. A little much, yes, probably more than she was willing to admit, but Wendy had designed it herself and she'd honestly done a fantastic job. From the pouncing cougar to the patient jaguar, resting in a tree on the headboard, she couldn't help but love it completely. The blankets and pillows she'd bought for it felt so lacking in comparison.

Of course, she couldn't spend so much time dwelling on the bed right now. She just needed new panties.

The dresser beside it was an antique, bought using whatever part of her inheritance she had left. Genuine Oppland. Opening the top drawer, she briefly fished around before pulling out some white replacements for her wet garments. As she did so, however, her hand briefly brushed against a very familiar fabric, one she hadn't worn since a particularly stormy day by the sea. She swiftly shut the drawer and sat down on the bed, shaking off her black cotton pants before slipping off the pink panties. The white ones fit snugly as they were tugged up her legs, comfortably sliding up her ass. She glanced at her mirror and stood up, walking over to it with her pants in hand. She smirked, turning around so she could get a good look at herself in this thing. It hugged her perfectly, not revealing too much and leaving everything to the imagination. As her eyes trailed down the back of her legs, she noticed the wound on her inner thigh, another scar left by Vladimir.

Three dull lines spreading outward from a single point, surrounded by a faint ring of healed tissue. One of many areas where his teeth had driven themselves into her, piercing the skin as usual whenever he fed on her. "Fucking leech," she muttered as she pulled her pants back on. Great, now she'd probably be in a horrible mood because she couldn't get that bastard out of her head even with someone like John downstairs.

What was he doing, actually? She'd better check on him. For a moment, she considered applying some make-up, just make herself more presentable for company, but after recent events, maybe some lipstick would suffice.

John was still bare chested and with bandages wrapped around his shoulders and abdomen. Somehow, during that intensely passionate feeding, they hadn't been scratched or torn by Sara's claws. But that wasn't on his mind. No, it was how damned flawless this place was.

Not in the sense every trace of dust had been eradicated, no, in that it just felt...pure, for lack of a better word. Right now, sitting in a chair that belonged in Queen Elizabeth II palace instead of a small house in the middle of nowhere, reading _The Unsmiling Tsarevna _with a shelf full of books next to him, his injured foot resting on a foot stool with beautiful flowers on it, he felt...peace.

"Getting cozy?"

John was startled out of his thoughts by Sara's sudden intrusion. She was standing in the archway with a white mug in her hands, back to normal...for a vampire. He could see whiffs of steam rising from it. "Made you some coco," Sara said merrily, tip-toeing across the floor to him.

"Why do you have coco?" he asked, puzzled.

"Sometimes, I get visitors who don't drink blood. Always good to be prepared." She stopped in front of her chair, and offered him the mug. Setting down the book, he took it graciously and sipped, before laying back down with a sigh of content. "That's pretty good," he said, ignoring the burning tingles on his tongue.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. Then she turned around and walked over to the couch, plopping herself down. He didn't fail to notice the white panty hem poking through her pants. "So, John," she continued flawlessly, "ignoring what we did on this couch, you're probably wondering why I suddenly turned into a catgirl."

"Among other things," he mused.

Sara chuckled. "And you'll have your answers in time. But first, I have several questions for you."

John shrugged, supposing she had every right to know what his deal was. He'd been expecting this.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, adjusting herself on the couch so her cheek on rested on her open palm while she cocked one leg up, lazily swinging it back and forth.

"Honestly? I'm thinking of moving here," he admitted. Sara stopped moving, eyes wide.

"Really?" she asked. "Why?"

"Because my life back home sucks now, on account of," he gestured to his wounded leg with all the affection one holds for a dead rat, "this."

Sara nodded. "That did look pretty bad. I'd imagine it was not something any hunter would want to have trailing around, correct?"

"My family certainly didn't," he muttered in response, "and eventually, neither did Mia."

"Who?"

"My ex-girlfriend."

"Ah."

Things became awkward now between them, with neither sure of what to ask the other, until Sara had an idea.

"You could stay here with me, if you want," she said.

"What?"

"Stay here, for just a little while, check out what the forest is like and see if it really is for you. After that, I'll help find you somewhere to stay. Sound good?"

John bit his lip before taking another sip of coco, pondering her offer. It took him shorter than he would have expected to answer.

"I suppose, but I'll need to get my stuff. I have a campsite nearby, so-"

"Got it, I'll go with you as soon as possible to collect it all."

"Now," John said smoothly, preparing to fire away his first question, "what about you, miss Sara?"