"Are you saying you want more dick already?  Vixen," he said with a laughing snort.<br/><br/>He did not consider himself a good person.  By human standards, he was a murderer and a thief.  By werewolf standards, he was an outcast loner without honor.  He didn't even understand what standards a vampire might use to declare something good, but he suspected he failed in that category, too.  He stopped torturing people not because he had empathy - in the sense of genuine care for the feelings of another - but because he could fake it and it was practical.  He wasn't good, he was manipulative.  He was treacherous.  That he occasionally liked a person and spared them when he had them in his power just meant he liked people.<br/><br/>"It's got the start of being real," he said because he didn't believe in luck and this felt like that.  When she yawned, he did, too.  He said, "Getting some rest is probably a good idea.  Who knows when we'll be able to get it next?<br/><br/>Of course, sleep brought dreams.  In this case, with Vara, it brought a dream of a dark, dead forest - perhaps the forest here, but closer to the irradiated city - and there was Blackvayne: tall and regal, covered in a wolfskin cape with red silk lining, and a heavy gold chain clasping it, and underneath a suit of old armor made of a material that was somewhere between glass and steel but tougher than both, with black leather gauntlets.  He was much as he was in real life, too, pale and blue-eyed and handsome.<br/><br/>He said to Vara, in her dream, "So it has come to pass, my darling Vara.  Already laying with that dark wolf.  I hadn't realized the chemistry between you would be so immediate, though perhaps I should have.  You've only ever tolerated the touch of others when your need was great."