The apartment within the House of Peidra overlooked the inner atrium gardens. The perfume of the early evening's blooms wafted to Marran's sensitive nose, clearly proclaiming the hour and Dothan's unusually belated homecoming. Travel guests, she supposed. Important ones, or official visitors. Her arvir had no reason to discipline her; therefore his delay had another explanation. So she waited and dreamed of the days long past.

    The nursery. Mattan's warmth always closeby. There had never been a time when he hadn't been. She couldn't have imagined there would ever be a time when he wouldn't. She recognized others left the familiar series of rooms, but always together. The caregivers were always kind if coolly distant, t'arviran.
    The crèche. Mattan played, always nearby if not beside her. The radius of her world extended no further than her playmates, and the strange fun games the managers showed them. Having no frame of reference, Marran realized, and only a vague understanding of the passage of time handicapped their minds. The small tasks set before them held no challenges -- only prepared them to better serve, enhancing empathy and aesthetic appeal. The managers discouraged curiosity and exploration of intellect by withholding food or affection.

    Intent alerted her, and the door opened. Snatches of conversation reached her acutely perceptive ears. High speech, meant not for her hearing then, but projection indicted thirst, and a desire for the oblivion of intoxication. Dothan's annoyance and his craving for solitude reached her clearly, his companion unwelcome but tolerated. A familiar visage flashed in her inner eye, mother's brother Tvaren. He enjoyed Vadir wine also. She added the second goblet to the tray, and quietly entered the salon.
    Dothan's eyes tarried in perusal of her, and he nodded absently as she presented the tray. Sipping the wine, he indicated acceptance with a quick hand gesture. Marran served the visitor. The argument continued in High speech, not intended to be understood. But in the manner of subjugated beings of all societies, nothing openly discussed could be kept secret.
    "I have nothing but contempt for Selia. Contract with her? Why?" Dothan retorted.
    "You have nothing but contempt for any of the prospectives of your entire generation. With whom and when do you plan on propagating? With your pet?" Tvaren scolded.
    Dothan glanced at Marran, frowning. But in contrast to his expression, he projected only covetousness tinged with the usual longing. Anticipating his next movement, she held forth the tray and his fingers found the exact sweet he preferred.
    "How much does she understand of High speech?" Tvaren asked.
    In the manner of masters of all such societies, Dothan confidently replied, "Nothing, unless I project."
    His uncle snorted. "You are naive, then."
    "My far removed grandfather engineered them, Tva. Viraran are exactly as Rohon designed. They have bred true for six generations."
    "Have you heard the rumors? Higher addiction rates, suicides, and what of Malon Gotram?"
    "What of him? He bought a virar and is quite happy with him," Dothan said. Marran placed herself within his reach, and his hand sought out its accustomed place on the back of her neck.
    "You haven't heard? Malon is dead… Murdered! I saw the site myself in judgment."
    "By his virar? I don't believe it!"
    "No, Dothan. By his own daughter — for possession of the pet," Tvaren said, projecting the scene clearly, willing Marran to send to his nephew.
    "So she is unbalanced, still nothing to do with viraran addiction." Dothan refused the send, glaring at Marran. She desisted immediately.
    Tvaren stood and paced the room, pausing to admire the obliquely illuminated garden below. "There are twenty-seven breeding males of your generation in the house. Only seven have progeny. None of those seven keep viraran."
    "Your point?" Dothan ran his fingers through Marran's hair. She felt his irritation dissipating in the mindless repetitive habit.
    "All of the twenty who have delayed choosing contracts keep a virar."
    "So? Perhaps we merely prefer the companionship without the constant bickering and contractual coldness of marriage." Dothan remained steadfast in his refusal to grasp the older man's implication.
    "Of my generation there were thirty-five. Five never procreated, the others limited themselves to less than three. The birth numbers are dropping, if it continues at this rate, Arvir will be extinct in six generations."
    "You blame this on the viraran? The endorphins of each are tested at puberty and several times a season. I tell you, uncle — there has been no variance in the concentration or toxicity. The birth statistics are a blip, unrelated to holding viraran. They cannot change. Their genetics are static. Viraran cannot mutate."
    Tvaren looked at his brilliant but completely headstrong nephew and laughed. "Then perhaps you test the wrong species. They are stagnated, but are we?" He drained his cup, and held it out. Marran hesitated, until Dothan released her hair and imagination.

    She took both goblets to refill them. When she returned, Dothan waved her away. Marran settled by the window, and rested her chin on her hand.
    Peripherally aware of the ongoing argument, she cast a projection in a seeking pattern radiating from the garden window. Mattan had been engaged but heard her call. She caught a glimpse of him curling around the fevered writhing body of his arvir, and felt through his empathy Kylla's passion growing. Too busy to share with her, now. Marran lingered enjoying the moment vicariously.
    Vaguely she felt the conversation behind her falter. Dothan had fallen into a reverie that her touch and attention would break through when the forgetful intoxication had calmed his tattered nerves.
    "Virar?" Tvaren called.
    She faced him.
    "Did you enhance my cup too?" he asked, stifling his wistful desire.
    She shook her head. "Do you wish one?" she asked diffidently.
    "More wine would be too much." He glanced at the entranced Dothan. A frown wrinkled his high forehead, his usual expression, not one directed toward anything particular. His canny eyes peered at her. "Have you fed?"
    "No," she admitted, the greedy need suddenly made stronger by acknowledgment of its existence.
    He beckoned to her, and patted his knee. She projected toward Dothan, and received only a quiet '?' as reply. She would starve longer, if she waited for him. And Tvaren commanded the house.

    Tvaren watched her vacillate, and wondered if she realized yet he had been asking questions in High speech, and she had answered in the same dialect. So much for a genetically limited talent for language, he mused. Well, they hadn't been created stupid. Which made viraran more attractive, if much more dangerous a distraction.
    Marran had to be hungry. Dothan had been away for several days and she tended to be a faithful sort. Many of the kept ones were. The house viraran would take a meal when offered, as well as any order. His amusement grew as her body fairly twanged in indecision. Wait, her mind and loyalty would command. Submit, her inbred hunger would beg.
    Tvaren projected secrecy, and reinforced his authority. Before the thought had been reinforced with another gesture, Marran slipped onto his lap, softly curling into a comfortable weight and position. He could smell the unmistakable scent of her. So familiar, but so individual. Tvaren wrapped his arms around the slight form, remembering the feeling of holding, of owning such a creature.
    His own virar, Kallan had died the season before. Old, like him, her endorphins had weakened along with her health. He braced himself for the moment of fleeting pain before the ecstasy of venom. The slickness of her teeth in the crook of his elbow took him by surprise — Kallan had preferred the jugular. An oily heat trailed up his arm, and his attention became entangled by her warm brown eyes as she gratefully fed on his blood. The heat brought a tart citrus flavor to his tongue. Kallan's taste had been more like a pear.

    The unexpected flash of warmth in his loins gratified him. No longer fertile but still capable if the opportunity arose. Tvaren felt, rather than heard, Marran chuckle as she caught the passing pun, her empathy enhanced by the blood exchange. Finished feeding? How very quick and how very entrancingly dark red her lips had become. Kallan had fed slowly, savoring, but this one had been denied for a prolonged period. The heat reached his higher brain functions and expanded, becoming a cooling pool. Kallan's poison had been far slower acting, reaching his cerebrum about the same time as his orgasm rocked his body's core. So fast, too fast. How did Dothan enjoy this meteoric ride?
    Any lingering comparisons fled as Marran's endorphin charged saliva flowed into his brain, and the rainbow oblivion claimed him totally.