Vampires, Werewolves, & Hunters

A supernatural world where vampires are divided into classes, allowed to operate only under license...and kept in line by specially strained vampire hunters. A world where werewolves are few and far between, and some do not even understand all that they are and could be.

Locke & Key | Sharing | The Housekeeper | Midsummer's Moon

Locke & Key

"I'm cold."

"Kill the vampire, sweetheart, then you can have a hot shower and a cup of coffee."

Locke smiled, but didn't let it slip into his voice. "Fuck you," he said. "You only call me sweetheart when you think I'm being a baby."

"Whatever you say. Sweetheart."

Rolling his eyes, Locke pulled out his guns one by one and checked them one last time. "Key, stop trying to flirt with your boss and do your damn job."

"Yes, sweetheart," Key replied, and Locke could hear him typing furiously away on his laptop.

Locke made a mental note to administer a beating when he got home. Lightly touching his clothing, his weapons, ensuring all was as it should be and could be grabbed in a moment's notice - or not grabbed, whichever applied - he climbed out of his beat up car, popped a piece of cinnamon gum, and started walking down the dark street toward the apartment building at the end of it.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy boots, clung to his dark brown hair and black corduroy jacket. He grimaced as the wind briefly picked up, making the cold that much more miserable. Ugh. He hated hunting in winter. Well, at least they weren't up New England way this time.

The apartment building looked like it had survived a small war. It was little wonder only broken vamps really lived in it.

Creaky, broken, it smelled positively rank - piss and cheap booze, sweat and sex, cigarettes and mold, and beneath all of it the unmistakable stench of old blood. Locke's nose twitched. Ugh, he hated broken vampires.

"Hey," Key said in his ear, "even the nastiest broken vamps are better than a single top vamp."

Locked glared at the dark, mildewed stairwell he had to climb, wishing Key was present to receive the glare and not a couple miles away. "Stop doing that."

Key sniggered. "Not my fault your thoughts are easy to predict."

"Shut up. Final count, how many would you say?"

"Mmm," Key murmured thoughtfully, keys clicking at a rapid fire rate. It was a familiar sound, soothing in the nasty atmosphere of the rundown building. "Reports seem to indicate three to five. Given the low population density in this area, the lack of crime...the absence of any sort of animals in your prelims, I'm going to say five, possibly six. No one has ever reported so much as finding a body, so they're smart or at least neat."

Locke glanced at a puddle of some questionable substance. "If you say so."

"At least they're not so broken as to ignore that sort of thing," Key said. "Six at most, come on. It won't take you long at all. I'll start the coffee once you're on your way back."

"Shut the fuck up," Locke said. "You do your job, I'll do mine."

"Yeah, yeah," Key replied, then fell silent save for the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard.

Locke weighed his options, touching each of his four revolvers, and finally settled on the Blackhawks. The Smith and Wesson were more fun, but guns meant for 'big game' were hardly required for a bunch of stupid broken vamps.

Unfortunately.

"If you want to play with the Model 500," Key said in his ear, laughter plain in his voice, "we can always switch to hunting top vamps."

"Fuck you," Locke muttered, drawing his Blackhawks and finally approaching the stairs. He didn't bother to be quiet, because any second now the vamps would pick up his scent anyway.

Oh, how they would pick it up.

There were two ways to hunt vamps when it came to smell - hide your scent, or show it off.

Locke's favorite day of every month in school had been show and tell.

He'd barely cleared the landing when a door at the end of the hall flew open and something that looked vaguely human half-lunged, half-stumbled out.

Ugh. He hated broken vamps, but he always felt sorry for the bastards, too. He wondered sometimes which feeling motivated him to pull the trigger.

Raising the gun in his right hand, Locke fired. The Blackhawk was by no stretch of the imagination a quiet gun. Nor a pretty one, so far as results went. The vamp went down like a lump of raw meat, finished off neatly and handily by a .44 hollow-point silver bullet.

The only thing his mama made better than bullets was chocolate chip cookies, and the fact she was due to be sending him both shortly was immensely cheering.

Locke turned as he heard something behind him and raised his second gun, taking down two more. That was three down, about three to go.

He grimaced at the strong smell of blood, which did not go well with the rest of the nastiness filling the old building. Not much remained of the corpses. Broken vampires weren't strong enough to have the regenerative abilities of a top vampire, but even if they did the hollow point silver slugs caused too much damage for that to fix. Even a top would be pissed off for a couple of hours after taking a hit like that.

Four bullets left in the first gun, three in the second. He still had the Smith & Wesson and the semi as a final resort. Whistling cheerfully now, ignoring the pained sigh in his ear, Locke moved toward the first vamp he'd shot, stepping over the mess and into the apartment.

If he was not already long-resigned to the stench of decay and old blood, it would have made him gag. Broken vamps were the worst - converted from humans, which seldom went well. It usually broke them one way or another, creating the repulsive, pathetic creatures he most frequently killed.

Shit, someone turned him into a bloodsucker he'd fucking go psycho too. Well, he'd kill himself, but that was beside the point.

He heard shuffling from what was probably a bedroom and moved that way, carefully moving around the drained corpses and other rot spread across the floor, wanting badly to puke.

"Think happy thoughts," Key said.

"Stop reading my fucking mind," Locke muttered.

Key snickered, then once again fell silent.

Cautiously Locke pushed open the bedroom door, ready to fire - but when he entered, all he saw was a broken vampire lying prone on a bed with stains best described as interesting. A lamp cast orange-yellow light, making everything that much uglier. The vamp moved, lifting its head just enough to look at him with eyes that might have belonged to a drug addict suffering serious withdrawal.

Locke shot him in the head and turned away before the mess really did make him hurl. Didn't matter how many years he did this, he never really got used to it.

He went through the remaining rooms as quickly as he could without being too hasty, then tracked back the way he'd come to explore the apartment from which the other two vamps had come. Nothing but more nastiness.

Frowning, he returned to the hallway. Fuck, he didn't want to have to explore the entire goddamn building and every apartment in it. If there was nothing but vamps around….generally they kept to the same hovel, and the first floor of apartments made the most sense…

Standing perfectly still, he listened, waited. If a vampire was close enough to smell him, it would come for him. He worked hard to make his blood the feast of feasts for a vampire. If nothing showed, he'd go up another level.

A faint creak.

He turned - and swore. "You're not fucking broken."

The vampire before him bared his pointy teeth in something that was part smirk, part grin, part you look really damned tasty, hunter.

In his ear, Key was cussing up a storm.

Locke dropped his Blackhawks and drew the Smith & Wesson even as the average-type vampire lunged for him. The guns roared as he fired, flashing bright enough to light up the dark hallway for a heartbeat. With enough firepower to take down a bear, they were more than enough to put a hurt on an average vamp.

It jerked back, right off its feet, and Locke wasted no time in shooting it a second time.

"Get it?" Key asked.

"Yeah," Locke replied tersely. "None of the research suggested a true vamp might be skulking about."

Key was silent a moment, but Locke could hear him clicking away at a furious pace. Though he'd never fucking admit, he loved to watch and listen to Key type - it should be inelegant, or tedious, or something, but somehow he found it graceful and captivating.

"I still don't see evidence of that," Key said at last. "Maybe he was a not-so-proud papa stopping by like we did. Shitty timing."

Locke grunted an acknowledgment. "I'm going to check the rest of the building."

"Yeah," Key agreed, then went back to typing and listening.

He made quick work of it, exploring every floor - but his searching turned up no more vampires, and even forcing himself to double check resulted in nothing. Tired, cranky, thoroughly fed up, Locke called it a night. "Going to torch it, then I'm fucking done."

"Roger," Key said. "I'll go start making the coffee. Your mom's package arrived."

"If you eat all my fucking cookies," Locke replied, "I'm going to engrave your name on a silver bullet."

Key snickered. "If you kill me, darling, you'll never figure out where I hid them."

"So long as it's not in my mother fucking underwear drawer again," Locke groused.

He pointedly ignored the loud, obnoxious, entirely too gleeful laughter roaring in his ear and trudged back to his car to get what he needed to set the building on fire.

 

"You stupid son of a bitch," Locke said, just standing and gawking.

Key grinned and added fuel to the fire by pulling down the brim of the gimme cap he wore - black with a detailed bat stitched in silver thread, with brilliant red eyes. Locke loved that hat, he wore it constantly unless he was on a job.

On top of all that, the motherfucker was holding a cup of coffee and had a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth.

"You just love pissing me off, don't you, asshole?" Locke groused, stomping loudly across the cement floor of the workshop to where he kept all his guns. Pointedly ignoring Key, he set to work checking, cleaning, and reloading his guns before locking all but one of the Blackhawks away.

That done, he stripped off his jacket, sweater, and undershirt, then moved to a backroom to finish stripping before he stepped into the shower area. Once this had been a locker room, and it still showed in the benches and lockers, the ugly tile and half dozen shower heads. Cheap rent, though, and by the month - all they really needed. Not much longer they'd probably be moving on further south. He fucking refused to hunt vamps further north this time of year unless it was strictly necessary.

Finished showering, he grabbed a towel from the row of hooks and scrubbed his hair mostly dry before toweling off. Moving to the first row of lockers, he opened the third one down and pulled out clean boxers, socks, undershirt. Opening the next one, he tugged on jeans that were neither too tight nor too loose. Tugging on a long-sleeved red t-shirt, he sat down to pull on his boots, then finally returned to the workshop.

A fresh cup of coffee, a plate of cookies, and his gimme cap waited on his makeshift desk. Grunting, he drank half the hot coffee in one long swallow, then tugged on his cap and snatched up a cookie.

Yummy.

"You're still an asshole," he said eventually.

Key laughed. He had platinum hair, blue eyes, and a pretty face - the spitting image of an angel or a mama's boy. Except for the part where he was a smartass, troublemaking computer nerd with a death wish. "Job well done, sweetheart. Sit back and relax, stop getting so uptight."

"Something about you brings out the uptight in me," Locke replied dryly.

"I can ease that uptight, you know."

Locke groaned. "Don't start with me," he said.

Key just grinned his evil grin, the one that could also be insanely hot at the worst possible moments. Namely when Locke's libido needed an ice-cold shower before he did something stupid.

He didn't know why he kept resisting, because if there was one thing Key had always made clear it was interest in Locke - but he couldn't quite give in. Something held him. A niggling sense that said it would be a bad idea, and Locke had learned the hard and painful way to trust his instincts.

Those instincts said he could trust Key with his life…but weren't fly with fucking him. Which was too bad, because he wanted to see what that pretty but dirty mouth looked like around his cock.

Shifting in his seat, Locke summoned a scowl to counter that damned grin.

"Come on," Key goaded. "We're a regular bad porn joke, obviously it's meant to be."

Locked groaned.

Key just grinned. "Key. Locke."

"Wrong," Locke replied, despite knowing it was always stupid to actually attempt these discussions. "We've got two keys and no locks. So shut up."

The evil in Key's smile cranked up about three notches. "Not if it's a key for the back d-"

"Shut up!" Locke half-shouted the words to drown Key out, mortified and maybe the slightest bit not mortified, which was more upsetting. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked desperately.

"Yeah, yeah," Key said cheerfully, though Locke didn't miss the slight disappointment in his eyes.

He couldn't help it. Something about Key, despite their being partners in hunting for the past five and a half years, nagged at him.

Maybe it was just the lingering foul taste of his last partner coloring his perception and fucking up his instinct. He'd pondered that possibility before. Steven had been perfect - partner, friend, lover. All of it. Until he'd put a knife - literally and figuratively - in Locke's back.

Key had approached him in a bar in California one night, knowing way more than Locke had thought anyone should know. Since then, he'd learned Key was good at knowing shit he shouldn't. Way too fucking good, but at least usually it worked to Locke's advantage.

He'd agreed to cooperate with Key for a job or two. When he'd finally left California, however, Key had been with him. They worked well together, despite the chronic smart ass from which Key suffered.

Despite the fact he was keeping a secret. Locke knew enough about secrets to know Key was keeping one, and that - no doubt combined with his past - kept him from making more than a few enthusiastic fantasies reality.

He ate another cookie as he wrote a report on the night's events.

Five minutes after he emailed it home, a chat window popped up on his screen.

Locke rolled his eyes, and typed to his mother that he was fine, the average hadn't even fucking touched him, the bullets were perfect and the cookies tasty.

An hour later she finally signed off to go to bed - no doubt his father had been yelling at her for the past forty five minutes - and went to get more coffee.

He smiled faintly to see Key had made him a fresh pot, and went in search of his geek.

The bottom floor of the building they were renting had been a workshop of some sort, the kind to require a locker room. Upstairs had clearly been living quarters, likely for whoever had owned the workshop.

Key was stretched out on a ratty couch in the living area, something they'd scrounged for twenty bucks from college students desperate to get rid of it. They'd cleaned and de-fouled it as best they could, but Key had still thrown a quilt over it. He lay with his head on the farthest armrest, so he faced the door, and flicked his eyes up as Locke appeared.

"Thanks for the coffee," Locke said.

"Sure," Key said quietly.

"Who are you chatting with?" Locke asked, moving to the couch and lifting Key's feet, sitting down before letting them fall across his legs.

"Old friend in Cali," Key replied. "I was asking him about our average."

Locke grunted. "I'd have asked my folks, but fuck - I'd still be talking to my mother. I'm going to fucking kill Billie for teaching her how to use a computer - and instant chat."

Key laughed and playfully dug his heel into Locke's thigh. "Your mom is cute. At least when she's bugging you and not me. She thinks I'm good for you, by the way. I didn't tell you that."

"Yeah, yeah," Locke said, and took a sip of coffee to avoid saying or doing something stupid.

Key sighed softly. "We've got only the park to investigate, but likely it'll only be one broken. By end of week we can move south. That should make you happy." He closed his laptop with a faint click and set it aside, folding his arms beneath his head. "I called ahead to price places to stay. Nice little thing by the sea. No one wants it 'cause people were murdered there."

"Right up our alley, then," Locke said, drinking more of his coffee.

"Billie recommended it," Key replied. "Your brother is like a vampire hunter slash real estate agent."

Locke sniggered at the idea of Billie as a real estate agent. "I think it's more that he's good at finding places to hide." He stifled a yawn. "I guess if we're moving soon, we should start packing and shit. What's this thing in the park?"

"Crazy homeless guy, according to the natives, except he likes to attack people - a few have reported that he tried to bite them. Cops have tried to find him, but never have any luck."

"Easy enough," Locke said, finishing his coffee and bending a bit to set the mug on the floor. He leaned back with a soft sigh, resting his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.

He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but that required moving.

The feet resting on his lap vanished, and he heard Key move. Then a warm hand lay gently against his cheek, soft against the stubble.

"You're an idiot," Key said, and there was no mistaking the affection mingled with the frustration in his voice.

It hurt, and though it was probably more imagination than reality, it also made the old scar on his back hurt. He didn't want to face another betrayal someday, not matter how much he might care about his partner.

He cracked his eyes open, instantly taken by the goddamn wow of Key's eyes. So fucking blue. His own were a muddy brown color. "You have no room to talk."

"Tell me about it," Key said softly. "You'd think after over five years of 'not interested' that I'd fucking give up."

Locke frowned. "Yeah, well. You haven't quit making your idiotic jokes, either."

"Guess I'm dense or stubborn."

"Yeah, but you're pretty. It's allowed."

Key laughed briefly, then leaned in just close enough to brush a feather soft kiss across Locke's lip. In the next breath he was gone, and Locke was alone. The room was quiet, but his thoughts were plenty loud enough.

*~*~*

Locke shouldered his duffle bag and slammed the trunk closed, then shoved his keys into the front left pocket of his jeans. Turning around, he started to cross the parking lot to the motel room they'd rented for the night.

One flat and a nasty mess of snow did not pleasant traveling make. Fuck it was the unanimous decision; the vampires could wait an extra day to get shot.

He'd taken three steps when he realized that the rather nice looking backside crouched in front of the bushes off to the left belonged to someone he knew. A sinking suspicion growing, he stomped through the snow and ice to where Key was all but buried in the bushes - and Locke could hear all too familiar noises coming from him.

Noises which elicited pathetic mewling sounds in response.

Stifling a groan, Locke dropped his duffle bag and crossed his arms. "No." He nudged Key's lower back with the toe of his boot. "I said no."

"Aww," Key said in protest, slowly standing up and turning around, arms curled against his chest - and a tiny kitten cradled in them. It was the color of soot, with bright green eyes way too big for its evil, manipulative little face. "It's all alone. No sign of mama."

"No," Locke said again. "We travel too much for pets, and - just no. I'm not arguing about this. You're pretty, but that doesn't mean you can act like a girl and try to adopt every cute stray that stumbles into your path. Come on, be a man and put the kitten down."

Key ignored him, stomping away from the bushes and across the parking lot, stopping only to swipe his keycard before vanishing into his room.

Locke watched him go, and could tell from the set of Key's shoulders that he was in deep shit for the acting like a girl crack.

Sighing, he picked his duffle back up and made for the room.

It was old and dingy, with the same part mold, part too much cleaner smell that all hotels seemed to have no matter how up or downscale they were.

Key sat Indian-style on the farthest bed, back to Locke.

Biting back another sigh, Locke threw his bag on the floor and knelt to dig out the few things he wanted close to hand. He was already wearing the Desert Eagle, but he'd be happier with one of the Blackhawks and he needed to ward the doors on the chance an unwanted guest tried to pay them a visit.

No one gave a fuck if a few or even several broken vamps died - vamps wouldn't kill their own, but they didn't fight too much if certain among them got personal with a silver bullet. Killing an average vamp…fifty fifty. A week and a half later, nothing fanged was bitching about it, so they were probably safe.

Never paid to be sloppy, however. His dad would kick his fucking ass. If his mom didn't do it first.

He glanced up as he finished checking and loading his gun, sliding it into the holster at his hip.

Still being ignored.

Damn it. He fucking hated when Key ignored him.

Heaving a loud sigh, he made certain he had his wallet and tromped back out to the car.

When he returned an hour later he was short a chunk of change he would have preferred to put toward a good steak dinner. Depositing all the stupid crap on Key's bed, he sat down in a nearby chair to remove his boots, then snatched up the TV remote and collapsed on his own bed.

After a moment he sat up to shuck off his jacket and guns, then lay back down in just his lightweight blue sweater. There wasn't much on, and he doubted he'd fucking notice if the Cowboys suddenly decided to start playing football in their birthday suits.

He turned the TV off again. "So what did you name it and how the hell are we going to lug the damn thing around with us? Cats don't travel well."

The silence dragged on, and Locke was about to go back out for the beer he'd almost gotten in the first place when Key finally broke it. "I'm not a fucking girl, you asshole."

"I know," Locke replied with a sigh that was part aggravation, part relief. "I'm sorry - but come on, it's just a damned kitten."

"Yeah, well, it was freezing to death," Key replied. "If I'm not going to leave someone as grouchy and foul-mouthed as you to freeze his ass off in the snow, I'm sure as fuck not going to leave a tiny kitten. I'll give it to your fucking cousin when we see her for Christmas."

Locke rolled his eyes. Key would give up the kitten the same way he'd give being grouchy and foul-mouthed. Like fucking hell he'd be giving up the damned kitten - not after Locke had sacrificed his fucking steak dinner to buy shit for the fluffy menace.

Whom Key was still petting, with his back still to Locke, and what a shitty evening this was turning out to be. If a vamp did stop by, Locke was going to offer it a snack.

He turned the TV on again and decided sullenly on watching the news. There was the temptation to order straight porn just to see Key get all twitchy over the boobs, but if he was still being partially ignored then he wouldn't get much of a reaction.

Sighing, he lay down completely on the bed and pulled his cap down over his eyes. It was entirely unfuckingfair that he had to put up with all this shit but didn't get sex.

Of course, that was also his own fucking fault, if he felt like being honest which he didn't.

"Sulking doesn't look good on you, sweetheart," Key said.

Locke didn't reply. See how Key liked being ignored.

He heard movement, then there was a dip in his bed as Key sat down on the edge.

"You suck at ignoring me, Locke," Key said.

Locke didn't say anything - but he did tense when a hand slid over his stomach, warm even through the layers of sweater and undershirt. Still he didn't look up, or otherwise move. Mostly cause if he did the hand would go away, and he didn't give a fuck if his instincts said that secrets meant no sex - that hand felt good.

His cap was pushed back, away, and he didn't need to open his eyes to know Key was way too close for comfort. He opened them anyway, immediately done in by too-blue eyes.

He liked to think Key kissed him, but looking back later he never really knew for sure. The way Key wound up straddling him he also preferred to think of as not his fault, but really he preferred not to think about it at all.

He tasted like peppermint and coffee, a pretty damned tasty combination in its own right and all the better for tasting like Key too.

As apologies for adopting stupid kittens and ignoring partners went, Locke thought it was pretty damned good - even if he suspected Key wasn't apologizing so much as mollifying.

It was the knock at the door that broke them apart. They stared at each other.

The knock came again, and torn between annoyance and relief, Locke twisted so that Key was lying prone on the bed. Untangling their limbs, he grabbed the nearest of his guns - the Desert Eagle - and strode to the door.

He knew it was a vampire before he had the chain undone. Instinct. As he opened the door, he could also smell it.

Coppery. Sharp. Vampire.

Underneath the metal tang, however, he smelled something ever so faintly sickly sweet.

Fuck.

Locke stepped back as the door was pushed open, raising the Desert Eagle as the top vamp stepped into the room. Behind him he heard Key pick up his Blackhawk. "What the fuck do you want?"

"To see your license for one, hunter," the top said calmly. He was a handsome one - for a vampire. Black hair, dark green eyes, features that were the perfect line between handsome and pretty. Perfect, at least, for some smarmy men's magazine that sold twenty dollar deodorant.

"Asshole," Locke said, just on principle, but didn't argue the demand. Still leveling his gun at the top's head, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the leather fold that never left his person if he wasn't naked. He tossed it.

The vampire caught it easily, and flipped it open. He contemplated the license for several long moments. It wasn't really much to look at, so Locke didn't know why the bastard was staring. Him looking slightly too neat and tidy for the unsmiling picture to be a mug shot. He'd worn the blue sweater his mother had chosen 'cause she would have given him six kinds of hell if he'd worn anything else.

He tossed it back, and Locke caught it. Shoving it back in his pants, he returned his free hand to the gun.

"Now, how about your license?" The vampire asked, turning to look at Key.

Locke didn't take his eyes off the vamp, watching as he caught Key's license, frown deepening as the vamp started chuckling.

The vampire tossed the license back, laughing softly.

"Let's see your clearance, giggles," Locke snapped.

Smirking, the vampire reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He tossed it over.

Catching it, Locke flipped the wallet open and held it up so he could look at it without taking his eyes completely off the vampire.

Registered level nine. Fuckity McFuck. A top amongst tops. Damn it. "What the fuck are you doing here, giggles?"

The vampire plucked his wallet from Locke's hand and tucked it away. "I have come to have a word with you."

"I don't want a word with you," Locke snapped.

"I want you to do something for me," the vampire said, speaking as though Locke had not. "Word on the street is that your family is the best in hunting, and you're one of the top on offer."

Hearing one of the old vamps say something like 'word on the street' was like hearing his grandmother say 'what up, my homeslice?' Jarring and more than a little surreal. Old school should stick to old school.

"Fuck off and die," Locke said. "The only thing I do for bloodsuckers is introduce them to Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson."

The vampire laughed again. "You are amusing. I'm afraid you do not have a choice; you will help me."

"Oh, I have a choice," Locke replied. "I'm leaning toward pulling the trigger. It wouldn't kill an old bastard like you, but it'd piss you off and that'd make me pretty damn happy."

He almost did pull the trigger when the motherfucker laughed again. Seriously. He was getting real damned sick of that sound.

Then the bastard grinned in that way only vampires could - all fang and menace. One hundred percent pure I can and will rip out your throat and enjoy every second of it and there's nothing you can do about it.

Which was more or less true. The older the vampire, the more trouble. Generally, though, the really old vamps kept to themselves. They weren't interested in others, except as an occasional meal. Locke didn't think he'd ever heard of one just popping in to ask a vampire hunter to 'do something for him.' What the fuck?

"I want you to retrieve someone for me."

Locke put a bit of pressure on the trigger.

"A human," the vampire continued. "He belongs to me. Another top took him and I want you to get him back."

"Why us?" Key asked before Locke could repeat his desire that the vampire fuck off and die. "You could do it yourself easily, or get the hunter for your level to attend to it."

"Ah, child, if it were that easy I would not be here. I want this matter resolved more quietly than that. If I do it myself or drag in a top-level hunter, it would be supremely problematic."

The words were said matter-of-factly; like it was par for the course that one vampire would ask hunters to kill another. This was only one reason of many he hated vampires - they made no goddamn fucking sense.

"Which top?" Key asked.

Locke was going to kill him. They did not hold conversations with vampires. They killed vampires. That was it.

"Tremont," the vampire replied.

"Ah," Locke said. "Now this makes more sense. You're Alessandro."

"Yes," Alessandro replied, smirking. "My permit said as much."

"Shut up," Locke snapped.

He heard something that sound suspiciously like a snicker coming from Key's vicinity. Ignoring that, but making a note to come back to it later, he focused on Alessandro. "Answer is still no, and if you don't fuck off then after I'm done killing you I'm going to call Preston and then he'll kill you."

"Get my human back," Alessandro said slowly, "or I will see to it that everyone in your vampire hating world knows your little partner there is a half-breed."

Locke froze. What? He unthinkingly turned to look at Key, who had gone white - not pale or sickly, but stark fucking white.

A half-breed? Key? He so was fucking not a…

"Oh, my," Alessandro said with a chuckle. "I see you didn't know. I smelled him a mile away and realized it was probably a secret between the two of you. I see it was a secret of one. Hmm. Tremont has a young man by the name of Heath. Bring him to me, and if you kill Tremont in the process - all the better. Succeed and I will see to it your secret is kept, child." He tossed a large brown envelope on the bed. "There is all the information you should need."

He turned and left as suddenly as he'd come.

Locke dropped his gun on the bed as he spun to face Key. "You're a motherfucking dhampir?"

Key nodded, still white-faced.

"A goddamn half-breed," Locke said in disgust. "You may as well be a fucking vampire and you never goddamn told me and you were kissing me and I knew you were keeping secrets but I never would have guessed you were a fucking dhampir."

He couldn't think straight. He couldn't think at all.

Key moved around the bed and toward him in what seemed like slow motion. Unreal. Yet now that he knew it seemed so fucking obvious - Key hated his guns, Key loved bad weather, hated summer…so many little fucking things that he should have noticed, except he'd been too busy trying not to notice Key.

He acted without thinking as Key reached him, swinging hard, bitterly satisfied to feel Key's jaw beneath his fist, the grunt of pain as Key stumbled back and crashed into the TV.

"Get the fuck away from me." A dhampir. A fucking half-breed. Maybe he'd been planning to make the kitten a snack.

"Locke, you don't-"

"I don't want to hear it," Locke snarled. Half-breed. They weren't allowed to have hunting licenses. More often than not dhampir turned into broken vamps. He'd killed more than a few of the fuckers. This whole time….he'd just been making out with a more or less vampire. "You're a fucking liar and a fucking vampire."

He turned around and started throwing his shit back in his bag. At one point he felt a touch to his shoulder, but only turned around to punch Key a second time. After that, Key stayed on the far side of the room.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he strode to the door.

"What about the job the vampire wants us to do?" Key asked faintly.

Locke didn't turn around, knuckles white where he gripped the doorknob. "You're the half-bloodsucker who didn't want to share his secret. You retrieve him. It's got nothing the fuck to do with me."

Yanking the door open, he slammed it shut behind him and then stomped across the snow-covered parking lot to his car. Throwing his bag in the back seat, he cleared away all the snow and ice he could, then threw himself into the driver's seat and started the car.

He made his way slowly through the miserable weather, hands unsteady due to the crappy heating in his old car and the rage still coursing through him.

*~*~*

Locke counted corpses as he reloaded his revolvers.

Seven. There should be nine. Looks like two had gotten away. But where? "Ke-" He stopped himself with a curse, an all too familiar ache flaring to life in his chest. Stupid, lying fuck. Three weeks and Key still had him feeling pissed off.

Or something.

Locking the cylinder of his second Blackhawk back in place, he moved quickly past the corpses spread out in front of him toward the back half of the house.

Somehow he wasn't having as much fun as he usually did. As difficult and unpleasant and smelly and dangerous as the job was - he'd always enjoyed it. No one could hate being a vampire hunter and do it anyway. It just wasn't possible.

He'd always flown predominantly solo. Every now and then his brothers or sister needed assistance and they teamed up then. He'd hired on local help in larger cities…it wasn't until stupid fucking Key that he'd gotten himself a full time partner. Even Steven hadn't really helped him all that much; he'd done his own thing most of the time.

A partner who made bad jokes and never knew when to stop being a smartass. A partner who didn't blink at the idea of killing and burning bodies but couldn't bear to leave a little kitten in the cold…an obnoxious asshole but one who could make a wicked pot of coffee.

Who was also a fucking dhampir and right now was probably laughing at how gullible Locke had been.

That knot in his chest twisted again. Locke banished his thoughts with a curse and kicked open the door to the kitchen.

Something came at him and he dropped it, the sound of his revolver in the enclosed space deafening.

Eight.

He eyed his options - the back door was wide open…and the pantry door firmly shut. Checking the vamp he'd just killed, satisfied it was well and truly dead, he stepped toward the pantry. Kicking it open, he lifted his gun and fired.

Nine.

Easy peasy. Double checking the final corpse, he turned and made his way through the house to give it a last once over.

He was nearly done with the second floor when he heard a car coming up the long gravel drive. Who the fuck…? Quickly clearing the remaining rooms, he strode downstairs and out onto the ramshackle porch of the old cabin he'd just cleared of a vampire infestation.

The cherry-red camaro parked right alongside his own green mustang had him swearing a blue streak. "What in the blazing fuck are you doing here, Pretty Boy?"

"Fuck you. Mama told me to track your ass down and beat it."

"Go to hell, Preston, and take mom with you."

Preston rolled his eyes. "You refuse to answer your phone, you won't sign on to chat - not even a fucking email. Of course mama is worried about her baby boy. Why the fuck are you being an ass? Where's Key and why isn't he beating the shit out of you already?"

"Shut up and go away," Locke snarled, stomping down the stairs and to his car.

"Ah," Preston said. "I see. You broke up with Key. Why'd you go and do a stupid thing like that?"

Locke slammed the car door shut and turned back around. "Fuck you. I didn't break up with him because we were never fucking dating because I don't date motherfucking dhampirs. Now go the hell away." He opened the car door again and threw himself inside. Fuck. He still had to burn the house.

Swearing, he climbed back out, slammed the door shut, and went to fetch supplies from the trunk.

"Dhampir?" Preston asked. "You're fucking kidding me. Key? No way."

"Yeah," Locke said sourly.

Preston whistled. "Clever little bastard to keep that a secret for so long. How'd you finally figure it out?"

"Would you go the fuck away?"

"Not now that you've told me your ex-boyfriend is a dhampir. You sure have shitty ass luck, Locke."

"Fuck off and die," Locke snapped, all but shouting the words. "He wasn't my goddamn boyfriend." He slammed the trunk closed and then stooped to retrieve the cans of gasoline he'd taken from the trunk.

Preston rolled his eyes. "Twenty eight and you still act like you're fifteen."

"Oh, yeah, like you're one to talk."

"I will kick your ass, and we both know I can do it," Preston said, grabbing him by his jacket as he walked by and throwing him against the car.

Locke snapped and threw a punch. "Go the fuck away!"

Half an hour later he had nothing to show for his efforts but a bloody lip and sore body. But Preston had a black eye. That made him feel a little better.

"Mama never spanked you enough growing up," Preston said with a grunt. "Can I let you go or you going to keep being a pain in the ass?"

"Get the fuck off me," Locke said sullenly.

Preston grunted and let him go, standing up and hauling Locke to his feet. "Now, asshole, what the fuck is your problem? If you miss Key that goddamn much, go fucking find him."

Locke turned away to retrieve the things he'd dropped before they started fighting. "I don't want to talk about it. Go away."

"Why don't you tell me the whole story," Preston said with a sigh. "Cause if you don't, I really will kick your ass and then we'll have to deal with mama."

Rolling his eyes in defeat, Locke finally told him all that had passed.

"Shit, is Key the one I've been hearing about? I was on my way to figure out what the fuck happened with Tremont when mama told me to find you and skin you alive."

Locke went cold. "What the fuck happened with Tremont? Can't you keep your fucking tops under control?"

Unlike him and Billie, Preston kept an eye on all registered top vampires. Less fighting, but a hell of a lot uglier when they did decide to fight.

"Fuck you," Preston retorted. "I was across the damned country doing precisely that when I got the call, and thanks to you I still don't know what's going on. All I know is Tremont was attacked and about twenty broken and six average are all dead, and Tremont was badly injured. Do you know how much fast talking I'm going to have to do if your boyfriend is behind this?"

"He's not my-"

"Yeah, he was, except in your fool head. Shut the fuck up. A hunter could kill that many vamps if he was trying, especially if he was the kind who hung around you."

"Why the fuck didn't Alessandro pester you?" Locke asked sourly. He knew the answer, but it annoyed him anyway. Tops weren't supposed to be fucking shit up like this, and he didn't even want to know why the fuck Alessandro cared about some random ass human. "Key and I had nothing the fuck to do with it."

"Apparently Key does, the poor bastard. Come on, let's burn this joint down and then you can go kiss and make up."

Locke frowned but didn't rise to the bait as Preston was obviously expecting. It wasn't that goddamned fucking simple. Key had lied to him. For almost six years. About being a vampire. Or close enough to one.

Fuck, he'd seen dhampir before. They were nothing like Key. It didn't make any fucking sense and that was no small part of what was pissing him off. He knew how vampires smelled; Key smelled nothing like that. He ate and drank all the right things to make his blood the tastiest thing ever so that broken vamps had a hard time really running from him on a hunt.

Key fucking helped him kill vamps - why would a fucking dhampir do that? How the fuck had he gotten a license to hunt vamps? Then again, it was Key. He could do tons of shit no one should be able to.

Like deceive his fucking partner for going on six years.

He clenched and unclenched his fist as he thought about the last time he'd seen Key. That fucking hotel room. At the time, punching the bastard had felt pretty damn good. It still might feel good.

Fuck, Key had asked him about Tremont. Had the dumbass actually tried to do it? Key was a geek, not a fighter. Why would he be that fucking stupid? Every vamp there would have known he was a dhampir, and vamps liked half-breeds about as much as humans.

"Ah, so you've started thinking again," Preston said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Shut up," Locke said. "He's a fucking dhampir."

Preston tapped the side of his nose. "People still like to say we've got werewolf in the blood because we're got such a sharp sense of smell. It's not true, but even if it was - who gives a fuck? We're not werewolves, and we have no fucking control over our ancestors. Shit, it's not our fault our parents gave birth to us. It's their fucking fault, not ours. Key is a good guy, or so he always seemed to me. Not least of all because it was fucking obvious - even to dad and we all know how he and mom got together, Christ - that he was in love with you. I can understand you punching him…but you should have stuck around to say you were sorry."

"Oh, yes, and let's hear how many times you've said you're sorry for being an asshole, Pretty Boy."

"We're not talking about me," Preston said. "So shut up and let's burn this house down so we can go find your boyfriend."

Locke rolled his eyes, but obeyed. It wouldn't be that easy, but suddenly he felt less like shooting everything he came across.

*~*~*

"You sons of bitches have about ten seconds to tell me where he is, or I'm going to bust caps all over the goddamn place," Locke said, brandishing his Model 500's with relish.

Preston rolled his eyes. "Tremont. If you please."

"Your brother could use some manners," Tremont said. "I have no idea where that nasty little dhampir got to. He took Alessandro's human and left. I've not seen him since and if I ever do I fully intend to take out his throat."

Only the thought of what Preston and their father would do to him if he killed Tremont kept Locke from pulling the trigger.

"Though I concede he was quite the little dhampir. His like I have never seen," Tremont continued.

Preston nodded. "Stop fucking with Alessandro, Tremont. I should be reporting violations left and right. You two are my biggest goddamn headache this side of the country. I wish just once I could go to California without getting yanked back here to sort the two of you out."

"We tried to leave you out of it, this time."

"Then you shouldn't have involved my fucking brother."

"That was entirely Alessandro's doing," Tremont replied. "Do not get upset with me over it. I didn't kill the stupid vampire, did I?"

Preston sighed. "Would you simmer down for a few months? Or learn to share or something? Honestly, the two of you drive me crazy."

Tremont bared his teeth in a nasty smile. "I would sooner kill myself than share anything with that bastard. I'll lay low, however. There's no choice until this wound heals. You wouldn't report it anyway, because otherwise you'd have to report the dhampir and I can see you don't want to do that."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's not start listing all the reasons we can blackmail each other, Tremont. We'd be here all fucking day. Just lay off Alessandro, I'm tired of hearing about your bitch fits."

"Get out," Tremont said. "I've had more than my fill of hunters this century."

Preston smirked briefly. "Too bad. I'll be back next week according to our regular schedule."

"Wonderful," Tremont muttered. "Go away until then."

Locke swore colorfully as he stomped from the room, badly wishing he could shoot something. He was fucking sick and tired of asking questions and getting shitty answers. It had taken them for fucking ever just to get to Tremont, and now they were still stuck in square one.

Was Key even still alive?

"I guess we should have started with Alessandro," Preston said as they stepped into the elevator. Tremont's penthouse was at the top of the highest building in the city. Alessandro, several hours away, lived in much the same manner.

Key had often made cracks about bats in belfries.

Locke frowned and holstered his guns.

The elevator chimed as they reached the bottom, doors sliding open, and Locke walked as quickly as he could from the building and down into the parking garage.

He ignored Preston, who tried a few times to call out to him, and threw himself into his car, peeling out of the parking garage as quickly as he could without killing anyone.

The drive to Alessandro's city was interminable. He wanted to scream. Or punch someone. When they finally reached the city, and Alessandro's skyscraper, he was ready to commit mass murder.

A warning look from Preston was all that kept him behaving as they rode an elevator to the top. A flash of their licenses and the security guard at the desk had only nodded mutely - an adjusted vamp, one who'd been turned and managed not to break. A pity, cause Locke really wanted to shoot someone.

Locke didn't know how Preston did it. He much preferred the shoot'em up side of the vampire business. See problem. See problem with giant hole in its chest. See problem go away.

When the elevator doors slid open, Alessandro was in the lobby - obviously waiting for them.

"Sandro," Preston greeted.

"Preston," Alessandro replied, and Locke rolled his eyes as the vampire kissed each of Preston's cheeks. Tops. He wished the fuckers had stayed in the dark ages. The older the vamp, the more annoying. He really didn't know how Preston put up with all their shit.

"You're causing trouble again, Sandro," Preston said. "One of these days I won't be able to keep the two of you from facing the music."

Alessandro chuckled. "I was trying to do you a favor, Preston, by keeping you out of this."

"By involving my brother?" Preston snorted. "Not buying it."

Alessandro merely laughed again. "I admit that was not the wisest decision, but I was not willing to trust the matter to another hunter. I had hoped by the time you heard of it, the matter would have been resolved."

"How is Heath?" Preston asked, shaking his head.

"Fuck that," Locke cut in. "Where in the goddamn hell is Key?"

Alessandro laughed again. "What makes you think I have him?"

Locke raised his Smith & Wesson, ignoring the warning look from Preston. "Tell me where he is or I'll do to you what I should have done in the first place, bitch."

"I can see the family resemblance," Alessandro said with a laugh, sliding Preston an amused look. "However, he lacks your…polish."

"Mama tried to polish him, and pop tried to beat manners into him, but I'm afraid Locke was always a lost cause," Preston said with a smile. "However, I will take his side in this. Where's Key?"

"In one of my guest rooms," Alessandro said. "Down the hallway, third door on the right."

Locke holstered his weapons and stormed past him, throwing open the doors to the penthouse proper. He ignored the handful of vampires he saw sitting around and barreled down the hallway.

He hesitated briefly as he reached the right door, hand resting lightly on the knob.

Then he scowled and pushed the door open, almost slamming it shut behind him.

Key was out cold on the bed, blankets shoved back to reveal him dressed in nothing more than a wife beater and the stupid Halloween boxers he'd bought one year with little cartoon vampire bats all over them.

He looked like shit, bandages and bruises all over the place. Despite that, he still was the finest thing Locke had ever laid eyes on. Striding to the bed, Locke sat carefully down on the edge of it. Hesitantly he reached out to touch Key's cheek, tracing the curve of it lightly, up and then down to his jaw.

The bruises from his punches had faded, but there were far too many to replace them.

Key's eyes fluttered, and Locke hastily withdrew his hand

Too blue eyes opened and immediately found him - and the sleepiness abruptly vanished, and the coolness that replaced it made Locke sick to his stomach.

Wincing in pain, Key sat up and scooted as far away as the bed would allow. "What the fuck do you want?"

Locke balled his hands into fists, staring at them a moment before looking at Key again. "I'm an asshole."

"Yeah," Key said, laughing bitterly. "You are. That still doesn't explain why you're here. In fact it would better explain why you wouldn't be here."

"I'm here because I'm an asshole who wants to say he's sorry," Locke snapped.

Key said nothing.

Locke stifled a sigh. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy. "I fucked up, all right? I shouldn't have acted as I did."

"You didn't even give me a fucking chance to explain," Key said. He raked a hand through his hair, looking angry and miserable and defeated. Locke hated it. "I can't fucking help what I am, and I never told you because I knew you'd hate me for it, but goddamn it - I was there for you for how fucking long? You could have let me explain."

"I know," Locke said. He did. "You shouldn't have fucking kept it secret. There were better ways to let me know than to hear it from a motherfucking top. You're an asshole too."

"How was I supposed to?" Key asked angrily. "Everyone fucking hates me. Alessandro is the first vamp I've ever met who didn't want to kill me straight off. Humans want nothing to do with me when they figure out I'm half vamp. It's not my goddamn fault I was born like this, and being a half breed doesn't mean I suck blood. I never have. I can't heal, I'm not long-lived, and being out in direct sunlight for too long makes me sick. I have sharp teeth and some resistance to sunlight, and I like my steaks rare. That's fucking it. But everyone hates me for it. If keeping my being a dhampir a secret is the only way I can get anyone to care about me, fine. You try being hated your whole life, Locke. Fuck you."

Locke glared at him. "I would have fucking dealt, asshole. Over five years, and how did you expect me to fucking react? Shit, you know me and secrets. Fuck you."

"I'm not Steven!" Key snarled.

"I know!" Locke replied, shouting the words. "Christ all fucking mighty, I know. I get it. I already said I fucked up. It was a nasty surprise, but I'm here aren't I? Shit, you know me." He scrubbed tiredly at his face. "You know me better than anyone, Key. Why did you do this by yourself?"

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain," Key said quietly, speaking more to the mattress than to Locke. "You hit me twice and essentially told me to fuck off. You're hardly the first. It hurt. You told me to do it myself, even though you knew it would be stupid to try. Go to hell."

Locke sighed. "It never occurred to me you would try. You're supposed to be the smart half, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't need the whole fucking world knowing I was a dhampir," Key said bitterly. "You walked out on me. I had no fucking choice."

Closing his eyes, Locke called himself every nasty name he could think of. "I guess that's that, then." Shit, right now he kind of wished Steven hadn't missed when stabbing him. It would have sucked a lot fucking less than this.

He'd expected to be paying for his fuck up for a long ass time…but it hadn't really occurred to him that things would end end. Somehow he'd just assumed they'd be partners again. Key had never looked that cold, though. It seemed pretty clear the conversation was over…that everything was over.

"So what are you going to do once you're all healed up?" he asked.

"What the fuck do you care?" Key asked.

Locke sighed. "Right. None of my business anymore. I just-oh fuck it. Just find yourself a partner less stupid, all right?" He stood up and strode to the door.

"So you're leaving again?" Key asked.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?" Locke snapped, back to shouting. "You obviously don't want me to stay."

Key glared at him. "I want to know why you're here."

"I already fucking told you - I'm sorry I was an asshole. How many fucking times do I need to say it?"

"So you're sorry? That's it?"

"What do you mean that's it?" Locke demanded, exploding. "I'm here, how much more fucking obvious can I be? Do I need to spell it out that I want you back?"

"Yes," Key snapped, shouting now too. "Yes, you need to spell it out you motherfucking asshole. You punched me. Twice. You left me to deal with the vampires alone. You completely fucking bailed on me, asshole. So motherfucking spell it out, cause you sure as fuck made it clear before that you hated me."

Muttering several colorful oaths, Locke stalked back to the bed and knelt on it, looming over Key - then kissed him, and oh fucking hell he'd needed that. Groaning, he sank a hand into Key's hair and kissed exactly as he'd wanted ever since they'd first met. Key tasted a little bit like medicine, but otherwise he was pure Key, hot and male and it fixed every little thing that had been wrong since he'd stormed out.

"Is that spelling it out enough for you?" he asked when they finally broke apart.

Key blinked, looking more than a little dazed, and Locke allowed himself to feel more than a little smug. Then his expression cleared, and Key shook him hard. "You're still in deep shit, asshole. For like, a very long time."

"Yeah, I already knew that. Trust me." Locke would have laid down from sheer relief except he liked the position he was in just fine. "So does this mean we're back together?"

"More like finally together, but yeah," Key said warily. "I'm a dhampir and suddenly you're okay with that?"

"Suddenly my ass," Locke replied. "It took several days, my brother kicking my ass, and seeing you again. I really don't give a fuck what you are, so long as you're mine. Now stop forcing me to sound like a girl, asshole."

Key smiled, like really smiled, his blue eyes blazing with it. "I'm pretty sure a girl would have apologized better than you."

"Shut up," Locke said, and kissed him again so Key would shut up and because now that everything was perfect he had almost six years worth of frustration to finally work out.

 

Sharing

Preston stifled a yawn as he leaned against the back of the elevator, staring blearily at the numbers across the top. When 32 lit up, he forced himself to stand and move, half walking, half stumbling out of the elevator and into the hallway outside the penthouse suite of Alessandro Gentile.

He rang the buzzer and gave in to the next yawn as the door opened. Nodding absently to the vamp who opened the door, he strode through a living room that cost more than his entire house, down the hallway to the master bedroom all the way at the end.

Given the hour, he didn't think he was obligated to knock. Pushing the bedroom door open, he padded inside, brown eyes immediately going to the plush sitting chair by the floor to ceiling windows on the north side of the room.

The man who occupied it was tall and slender, black hair and beautiful green eyes. He was handsome, and perhaps only the shadows in his eyes gave away that he was far more than the forty he appeared. "It's three in the morning, 'Sandro."

"Yes, I can see it is," Alessandro said with a smirk, eyes dragging slowly down and even more slowly back up Preston's body. "Did you walk through the city dressed like that? I'm amazed you weren't…delayed."

Preston glared, pointedly ignoring his unsubtle looks. He was not in the mood to put up with this. He wanted to go back to bed, not sort out yet another damned hissy fit between Alessandro and Tremont.

Honestly. It was his personal opinion that they should either kill or fuck each other. Sadly, they tended to vehemently ignore this advice. The latter suggestion tended also to get him in deep shit. He still thought it valid.

"I'm supposed to make certain you're not breaking laws," he said irritably. "I'm not your babysitter."

"A pity," Alessandro said with a smirk and another unsubtle look.

"Knock it off," Preston replied. "I'm really not in the mood for your games. It's three in the fucking morning, in case I didn't already make that clear. What the fuck couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

Alessandro smirked. "Oh, he stole another human. I thought you'd prefer I call you this time rather than your brother, though he's awfully cute when he's all pissy. How are he and his little dhampir?"

Preston groaned and moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and burying his face in his hands. "This is why you woke me up? I was warm and comfortable and asleep, Sandro."

"Poor hunter," Alessandro said, standing up and crossing the room and Preston suddenly realized sitting down on his bed had not been the brightest idea ever. He stood hastily up, moving away and giving Alessandro a warning glare. "I told you I wasn't in the mood for your games."

Alessandro stroked his cheek. "Whoever said it was a game?"

"Oh, please," Preston said jerking away. "I'm really not in the mood for vampire shenanigans." He pushed Alessandro away and stole the vacated chair. "If you would stop flaunting your little snacks in his face just to piss him off, he wouldn't feel obliged to steal them to piss you off. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with the two of you?"

He closed his eyes and rest his head against the back of the chair, wishing he was still dead asleep in bed.

Instead, he was sitting in the bedroom of a top vampire. In his pajamas. Listening to a vampire roughly four hundred years old whine like a fifteen year old.

The soft brush of feet on carpet alerted him, then he suddenly felt warm fingers on his face, stroking slowly down to his neck.

Sometimes he envied his brothers. Billie and Locke spent their days killing vamps that were better off dead - or averages that broke too many laws. Preston had chosen to go the way of his uncle, dealing with the tricky tops. Life wasn't so black and white here. Laws were broken constantly, lines crossed with impunity.

His chin was lightly grasped, face tilted up, and he slowly opened his eyes as Alessandro kissed his cheeks softly. "Sandro," he said in warning.

A warning blithely ignored as Alessandro kissed him softly, slowly.

It was times like this he really envied his brothers. Vampires were monsters to them.

Preston only ever saw about a million different headaches. Tops were nothing like the broken and average vamps his brothers killed. Tops were something else altogether.

He turned his head away, breaking the lingering kiss. "If you want a human, vampire, go rescue your damned toy from Tremont. I won't say it again - I'm not in the mood for your games."

That's all they were, no matter what the vamps said. Games. Predators only played with their food when they had every intention of killing it. It drove him crazy, constantly being a source of amusement for the vamps he kept an eye on.

He stood up again, fighting another yawn. "I'll go get your damned toy back, Sandro. Stay here and out of trouble." Not giving Alessandro a chance to reply, he strode from the room, back the way he'd come, rubbing his eyes as he pondered whether or not it was worth it to go back to his apartment to get dressed.

His lips tingled; they always did when Alessandro stole a kiss. Damn it.

Veering left outside, he strode back to his apartment to fetch proper clothes.

Several hours later, in jeans and t-shirt, he let himself into Tremont's apartment.

He rolled his eyes as the first thing he saw was Tremont snacking on a pretty little redhead. Tremont didn't like redheads, except when he stole them from Alessandro. "Tremont, grow up."

"No," Tremont said, licking a bit of blood from his lips as he pushed the redhead away. "I'll stop being difficult when he stops being a prick."

Preston rolled his eyes. "I so cannot wait for the day the two of you finally kill each other."

"I do not see that happening," Tremont said idly, lying back on the long, wrap around leather couch that took up most of his living room. "Did he wake you up in the middle of the night, hunter? I would apologize, but you look even prettier rumpled than you do nice and tidy."

"I will hurt you," Preston said. "He woke me up at three in the morning because you decided to be an asshole. You're both assholes. No, you're both children. What is the fucking point of all this and why must you constantly drag me into it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, it's no wonder Uncle Vincent turned into a bloody alcoholic."

"Alcohol," Tremont said with a grimace. "Disgusting." He smirked, and gave Preston the same slow perusal that Alessandro had several hours earlier. "Except, of course, for a good red wine."

Preston did not bother to respond to that. Like any good hunter, he made certain he smelled good to a vampire. No vampire, broken, top, or whatever, liked to waste a good meal - even if said meal was a hunter. It made them think twice, if only on a subconscious level, and that moment of hesitation could make all the difference in the world.

Even if, in Preston's case, all it really got him most of the time was sexual harassment.

He moved to the couch, standing over Tremont, glaring at him. "Are you done for now?" he asked. "Can I take the toy back to Alessandro?"

"Maybe," Tremont said lazily, slowly opening his eyes, pushing loose strands of red-brown hair from his face. Behind the messy hair, his eyes were the color of brown sugar, warm and soft while Tremont was fed and sated. Nothing like the plain brown of Preston's eyes, or as brilliant as Alessandro's green eyes - but both vamps had a tendency to make it hard to break eye contact.

Preston had seen those soft brown eyes hard and cold, and likely would again. For now, though, Tremont might be pliable. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white oxford, the top three buttons undone. Unlike Alessandro's sparse build, Tremont had a bit of meat to him, just enough to escape being described as skinny.

Quick as lightning, and Preston chalked it up to sleep deprivation that he hadn't anticipated it, Tremont yanked him down. Preston landed with a grunt on top of Tremont, glaring angrily. "Let me up, bloodsucker. Now."

"Oh, now, calling me names won't get you anywhere." Tremont lapped lazily at his lips, and Preston struggled to remain unaffected. He had to remain unaffected. But where Alessandro's stolen kisses always tingled, Tremont's burned. "You should take a nap, hunter. Driving as tired as you are…we wouldn't want an accident to ruin your pretty face."

Preston got his hands free and managed to pinch Tremont hard - just enough to annoy him a bit. "I liked you better when you were injured," he said. "Maybe I should get Key to shoot you again."

"Oh, shut up," Tremont said, and pushed him off so that Preston landed in an awkward heap on the floor. "Take the damned toy, then. Alessandro has terrible taste in snacks. Too much junk food, that one. His blood tastes too fatty and sweet." He propped himself on his elbow, staring down at Preston with a smirk. "Unlike you. What I wouldn't give for a taste of you, hunter."

"Yeah, yeah," Preston muttered, picking himself up slowly. "I'd take it as a compliment, except not." He strode to the armchair where the redhead was sitting, still and almost asleep. Thoroughly doped by the vamps, then. Preston was glad he was immune to that - one of the traits of a hunter. If you couldn't look a top vamp in the eyes, there was no sense in being a hunter. He gently tugged the young man to his feet.

Most hunters, having to deal with this sort of thing, would shoot and never bother to ask questions. Preston had gotten used to it. Vamps needed to eat, and he could hardly bitch when in the end no real harm was done. Not like the vamps Locke regularly gunned down.

It would be a day or two until the redhead came out of his doze, and whenever Alessandro finally tired of him, he would not remember anything of his time as a vampire snack.

"I swear to god if the two of you do anything for the next seventy two hours, I will string you up by your balls and report your asses. Understood?"

Tremont motioned lazily from where he was clearly settling down into a daze. "Yes, hunter. Tell that prick to stop annoying me, and I will stop taking his treats."

"It seems me the two of you could bother to sit down and discuss things," Preston said sourly. "Do you even know why you hate each other?"

"Oh, I hardly remember the original reason," Tremont said with laugh. "These days, it's entirely on principle. He's easy to hate, I assure you. Run along, hunter, before Alessandro gets too impatient and deprives you of more sleep."

Muttering sourly about his thoughts on top vamps, Preston half led, half dragged the doped redhead to the elevator.

*~*~*

He stared into his drink with disinterest. It was the best of red wines, the kind he hated drinking because he knew he wasn't appreciating it properly. Fighting an urge to tug at the collar of his tux, he pushed through the last bit of the crowd onto the balcony.

The night air was cold this high up, a nice break from the stifling heat inside.

What he wanted was a nice beer and something identifiable to eat. He hated coming to California. Every single time he came, there was a party he had to attend to make certain the tops under his charge weren't doing anything they shouldn't.

Or rather, that they weren't doing too much that they shouldn't.

He sighed and took another sip of wine. It would do wonders for his blood, but that was poor consolation at the moment - even in a room full of vampires.

"You are not enjoying yourself?"

The voice was a dark purr, and Preston had seen its owner seduce everything under the sun and moon, from human right up to fellow vampires. He had heard more than a few stories about Richard Freeman's conquests.

To him, the voice was nails on a chalkboard. He was taunting, mocking, condescending and occasionally cruel.

He was in charge of a baker's dozen of top vamps, scattered throughout the country. Of those, he hated two, was fine with nine…and didn't know what to do with the remaining two.

Richard was one of the hated.

Preston stepped away from the hand that settled at the small of his back. "You know I hate your parties, Richard. If I thought you actually cared enough to bother, I'd swear you always have them during my visits just to piss me off."

"Mmm," Richard said, dark brown eyes nearly black. "Maybe I do it because I like seeing you all dressed up…though I confess your rougher garb holds some strange appeal of its own." He reached up touch Preston's cheek, digging his nails in lightly. There was a hint of teeth in his smile, and Preston repressed a sigh. "You do seem moody tonight, hunter."

"I'm tired of parties," Preston replied. "I came to check up on you, not baby-sit you all night. Tops are all children."

Richard laughed. "Now, now. Do not group all of us with those bickering nitwits on the east coast, hunter. That's not very fair of you."

"What do you call your behavior then?" Preston snapped. Honestly.

"An attempt to overcome a challenge," Richard said, and Preston grunted as he suddenly found himself pressed up against the balcony. Warm lips brushed across his cheek, along his jaw, and down his throat.

Preston put up with it; vampires and their stupid games.

Then he felt teeth. No.

Nothing seemed noticeably to change, but Richard abruptly went still.

"You're going too far," Preston said coldly, digging his knife in just enough to break skin. "Take a bite, and it's the last bite you'll get, blood sucker."

Richard laughed, but eased back. "It would be a fine way to go, hunter."

"Shut up," Preston said, and sheathed the long, silver knife he'd pulled from within his jacket. There were times he missed the days when his family had carried swords. Most of the family used guns, but those were too flashy for his work. Silver blades were his specialty, even if he couldn't actually carry any of the swords he'd learned so assiduously growing up. "You would think that after five hundred years, you might have acquired more manners."

He touched his throat lightly, frowning as his fingers came away bloody. "You are crossing lines you should not be crossing, blood sucker."

"Perhaps you should not come in here smelling like an invitation," Richard snapped. "You are lucky every vampire in here fears me more than they lust after you."

"Lust, no. Hunger, yes," Preston snapped. "Stop throwing a damned party every time-" He was cut off as his phone started ringing.

The ring was all too familiar, and brought with it the usual mix of annoyance, exasperation…and things upon which he preferred not to dwell. He yanked the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "What?" Snapping it shut a second later, he pushed past Richard and back into the room proper, heading straight for the front room and his coat.

"You indulge those two far too much," Richard said from behind him.

Preston rolled his eyes. "I put up with you just as much," he snapped, fingers going to the light wound at his neck. "Even I, however, have my limits. Do not attempt to bite me again, Richard." Turning sharply on his heel, he stalked from the room.

He just barely caught Richard's parting words as the elevator doors slid shut.

"Next time, I won't attempt."

Rolling his eyes, Preston hailed a taxi on the street and asked the driver to take him to the airport.

*~*~*

"I swear to god, your only goal in this century is to deprive me of as much sleep as possible," Preston groused.

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't for Tremont to slam his glass down and stalk across the room looking as though he'd like to hit someone.

"Richard bit you," he snarled.

Preston blinked, and held up his hands in a sleepy effort to ward Tremont off. "I took care of-"

Honestly. He really was tired of being sleep deprived. It made him do stupid things. Like let Richard almost bite him. And Tremont kiss him.

Tremont tasted like blood, but only faintly. It was, if Preston had not lost track of his days, about a week still before Tremont would feel like feeding again. Clashing with the copper tang was something faintly sweet. The flavor, Preston often thought, of spoiled brat.

He pushed Tremont away after a moment, summoning a glare. "As I was trying to say, I took care of it. What is it with you bloodsuckers tonight?" He sighed and strode to the couch, dropping down without ceremony to stretch out, burying his face in one folded arm, the other draping over the side of the couch.

A hand settled on his head, and he felt Tremont settle beside him on the floor.

Sighing, Preston forced his eyes open, turning his head to look. "What?"

"You look awful, hunter."

"No shit," Preston snapped. "Being a hunter is supposed to be difficult, not a constant state of fucking misery. What the hell are you and Sandro up to now? I'd had three hours of sleep when Richard dragged me to his damn party, I was nearly bitten, then suddenly I have to spend seven hours going from California to here and you tell me I look awful? Fuck you." He buried his head in his arms again.

Fingers, long and thin and warm, stroked through his short-cropped hair, caressing lightly over the back of his neck before tracing the length of his spine. "Ah, hunter. I fear we are over fond of you."

Preston snorted at that. "Whatever," he said with a yawn. "What the hell did you want?"

"Perhaps it can wait a bit," Tremont said with a faint smile - rare for him. Tremont was better at frowning or pouting than smiling. "You should rest. I like to bend my pretty hunter, not break."

"Not yours," Preston muttered.

The fingers on his back suddenly pressed hard enough to hurt. Preston jerked in surprise and looked up. "What?"

"To whom do you belong?" Tremont asked coldly.

"No one," Preston snapped. "I belong to myself, because I'm too fucking busy babysitting goddamn vamps who wake me up and summon me from across the fucking country all because they're so wrapped up in pissing each other off they don't care how that behavior affects everyone around them. I don't belong to anyone because I'm too busy catering to your pissing contests."

Too angry now to hold still, Preston stood and stalked to the door. "I don't give a fuck what's wrong this time. Fix it yourself. If you spill too much blood I'll have your permits revoked." Yanking the door open, he stalked to the elevator and mashed the button.

He yelped as he was abruptly yanked back, oofing as his forehead collided with Tremont's jaw. "Let me go," he said when he was reasonably certain of his balance.

Instead Tremont kissed him again. Preston attempted to struggle free, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best and he knew it. He moaned softly as he let the kiss go deep, holding fast to Tremont's upper arms.

The thought of what his family would do if they caught him kissing vampires was enough to make his blood freeze, but he would be lying if he said Tremont's kiss wasn't devastating.

He pushed Tremont away after a moment, and reached out blindly to mash the elevator button again. "Did you take another toy, Tremont?"

"He took mine actually," Tremont said. "You should stay and rest, hunter."

Preston shook his head. "No. I'm not going to get any dumber, and I'm tired of being toyed with." That's all he was, and he needed to remember that. Hadn't his uncle said that was the hardest part of their job? Keeping the distance, because tops liked to cross lines and break rules - and play with their hunters.

He ignored Tremont's calling his name, stepping into the elevator before he could be snatched back again. The doors closed with a chime, and he let out a long sigh.

Several hours and a great many cups of coffee later, he let himself into Alessandro's penthouse.

Alessandro was waiting for him, looking like a cat that still had feathers clinging to his mouth. His smirk, however, faded as Preston drew close. "You look terrible, hunter."

"Yeah, I wonder why?" Preston snapped. "No fucking thanks to you, I'm pushing twenty four hours without sleep. Where the fuck is Tremont's toy?"

Instead of answering, Alessandro glared. "Richard bit you."

"He nipped me, and that has nothing to do with this. I can fucking take care of myself." Preston grimaced at himself. He was obviously exhausted if he was cussing more and more. "Give up the damned toy."

Alessandro yanked him close, fingers going immediately to the livid red marks on his neck. "You are not his to touch," he growled, fingers tightening around Preston's throat, not quite enough to hurt.

"I'm not yours either," Preston snapped.

"Hmm," Alessandro said, frowning.

He about to be kissed, and Preston suddenly didn't want to deal with it. Tremont's kisses still weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew all too well how Alessandro's would feel.

Tired and tired of it.

He shoved Alessandro away, somewhat gratified at the look of surprise on the too-handsome face. "I'm not yours. I'm not Tremont's. I'm not Richard's. I'm just a fucking hunter, and while I know being manhandled comes with the territory - that doesn't mean I belong to anyone. I have no interest in being a drained corpse somewhere, and I certainly have no interest in being the snack you and Tremont steal back and forth. Go to hell. Give Tremont's toy back, and you can both stop fucking calling me over your asinine squabbles."

Turning sharply around, he stalked to the door.

A hand landed on his shoulder and that was finally enough. Snapping around, the flash of light on silver was the only warning Alessandro got before Preston shoved him back against the nearest wall with sharp silver pressed against his throat, another one jabbing at his gut. "I've had it, vampire," he snarled. "Just because I play along doesn't mean I'm your damned toy. Leave. Me. Alone. Understand?"

Alessandro nodded as best he could with a knife to his throat.

Preston stowed the knives as quickly as he'd drawn them, then once more turned away to leave.

He was so fucking done with this shit.

*~*~*

Twenty nine missed calls from Alessandro. Twenty nine from Tremont.

Preston sighed and set his phone back down on the nighstand. To hell with them. Regulations said he had to check on the bastards once a month. He generally saw them at least once a week. That meant he could keep right on ignoring them for a bit. Two weeks, and he was perfectly happy to go two more at least.

Except, maybe, for the part where he was barely sleeping.

Nothing new about that, he supposed.

Sighing, Preston sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He glanced at the alarm clock: 1:00 AM.

Obviously he wasn't getting much sleep tonight either. Ah, well. By now Richard's stupid party should be over. Why not make a surprise visit?

Standing, he stripped off his sleep pants and wife beater, tugging on jeans and t-shirt. From the chair in the corner of his small, stale hotel room he retrieved his knife belts. The longest of his knives rest right between his shoulder blades. Two more rest at the small of his back, with small daggers strapped to each forearm.

Silver gleamed in the light from the streetlamps slipping through the curtains before he sheathed them. Shrugging into a lightweight leather jacket, he sat down to pull on his boots, then snatched up his keys and wallet.

The night was nice, probably too warm for his jacket but he preferred not to flash his blades if he could help it. A night like this…

Preston shook his head irritably. It didn't matter. He was a hunter. A top level hunter, at that. Precious few of those managed any sort of personal life. He'd known that full and well when he'd decided to be the most difficult type of hunter.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Preston was torn between heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes.

Instead he settled for slowing down and nicking his arm. In the dark, his blood was a black smudge on gleaming silver.

He stopped at an intersection, right beneath a streetlight and a worn out bus stop sign. Waited, hands itching for blades. Better to do without for now, but they itched all the same.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. What he did see and smell surprised him, however. He'd expected an average, a lackey sent by either Sandro or Tremont.

He hadn't expected Richard.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"You didn't come to my party," Richard said.

Preston snatched his hand out of reach when Richard made a grab at it. He stuck his wrist in his mouth, licking away the drying blood there. "Why are you tailing me, Richard? I was on my way to see you."

"Rumor has it you're avoiding your tops, hunter."

"What I do or don't do is none of your business. I'm the one who keeps an eye on your life, not the other way around. You should not be out at this hour; any low level hunter out and about would be perfectly within his rights to regard you as a threat. I'm regarding you as a threat."

Richard smirked and moved a little closer. "You didn't come to my party; I thought you might be ignoring me too…but I was informed you were here, and came to see you for myself…so are you choosing me over those idiots on the east coast? California is much nicer."

Preston was getting a headache. "Choose? What in the hell are you talking about? Do vampires live for centuries just to perfect the art of being confusing and annoying?"

He jerked away and stepped back as Richard tried to touch him. "I am really not in the mood to play games, Richard. What the fuck do you want?"

"I would think that obvious, hunter," Richard said, a telltale gleam to his eyes.

Preston flexed his hands, ready to draw his knives in a moment. "Back the fuck off, bloodsucker. I'm not on your menu and you know damn good and well what will happen if you try to make me one."

Richard snarled and suddenly was close. Preston twisted away, drawing a knife, swinging up to catch Richard across the chest.

"Back off," he said. "I don't like you much, but I sure as fuck don't want to kill you."

"I don't want you for a meal, you stupid human," Richard said. "Don't you get that?" He grimaced in pain at the wound across his chest. A minor scratch, really, but the silver left a lingering burn. "I'd much rather fuck you than eat you, though I wouldn't mind both."

Preston would have rolled his eyes if he dared take them off Richard for a single second. "Whatever. I'm sick of telling you vamps I'm not one of your goddamn toys. I'm perfectly within my rights to kill you if you keep this shit up, Richard, and we both know I can." Five hundred years didn't mean the vampire had all the tricks.

"You have only yourself to blame for being both edible and stubborn. All the vamps you watch, you never paid any mind except to those two and me."

"You're an asshole, and one who has come close to losing his permit more than once - just in the last century," Preston snapped.

Richard took a step closer, but held his hands up in surrender when Preston lifted his knives in warning. "So why did you come here after blowing off those nitwits? I had hoped you were finally choosing me."

Preston had a headache. "Choose you for what?" he asked, baffled. "I'm a fucking hunter, my job is to make certain you stay within bounds of your permit. You want me to be your fuck toy? Go to hell."

"You hunters think you're so smart, but you're really pretty stupid," Richard said, pinching the bridge of his nose, and it wasn't even remotely fair that he looked as frustrated as Preston felt.

"I resent that," Preston snapped. "What is going on?"

"Has it ever puzzled you nitwit hunters as to why we, as you say, toy with you so much? It does not make much sense that we harass those who have the power to not only take away our permits, but kill us."

Preston shrugged. "A lot about vampires doesn't make sense to me, and I've given up asking. We've always taken it to be you guys playing with your watchdogs."

"Some, yes," Richard said. "Some, like you, we would like to keep. Hunters are a cut above other humans. You have to be to keep pace with us. No other human would ever have taken a knife to me as easily as you did."

"Save the fucking compliments," Preston snapped. "That oil slick voice might con others, Richard, but I'm only getting more irritated. So you're saying I'm special, not just some toy. So what the hell am I then?"

"Strong," Richard said. "Physical, mental, everything. Far more than a pet or a toy, hunter."

Preston tightened his grip on his knives. "So what does that make me? A three course dinner?"

Richard heaved a long sigh. "A companion."

"Fuck that," Preston snapped. "Cats don't take rats or mice as companions." He jerked his head sharply as Richard tried to keep talking. "We're done here. Get the fuck back to your house and I don't want to hear about you being out after hours again. Got it?"

"Hunter-"

"I said, got it?"

"Got it," Richard said sourly. "You should lighten up, hunter. It would do you wonders."

"Whatever. Get lost, Richard."

He waited beneath the streetlight as Richard slowly walked away, waited until he could not smell anything but the faintest lingering traces, then finally sheathed his weapons and strode back to his hotel room.

Packing his things quickly, he called the front desk to get him a cab.

Almost as an afterthought, he looked at his call log. After storming off two weeks ago, he'd flipped it to silent mode. Thirty one calls from Alessandro and Tremont. They were getting more frequent.

He wondered if they were calling to apologize, or bitch. Obviously they hadn't killed each other while he was ignoring them. Well, he'd give them another week or so to rot. See if they did kill each other.

What the hell had Richard been going on about? He'd been doing his damnedest not to think about it. Companion? Strong?

It made a certain amount of sense, really… Vampires needed to feed. Broken and average vamps tended not to care at all who they sucked on. Tops, however…they didn't need to feed often, but when they did feed they needed to feed well. Regular blood - that is, from the same source as often as possible - was best for their systems. The toys they clung to had good blood and were able to endure being heavily drained over a period of months. Most toys didn't last past three or four months.

A hunter…hmm…he'd never thought of it that way. Hunters were a cut above the rest. That's what made them hunters. If a vampire snacked on a hunter…

That would explain why the fuckers kept trying to bite him, but not why they kept molesting him.

Fuck it. He was tired. He was going home. He was ignoring Alessandro and Tremont until they either learned to behave or killed each other. Then he'd figure out what to do about Richard. Castration, maybe.

Hefting his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and headed downstairs to catch his cab.

*~*~*

Whatever he'd expected upon entering his tiny apartment, it wasn't the sight of Alessandro and Tremont sitting in his living room quietly talking.

He dropped his duffle bag and drew a knife, just because he was in a bad mood and jetlagged and really not in the mood to sort out who needed to give back what and why he shouldn't kill them both. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"We've been trying to talk to you," Alessandro said with the careful patience he only used when he was really pissed. "Ignoring our phone calls for two weeks running is a bit like that childish behavior of which you're always accusing us, don't you think?"

Preston snorted. "I've put up with it for years. Deal. And get out of my apartment."

Tremont shook his head and stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him, followed by Alessandro. "We came to talk to you, hunter."

"Send me an email," Preston said, sheathing his knife. Damn it. He wanted to be left alone. Did no one get that? He was tired of all this crap. "I've had more than my fill of vampires tonight, I don't need your stupid games after fighting off Richard."

Both vampires made the weird sound that was a bloodsucker truly riled - something that was part growl, part hiss, and completely nonhuman.

"I will kill him," Tremont snarled. "He's been warned before to keep his hands to himself."

Alessandro nodded in agreement. "The likes of that one has no right to you."

Preston almost drew his knife again. "I am not some damned toy to which any of you has a claim, I don't care how appealing as a pet or a toy or a companion or whatever I might be. What makes you think you have any right to act like that? I'm a fucking hunter. I'm in charge, not you. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"You must really be in a snit," Tremont said with one of his familiar pouts, "if you're not even noticing that we're getting along."

That drew Preston up short. He stared at them. "Why are the two of you here? Together? Not killing each other." Had someone forgotten to tell him hell had frozen over?

"Oh, we were fighting until about a week ago," Alessandro said, sharing a look with Tremont that Preston didn't quite follow. "We were each convinced the other was to blame for your completely walking away."

Preston rolled his eyes. "I was sick of you both. Richard is an ass, Belle is a bitch, but you two are the bane of my existence."

"Yet you're not nearly as harsh with us as you are with Richard and Belle," Tremont said with a gleam in his eyes that only ever spelled trouble. "After we paused long enough in trying to kill each other over you, we realized something rather interesting."

"What was that?" Preston asked warily, itching to take a step back - but that would show weakness, which right now was the last thing he wanted to show.

Alessandro smirked. "You're always telling us to either kill each other or share, hunter. There was something you neglected to tell us, however."

Preston frowned, not liking the way they both looked like they were up to something, because it was one thing when they were only trying to piss each other off - he wondered if maybe their getting along was the right idea after all. "What?"

One second they were in front of him, the next he had Tremont in front of him, Alessandro behind him - and two sets of teeth just barely scraping the skin of his throat. Preston drew a sharp breath.

"Apparently," Alessandro murmured in his ear, "we have been sharing you all along."

Preston didn't even try to move. Any direction he tried to go, there were teeth or hands in the way. He held as still as he could, feeling way too much like a canary pounced by two tomcats.

Tremont lapped at his lips in that disconcerting way he had. "Maybe you just let every vampire under your care kiss you. Hmm? Is that it?"

"I most certainly do not," Preston snapped, resenting the implication.

Then he swore, as he realized what exactly he'd just given up.

Soft chuckles washed over him, pleased and entirely too smug.

"Let me go," he said sharply.

"No," Alessandro said, and Preston shivered despite himself as a tongue dragged across the back of his neck, followed by the nip of sharp teeth.

He glared at Tremont, who only stared back with a smirk Preston was itching to knock right off his face. "What in the hell do the two of you think you're doing?"

"Sharing," they chorused.

Preston opened his mouth to demand a better explanation of that bizarre statement when Tremont kissed him. He might have been able to resist it, for he'd resisted Tremont's kisses before - but they'd never been coupled with Alessandro's hands, which were suddenly shoving up under his t-shirt to explore his chest with entirely too much liberty.

He heard a long moan, and realized suddenly it came from him, but his thoughts skittered away again as two hands became four and Alessandro resumed lavishing attention on the back of Preston's neck.

This was not happening.

Tremont was suddenly gone, and the lack of kissing left Preston momentarily startled - then he was abruptly turned and kissing Alessandro instead, and he moaned loudly at the difference. He'd always compared them, but to have them both here and to compare so immediately and intimately…

It needed to stop before he completely forgot that this shouldn't be happening. They were vampires. He was a hunter.

He finally broke away with a gasp, pushing and grabbing and cussing until he finally wrenched free. Panting, he looked at them - then hastily looked away. "What the fuck is going on here? When I said share, I didn't mean me. It doesn't even make sense. You get pissy when Richard touches me but you'll both share me with each other? Is that supposed to make sense? Because it doesn't."

They shared a look, and he was never going to get used to seeing Alessandro and Tremont in the same room and not just getting along but cooperating.

Alessandro spoke first. "As we said, we spent the first week after you walked out trying to kill each other. I think it safe to say we have both been more than a little interested in you for a long time."

"Is this like that companion crap Richard was talking about?" Preston asked.

"Yes," Tremont said, looking a little startled. "You should know better than anyone that vampires favor feeding from one source for as long as possible. What would possibly make a better source than someone of hunter caliber? This used to be a well known fact, but times change…"

"That still doesn't explain why you were - not fighting over me." Because they weren't sharing him, that sort thing never actually happened and there was no way he'd kind of liked it he didn't care how hard his cock might still be.

"We did, for a week straight. If you had not been ignoring us, you would have realized that," Alessandro said, looking both annoyed and amused.

"Then we figured out we were both in the same dilemma, and we didn't like you ignoring us, and likely the only way we would get you back was by cooperating long enough to do that," Tremont said, sharing another look with Alessandro.

Preston shook his head. "So just like that you started cooperating?"

"Oh, it wasn't that easy," Alessandro said. "We were still rather cross with each other - after all, we both wanted you. That's when we figured out that you'd been…rather tolerant of both of us. A few delicate inquiries made it clear you didn't tolerate kisses from any other vampires. Which left us with rather an interesting dilemma on our hands."

Tremont nodded. "Yes. We could force you to choose between us, but we didn't think that wise given you were already ignoring both of us."

"So…" Preston frowned.

Alessandro smirked. "Then we both recalled what you were always telling us. Kill each other or learn to share, as we've already stated. That's when we realized we already were sharing."

"That makes no fucking sense," Preston said. "You two love hating each other, and now you suddenly decide to stop because of me? I fail to see the logic." Though he definitely saw the pretty, the way they stood next to each other like that, mussed from their recent activities.

They moved toward him again, touching, and he meant to jerk away he did but oh he'd never been very good at rejecting their kisses. His brothers had it so much easier hunting broken vamps.

He whimpered as Alessandro kissed him hard, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. Fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans and Preston jerked hard, eyes widening. He tore away from Alessandro's mouth to try and glare at someone. "This is a bad idea, you idiots. When I said you should learn to share, this is not what I meant."

"You belong to us, Preston," Tremont said firmly, nipping hard at the side of his throat. "It's decided."

Preston gasped. "It-impossible." He bit down hard on his lip against a moan as Alessandro proved to be far too clever with his damned fingers. "I'm a fucking hunter. You're vampires."

"You know it's only that black and white at the bottom," Alessandro murmured. "You'll have to try a less flimsy excuse."

"What about when you stop cooperating?" Preston asked softly, pulling away from them again. "This is stupid. You two have been fighting for what, two centuries? And it just magically goes away now because I ignore you for two weeks?"

Tremont shrugged. "Some things are more important than an amusing feud."

Alessandro nodded in agreement, oddly quiet.

Preston still wasn't buying it. "You really can't expect me to believe it. Give it a day and you'll be right back to your bickering and the only real change is that I'll be more thoroughly stuck in the middle than ever. Never mind this is a bad idea anyway."

The two vampires shared another look, then glanced briefly at him before looking at each other again and Preston had the impression they were giving a mental shrug.

Then he startled enough he almost fell over.

Oh, hell. Even his wildest imaginings had never come up with something that hot. Even in his own head he hadn't been crazy enough to picture Alessandro and Tremont kissing each other.

Now it was seared right into his brain, and he didn't think he'd forget it no matter what happened.

He shook his head in bewilderment when they finally broke apart.

Jeez. When he'd said they should either kill or fuck each other…not once had he ever actually thought they'd pick door number two.

And he was pretty damned certain he'd never once suggested himself as the human they should share, but he couldn't quite bring himself to fight them off when they pounced him again.

Still. He couldn't quite give up either. "Vampires. Hunter. Bad idea. Cats do not ever play with their mice in a good way."

Alessandro rolled his eyes. "I'm sick of this predator and prey nonsense humans go on about. Can a cat turn a mouse into a cat? No."

Preston blinked. He'd…never thought of it that way before. "Um-"

"Shut up, Preston," Tremont said, and it was all kinds of distracting the way they said his name now instead of simply 'hunter' and he tried, he really did try, to resist the consuming kiss that took his mouth, the way Tremont became Alessandro, the way kissing them became watching them kiss again and he rather thought he could come just watching that-

He sort of just stared, feeling dazed, as they came at him again. "My family is going to fucking kill me," he said, because his mother was seriously going to come after him with one of his own knives whenever she found out about this.

Something flashed in their eyes - hard and fierce, but he recognized it as vampires being possessive, protective. "You belong to us, Preston," Alessandro said firmly. He smirked. "It's the duty of a top hunter to keep the peace amongst top vampires, yes?"

"Yes," Preston said, and he was not smiling - except he was, and perhaps even fondly. "Though I sense if I'm going to be this companion thing or whatever to the two of you, then I'm going to be the reason you start up a feud with Richard."

They pounced him, making that weird growl-hiss noise, one behind, one in front. This time there was nothing teasing or gentle about their teeth as they bit down. He jerked, crying out in pain, but the arms that held him firmly in place were gentle and somehow comforting.

Almost as quickly as they'd bit him they stopped, and pain turned to pleasure as teeth were replaced by lips and the dizzying kisses resumed.

"Ours," Tremont said quietly, but with steel in his voice. "We'll share with each other, but no one else. Understand, hunter?"

Preston smiled despite himself, tired of arguing. If they were finally getting along, who was he to protest? This was better than their bitching, definitely. "Yeah," he said.

They both made noises of agreement and approval, then fell to proving just how well they had learned to share.

 

The Housekeeper

Trevor was in love with Richard.

The problem was that Richard barely knew he was alive.

Richard signed his paychecks and every now and then he actually seemed to really see Trevor. Not for very long, however, and it always seemed perfunctory, automatic. Like maybe he didn't really see Trevor after all.

There were, Trevor had determined after many a day of pondering and sighing, three main reasons Richard would never notice him in a million years.

One, he was human.

Two, he was a boring human.

Three, he was an unattractive, boring human.

Sighing softly, Trevor finished drying off the last of the plates and put it with the others, then closed the cupboard. Draining the sink, he scrubbed it clean, and finished the kitchen by giving all the counters one last wipe down.

As Richard's housekeeper, his duties included cleaning, shopping, and taking care of Richard's pets. The latest had been finished with only the previous day, and Trevor had seen him well fed before the vamps took him off to toss him back into the sea of normal life.

Thinking of the discarded pet drew out another sigh. A pretty young man, with cinnamon curls and pale blue eyes. Trevor tugged dismally at his own straw-blonde hair and wished his stupid eyes were anything except boring hazel. That he had a build that appealed to Richard, since being a swimmer apparently wasn't good enough. More color in his skin would be nice, but working for vamps left little room for sunning or even tanning.

The clock on the wall chimed six o'clock, and a moment later Trevor heard the brush of a door against carpet. No other sounds reached his ears, but not a minute later Richard appeared from the hallway, padding slowly toward the bar that divided the kitchen from the sitting area. He slid onto a barstool and yawned.

Trevor hastily looked away, focusing on his chores, going through cabinets and cupboards to see what he needed to buy at the store later. If he snuck glances here and there…well, he was only human.

Richard was definitely worth looking at. He always was, but now more than any other time. Everyone else saw Richard polished and pressed, sharp and shining. All the parties he hosted, all those he attended - Richard cut a fine figure, dominating the nightlife of his small slice of California.

Yet Trevor had always thought him far more appealing in these brief moments. The one thing Richard did not do well was wake up. It took him at least an hour before he was well and truly awake, and if he had two hours that was infinitely preferable.

There was nothing sharp and calculating about this Richard. His hair was a mess, scattered in twenty directions from sleep and Richard's absently raking it away from his face. The dark blue pants and tank top he wore clung to his slender frame, rumpled from sleep. Best of all were the eyes - soft and muddled while Richard slowly joined the waking world, a deep, warm brown rather than the more usual near-black.

Normally Richard sat there for a half hour or so before he began to stir. If he was in the mood to feed, he'd summon his latest pet. Usually, however, he just moved to the sitting room and stretched out on the couch for another half hour.

Anyone else, that would have been going back to sleep, but Richard actually seemed to wake up while he lay there.

Lately, however, that hadn't been the routine at all. More often than not nowadays he simply went back to bed. Ever since the hunter Richard had wanted had chosen someone else, Richard hadn't been the same. There hadn't been a party to clean up after for going on two months now. The most noticeable change, however, was that Richard usually preferred to keep his pets around for at least three months. These days he kept them maybe a week before insisting upon a change.

He wasn't playing in the slightest. Everyone saw Richard as a cruel and calculating playboy…but Trevor wondered how much of that was genuine. Oh, he wasn't crushing so bad he saw no wrong in the vampire of his affections. Richard could be an asshole, and often was one with relish.

Still, it was hard not to see more than a little good in a guy who looked borderline adorable draped mostly-asleep across the countertop, and who paid all his people well and never minded their taking days off. Richard threw his lavish parties, but he took care of the guests who attended. His pets were well treated, if thoroughly used. He was a hard ass, no doubt there. Trevor had seen too many hurt and angry ex-lovers (ex-amusements, Richard called them) to deny that…but still.

Part of him wished Richard had gotten the hunter he was obviously moping about. Mostly, though, he was selfishly relieved. Richard would never be his - the idea of him noticing his lowly little human housekeeper was laughable - but at least Richard didn't really belong to anyone else either.

Trevor pushed up his glasses and pulled open the drawer that held his miscellany, grabbing out a notepad and pen, jotting down the stuff he needed to buy, notes for errands he needed to run.

He started to leave the kitchen, but hesitated. No talking was the usual way of things. He'd never dared break the silence, and Richard certainly wouldn't when he was still for all intents and purposes asleep. "Anything you need while I'm out, boss?" He jumped at the sound of his own voice, and that just made him feel stupid. He could feel his cheeks burn - and they only got hotter when Richard actually looked at him.

Not much, really. Richard had his head propped on his upper arm, the forearm draped over the top of his head. He didn't move his head, but his eyes flicked to regard Trevor for a moment.

Then he simply turned away, shifting to pillow his head on both arms.

That would be a no, then. Trevor stifled his disappointment. What had he really expected?

Leaving the kitchen and his gloomy boss, he snagged his denim jacket from one of the hooks by the door and let himself out, going over his lists one last time as he rode the elevator down.

Outside, night had well and truly fallen. Nearly seven now, not a hint of sun remained in the city. There was nothing but the city lights, people milling all about - people and more than a few vampires.

A handful of them gave him a considering look, but every last one dismissed him in the end. Part of it was that he kept his blood unappealing - mostly with garlic, which just did not get on well with vampire systems, but there was plenty of other stuff in the mix - but mostly it was that no one would mess with someone marked as being in the employ of Richard Freeman.

Trevor glanced at the scar on his wrist, a long scratch made by Richard that essentially said 'back the fuck off' to anyone who might have otherwise turned Trevor into a midnight snack.

The paltry scratch was nothing like the bite he really wanted; livid scars on his neck to proclaim that he didn't work for Richard - he belonged to Richard. But he was a lowly human fit only for housekeeping. Nothing even remotely like the beautiful hunter after whom Richard still seemed to be pining.

He yawned as he reached the grocery store, grabbing a cart and pushing it toward the aisles. His hours were nine am to nine pm, so he was available for errands, the setup of the parties, everything - he generally went to bed just as the parties were starting, after he was certain the staff hired to manage it knew what they were doing. He started early enough the following day to ensure everything was once again spotless when Richard woke up. He had four days off a month, and could request more if he needed them.

Outside of his life managing Richard's home, his interests were swimming and video games. His collection of vampire-related games was impressive and vastly entertaining. Maybe he could play one when he got off the clock. Chances were Richard would go right back to his room, and he'd never cared when Trevor borrowed the sitting room TV.

Maybe Richard would go out tonight. Trevor wasn't exactly looking forward to when Richard resumed his games…but he'd rather that than the state of misery in which Richard currently resided. Such melancholy didn't suit him at all.

Sighing at himself, Trevor made quick work of the shopping. Normally he did it during the daylight hours, but he'd gotten caught up doing other things and then suddenly it had been nearly time for Richard to wake up and he always tried to be home for that.

Hurrying up, he finished with his shopping and grabbed a taxi back to the building.

The clock was chiming nine by the time he had everything put away and tidied up, and he gave the house one last look over before going down the hall to his room. Shucking off his clothes, he showered quickly and then tugged on sweatpants and an old t-shirt that he could not quite bring himself to get rid of.

He hadn't seen so much as a hint of Richard since getting home, which meant he'd just gone back to bed. Disappointing, but Trevor had no clue how to help. Well, not completely true. He could certainly understand what it was like not to have the one you loved, but then again - Richard had tried and failed to get his precious hunter. Trevor had never so much as tried to get Richard.

Still, heartache he understood. He just…didn't know how to tell the boss that without saying way more than he should. Richard probably didn't want sympathy from his housekeeper anyway.

Scrubbing half-heartedly at his hair with a towel, Trevor perused his collection of vampire video games. Finally he picked an old favorite, one with extremely pretty vampires and hunters who favored whips.

In the kitchen, he poured a glass of orange juice and grabbed a bag of chips, then carried it all into the sitting room. Setting his snacks down, he got the TV, system, and everything running, then settled down on the floor with his back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him.

Sometime later he heard a sharp crack of laughter and let out a startled cry, controller tumbling from his hands. On screen, the boss he'd been fighting slaughtered him.

Trevor only made note of his sudden loss from habit; every other fiber of his being was focused on the source of the laughter that had cost him a victory. He twisted around, rising to his knees, and smiled sheepishly. "Hey, boss. Didn't expect to see you again tonight."

Richard slowly moved his eyes from the television screen, and Trevor's breath caught to see that there was amusement in them. They weren't dazed with sleep or hard like usual or flat as they had been of late.

"Should I take it as problematic," Richard asked, mouth quirking in a further show of amusement, "that my housekeeper spends his time playing games that apparently entail killing vampires?"

Trevor flushed. "No-that's not-"

Richard laughed.

He was torn between pleasure at hearing Richard laugh, excitement that he'd been the one to draw out that laugh - and mortification as to the reason.

"Humans are amusing," Richard said when he'd finally stopped laughing. "A whip of all things. I do not think that would get you very far. I shall have to ask the hunter what he thinks."

Just like that his amusement died, and Trevor could see thoughts of the hunter overtaking him.

No, no, no. Trevor struggled for something to say. "There's also holy water. And crosses."

"I thought those had finally gone out of fashion," Richard said. "It's been a good fifty years since anyone tried to throw holy water on me." Annoyance flickered briefly across his face. "Thankfully, as they'd ruin my good suits throwing water all about."

Trevor laughed. "Better they throw water than champagne, though, boss." That particular incident had been one of Richard's ex-amusements. Afterwards, the man had vanished. Trevor knew better than to examine the matter too closely.

"Very true," Richard replied, grimacing again.

Then he threw Trevor completely for a loop by moving around the couch and dropping down into it. He stretched his long legs out and folded his arms across his chest, eyes on the TV for a moment before he finally turned to Trevor. "Well?"

"Uh-" Trevor blinked. "You want me to keep playing?"

Richard shrugged, eyes sliding back to the screen. "It's amusing."

Trevor nodded and retrieved his controller, then resumed his seat.

Licking his lips, trying to focus on the game and not the long legs close enough to touch, he selected 'continue' and went for round two with the boss.

It was just after two in the morning when Richard suddenly stood up, and vanished down the hallway after a brief, firm touch to Trevor's shoulder.

Trevor sighed, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion he'd ignored so long as Richard was there with him - talking, laughing, making an occasional joke. It wasn't a side of Richard he'd ever seen, except in too-brief passing moments. This Richard was like the sleepy version, only completely awake.

A pity it was already over. Trevor would have cheerfully given up a night's sleep to spend those hours playing silly