Temptation: Immortal Soulless, #5

By Tanith Frost

Things have been far too quiet since Aviva foiled Viktor's plans to rise to power as high elder of Maelstrom. She's certain he won't give up so easily, but has no proof, no connections, and no hope of survival if she dares to stir up trouble again.

Aviva's temporary peace is destroyed when an unfamiliar vampire attempts to assassinate her. She suspects Viktor is behind it, but there's no help for her among the clan's higher-ups; Miranda can't afford to get her hands dirty when Aviva herself is being investigated for murder. As the situation spirals out of control Aviva instead seeks help from a strange group of vampires who exist at the very edges of clan society.

It's hard to know whether she can trust them, and harder still to know what to make of the powerful being she meets among them who claims to be an angel—or possibly a demon. Aviva will have to choose her allies wisely if she wants to save herself and her clan from an enemy that's larger and more dangerous than she ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sparrowcat Press
• Release date: Nov 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781775169192

Book preview

1

I’m sitting on the edge of everything.

Not just physically, though this stone cliff overhanging the Atlantic’s crashing waves represents the border of an island, a continent, and a territory. The wind off the ocean whips around me, its bite a reminder of the turning seasons—it’s only November, but here in Newfoundland, I can already smell the arctic chill that will freeze me to my bones over the next few months.

I’m also sitting, quite literally, at the edge of the world, a few paces from the mouth of a rift that leads to another. I only know that place as elsewhere. If it has a proper name, the creature who’s pacing behind me either doesn’t know it or hasn’t seen fit to share it. I’m aware of him even with my eyes closed. His energy is similar to what flows outward from the rift but unique in the character he adds as it moves through him.

Taggryn. A proper dragon, though he takes on human form for my sake from time to time. His form doesn’t change his nature, but for some reason, having another creature like me—one who appears human even though he’s not—eases my loneliness.

Where is your focus? he asks.

On you. I can feel you moving.

His sigh is barely audible over the wind. If this form remains too distracting for you—

No, it’s not that. I shift my weight from side to side, trying to work some feeling back into my ass. It’s been numb for an hour, at least. It’s your power. I was noting the difference between it and what comes from the rift.

Hmm. He crouches beside me. Tell me, does mine affect you like this raw magic does?

I don’t know. I’d have to feel yours farther from here. The magic from the rift is too overwhelming for me to tease yours out.

Taggryn grunts. A mystery for another day, then.

It’s impossible to miss the edge in his voice. I can’t blame him. I’m glad he’s here to help me keep an eye on the rift and take care of any threats that might come through, and I appreciate his company when my fellow vampires seem content to ignore me. But, though he has more freedom now than he did before I lied and said he’d returned to his own world, he’s still restricted to a relatively small territory. He wouldn’t be safe if he went home, but he wouldn’t be any better off if anyone caught him here.

Freedom comes at a cost. It’s an issue vampires have been struggling with and fighting over for more than a century since the inception of the clan system. We hide in the shadows and are safer than we’ve ever been, but the restrictions chafe like physical bonds at times.

No. Focus, Aviva.

I’m supposed to be acclimating myself to this magic, overwhelming my system so I build up a resistance to the negative effects I’ve experienced since it infected me. Before that night, I could feel magic as an electric tingle. Now it’s been internalized—or at least, that’s my current hypothesis. Whatever the cause, magic now makes me anxious. Agitated. Prone to racing thoughts.

A nervous wreck, maybe, if I didn’t force myself to control its outward expression.

As I focus on the rift, my perception of its magic grows. My skin prickles, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and my chest tightens. They’re hard sensations to ignore. I feel as if I’m being watched. My training after I died taught me to pay attention to my instincts and my gut reactions, but these feelings are a lie. I have to see them as a side effect, not reality.

There’s beauty in it, too, if I can look past what I’m feeling. Magic surrounds me, swirling like invisible dust devils, drawing my attention deeper into the rift. It’s as though I’m standing in the shallows of a lake right at the edge of a drop-off that goes fathoms deep. It’s electric. It’s violet. It’s blue. It’s none of those things, really, but that’s how my brain interprets this elemental force that’s imperceptible to most.

It is my gift and my curse to feel these powers that so few others do. I sense them. I’m drawn to them, and it seems I’m prone to being scarred by them. I’ve dealt with this issue before, but it’s different with magic. At least the werewolf fire that inhabits me had the decency to bring advantages with it, sustaining me between feedings when my connection to the void is low, offering a second lens that helps me focus my perception of other powers, helping heal and restore me when the power that all vampires share isn’t enough. Both of those powers are awake now, as agitated as I am by the presence of this foreign energy.

I’ve yet to find an advantage to magic. So far it just sucks.

I grit my teeth and dive deeper. Maybe there’s some point I need to force myself past. A wall I can break through to find some advantage on the other side. A blessing to offset this pain.

The anxiety that’s wrapped itself around my heart shifts to terror. I feel as if I’m falling, though I can still feel the ground beneath me. My eyes fly open, revealing the black sky beyond the cliff’s edge—not even a star tonight thanks to heavy cloud cover.

I draw a long breath, the first I’ve taken since I last spoke. God, it’s so big.

It is, Taggryn agrees. "But there is no need to address me as god."

I laugh in spite of the fear. With my eyes open and my attention elsewhere, it’s far more bearable. I wasn’t addressing you. I stand and brush the dirt and lichen off the back of my jeans. It’s time to go in. There’s no sense both of us freezing our asses off if I’m not making any progress here.

Taggryn’s heavy eyebrows pull together in a frown as he stands and looks down at me. Why then did you say it?

I— I hesitate. It’s an expression of awe. That’s all.

That’s all. As though realizing I still say it out of habit doesn’t remind me of the fact that I lost my connection to the light when I died—a power I never understood in life, that I never will now that its very presence is enough to crush a vampire like me to dust. Light and darkness can’t exist together. I’m thankful for everything I’ve gained since I died. Most of the time I think I’m past mourning what I lost.

It just sneaks up on me sometimes.

With every step away from the rift, the tension in my muscles eases. I’m still covered in goosebumps from the cold, but even fifty paces out, I feel less anxious. It’s still there, as is the magic in the air, but there’s a definite correlation. And that’s the other difference between this and when Silas’ death seared his power onto my own. I don’t carry magic within me—or at least, not in the same way. When I go back to town to feed at the Inferno, I can’t feel it at all. And what a relief it is.

If only all of my problems were so easy to solve.

The wind is less troublesome now that we’ve left the cliff. Flurries are beginning to fall, dancing on the breeze. They’re getting caught in Taggryn’s heavy beard and melting quickly, leaving wet droplets that sparkle as we approach the illuminated exterior of the camper I now live in. This snow won’t last long on the ground, either. Dawn is approaching, and we’re looking at a rainy morning once things warm up a little.

Taggryn shoves his hands deep into his pockets. Have you heard anything from your kind recently?

No. Everything seemed fine when I went in to feed last week. Totally normal.

And that’s the problem. Not for Taggryn—the less interest anyone within Maelstrom takes in me or the rift, the better it is for him. But things shouldn’t be normal for me. Not after I fucked up Viktor’s plans to take the position of high elder from Miranda. Not after I let the human enchantress who was helping him become invincible escape from this world. Not after I used another human with magical abilities to restore Miranda’s strength and re-secure her position, denying Viktor everything he’d been working for.

And definitely not after I killed another vampire and chose not to put that information in any of my official reports.

The tension returns to my chest, but I can’t blame all of it on magic now.

It was self-defence. The more time I spend here at the rift and the deeper this anxiety works its way into my psyche, the more convinced I become that covering up the truth about Elizabeth’s violent end was the worst thing I could have done. Why the hell didn’t I spill everything, try to expose Viktor’s schemes, and clear my name?

The answer is always the same. I was sick. I panicked and had Trent get rid of Elizabeth’s car, knowing I wouldn’t be strong enough to defend myself if the evidence pointed to me.

But it was more than that.

There are too many secrets involved, and not all of them are mine. Imogen’s secrets. Miranda’s. Taggryn’s.

Worst of all, it would lead to exposing my gift. I’m not ashamed of my awareness of other powers, but the fact that I carry werewolf fire within me is beyond shameful. My tainted power would bring harsh judgements and penalties on me if anyone found out—especially when it was caused by loyalty to and affection for a member of another species.

Fuck if I know, though. Maybe if I’d told everything right from the start, it all would have worked out fine. That’s what my mind tells me when I’m lying in bed, waiting to fall asleep. But this is working out so far. I haven’t heard a peep from Viktor since that night. Maybe he sees that I’m backing off. Now that Miranda is strong, he can’t possibly be thinking of trying to take her position again. He tried. He failed… maybe if I don’t poke that bear, it will just go back to sleep.

And maybe a flock of starlings will fly out of my ass. You never know.

Taggryn nudges me with his elbow. Where do you go when you drift off like that?

Nowhere pleasant. I climb the few steps up to the trailer’s door. It’s not a bad rig. Bigger than what they gave me at the sanctuary, at least, with a second bedroom and a decent-sized living area. No power aside from the generator or water beyond what gets brought in from outside, but I’ve been promised several times that a more permanent solution is forthcoming.

I’m trying to be patient, reminding myself that I’m on vampire time, dealing with creatures who have lived long enough that soon could mean months, years, or even decades. Everything is relative.

You coming in?

Taggryn hesitates. I will enter, but not for long. I wish to find a sheltered spot to sleep the day away.

I open the door and step into what Taggryn has taken to calling my cave. My coat lands on the loveseat with a soft swishing sound, then slithers to the floor. I have no idea why someone felt compelled to upholster the seats in what feels like waterproof cotton—in a flowery print that would look more at home in a Floridian retiree’s 1980s living room than a camper perched on the edge of the North Atlantic, no less—but here we are.

Taggryn removes his heavy boots and heads to the kitchen area to put the kettle on, then glares at it as if he can intimidate the water into boiling faster.

Maybe he can. He’s an imposing creature even when he looks very much like a human.

I head into the bedroom and close the door behind me so I can change in private. I shouldn’t worry about modesty so much, but I find myself retreating more often these days. Closing myself off, finding that even the outer room of the trailer is too much space. Exposure feels unsafe, and a closed door offers a kind of certainty I don’t find many other places.

As soon as I’ve finished changing into the black yoga pants and t-shirt that have become my sleepwear, I sit on the edge of the bed and smooth the comforter—another floral print, but blue this time—beneath my hands. The trailer is quiet save for the clinking of Taggryn’s spoon against the side of his mug.

I need to get a radio or invite Imogen up to visit the rift more often so she can work on her magic and fill the air with her warm, human chatter. I hate the silence. It leaves too much room for thinking about what-ifs and maybes.

And the hole I keep digging deeper for myself no matter how hard I try to get out.

Taggryn’s flaked out on the loveseat when I leave the bedroom, his left leg thrown over one of its arms, a mug of hot chocolate cupped in his big hands.

He looks up at me, then glares into the mug. There are no fluffy bits in this one.

Marshmallows. Imogen said they didn’t have that kind when she went shopping.

And you can’t shop? He only sounds halfway hopeful.

You know I can’t.

Can’t, or won’t?

I glower at him. Between the irritating fluorescent lights and the presence of humans who I have to be so careful to hide my true nature from—not to mention their phones with their glaring screens and annoying energy fields—shopping is hardly a pleasant experience for a vampire.

I’ll shop if and when I have to, I tell him, but I refuse to put myself through that kind of irritation for the sake of a few fluffy bits.

Marshmallows, he says, and sips his drink.

A gust of wind rattles the trailer on its temporary foundations. When I open the curtains and look outside, the night air is a dark blur of snowflakes. You sure you don’t want to stay in here tonight?

Taggryn joins me at the window, and a shiver travels up my spine when he’s within arm’s reach. It’s not his magic now, but his body. We said we were done with that kind of relationship, but I’d be lying if I said that showing him the full potential of human form hasn’t been a fine diversion on a few of the nights I’ve spent here.

I’m not proposing any funny business, I add. I don’t want that to become a regular thing.

He leans in closer, and his warm breath on my corpse-cold skin makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "Who said I wanted it to? He turns away and drains the last of his hot chocolate from the mug. I find our time together pleasant, but I do not desire to sleep in this form any more than you desire a trip to the market. Waking in my own body is a luxury I’ve grown to appreciate far too much to give it up without good reason."

He puts his mug in the sink and heads outside. Flurries are falling thick and fast, almost a true snowfall, but the flakes have grown heavy and wet. Not weather I’d want to sleep outside in, but once he’s shed his clothes and used the rift’s power to change back into a proper dragon, Taggryn will have nothing to fear.

I wish I could say the same. The forecast is calling for sun by noon, which will make things unpleasant for me. It’s possible for a vampire to stay awake during daylight hours on a sunny day—I’ve done it myself when it was too dangerous to sleep. But full exposure would burn me to ash, and even a hint of unfiltered sunlight brings grogginess, exhaustion, and a vague sense of nausea, especially when we need to feed and aren’t at our strongest. Hard as we try to overcome our limitations with creams to protect us and blackout curtains to close out the sun, we sleep the day away unless we have a damned good reason for doing otherwise.

We’re creatures of darkness through and through. Murderers who feed on life, forced to hide forever in the shadows or to suffer the consequences. There’s no point fighting it.

I check the locks three times before I go to bed—windows, outside door, bedroom door.

Maybe it’s the magic that’s got me on edge, but I’m not taking any chances.

2

I’m dreaming again.

During my life, dreams convinced me of their reality. When I woke, I may have wondered how I had been taken in by the scraps of surreal visions I remembered, but in the moment, they were utterly believable.

Maybe death makes a person more cynical, less inclined to believe. While a world of wonders has opened up to me when I’m awake—werewolves, dragons, vampires—it feels as if something has been stripped away, too. Innocence, I guess. In any case, I’m learning not to take anything at face value, and nowhere is that more true than in my dreams.

Or it could just be a glitch. Vampires aren’t supposed to dream, but I have ever since werewolf fire changed me. Not every day. Not, I suspect, for long at any given time. But here I am, dreaming.

And I don’t want to wake up. Daniel is here. My trainer, my lover, the vampire who made me what I am now, who was willing to turn his back on everything he’d built for himself so we could be together.

The one I sent away after refusing to answer his question.

He stands before me now, the dark downtown street foggy and indistinct behind him, pulling my full attention to the strength of his body, the hard lines of his jaw, the pain in his eyes, and the pure void power that surrounds him.

He asks again. Do you love me?

In waking reality, I was forced to deny him everything we both wanted. I couldn’t afford to live under his protection if I wanted room to spread my wings and discover the untapped gifts and strengths that I’ll need to survive the centuries that lie ahead of me. He needed to move untethered through a rival clan’s territory without the obvious weak spot his affection for me would have become. I pushed him away to save us both.

But this is a dream. There is no past full of buried emotions, cautious approaches, and fearful retreats. No vampire society here that would condemn us for wanting more than sex or a quid-pro-quo working relationship appropriate for two solitary creatures. No murky future we’re going to irrevocably fuck up if we take what we want.

And yet I still can’t answer. He waits, his shoulders tensed, his hazel eyes every bit as bright as they were that night. I open my mouth, willing words to come, but there’s nothing.

He looks away.

It’s a fucking dream. I can change this even if I have to do it without words.

I force my limbs into motion. It’s like when I run in a dream—as if I’m moving underwater, fighting harder for every bit of forward motion than I should logically have to. I reach for him as he turns away, grabbing on to his jacket when my fingers make contact with the rough leather. I pull him back, and it’s as though I’m struggling not only against the physical weight of his lean, athletic body but against every secret and unsaid word that’s weighed us down since the moment I first laid eyes on him. But he turns, slowly, back to me.

I rise up on my toes and place my hands on the unshaven skin of his face, looking deep into his eyes, willing him to understand.

I want to scream that I love him, that I would face oblivion for him, but that I want both of us to survive. Together. Not as two beings who need partners to complete them, but as whole, strong creatures who choose love and loyalty in the face of a world that so often embraces cruelty and isolation.

But I can’t speak. So I kiss him instead, pressing my lips to his, sliding my right hand around the back of his neck to hold him close. His lips are just as I remember, of course. Our relationship has been shaky at best, more off than on, but I still know his body better than anyone’s besides my own. His inertia shatters. He wraps his arms around me, then tangles one hand in my hair, tilting my head back. He kisses me as if he wants to devour me, and the taste of his venom is a reminder of how dangerous this would be for us in the real world, where our enemies would use us against each other, where love is weakness.

But it’s a dream. And if I want to stand on a street corner and tear his clothes off, I will.

He seems to have the same idea. He lifts the hem of my shirt, and I release my hold on him only long enough for him to pull it over my head. My hands flick over the buttons of his shirt, exposing the solid planes of his chest and stomach.

God, I’ve missed his body—the hardness of it, honed like a weapon through decades of hunting and killing those who pose a threat to our clan.

He pushes me back, and I fall onto my bed, the one I slept in when we shared a home. I’m not going to question the bit of dream logic that transported us here or why it’s happening when it’s not what I chose for the dream. Not when he’s pulling my jeans down over my hips, looking at me with his eyes full of desire, his lips parted to show a hint of the fangs I want to feel piercing my skin.

My body comes alive as I let myself want something I try so hard not to think about when I’m awake. I push myself back on the bed and let my legs fall open, inviting him closer.

A confused look crosses his face. He bares his fangs fully, and his confusion shifts to anger. He looks to his right.

I follow his gaze but don’t see anything. But I hear it. A soft noise, nothing more than a whisper.

Not a voice. But familiar. And reaching me from outside of the dream.

Regret that’s physically painful spreads through my chest as I look up at Daniel. I don’t want to leave him. Even if this is just a dream, it’s all I’ve had of him in the weeks we’ve been apart. But if I ever want to lay my waking eyes on him again, I can’t afford to take chances.

It’s probably Taggryn coming back in for more hot chocolate.

Daniel looks down at me, his eyes tight with fear.

Go, he says, and his voice is lower and hoarser than I remember. Broken.

It’s not easy to wake from a dream, but his order spurs me on as I fight the cobwebs that cloud my mind and force my eyes to open.

The room should be fully dark, but someone has opened the curtains enough to let in the dim light of a heavily overcast day. The snow has turned to light rain that blows through the open window, landing on my face in freezing droplets.

It’s more than enough light to clearly illuminate every unfamiliar feature of the hollow-cheeked man standing over me—and the wooden stake he holds high over my chest in both hands, preparing to plunge it into my heart.

3

Every ounce of my tainted power roars to life within me. There’s no time to care whether the surging wave of fire is revealing itself in the shifting colour of my eyes. My combat training returns to me in a rush. It was never a refined thing; the way Daniel taught me to fight was artless, brawling, but well cultivated in its way. Awareness is always the key. And as the stake swings downward, every part of me is focused on survival.

I tumble away, pulling the blankets with me. The room’s too small for acrobatics, barely large enough for me to roll back to my feet after I’ve hit the floor. My attacker recovers quickly from his missed swing and lunges at me, the bottom of his long, hooded coat swinging behind him.

I don’t feel anything of the void in my attacker. A Blood Defender, then. A human trained to hunt vampires, come to take revenge for his leader’s death at my hands. Nothing I can’t handle.

I focus my energy on enhancing my sensory perceptions, speeding them up until it feels as if time itself has slowed. I dart sideways, faster than human eyes should be able to comprehend, aiming to race around the end of the bed and attack him from behind.

He spins with me, following my every step, grinning wide enough to reveal his long, pointed fangs.

Dread washes over me, colder than the rain on the carpet that squelches between my toes.

It’s not the first time I’ve fought a vampire, but I’m at a distinct disadvantage today. I need to get into town to feed. I’ve left it too long, done too good a job of keeping to myself and staying out of Viktor’s way. My work with magic has been draining me. I’m not weak, but I’m not at my best. This asshole looks as if he just finished consuming the blood of a busload of schoolchildren.

So why can’t I fucking feel him?

He brings the stake down, aiming for the centre of my back as my momentum carries me past him. I can’t maintain these heightened perceptions for more than a few seconds, and my time’s up. With the last ounce of my enhanced speed, I twist my body, taking the full force of the blow on my left arm.

My body is strong, and there are few injuries that will take down a determined vampire, but I still feel pain. As I pull away from the attack, my arm feels as if it’s burst into white-hot flames that reach deep into my chest. My scream echoes through the camper as I crash into the flimsy doors of the wooden cupboards on the far wall, crushing them to splinters that dig into the skin of my back and thighs.

Pain means nothing, though. These injuries won’t kill me. I shift my focus back to the fight as I force myself to my feet and back away, facing my attacker. Also facing the window, where the rain has nearly stopped. I can’t risk escaping outside if the sun might come out. Even if I could, I’ve got an angry vampire between me and the door.

I have to fight for breath before I can speak.

Who are you?

He laughs.

The sky outside brightens with the yellow-grey light of the sun filtering to the earth through thinning clouds that were supposed to cover this part of the island until later in the morning. Mother Nature can be such a moody bitch.

My attacker’s laughter stops. His jaw muscles tighten as he steps forward.

The pale light reaches him, and he blinks hard, as if he’s trying to clear his head.

I leap at him, reaching for the bloodied stake he holds in his left hand, and hit him with enough force to knock him onto his back. A fine move, but with only one working arm, I don’t have much chance of overpowering him. Not when the sun will be draining my own strength any moment now.

I grip his wrist tight and pin it to the floor, holding his weapon at bay as I prepare to launch myself at the door. As his sleeve pulls back, I catch a glimpse of a thick, twisted scar on the inside of his forearm.

Planting my knee firmly in his groin, I push myself up. He grunts but recovers in time to grab my ankle as I pass into the darkness of the narrow hallway. My attacker loses his grip for long enough to let me scramble toward the larger open space at the other end of the camper, then leaps and grabs at me again.

Now that he’s out of the light, he seems to be recovering whatever strength he lost in those moments of exposure. He throws himself at me, stabbing downward with the stake. I grab his forearm again and dig my fingers in, diverting the blow that I’m not strong enough to stop. The tip of the stake slams into the floor beside my head, and the sound of his weapon shattering is like a choir of angels in my ear.

We roll together, grappling for position. I take a breath to scream again, but he wraps both hands around my throat, leaving me once again without a voice. My fingers scrabble against the floor until I find a piece of the broken-off stake, then swing it up at his throat.

It’s not sharp. It won’t do as much damage to him as it did to me. But it should still fucking hurt as those needle-sharp pieces of wood break through his skin.

Weak, lifeless blood drips down onto my face, but the vampire doesn’t seem to notice the injury. If anything, he squeezes tighter. The force of his long fingers at the back of my neck seems to grind my bones together. The pain is enough to bring white lights into my field of vision, and cold fear tightens around my heart.

He can’t choke me to unconsciousness by cutting off my breath or the non-existent blood flow to my brain, but if he breaks my neck I’ll be unable to move until my body repairs itself. He’ll have plenty of time to immobilize me and finish me off however he wants.

I reach for the wound in his throat, and he makes no move to block me. My fingers sink into the raw skin, tugging, pulling, finding the places where the wood tore at him.

He only grows stronger, and I feel my strength waning. It’s as if he’s on some kind of drug.

The scar on his arm flashes to mind.

Vampires shouldn’t have—

The door bursts open, flooding the room with thin sunlight. My assailant’s grip eases at last. I shove him aside and race for the shadows at the far end of the trailer, shielding my face as well as I can from the light that could so easily—and so painfully—burn me.

Taggryn enters, bellowing. When my eyes adjust, I find him standing inside the door, in human form and completely naked. He’s no less intimidating for the exposure, a pile of raw muscle, his wild features twisted with rage.

The vampire stares at him for a moment in disbelief. Taggryn lunges at him, and my enemy twists sideways, then darts for the door, pulling his deep hood up to shadow his face and tugging his sleeves low as he goes. He stumbles the moment the light hits him fully, but I guess he figures his odds are better out in daylight than they are in darkness with a psychotic nudist after him.

I may hate the guy, but I can’t fault his logic.

Taggryn doesn’t pause to make sure I’m okay. He takes off out the door instead, still hollering incoherently.

The sun is steadily brightening. My head’s pounding, but I don’t dare risk getting close enough to close the door. On another day I might bundle myself in a blanket and try, but I know my hunger and the weakness it brings. I don’t want to pass out and burn to a crisp before Taggryn gets back.

Instead I curl into a ball, tucked between the arm of the loveseat and the trailer’s wall, and assess the damage.

My left arm is still a mess of pain, oozing weak blood that’s going to be a bitch to get out of the carpet. I can’t move the limb much at the moment, but when I force myself to examine it, I can’t say this is the worst injury I’ve ever sustained. My neck hurts like a motherfucker, and I’m betting I’ll need to wear a turtleneck until the bruises fade. But whatever damage he’s done, it’s not permanent.

The room grows brighter again. What might at first have