"So you have met Frau Sondra Hörst, have you?" Father Edmund observed as they walked down the street.
"I have."
Father Edmund chuckled. "She has that affect on most women, I'm told."
Herta shrugged. There was no way she was going to admit to envy of the woman's beauty. Or jealousy, a small voiced added slyly.
"It was she who found Turan when he arrived, you know," the priest continued. "She brought him to me because she couldn't understand what he was saying. She thought I could translate for her."
Herta tipped her head, curious in spite of herself. "And could you?"
His eyes twinkled. "I have met some of The People, but that was many years ago with your grandfather. I don't know the language, but I told Frau Hörst that my great-nephew would be understandable once he'd had his medication."
Herta tried not to laugh. "I take it she didn't believe you?"
The priest laughed. "Not for a moment, but it did serve to give Turan time to learn German."
"And English," Herta observed wryly, thinking of her first meeting with him.
"Turan's people are... different, Fräulein. They cannot read minds as some people seem to think, but..."
"But they know," Herta finished for him. She changed the subject. "When did he arrive?"
"About a month ago. As a matter of fact, Frau Hörst claims she found him wandering around down by the cemetery."
"Where we were?"
He nodded. "Down in the ravine."
Herta stopped. "The ravine?" There was something about the ravine that she should remember. Something about... She shook her head. The faint memory was gone.
The two walked on in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. They were in the middle of the park before Father Edmund spoke again. "Herta, there is something I must ask of you."
Herta glanced up, surprised at the seriousness of his voice. "Ask, Father. I'll do what I can."
"I want you to talk to Turan. Listen to him." Herta made a noise of protest and the priest hurried to explain. "Herta, not only Turan's survival, but yours as well, depends on your having knowledge that I cannot give you. Please, Fräulein. Hear him out."
They stopped in front of a bench set under the trees. Herta sat down gratefully. Not only were her knees wobbly at the thought of being close to Turan again, but she was tingling with awareness again. Turan was near!
"My survival depends on him?" she asked, trying to delay her meeting with Turan, trying to understand what was happening.
Father Edmund sat down beside her and took her hands in his. "What do you know of the 'Thule Society'?" he asked, not answering her question.
Herta's head snapped up. "They're back?"
The priest gave a short nod. "So rumor has it. What do you know of them?"
"Nothing good, I'm afraid. They were the Bavarian holdouts of the Germanorden organization and disbanded around 1925. Among other things, it was rumored at the time, that they were a terrorist organization who believed that the German people were descended from the Aryans and, with selective breeding, could return the Germans to their former glory." She paused, thinking, remembering, and then continued carefully. "Including the Aryans' supposed mystical powers."
Father Edmund nodded. He had been watching her expression, saw it change from confusion to curiosity to concern. "You know more than most people."
Herta shrugged. "One of my coworkers needed some research on witchcraft a couple of years ago and that was part of what I found for him. I don't remember the details, but I remember reading that bit. I'd have to look up the particulars, though. I've got them on file."
"Sounds like you've read John Mayer's paper on Germanic Paganism, then."
Herta gave a slight grin. "It's possible that was among the things I read," she admitted. "Sounds like you have, too. But what does that have to do with me?"
"Die Reizengebleiterin or der Reizengebleiter has traditionally been a link between Turan's people, Der Reizen, and ours. If that link could be severed?"
Herta bowed her head, thinking. She remembered how she felt when she first met Turan, again at the cemetery, and... There was another time, another place, but the memory was illusive. She frowned. "Severed? Or subverted?" she wondered, not realizing that she spoke out loud.
Father Edmund stiffened. "That, too, is possible. Which is why you need to talk to Turan. As die Reizengebleiterin, you cannot defend what you do not understand."
Herta sniffed. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
Father Edmund shook his head. "But you do have a choice, Fräulein. You can remain here or come with me into the church, collect your things and go home." He could see her thoughts flit across her face as she stared at her hands, hope, embarrassment, fear. "Turan won't hurt you , you know," he said softly.
"That's what scares me," she admitted.
"You'll be fine." The priest patted her folded hands and rose to his feet. "Just remember that, together, your survival is possible. You have access to information that he needs and he has the strength to protect you."
"We are symbiote and host, then," she murmured. The thought bothered her. She closed her eyes against the disappointment.
"Not quite, Fräulein Tanner." The voice came from above and behind her. Turan. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes in time to see Father Edmund's glare.
"She must know everything, Turan," he warned, and, turning on his heel, strode toward the church.
Herta stared after him, not wanting to face Turan. She knew, however, exactly when he came around and joined her on the bench.
Where to begin, Turan wondered? How to explain what he had done? How would she react? Above all, he feared the answer to that question the most. He sighed.
"Is the truth that difficult, Herr Freiermann?" Herta's voice was cold, but Turan could feel her pain behind the question.
"The truth, no. But where to begin so you understand? That is hard."
"Try at the beginning?"
Just as he had felt before in his world, Turan could feel her anger now. "Fräulein, I do not understand. Why--?" And then it hit him. Shame! She was ashamed of... He struggled to sort through the confusion of her emotions. Shame at being thought too stupid to understand because she was female! Shame that she had more questions than answers for him. Coupled with the shame was her doubt about her own worth and... Turan stared at her. She was afraid she would be alone if she failed him!
Without a word, Turan moved closer and gathered her into his arms. To his surprise, she didn't fight him. In fact, she seemed to welcome his touch, sliding her arms around his waist and tucking her head beneath his chin. He held her close, projecting, as she had done yesterday, his pride in her courage, her caring. He let her know of his absolute faith in her. He knew, too, her sorrow at the Hörst woman's death, her guilt and feeling of responsibility.
"Herchenhexe," he soothed, "you had nothing to do with her death. You did not kill her. I know you didn't."
"But if I hadn't come..."
He smiled and tightened his hold on her. "If you had not come here, Father Edmund and Gebhardt would have no one to fuss over."
"And you?" Herta blurted out. She blushed and put one hand to his chest to push away. He refused to let go. She felt his chuckle more than heard it, rumbling beneath her hand.
"Had you not come here, I would have found you elsewhere, Herchenhexe." His arms relaxed and Herta sat stiffly upright, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Why do you call me that?"
"Call you what? Herchenhexe?"
She nodded.
"Because that is what--" He stopped. This was not the place to tell her. It was too public. Too public for them both.
Herta felt Turan's withdrawal. Again. And it hurt like hell. She had felt safe in his arms, had hoped... She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and stood up. "I see," she managed to choke out before turning away.
"No you don't." Turan was on his feet, his arms, steel bands around her. "You don't see and you're not going to walk away from me every time I try to find the right words to explain things to you."
Herta stood still, trying hard to resist the temptation Turan seemed to offer, but it was hard - he was hard to resist. She tingled all over, her body screaming for her to turn around and lose herself in his embrace, her mind calmly telling her not to be so foolish. After a battle that seemed to take an eternity, her mind won out. She took a deep, calming breath. And then another.
Turan released her and she stepped away from him. Two steps more and she sank down on the bench, her legs no longer able to support her. She felt cold inside.
Turan sat down next to her. "My apologies. I should not have done that to you."
Herta stared at him. "Done what?"
Turan's elbows were on his knees. He stared at his hands, locked in a tight grip in front of him.
"Done what, Turan," she demanded.
"You were sexually excited, no?" he asked suddenly.
Herta felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the images and emotions his words invoked. She trembled. 'Excited' wasn't the word she would have used. It wasn't strong enough.
"And you are again." Turan's voice was flat.
Herta buried her face in her hands, thoroughly embarrassed. She had left her husband five years ago and had been celibate ever since. Is this what celibacy did to a person? She felt like a gawky teenager again.
She scrubbed her face with her hands and sat up, determined to get her rampaging hormones under control. She'd always had a soft spot for attractive men, but this time the soft spot seemed to be her head. "How did you know?" she asked, trying to buy some time to get her scrambled thoughts in order.
Turan slanted her a look that was almost her undoing. The heat of it burned through her like acid. He spoke, but she couldn't hear him. She could only hear the thunder of her own pulse. She shook her head, trying to clear it.
"I'm sorry, Turan, I--"
He moved so quickly that Herta didn't have time to react. He dragged her close, settling her so they sat pressed together, hip to knee, one arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Herta felt like she was engulfed in an inferno. Then, abruptly, miraculously, the inferno subsided.
"I said, I knew from your scent," Turan repeated.
"My...?" Herta blushed again and tried to pull away.
Turan refused to let her go. "No, we need to deal with this now." His voice softened. "I know this is awkward for you, but it is vital you understand."
Herta gave in with a deep sigh and relaxed. She was in love with a man who was in love with someone else and she was, it seemed, the only one who could help him. She would have to learn to live with it, she supposed.
They were silent for a while. Herta could hear children playing in another part of the park. People were walking by. The leaves of the trees were rustling, whispering to each other, in the slight breeze. Under other circumstances, she would be content. She could smell the flowers that lined the walkways, hear the bees buzzing on their merry way.
Bees! That was it! Herta sat up abruptly, almost pulling Turan over. "Tell me again how you knew," she demanded.
He looked startled, not understanding her question at first.
"How did you know what I was feeling?" she asked.
Turan sighed. He would never understand how she did that, turning her emotions off like a water tap. He shrugged and answered her question. "I could smell your need."
Herta grinned, pleased with herself for having figured it out. "Exactly. I was thinking earlier that I needed to learn to control my rampaging hormones every time a handsome man smiled at me. But that wasn't how you knew, was it? You didn't smell me, you smelled my pheromones." Her eyes were alight with excitement. "I'll bet that's how you find your soul mates, too, isn't it? That's why vampires, the 'Drinkers of Souls', are synonymous with seduction."
Turan stared at Herta, who was almost bouncing with glee. He would have laughed had he understood what she was talking about. "I don't understand," he finally admitted.
Herta shifted, pulling her feet comfortably up under her. She made a face. "You were right. Knowing where to start the explanation is hard."
Turan leaned back, bringing one ankle up to rest on the other knee. "At the beginning, perhaps?"
Herta looked startled and then grinned. "At the beginning, then. You'll pardon me if I tell you things you already know?"
He nodded solemnly.
"Okay. According to Hans Theiner's letter, der Reizen can only...," she fought down a blush. This was getting ridiculous. "Can only procreate when you have found your soul mate. Correct?"
"For some, yes," Turan acknowledged.
"Oh. Right. I'd forgotten about the... the neutral ones."
Turan tried to hide his smile.
"Oh, quit laughing at me. I know I'm weird." Herta shrugged. "Sex just wasn't something we spent a lot of time talking about at home, and never when the guys were around. Gimme a break, will ya?"
Turan's lips twitched, mesmerizing Herta. If she leaned forward...
She shook her head. "Will you stop doing that?" she complained. "Will you get serious for a minute?"
He laughed outright. "As you wish, Herchenhexe. You're right. I shouldn't tease you like that, but you look so serious, so distant and impartial."
"Trust me, I'm anything but." Herta met his eyes, letting him see her hunger for him, her need. He was caught, held fast by her look, until she blinked and sat back.
"Now can we get on with it? As I said, your people need to be whole, with their soul mates, before they can procreate. You are..." She stumbled over her thoughts, not completely understanding the references she needed. "Gimme a sec."
He waited, curious.
"You come to our world when you feel The Need, when you become Diu Seeleocran."
He nodded.
"And when you arrive here, our reaction to you isn't what you had expected, is it? We feel your Need, we may well scent it, but we translate it as 'lust', not 'love'."
Turan looked confused. "There is a difference?"
Herta covered her eyes. Her voice was rueful. "There's a helluva difference, boyo. A helluva difference."
"How so?"
Herta stared at him. "Huh?"
"How do you know the difference between love and lust?"
Herta propped her elbow on the back of the bench, dropped her cheek into her hand and sighed. "I have no idea."
Turan waited, worried. If all she felt for him was lust...
Herta stared past Turan, lost in thought. Was she in love with Turan? She'd only met him yesterday, she realized with a start. The last time she'd made that hasty a judgment, she'd ended up married to the wrong man. Was she making the same mistake again? Did she really know what love was?
She focused on Turan's face, searching for an answer. She tried to explain to herself how she felt about him. That she desired him was obvious in the tightening of her nipples and the heat between her legs, but was that part of love? Did she trust him enough to love him? Did she trust herself enough to love?
Turan shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze. It felt like she was looking straight into his soul, but he could feel nothing of hers. It was unsettling. He knew of her arousal, that scent was unmistakable, but beneath that... Fear? She was afraid of him?
Her eyes snapped back into focus with a speed that surprised him.
"Turan, how do you share souls?" she asked. There was an edge to her voice. She was afraid and trying not to be.
He tensed. She knew, then. Or suspected. He took a deep breath. "The two only need to touch each other, flesh to flesh," he slowly admitted.
"As in a kiss?" she persisted.
He nodded. "That is one way."
She closed her eyes but Turan didn't need the physical evidence of her expression to feel her pain. It knifed through him.
"Then when I interrupted you and Sondra yesterday--"
"Sondra is not my soul mate, Herta Tanner," he interrupted. "You are."
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