Siwa, Egypt
Even in the tail-end of the month of December, the climate in Egypt is dry from a scorching sun. The sun shines off of the yellow dunes, blowing tiny beads of sand into the air. My fingers loosen their grip on the reins, reins which are harnessed to a particularly sloth-like camel. While Elijah's mammal bleats with energy, tussling him about on the uneven mountains of sand, mine is content with a slow steady pace, more interested in the treats I have to give him more than anything else.
It's not like there's anything to hurry to anyway. Lengthening our distance from the ancient oasis of Siwa, Elijah and I have expanded our horizons, moving into the hundreds of kilometers of Sahara desert with almost nothing but the clothes on our back. The camels have their water and food, dangling from a pack on their backs.
Elijah's necessary form of substance would have been difficult to get into Siwa with, as there was military presence in at least two stops on the 12-hour excursion we took to reach the city. I could have brought us there easily in seconds, one leap from Cairo to another, but we both came to the agreement that the entirety of life cannot be fed to us. Elijah pressed that the journey will make the destination all the more worth the wait.
And he was damn right.
We've been in desert for days now and I still can hardly believe my eyes.
One would think sand would get tiring to look at, but I'm no less energetic than I was leaving days ago without a guide.
"Damien and Paris send their love," Elijah announces his head focused on the paper in one of his hands. He manages to hold himself astride easily with one hand on his own reins.
"And Erika?"
"She sends no word, but she's with them."
It's impossible not to feel a momentary pang of unease at that, recalling the anger—more like disappointment—our relatively new friend felt once we explained what option we'd chosen to take. The easy way out. In leaving for Cairo, we've left the vampire race to their new leaders, to rise or fall at their own will. Paris and Damien, while unsure, were content at the idea of leaving the damage behind, of returning to France and their friends after nearly a year of despair. Erika wanted the fight, not because she was the most effected by what they'd done. Elijah's death was hard for us all, but nowhere in the same way.
Erika, rightfully, sees what could go wrong. She sees an opportunity for power, and how we are rejecting it. After so long in solitude, in the shadow of her prolific sister, Italy, the tribunal, would be a chance to rise up in this new revolution, to carve herself into her kind's history. I didn't have to listen to her thoughts to understand her anger.
Hoping to shake off the guilt, my eyes slim to scan the open desert, all of the untouched sand. There were others trekking, but none have ventured this far. We've had to rest the camels a few times.
"It's so strange seeing no civilization anywhere. Kind of eerie."
Elijah folds the letter from his progeny's, tucking it away in his shirt. All of their letters are tucked there, by his unbeating heart. "You can take us through space and time, my love."
"And if my powers suddenly disappear?"
He looks at me, squinting, his smile gleaming and instantly, I'm struck by the sight of him with this backdrop of the world. I didn't know it, but Elijah thrives in the sun. While it cannot affect the paleness of his skin, the lack of constraints, the lack of threats have made my companion look younger than his ripe old age of seven-hundred, or twenty-nine. Either one. With stubble sweeping his cutting jaw and a smile that is bright enough to transform his face without inducing a single crease or wrinkle, I see little of the man I once knew in Russia.
That man took brooding to a new level, and while I enjoyed the sight of him buried in a book or repairing parts of the house the turbulent weather had damaged, seeing Elijah's face and neck wrapped in a black scarf, a covering the hostel manager insisted he wear to help protect his fair skin from the unrelenting sun, a laughable concern in actuality, I can hardly look away. He's in an entirely dark ensemble, a breezy, comfortable material for the excursion.
I'm in a similar outfit with a wrap around my shoulders. My skin is almost as pale as his, but after all these hours under the sun, I have no burns. I am immune to the climate, to my increasing enjoyment.
His laugh rings over the dunes, a joyful carefree sound. "While I find it unlikely your godlike abilities could ever fail you, I am pleased to say that I could easily track our way back to Siwa."
"And the camels?"
"I'd put them out of their misery."
I gasp, petting my creature reassuringly. "Out of the question. You're not getting your fangs on Toulouse. No way."
"You named the damn camel?"
"We've bonded. He's lazy, like me."
"You?" he cackles. "Lazy? Christ, I wish."
"You weren't in Vienna. I spent my days and nights on a sofa lounge."
"When you weren't obsessing over the occult," he presses, bringing back a conversation we had on the night we returned to Vienna to tell the others of our plan. He hadn't explored my living space until then. I found him particularly disturbed at how deep I fell into my unusual research, but also a smidge grateful. Grateful I hadn't resolved to a life without him.
"I am convinced I would have brought you back anyway."
He scoffs. "Yes, as a zombie or some abominable thing."
"And you would have murdered me for it, no doubt."
He chuckles. "No doubt."
The wind swirls around us, stronger than it has been all day. I enjoy the crisp breeze, closing my eyes to really cement this moment in my brain.
"We've been out here for days now and I still can't get used to this," I sigh.
"Used to what?"
"All of this openness, this solitude. I like it."
"And it looks like you're about to witness one of life's rarest anomalies."
I open my eyes, glancing around and above us, searching for his meaning. He slants his index finger upward to the sky.
"Beige sky."
"I mean, it's nice but nothing out of this world," I joke, digging my boots into Toulouse as gently as I can to get him moving. He's too busy trying to swing his neck to me for one of the carrots hanging out of the sack.
"Yes, but the sandstorm that accompanies it will get your attention."
Sandstorm?
My head snaps in his direction in shock, and he laughs at the expression on my face, the one that says I've just become very scared very quickly. My head spins in search for the coming storm. "I don't see anything."
"I bet you it'll show it's face right when we get over this dune."
"You're scaring me."
"We cannot be harmed by it."
I pet my camel, gaping amusedly. "What about Toulouse?"
"Camels are used to sandstorms. This is their habitat. But if you don't want them to go through it, I suspect you can always relocate them on your own... or get rid of the storm all together."
Still so used to the helplessness I had when I was human, that thought didn't even initially cross my mind. I'm used to bad luck, and I'm used to figuring out ways to get through it as unscathed as possible.
Elijah's camel has faster legs. Already having reached the peak of the dune, he grins at the sight before him, which makes me encourage Toulouse to move faster, and leave me wondering if I'd move faster through this desert without him.
"It's far off still," Elijah says once I'm close, dismounting from his camel. "But it's a fairly large one."
Once I can see over the sandy peak, my eyes begin to widen at the horizon, now concealed by a sizeable flurry of sand, a wall of beige storm coursing over the desert oasis. It's quite angry looking, I notice.
"What do we do?"
"We camp."
He takes hold of the reins of his camel and I take my own, starting the descent down the mountain of sand. When we reach the bottom, he begins to pull out the camping gear. Sensing the work that will go into it and the fragility of our equipment, I offer another choice.
"You know, it would be worlds easier for me to just..."
"When you rely solely on your abilities is when you lose all your humanity, Cassandra. Sometimes it's good to work for something."
"Yeah, yeah." I glance to the once barren area beside us, feigning shock when I discover an erected tent, one larger than the one we brought with us. "Oh my god, how did that get there?"
He glares at me, but cannot control his widening grin at my complete disregard for his wisdom. "Fuck me, you're difficult."
"You mean resourceful."
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles to mimic me, pulling off the bags altogether from the camels. "Well, while you're at it, get rid of them then."
I stop him before he can head for the tent. "Wait!" I dig into one of the bags, fishing out the massive carrots. Elijah smirks, shaking his head.
"Are you serious?"
"Hey! They've served us well the past couple days."
I approach the camels, feeding them one by one, laughing at the fact that they never stop chewing. Pretty unmindful to the storm that's approaching, I sit with them both, embracing the moment. There was once a time I never would have even dreamed of being here, of knowing what I know. I'm in the middle of the Sahara desert, for Christ's sake.
I touch them both with the intention of sending them back to the man we paid for them. My stomach still flips when my thoughts merge into reality, when one minute I'm touching their rough fur and the next I'm standing alone.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," I say softly to my hands, knowing Elijah is behind me.
"Me either," he whispers, tellingly. He extends his arm to me when I turn unsurely, urging me to him. "Come."
I take his hand, shivering at the sight of the intimidating storm as we cross the sand at my pace. With his, we'd already be inside. Oddly excited as the wind picks up, I leap over the sand, pleased to be in the middle of nowhere with this man. He chuckles at my exuberance, lifting his arm to spin me in dancing circles. Dizzily, I find my equilibrium only when my hands crush to his chest, grounding me and my whirring brain.
He moves the see-through door flap aside to let me in first and bends in behind me. The tent is tall enough that I can stand straight inside. Elijah is still too tall and has to crane his neck to fit.
I hear him zipping up the entrance while I reach over my head, unzipping the orange fabric of the tent to reveal a clear inflexible material underneath it, one that gives us a prime view of the show. Above us are darkening clouds shielding away the sun.
"It was sunny just a few minutes ago. This is crazy."
"I've been through a few of these before. They pass relatively quickly."
I tear my eyes away from the window when I hear the storm nearing, unnerved enough to take a seat on the floor. When I look up, I find Elijah watching me with a small smile, his arms crossed.
"What?"
"You look nervous."
"There's a wall of sand about to slam into us."
"You're a god."
"Didn't you hear me? A wall of sand!"
He grins, unwinding his arms as he bends, joining me on the ground. "You've faced an entire coven of vampire elders in mortal flesh and you're concerned about a little dust?
"Ha!"
A little dust... this madman. I lay back, gaze stuck on the see-through ceiling.
"I wonder if the tent will hold up."
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds so curiously, I glance over to him. He's on his side, perched on his elbow, his knuckles pressed against his temple, regarding me with intimate eyes and a hint, just a hint, of a smile.
"I'll protect you," he finally whispers.
The delicate words take immense meaning when falling from his lips. They are the three most important words in the English language, in my opinion. They equate more than confessions of love do. His protective nature stems at the root of him, embedded deep into his thick marrow. Since I've dropped into his life, it's all he's known.
And even now, having sacrificed what he has, having done all that he has, he is still steadfast and loyal, still that creature that pledged his life in service of mine.
"Let me touch you," I utter in a low voice, unable to tear my eyes away from his face.
He is not intimidated by the way my voice has darkened, nor by the way I shift, moving over him like a snake ready to strike prey. Slowly, he settles himself flat on his back, awaiting my attention, simply staring while my hands begin to unwind the soft fabric around his neck.
My vibrant skin gleams against his pale skin. It was easy to mask it in front of the humans. With a thought, I looked as normal as I always did, although I never necessary looked normal. They couldn't detect who I really was. Still, Elijah was consistently watched, a sore thumb sticking out in a world of meek humans.
He is too large for them, too broad, too muscular. With skin pale as snow and eyes as clear as a jewel, with one look, I've seen people stop clear in their tracks. Some follow him, marvel at his beauty... and some disappear in another direction, possibly seeing him for what he is. Someone different than all the rest.
A true, perfect specimen.
I push apart the light material in the dip of his shirt and it opens, revealing a sculpted chest, lightly dusted with hair, primitively male and unmistakably Italian. Without a single ounce of excess flesh on him, he is forever young, forever strong. I help him remove the shirt and it slides over his head with ease.
I push him back down with one hand on his chest, and he smirks, enjoying himself.
"Are you going to insist on binding me too?"
"Not if you keep still." I nestle between his legs, clasping his wrists beside him into the cloth beneath us. I squeeze them and he nods, understanding me. Still, even as he complies with my desires, I can feel that the control is not mine. Even now, it's his.
And that is actually one of the things I crave most about him.
He gives me what I need when I need it and takes the rest in due course.
I am completely sure I will not be topping him for long, so I set to work, removing his shoes and socks, his watch, his pants, setting them behind me. He has no qualms with nakedness, and no reason for it. When I remove the last item of clothing, his briefs, and he is gloriously nude for my eyes to soak in, his magnificence is only heightened.
The storm has traveled a few miles in a matter of moments, barreling towards us with increasing speed. Momentarily distracted by the noise, my eyes dart up to the top of the tent before falling back to matters more important, tensions only heightened by the impending danger.
Slinking over him, I remove the wrap around my shoulders while I bend my face down to hover above his skin. I'm used to the lack of warmth radiating from him, even look forward to it. Before him, the men I'd fuck would sweat through their clothes. Their hands would become moist in their lust while they fondled my breasts or tried to clasp my face for a kiss they knew would be impossible to get. Elijah's hands are always cold, always steady and sure of where they're going. If he wants my mouth, he takes it. If he wants me on my back or flipped or standing, he's all assertiveness.
And while the sun cannot touch us, his skin still tastes of it, of salty desert and smoky incense. My lips drift over him appreciatively, my tongue sliding down his throat, through the hard peaks of his pecs. His moans when my teeth sink into him, deep and clearly painful, spur my desire for him, making me ravenous, desperate to give him more of what he needs.
I am no longer a human. I can take his full force, and I can give it too.
His features are restrained and tight as I lay soft kisses up his strong chin, his stubbly jaw, making my way to his mouth. He wants to touch me. It's only a matter of time before he does, before he cannot abide. I yearn for that loss of control in him.
Running my fingers through his wind-tossed hair, grasping on, I seal my lips over his, sinking into the soft velvet shape of them. I weigh nothing laid against his massive form, but even if I did, I don't think he'd complain when I relax, dizzy from the way his tongue thrusts through my lips, how his mouth crushes to mine with authority.
Any moment now...
I deprive him, slinking down him, smiling when he growls while chuckling at the same time.
"You're still completely dressed," he hisses as I latch my teeth onto the taut skin beneath his pec, moving further down, doing the same to various areas of his rippled abdomen, becoming bolder and bolder when I notice how hard he's become.
When my lips are skimming the dip of his hips, that athletic dip that leads to the undeniably virile parts of him, I notice his hands are now fisted. Before I move further, my face snaps towards the shaking tent as the sandstorm suddenly descends upon us, roaring at high-wind speeds. My guard is down, my mouth hanging in disbelief while gawking at the way the entire tent moves to a slant against the raging wind and Elijah takes advantage of it.
I yelp as he spins me, tucking me under him, grinning at the achievement.
"Hey!"
He nudges his nose to mine, his eyes gleaming in the sudden darkness the storm has brought over us. "My turn."
He attacks my clothes, peeling away the thin layers, unwinding and tearing with blunt force. As if he were stripping my soul free of sin, I gasp as he bares me to him by force, pushing down my pants, my knickers, my sandals. His lips dance against the ridge of my foot, moving upward to my ankle, my calf, my knee. He moves between my legs, running his hand over my pale abdomen, the tips of his fingers teasing the plump underside of my breast. By the time his cool hand covers that breast, his mouth is sealing around the other neglected one, suckling and nibbling attentively. My core pulsates as he drifts over both peaks, my hips rocking needlessly in reaction to the soft sucks.
He makes greedy demands of my body, graceful but rough. He torments me with my own tactics, nibbling where he wants, turning me onto my stomach so I may feel his tongue on the back of my neck, down my spine.
"You're scorching," he says darkly. "It's like you're on fire."
I feel it. I really do.
He kisses the dip in my back, his hand sliding between my legs from behind, parting my sleek tissues to reach the tiny bundled nerves, my soft clitoris, rubbing me coaxingly. I drop my head down, crying out weakly when his teeth sink into my fleshy backside, his tongue darting out to relieve the pain I thrive on.
His fingers inside my sweltering heat are a combination of hot and cold at it's finest. He inserts a single digit and then another, thrusting deeply while I moan, dazedly, my voice drowned out by the tempestuous climate.
Just as easily as he rolled me on my stomach, he flips me again, this time to bury himself between my trembling thighs. My nails scratch at the rough material beneath me, nearly to the point of pain, overwhelmed by the lashing of his expert tongue.
"Christ, it's so different," he breathes, spreading my thighs further, his touch like pins and needles against my skin, so full of electricity.
I can hardly think, focus on anything but the pleasure. "What is?"
"Your taste." He kisses my thigh, laughing softly. "It's goddamn sweet."
His face nestles my cleft, diving into my slick nectar desire, seeming completely content to ravish me thoroughly, as if there weren't a life-threatening storm over our heads, battling our very flimsy protection. It's not necessary life-threatening to us, but it's still loud and wild enough to unwind me, to feel the rage of the storm in my veins, quickening my need.
His tongue pushes into me, flicking and rolling teasingly while my hips churn restlessly, desperate to reach the height of this with him so I can have him inside of me. My hands detach from the scratched ground, clamping down on his hands digging into my thighs, holding me still while I writhe violently, the build becoming too much. I feel the pulsing, the fire everywhere... in my throat, my hands, my brain. I can't think. I can't even speak.
It's when his tongue thrusts into my sex, piercing and direct, that I lose all sense.
All. Sense.
He grips me tightly as I release a loud cry, my back craning off the hard ground while the orgasm rakes through me violently, taking hold of every muscle in my body. I lose all sense of what I say, how I react. He effectively coaxes me to insanity, mind-numbing insanity.
Even when I begin to slacken, eyes finding focus on the golden hurricane just beyond our barrier, he continues to touch me, massage my swollen tissues, encouraging every flinch, every shiver.
He climbs back up to me, scaling my heaving body. With a satisfied growl, I push at his chest hard enough to knock him onto his back, crawling over him ungracefully, but just as quickly, he spins us, pinning me back to the floor, hands imprisoning my wrists.
We chuckle together, darkly.
Me, out of impatience. Him, out of control.
"You're mine," he hisses while I rub myself against his stiff length impatiently.
"Get inside me, now," I demand, attempting to top from the bottom. I should know better than that. He bows his head over my own, his mouth dragging gently, sweetly over mine. I moan as he slips his tongue through, allowing me to taste myself. As I do so, I realize he wasn't exaggerating. I taste sweet, truly sweet.
His voice rumbles even as a whisper. "You want me?"
I nod into his seductive, sinful gaze, lost for words. My hands scale his back, feeling as if I could seep into his flesh, make it my own. He lowers onto me, completely oblivious to the mess happening outside, or the fact that we're fucking in the middle of an empty desert. Lacking any restraint at all, his features raging lust, he rams into me. In doing so, in the rough intrusion, his head dips down, a primal growl erupting from deep within him.
I look on at him greedily as each thrust strengthens, living for moments like these, where I watch him unravel, tormented by what our bodies do when joined, when we bend to destiny and devote our energies to one another. There's no greater feeling than unraveling an untouchable man.
His eyes that remind me of life, the eyes that are so different to the one's I etched in my brain before, are bright, and his fangs have slipped past his lips. They're menacing, tools of sin, and he bares them to me, reminding me that while his smiles are gentle, while his words and chivalry masquerade him as civilized, he is a monster within. He is designed to kill, to feed on human flesh and blood.
Somehow, that thought makes me want him more.
It begs to wonder how far gone I must be to wish for that side of him on top of me.
Even being what I am, this vampire possesses me with ease, the one man powerful enough to bring a goddess to her knees. Helpless sounds leave me as he works into me deep, grinding me into the rough floor.
The tent is being destroyed in the duststorm, now in a complete slant, hardly keeping to the ground. The material has bent, but he is unfazed. So am I. My nails sink into his pumping hips, meeting him with every slam, every drive no matter how violent.
It isn't right until I feel split open, until I feel destroyed from the inside out.
I tilt my throat, hoping I'll feel the impact of sharp pricks, but his fangs only hover above my veins, his cool lips spreading wildly over my scorching skin. He captures my face, my jaw hard enough for me to grimace, having lost his ability to come to me gentle.
This is what I want. Yes. This is it.
While this storm reshapes Egypt, he reshapes me.
"Yes," I growl, my voice low, unrecognizable. I smile wickedly against his lips, my darkening soul blossoming from within. "Yes, fuck me. Give me more."
"Yes." His voice is equally changed, our desire too powerful to deny.
He lifts my hips, urging me into his thrusts, sinking his cock deep, as deep as it can go. Deep enough that I cry out, tears of pleasure releasing without my knowledge, coursing down my cheeks into my hair.
It's too good. Too damn good.
"Take me," he snaps, his eyes slanted harshly, riveted to my body, intent on watching the way my hips rock off the ground in his grip, the way my hands explore my body in the absence of his own. I'm building, faster than I'd like to, but after the months without him, I'm deprived.
I can't live without this. There's no fucking way now that I've had it.
While my muscles and bones should be stronger now, he still manages to make my body rattle with trembles. There is no controlling it, no dialing it down for appearances sake.
His ability to fuck me into oblivion is unmatched, unreal, another thing of mystery.
It shouldn't be possible to feel this consumed.
He can feel me pulsating around him. He begins to nod, his jaw tensing as he holds back, stroking my walls over and over and over until I begin to whimper in pain, needing the release. I reach out blindly, sinking my fingers into his flesh.
"Elijah."
His hand moves over the curve of my waist, to my breast, to the nape of my neck as he leans in to watch me lose myself to him as closely as possible. He must feel my neck tightening in my straining. He even grunts at my strength as my nails dig flesh wounds into his back.
"Give me this," he whispers, deliciously soft. "Let go for me."
My hips can no longer bend. I'm paralyzed, stiff and frozen as he hits my nerves with one exquisite thrust, and drives me straight into crazed madness. The storm is loud, but I am louder. Dropping his head to my throat, his own grip tightening, he flinches against me, groaning, shuddering in an equally intense climax.
A massive man bent over me, his lips travel down to my breasts, suctioning softly around my sensitive nipples, grinding his fangs excruciatingly against the puckered nubs. My hands slip into his hair, lips curving slowly at the fact that neither of us is lacking breath.
We are not sweating, not even in this confining tent.
Seeing the tossing sandstorm weakening outside, the roar dulls as the storm passes over us, taking the danger with it. I wrap my legs around his waist, caging him to me, wanting his weight to settle and imprison me to this ground.
"We should be heading back to Cairo, shouldn't we?" I ask.
The tips of my fingers nestle in the deep groves of definition in his back, my eyes closing slowly. Sleep isn't a thing of necessity for me anymore, but like Elijah, when wanted, it's possible to fall unconscious. Sometimes I crave the mindlessness of it.
When my eyes close, I go into the darkness, willingly.
***
A darkening sky, a sun overtaken by night.
A universe wild. The galaxies widen, the stars implode.
A blood-stained floor, corpses, so many of them.
A gown dragging through crimson pools.
So much blood. So much death.
A voice, a voice beckoning me near.
It's time. Prepare.
My eyes open to Elijah's face hovering over my own, his hands wrapped around my arms tightly.
He was shaking me. Unlike before, my visions do not stop me in my tracks. They do not bring fevers. They hardly even startle me. They are too frequent to startle me.
We are still inside the irreparable tent, somewhere lost in the middle of the Sahara desert. Elijah's concerned expression softens once I begin to sit up, rubbing my face roughly, shaking off the images injected into my conscious.
Prepare... for what?
"You were convulsing," Elijah divulges, abandoning his tense position. Part of me wonders if he was tense because he can't trust me in comatose. Perhaps he was preparing me to fling him right out of this tent.
But I find I'm calm, even curious.
"I'm fine."
I snatch my shirt from the pile of clothes, searching for the rest of the ensemble, shredded or not. I feel his gaze as I tie the sash around my waist, standing up, chuckling when my head smashes into the deflated, broken material of the tent.
"What did you see?" he asks, not as amused as I am.
"I saw corpses. Blood. Death. The usual," I say casually, pulling my legs through the pants. He begins to dress too, even though it's night. The breeze billows through the material of the tent as I unzip the entrance, exiting onto cool sand. It's December and the sun has set, bringing a chill even to the desert.
I step through the soft playground, gazing up at a clear, bright sky.
The stars that aren't imploding. The galaxy that looks completely asleep from down below.
It's glorious. I've never seen so many stars before, not even in Russia.
The Siwa oasis is so calm and yet I know there's an entire array of life here, animals, patches of thriving nature, springs, in every direction. No place on this earth is entirely calm, although this seems to come close.
All of the dunes look vastly different after the storm. Some mountains are higher, some smaller. All of it is untouched. My feet are the first trespass. Then Elijah's.
"You're not telling me everything," he accuses behind me.
"Because I have no clue what I saw. My visions are mostly riddles. I have to unravel them. Why would I worry you?"
"Because we are a team. Because you trust me."
The wind feels refreshing against my skin, my foreign skin. I observe my crossed arms, only becoming unsettled because he's making me that way.
His questions aren't easy.
"Cassandra..."
"I think it might be Italy. I think... I think it might be us in Italy."
"Are we the ones dying?"
I shake my head. "We're the bringers."
He doesn't answer that, and I'm glad for it. Deep down I know all paths lead us back to Rome, whether we like it or not. Revenge will come, and I have a feeling we will both bask in it keenly. But for now, out here surrounded in silence and the aftermath of a phenomenon, I have no need for those thoughts.
Elijah comes up behind me, wrapping a steady arm around my chest, pulling me into him. I close my eyes, resting the back of my head on him with a sigh.
"For now, we're here."
I nod, agreeing. "Yes... for now."