Lovers Released



Lovers Released

Chapter 1

Easier To Run

Confirmed, to be the Invisible Man sucked.

Thank God, finally he could form a body. Or... a shadow of a body. Or... an ethereal body. That shit, but at least his molecules were no longer scattered, shattered. After nearly three months of existing only as a disembodied consciousness, to solidify again could be described as a breakthrough in his, by the other hand, pitiful condition.

The black ink vaporous particles that were now his being joined at his will to conjure a ghostly male figure, naked, standing in an alley in a neighborhood of charming apartments in Caldwell.

“Damn, finally…” he muttered under his breath when he had something like a physical entity, only for the pleasure of re-using the vocal cords. Or what he had now. His voice resonated with those echoes of a bad science fiction movie inherited from his Dad.

The son of a bitch. Although, well thought out, the fact that he had shut the doors of Dhunhd to him only a few days before he had been nearly killed had finally been of advantage to him.

However much they sink a knife in your heart, they cannot kill you if no one wants to welcome you in the hereafter. It had been as sort of boomerang.

Pam! One-way trip to Hell.

Wham! Bouncing back to Earth fragmented into a thousand pieces.

Nearly three fucking screwed up months to regenerate.

Apparently, his vampire half wasn’t enough to make the Scribe Virgin open the doors of the Fade. Which was understandable, taking into account that he was also half lesser and had been the direct cause of a few deaths of vampires.

Speaking of Dad... His body trembled with rage and had to clench his fists, glad to see that, at least, he could feel the way his fingers dug into his palms. After the Omega brought him back from the dead as one of his own, had promised him eternity and more as the Forelesser, after he had set off a Lessening Society that he had inherited in decomposition... after all, the Omega had slammed the door in his face. Disinherited in favor of a half gay, fucking druggie who would have to be fucking killed just for the car he was driving. He clenched his jaw; his eyes pinned on the lights flickering in the windows of the building, watching them cast shadows.

That was another thing he had to take: he had always been under the spotlight, both when he lived as a vampire and during the time he was the Son, now he was doomed to lurk in the darkness.

Who was to blame for that? The list was long, fuck, but those months in limbo had given him time to allocate seats on the podium. First, the fault lay with John and Xhex. Although, as badly as it should weight him, he had to admit that seeing his female sinking a knife into his heart had been erotic, damn it ... just during second he had been able to appreciate it, before breaking down into molecules so small that had been invisible up to two minutes ago.

The bitch had balls. After he had treated her like a shellan, and with the plans he had drown for both. He needed to feed from a female lesser to survive, a heritage from his bloodsucker side, and had chosen Xhex to test if he could turn vampires into the undead. Just before performing the experiment, she had escaped ... to join that sucker mute, a fucking failure that even as human had given up the ass.

Xhex had disappointed him. Seriously. He believed her a warrior, not a princess who was growing passionately fond of a male. And John ... he turned his neck from side to side, trying to crack the muscles by reflex. Oh, yes, those two were on the podium of those who were going to go down as soon as given the opportunity.

Number two? The brat shit who now ran the Lessening Society and, by extension, the Omega. That cheap imitation of Darth Vader could brace himself. Daddy had pulled him out of business? Well, he would remove Daddy from the Director’s Board of the company and fill his chair.

Annnnndd... the special prize of the night, Qhuinn.

That genetic failure of a cousin had been the cause of all that pile of shit in the first place. Qhuinn had sent him directly into the arms of the Omega, slicing his throat in the showers of the Brotherhood compound to protect his beloved John Matthew. If not for Qhuinn, he would still be alive, could still dress in Versace, wear a gold watch and do what he fucking wanted as the only son of one of the founding families of the glymera.

As the entrance of the building opened and light spilled from the inside, he saw the silhouette of a female dressed in a demure suit jacket with a leather bag on her arm and her hair in a bun. He smiled crookedly. The vampire was still narrow waisted, just as he remembered, had the same very nice legs and tits ... let’s say, XL size.

He looked at his hands and exercised his willpower. Small rays of flashes and lights came from his fingers, flashing a moment before returning to darkness, eliciting a gasp. He had regained his powers, but lacked the strength to exercise them.

And the energy breakfast had just appeared.

He let his molecules lose density, the closest thing to becoming invisible on the face of the whole Planet, and walked in absolute silence to stand behind the female, following the drumbeat of her heels on the sidewalk. The vampire stopped a moment, facing left, then right as if there had been a bad wind. She tightened her jacket, despite the damn heat of the month of July, and quickened her step. He knew that she was going towards the car park that was a block from her home in search of her Mini. Then, she would lead to a large house in a neighborhood of Victorian homes with so many cameras as if it were the fucking Pentagon. A kind of charity house for females and kids, ran by - oh, guess who - one of the more appreciated females of the Brotherhood, Marissa.

Yeah… The discovery of the century.

He couldn’t say that being invisible didn’t have its advantages.

Forced exile in those three months had taught him several things, the first of which was the virtue of patience and, secondly, the advantage of making plans.

He had a very clear purpose but, to fulfill it, he needed several things.

The first: recover his energy and, in the process, find out if he could turn vampires into lessers.

The second: a Trojan horse.

And the third: his own troops.

That night, at last, he was going to satisfy his first necessity.

Finding civilian vampires in Caldwell was difficult if you didn’t know where they lived, so he could only do one thing since he had been able to move his molecules again, even without form: search for civilians he knew of the time he lived as a vampire. It was not as if he was around common people very often, so he chose among civilians passing by the garden of his parents and his family’s mansion, the vampire that was called for repairs or the doggen directly responsible for the household chores.

And his former private teacher.

He followed the female when she turned the corner, observing her well-preserved figure while she searched for the keys to the car park in her bag, more and more nervous. Since weeks ago, he had followed all her movements and, for the time being, she should be taking anti-anxiety medication. That she could not see him didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel the evil that his presence gave off: in the car while driving, turning a corner, observing her from the street...

Mmmm... Which male hasn’t been passionate about his tutor?

The female had been his instructress before his transition. His and half’s of the families of the aristocracy who wouldn’t send their beloved children to a human school. Apparently, now she taught the kids in Marissa’s refuge for battered bitches.

How moving…

He took his dark form just against the female’s nape, enjoying the way in which she became rigid when she perceived his presence, with her hands in the bag.

He pushed his hips to her ass.

The female was about to scream when she noticed his erection thrusting into her buttocks. Without success. Not when he had his mouth covered with one hand while the other circled her waist in a steel grip. He moved his ghostly lips to the ear of his former teacher, feeling how his fangs grew in his mouth.

“Do you remember me, professor?”

Her tremulous breathing and the frantic manner in which she moved in his arms, trying to break free in vain, was like a shot of Viagra directly to his ghostly cock.

Well, well. It seemed that, that night he would try more than one thing to do with his new body...

It was fucking great getting back in the game.

* * *

The following night…

“Where the fucking hell are the lessers in this city? “ Qhuinn kicked the metal lid of a trashcan, which was lost with a racket between the garbage of the alley full of graffiti, scaring several cats.

“The million dollars question” Xhex looked with half shuteyes over her shoulder to the abandoned building they had just checked in a hurry.

In vain. Like everything else they had done in the past three months.

“It’s as if they have been abducted. “ Blaylock sighed and took his cigarettes out of his leather coat while John walked out of the side door of the building in ruins and they walk out of the alley, towards the road that ran parallel to the right bank of the Hudson.

Qhuinn looked at the redhead with a frown, suppressing the impulse to tell him to throw the fucking cigarettes in the river. Blay lit a cigarette and exhaled into the air of the night, contemplating the desolated landscape. The river was like a humidifier, spreading putrid moisture in the already filthy sticky atmosphere in the month of July.

As if they haven’t enough reasons to be in a lousy mood.

"I'm going to tell Wrath that we haven’t found anything," signed John prior to getting his Blackberry and beginning to text.

“This is going to be hard if we don’t found them”. Qhuinn said putting his hands through his hair until he managed to make it look like a schizophrenic Hedgehog. “Let’s hope that the Brothers had better luck tonight.”

“If that were the case, we would already know.” Xhex, as always, got the realistic comment fucking with his illusion for a fight.

What happens when highly aggressive vampire warriors have three dry months? Daily fights. Goddamn awful moods. Lack of control. Arguments about who finished the coffee that turned into fistfights.

God, the atmosphere in the mansion could be cut with a scalpel.

Since that son of a bitch of Lash had been sent to the Other Side and the Brothers had lost that junkie who seemed to be the new Forelesser, they hadn’t found a single clue to those undead. Nothing.

The Brothers said that the war had highs and lows, moments of calm between the storms. It had been so for a millennium. The junkie, or another Forelesser, if the Omega had gotten tired of his face, would seek new recruits, there would be new inductions, they would rearm and then they would go in search of vampires.

That is what they all say but, for the moment, none of that had happened. Or they hadn’t found out yet.

[pic]

“We have searched all the houses on this side of the river", John frown, "the Brothers have gone through gyms, farms and shitty apartments. Where the fuck had they gone?”

“Maybe they have left Caldwell.” Xhex and John exchanged a look and the female shrugged. “It’s already happened before. The war hasn’t always been fought here. “

“But the Brotherhood is here” Qhuinn played with the heel of his New Rocks against the asphalt. “The lessers won’t win the war if they don’t finish with them.”

Xhex sighed strongly while Latin music bore on a radio carried by a group of gang members broke the night.

“Maybe the rules have changed. Maybe they are no longer worried about the Brotherhood.” She drew all three head. “You yourself found a lesser months ago who shot with humans nearby. And when we finished Lash it was in a shootout with humans.”

Qhuinn looked at her a moment then clicked his tongue, with a "maybe" without words. John’s eyes deviated to his shellan as soon as she said that name and narrowed. Yeaaaaaah… Air sirens. Instincts of a bonded male ready to attack.

Shit, he liked to see his colleague like that. Protective of his female - although his female so didn’t need it- confident and grown-up. Being accepted and loved by whom you never thought she would, did wonders to a male.

At that moment, he turned to Blay. The redhead was still smoking in silence, his blue eyes fixed on a group of figures that approached the building that they had left.

“What do you say, Blay?”

His friend shrugged and spoke without looking at him. For a change.

“No idea. We’ve had little time in the war; we have to trust the experts”.

Qhuinn frowned and took a step to put himself in front of Blay.

“Could you give your opinion?” And could you fucking look at me this time.

“I just gave it. I don't know.” He turned off the cigarette against a wall and saved the butt. “At least, the glymera and the civilians are returning. That’s good. The Brothers will start the training program again and so they’ll have something with what to amuse themselves. And my parents arrive today.

His blue eyes undertook a tour of the environment, avoiding Qhuinn as if he were a black hole.

The blood boiled in his veins. He squeezed his fists, determined to plant himself in front of Blay, when John kicked the floor to draw their attention. He was fiddling with the phone.

"It's Wrath. He says we should return home. We have the rest of the night free. The Brothers haven’t found anything at the moment, still patrolling.”

“Shit” Xhex rested against what remained of a rusty car, arms crossed over her chest, observing out of the corner of her eye the group that was approaching. Directly towards them. “Problems”.

Qhuinn, John, and Blay turned their heads toward the humans in unison. Uh-uh. Black and golden caps, bandanas, wife beaters, pendants like from a junkyard, loose-fitting jeans… and judging by how several of them had their hands in their pockets, knives or guns.

All of them were Latin but not all of them were kids; many seemed to have quite a few years living on the streets.

“What shit is this Yankee garbage doing in our area?” The guy in the front, a man with tattooed arms, pointed them out with his chin while his partners clashed knuckles.

“Let’s fucking go. We don’t need problems with humans.” John started back down the alley.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going, fagots?” It was a heavy Latin accent.

Qhuinn clenched his jaw and forced his feet to keep moving away from the group instead of fucking them up just for being assholes. It seemed that those twenty individuals belonged to one of the various Caldwell street gangs. Hustling drugs in the parks, stabbings at the exits of High Schools, illegal brothels in shit motels, blood in the streets by fights between rival gangs … all that was part of the misfortune of being the fucking backyard of New York, where ended all the garbage that the Big Apple managed to sweep away.

They had already left several buildings without fucking inspecting them because some gang had already claimed them as their particular lair. Holy shit. At least, the lessers had never been interested in infiltrating with that type of human, according to the Brothers.

They quickened their step towards the alley while the gang was coming after them.

“Iron Mask. I want to talk to the Shadows.” Xhex disappeared in the air and John went after her.

Nobody asked him, what for? He was glued to John’s ass, so he would go where his protected went. The ability to decide where to direct his molecules had been lost months ago, the moment he sliced Lash’s throat.

And nobody asked Blay if he was also joining them because it was assumed that he would go where he went. But, when Qhuinn turned towards the redhead, his friend was planted in the alley, undecided.

“Hey Blay, aren’t you coming?”

Are you going to avoid me another fucking night?

Blaylock frowned, with his faced turned towards the humans, and then nodded. Reluctantly, it seemed to Qhuinn.

“Let’s go”.

When Blay dematerialized, Qhuinn couldn’t help but wonder if, in addition to his freedom, he had definitely lost something else.

Something that hurt so much more.

* * *

That would be the night that Carlos, otherwise known as Rey Sol, would regain his freedom.

Shit, it had been three fucking months living in a trailer, moving it from a dirty field to an abandoned parking lot behind a building in ruins. He even had to cover his beautiful car, with fluorescent bodywork, so that the fucking vampires wouldn’t find him.

Fuuuck. Three months ago, if someone had told him that vampires existed he would have thought that whoever had sniffed more coca than he had.

That had been until that Yankee son of a bitch, dress like a luxury fagot, had gotten him into the small adventure of “let’s yank out your heart and turn you into an undead and see how you progress in whatever Lessening Society killing vampires”.

Carlos made the engine purr a while before leaving the patch of wasteland, where he had parked the trailer, and headed towards the river district of Caldwell.

As if being a drug dealer, ranking lowest in the hierarchy of the big Latin band of the Almighty Kings and Queens -he crossed his fingers and kissed them, as a sign of respect- was not a sufficient condemnation.

He had been one of the legions of kids, children of drunken parents and abusers, who swarm the streets and, like all his colleagues in the neighborhood, had joined the gang. Union is strength. Only that, being a fucking Nobody, you had to begin by collecting dough for the AKQ by selling drugs sachets at Xtreme Park, where Lash had found him.

At first, as soon as the Omega had finished using him like his particular bitch, he had hated that shit Lash for putting him in such a trap. It just changed being at the bottom of one band to be so in another.

Until that well-dressed cocksucker Lash had done something that had displeased the Omega and the god had paid him with a kick in the ass. All of a sudden, Carlos had found himself as the head of the band of the undead.

Suck that, daddy, and you said that I would never amount to anything in life.

He had been elated; he had even brought the Omega a handful of his best friends, young kids in the lowest ranks of the AKQ, like him. Kids who were up to the balls trying to flee from the cops to bring money to the big band.

Buuuuut … the big, pale and Anglo-Saxon vampires existed and had torn his newly induced partners to pieces. He had narrowly escaped.

He stopped for a moment at the traffic light, with his skin crawling with anticipation, and then turned on the shit road that ran parallel to the Hudson River, towards the building in which the AKQ followers would meet that night.

With him as the Corona Suprema.

That is, with himself as the undisputed leader of the greatest Latin band in Caldwell which, in turn, was one more link in the great chain of the AKQ in the United States.

He smiled from ear to ear.

In three months, he had gone from being at the height of the floor in the band to sending his former boss to the bottom of the Hudson River with a shot to the forehead and a stone tied to his feet. Of course, when you are stabbed and shot and you don’t die, you begin to earn the respect of the veterans. The Corona of New York had sent him personally his congratulation as new leader of the Latin in Caldwell, assuring him that he had won the name of Rey Sol.

After all, he was going to be the one to give them the necessary power to fucking finally prevail over the Bloods, the shit gang of African-Americans who believed that had the right deal with drugs and weapons in the industrial area of Caldwell.

Man, they were going to be soooo surprised when they saw that the Latin couldn’t die.

Well, there was that small thing of fighting against the vampires, of course. He couldn’t take the toughest guys in the gang to the Omega to be turned into lessers and then explain the god that he was organizing a civil war between gangs, the most brutal that Caldwell had ever seen, and then tell him to stick those hateful vampires up his ass.

Nope, no one was saying that to the Omega.

But Car… the Rey Sol, was no dickhead. No, he would tell the Omega that, if he wanted to win his stupid war, he needed a large army, big and with dough. And the AKQ were the ideal troop… as long as they took the Bloods out. If they were able to, the Omega could have literally hundreds of lessers on the streets of Caldwell that would control the trade of drugs, arms and part of the prostitution of the city.

There wouldn’t be vampires that could compete with them.

Because there would be so many lessers that they would win by numerical superiority and he wouldn’t have to do anything more than sit on the wads of cash. The fact that he was stinking like a dead rat and that his cock no longer got hard seemed like a small price to pay for a future like that.

He parked the car on the ground floor of the building. The think was nothing more than the skeleton in ruins of an office block that was never finished and now it was one of the meeting places for the Latin. With a very interesting spacious basement for a massive induction ceremony… say, two dozen lessers. To begin with.

The Rey Sol got out of the car, relocating the black and gold hat with the brim to the left, making the chains jingle on his emaciated chest. A tattoo with the ALK letters on three points, forming a crown, could be seen in his chest over the loose-fitting white T-shirt he was wearing. He bumped fists with his second in command, Felipe, while the Latin who had been smoking crack in a small group approached them.

They would need lots of that shit to have the courage to stand in front of the Omega.

“Any problem, hermano?” The Rey Sol put his hands on his hips, gazing at his future army from underneath his cap.

Felipe spat the liquorices he had been chewing.

“Nope. A few white shits sneaking through the alley. They were with a girl, looking for a place to fuck her. They left quickly.”

“Ok, I’m going to the basement. When everything is ready, I’ll call you.”

He lifted the rusty iron lid, which gave access to the basement, with one hand and the future-next lessers nodded, appreciating his strength. He went down the wooden stairs dropping into the basement.

At some point in the darkness, with the smell of rotten moisture, already awaited something that would give nightmares to all the Goth shits in the city but that was going to turn him into an authentic king of the streets.

* * *

The Iron Mask was the usual dark lair where the Gothic teenagers out of fashion magazines mingled with the authentic tough guys from the suburbs, survivors of the 80’s with their gray beards, thin ponytails and The Cure T-shirts. It looked like an island of bodies in motion, in black and white, dotted here and there by waitresses with skirts so short that it seemed that they were made with the same amount of fabric of a glove, the professionals that Trez and iAm kept to entertain the customers.

Rammstein playing loudly through the speakers was the definitive point to make that hovel moneymaking machine into one of the Brothers’ favorite places.

Blay wondered, for the umpteenth time, what the fuck was he doing there.

Mmmm… Not many jazz lovers in IM. The clientele wasn’t exactly the type of people with whom he felt comfortable and the fact that the waitresses showed so much every time they served him a Corona wasn’t helping either. But, even so, there was something in the Iron that made him feel at home. Who knew…

“I need a drink.” Qhuinn moved through the crowd, directly to the Brotherhood table, as if he had been born in that club. The people simply parted at his every step and then regrouped again. Like the fucking Red Sea.

Blay managed another small step towards his personal realization when he set his eyes on John instead of on Qhuinn’s broad back in front of him.

“Are you going to talk to Trez and iAm?” John signed towards his shellan.

“Yes. They also have ears on the streets. More than us living in the mansion and I want to know what shit is going on out there.” Xhex leaned towards John, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Come with me?”

Please say no, please…

“Of course.”

Shit.

“Do you want me to go?” Qhuinn got up from the leather seat where he had sat, willing to be John’s Siamese brother wherever he went.

Yes, yes, yes…

“There’s no need, you know we’re in the Shadows office and they don’t share with anyone else.” John put his hand on his shoulder and on Qhuinn’s to get their attention. They both looked at John. Neither looked at the other. “Relax for a while, true?”

Yeah, of course. John seemed ready to ruin his night. Because if there was something that Blay had been avoiding like the plague for the past three months it was being alone with Qhuinn. And, until now, he had been able to achieve it.

The dark haired dropped back into his seat, moving all the way to leave him room. Blay noticed him glancing out of the corner of his eye and made serious effort to concentrate on the black glassy table, on the drumming of his fingers and on the bodies moving within the fog of the club. His tendons were in knots and he had stomach spasms. He wished he could leave, but until John and Xhex returned with what the Shadows had said, he couldn’t.

He was a warrior, not a girl that blushed because she was sitting three feet away from her ex-love.

Qhuinn cleared his throat, meaning that he was about to say something, when one of the waitresses, Gina, approached them almost levitating. Blay could smell the pheromones coming off her. Here was a female that all three had been with, something that he damn well didn’t want to remember. Not because the woman was a professional or because it would have been particularly unpleasant -not more than with any other female- but because he had fucked her along with…

“Qhuinn, I’m so glad to see you.” Wow, he didn’t know that humans could purr. Gina smiled, showing the whitest teeth between red lips, and swayed her hips with the tray in one hand. As if she had just realized a fly fluttering, she turned to him. “Blay…” a tenth of a second later, she returned her eyes to the dark haired, “The same as always or do you want something… special?”

“As always, baby.”

That really was a surprise. Qhuinn must be really impatient for Xhex and John to get information from the Shadows not to slip into the backrooms and enjoy Gina’s invitation. The woman made a face but turned with another sway of the hips towards the bar. Blay sighed. The story of his life. Qhuinn appeared in a place and it was as if switching on a spotlight on top of him; everything that he had on his side remained in darkness.

“It’s the first time in months that you come out with us. What shit have you been doing?”

Blaylock did everything possible to conceal his rigid body. He shrugged, gazing towards the human clientele in the IM while the loud music played in his head. Long ago, Qhuinn wouldn’t have to ask, the two would have spent every waking hour together. Now… well, now speaking seemed to violate some unwritten rule and although that was the path he had chosen, he had to admit… it stung a little.

“Helping Marissa in the Safe Place.” He replied hoping he wouldn’t have to be closer to Qhuinn to respond.

“What did you say?!”

Shit, Qhuinn turned in his seat towards him, inclining his head to try to hear him over the loud screams that were coming from the speakers. They were two inches away. If Blay had been tense before, now he would end up with muscle contractions when he became like a stone. He inclined imperceptibly towards Qhuinn’s opposite side.

“Helping Marissa!” He repeated, raising his voice without looking at him.

There was no reason to feel uncomfortable, they were just talking.

Only… talking.

“Is it true that you’re a blood donor for her females?” He could feel Qhuinn’s eyes on him and he diverted his to follow Gina, who was approaching their table with a beer and a long glass.

“Yes. There are more than twelve females and few male volunteers to feed them.” That waitress could move faster? “They’re also wary; Marissa was looking for male donors that wouldn’t make an impression”.

“Well, she was wrong, you’re quite impressive.”

Blaylock cursed quietly all his redheaded ancestors from the first to the last when he noticed that heat he hated crawling up his cheeks. He had forgotten what it was like to talk to Qhuinn. He was very capable of mixing sensual insinuations towards him and fuck anything with a hole that passed by the next second. He linked his hands on the table. With force.

Long ago, such a comment would have been enough to renew his unrequited love for the male, while Qhuinn would forget the effect that his words provoked in the next heartbeat. It would have been enough to give him hope.

Now, no more. Now he knew that those words didn’t hide suppressed desires for him, it was simply the way Qhuinn spoke. Enough of seeing connections and second readings were there weren’t. He was no longer interested.

“I don’t scare the females. That’s why I volunteered.” He murmured.

“Here we go, guys.” Gina inclined to put the drinks on the table,a glass of Tequila for Qhuinn and the Corona for him. Her breasts almost fell out of the tiny top she wore, offering herself to his friend like a self-service buffet.

“Thanks, beautiful.” Qhuinn pulled out his wallet, a couple of bills and put them in her cleavage. “Here’s to you”.

Blay rolled his eyes. The dark-haired hadn’t changed at all. And that caused him a mixture of bitterness and satisfaction that he didn’t want to examine. Gina winked and moved away as if she had a sign that said ‘look at my ass, Qhuinn’. Blaylock got his beer and took a long gulp while he watched his phone on the table.

“Are you expecting a call?” Qhuinn’s tone was like ice.

“My parents. They are moving into their new home today. I promised to help with boxes if I had time.”

It seemed that Qhuinn sighed in relief but, because of the roar of the music, he couldn’t swear it.

“I can lend you a hand when John returns home.”

Of course. Blay squeezed his eyes for a moment. Qhuinn was always the first to jump head first into the sea to rescue someone in distress without giving it much thought or expecting a ‘thank you’. It was the way he was. Always the first to help. And that was one of the reasons for… He shook his head.

“There is not need. We will cope.” More with the whispering.

“Yeah…”

The hurt in Qhuinn’s tone helped for his muscles to become more rigid. It had been a bad idea to come to the IM; he should’ve gone for a walk to pass the time until his parents called him. Only that would’ve looked a lot like fleeing and there was no longer a reason to do so. Right?

While he remained with his eyes on the reflections on the table, caressing his beer with a finger, Qhuinn sighed loudly and turned in his seat, with his whole body towards him. Looking at him.

“Blay…”

Oh-oh. That tone of ‘I’m going to say something that is going to break the status quo’.

The screen of the blessed phone came to life and the cell buzzed on the table when it received a message.

“Sorry.” Blaylock almost throw himself on top of the thing. “It’s my parents, they have arrived. Say goodbye to John and Xhex for me, ok? I’ll see you in the mansion.”

“Hey…”

He didn’t stay to hear what Qhuinn had to say. Or finish his beer. He just put his phone into his pocket and got up from the table in silence, quickening his pace in the direction of the door to avoid humans, with the feeling that someone had put a bag on his head and he was lacking air.

New decision, added to the ones that he made all those weeks ago: never to remain alone with Qhuinn, despite the fact that he had got over it.

Then why did he feel like every step that he took to be away from him was like fitting a new little piece to the mask that he wore?

Shit, he needed to see his parents. At least he could be himself with someone in the whole damn universe.

* * *

Ah, that was like being himself again…

“I would offer you a cigarette, teacher, but with your new nature your lungs don’t function. What a pity.” He thought aloud, before getting up from the mattress and turning towards the female ex-vampire, actually female lesser-vampire… or something like that. He led his hands to his crotch, satisfied with being able to touch what was there, in spite of it being a shadow, and noticed it sticky after giving it good use. “At least, we know that there is something in my nature that still functions.” He bent down towards the terrified female. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have fantasies about your students…”

He laughed when the female went back to whimpering, trying to wrap herself up in an old blanket. How damned good it was to go back to fucking and drinking blood. It felt like if he had shot up heroine: full of strength and power. By way of proof, he turned his hand with palm facing up and conjured some of his energy; straightaway, rays emerged from the tip of his fingers, ready to send to the coffin any dickhead that got in his way.

“God, I love this, don’t you?” He spun under the fluorescent light as if it were a scene from ‘Singing in the Rain’, and directed a mischievous look to his female, curled up in the mattress.

His first female. Because now that he had successfully turned a female vampire into a female lesser, he was thinking of creating a whole larder. It was something else he learned after all those months in the nothing; if your power depends on you being well feed, you should have reserved menus stored in different locations, for if one dies or your enemy finds it. So his professor was going to be the first of a few.

And turns out that there was a refuge where more than a dozen female vampires that no one gave a shit about entered and left. Low classed females, beaten by their husbands, without a family, to whom Marissa was giving a second chance.

The perfect self-service for him.

He would keep Martha -was that her name?- there, in the basement of the Lohstrong mansion, wrapped in his particular invisible capsule. And he would be enabling other hiding places for his females as soon as the guy he had there, invisible and hibernating since three months ago, woke up.

Something that he was going to do right n…

Something filtered through his senses, like a shook.

He frowned with his nonexistent brow and silenced the female’s moans with a slap to her face, concentrating on finding the source of the disturbance, like a fucking Jedi Knight.

The Omega.

In some place in the city, the Omega had materialized and had left a trace in the form of an enormous emanation of his power.

A mass induction?

It was possible; his father had always liked the big productions. Well, well, well… he was going to find out where he was and what he was planning that shitty Forelesser.

While he forced his molecules to lose density, becoming invisible to leave the mansion and wonder the streets, he thought that he needed to get a suit. Some old habits were hard to lose and going free balling, as damn hot as it was, couldn’t be considered elegant.

* * *

Blaylock took form between two streets, one block away from the address that his parents had sent him of their new home. He began to walk with his hands in his pockets, looking forward to entering the house and removing his leather jacket. Damn heat, but it wasn’t wise to walk through the streets in a t-shirt with two daggers crossed over his chest. And a gun under his armpit.

He stopped on the sidewalk. Shit, he should’ve gone to the mansion first to put on something more conventional. It was one thing for his parents to know about him fighting -and quite a few silent fights that they have had about it- and another that they saw him as a killer.

Too late, he was there now. The fault had been the damn rush to leave the Iron Mask. To flee from…

Nope, forbidden name.

He cursed quietly and walked in the light of the lamppost to the address indicated, where there was a moving truck. The house that his parents had bought to return to Caldwell after a year of forced exile, along with a large part of the glymera, was close to the city’s financial center. It was not the Victorian neighborhood, where the powerful vampire aristocracy lived, but a quite neighborhood where human marketing managers, advertising agents and executives of high standings lived with their families.

Blay stopped before the wrought iron fence, glancing at the house. Two stories, red brick façade, probably with a garden out back. Luxurious but without shrillness, perfect for his parents. Damn, how were they able to find this on the internet?

Two young men came out of the house and Blay stepped aside to let them get into the truck and get more boxes. At that moment, his father appeared in the threshold.

“Blaylock” He took the three steps with agility, opening his arms to welcome him, hitting his shoulders. “What a joy, son. We didn’t know if you would be able to come tonight, your mother will be happy.”

His tension eased at that moment.

“We finished quickly, I can help you with boxes” he smiled, watching the parade of packaging. “You had all this?”

“Let’s just say that your mother has acquired many more various objects for decoration during the time we were away.” Rocke put an arm around his shoulders, smiling behind his glasses, while escorting him towards the house.

Inside, it was as welcoming as it seemed on the outside. Wood panels to half height of the walls, parquet flooring, burnished lamps. His father led him to the dinning room, the largest room on the ground floor.

“Wow, it’s even furnished” Blay looked all around, taking note of the rugs, the pillows on the sofa and the glassy gallery, overlooking the quite street.

“Darling”. His mother stepped on the living room, wrapping him in her perfume at the same time her arms did, elegance personified in her black suit and red waves escaping from her hair due. “We have missed you, dear, are you eating well?”

“Mom, I’m not a child.” Blay laughed while pulling his mother’s arms from him. It didn’t matter that he was taller than her and that he looked like a wardrobe closet beside her; if he let her, she would continue tucking his blankets in before going to sleep. “I’m fine. Glad to see you”

Shit, it was good to be home.

Until his mother frowned and, without letting go, took a step away to look him up and down.

“What are you dressed as?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just finished patrolling and I haven’t been able to clean up.” Something changed in the atmosphere. “I’ll take my jacket and weapons off and I’ll help arrange things, alright?”

His mother pointed towards a chest in the farthest corner of the living room.

“Leave it all inside there, please. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Blay took off the jacket with his back to his parents, hiding the daggers from their sight. Silence. He unclasped the leather strap and the holster and placed them carefully in the chest, covering them with his folded jacket. When he closed the lid, staying in a short sleeved shirt and leather trousers, he felt as if he was enclosing a part of himself who his parents didn’t like; at least, not his mother.

Interestingly enough, despite having fewer things on, it felt as if he was carrying something heavy. Another piece of the mask. He forced himself to smile when he turned towards them.

“And how is Qhuinn doing?” his father smiled as he opened the seal of a box on the table in the dining room, with his still serious mother watching him.

The smile froze on his face.

“He’s fine.” Shit, it seemed that lately his answers had been reduced to less than three word sentences.

“I thought that he would’ve come.” Rocke started carefully taking out folded tablecloths and handing them to the family’s elderly doggen. “He always spent more time at our house than in the one he lived in”.

“He’s… working.” Another small amount of air escaped from his lungs.

“Is everything well, darling?”His mother placed a lock of hair behind his ear. “Have you fought?”

Damned maternal sixth sense. It was like an x-ray scanner.

“No, no, we haven’t fought” Each walking a different path and no longer speaking didn’t strictly mean they had fought. Blay watched the hustle and bustle around him and cleared his throat. “Where is your new job, dad?’

Rocke looked at him for a moment, over his shoulders, leaning on a box, but accepted the subject change. “Actually, ten minutes walk from here, it’s perfect. It is one of the few good things that the glymera has; it is like a social club of contacts”.

Blay frowned, without understanding, while moving heavy boxes to leave them on the table in the dining room to be able to open them.

“We had a Council meeting while in exile, Blay.” His mother pointed out while she carefully pulled porcelain from another box. “Many of the families have their own companies or, if not, contacts in high human circles. For the race to function, the nobles have to work, so we relocated”.

“In my case, they have granted me a transfer to the bank headquarters.” Rocke winked at him. “I’m responsible for the global markets surveillance. They like that somebody is willing to work at night to cover time zones differences.

Oh, of course. Blaylock had forgotten. The glymera was as a union of mutual solidarity. The nobles protected each other, they introduced their children to the other families, were given work, helped to find a home… provided that they lived according to their moral values.

Provided that it didn’t become public that you had a gay son.

Why the hell couldn’t he find a topic of conversation in which he was at ease, lately?

He pulled the boxes with the silver cutlery, reeling his brain to find some commentary that didn’t touch thorny issues.

“The house is beautiful, how did you find it?”

“Let’s say that it was a pleasure to help your parents…”

Blaylock was on the verge of dropping the box when he heard that soft voice in the most unexpected place in the world. He spun around coming face to face with Saxton, impeccable as always in an Armani summer suit, tan color, with a shoulder supported on the threshold of the dining room. Blond hair fell at the sides of his thin face; he had a private smile on his aristocratic lips and was holding a Dolce & Gabbana portfolio.

The image of what they had done the last time that they had been together under some bed sheets became enmeshed in a psychedelic cocktail with his mother, his father, Saxton in his house and Blay was about to turn from solid state to liquid by the surge of ‘oh shit’ he traveled through.

What if Saxton made some inappropriate comment? What if his parents realized that Blay was homosexual without him telling them first? What if they found out that the two were lovers? What if…?

Saxton came into the dining room without losing one iota of his professional air, left the portfolio on one of the chairs and extended a hand.

“Blaylock, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Robocop. Blay had become Robocop. He held the cutlery with one hand while he extended his right to his lover, narrowing his eyes briefly. Sax didn’t keep eye contact beyond what was proper.

“You know each other?” His father arched his eyebrow.

“Yes. We met a few months ago by chance.” Saxton was distracted opening his portfolio and taking several carefully arranged papers, as well as two gold pens, “I have brought you the original deeds of the house, so you can sign them.” He removed the covers off the pens and placed them next to the documents. “I have taken the liberty of marking where you are required to sign, so you won’t have to read all this boring lawyer talk, but it is going to take awhile.”

He smiled and Blay could see that he had won his parents full confidence. As he always did with almost everyone. His mother squeezed Saxton arm slightly while he held a chair for her to sit.

“Thank you for your efforts. If not for you, we would still be looking for a home.”

“It’s my job, Ma’am. I am glad you like it.

“Blay, dear, you have not yet seen the house. Saxton, would you mind showing him? You know it better than us.”

“With pleasure, Ma’am. “ Sax turned towards him, opening an arm in an elegant invitation. “Do let me join you, Blaylock?”

Surreal, that was surreal.

“Of course…”

Blay followed him up stairs, without paying one tenth of a second of attention to Saxton’s polite explanations on the year the house was constructed or the hardwood used in it. As soon as the tourist tour led them to the large room, which would be for his parents, he shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed in a more bitter tone than necessary.

Saxton’s smile became wider, his look warmer and he lost all professional air at once. He took his face in his hands, touching his lips in a quick kiss.

“Blaylock, please, first and foremost, relax. I will not do or say anything that will put you in an awkward position with your parents” He stroked his tight jaw with his thumbs. “As much as I regret that you do not show yourself openly with them, I would never harm you. I am here strictly for business. Your parents commissioned me to mediate to sell your old house and buy this when they came back to Caldwell. That's all. I thought to tell you but I was only contacted a little while ago.”

He stared at him a moment until Blay sighed, nodded and then grabbed his wrists to move away his hands.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you here.” He smiled a little. “You caught me by surprise, and my parents don’t know so… well…”

“That you are gay?” ended Saxton, with an arched eyebrow.

Another pending fringe. Blay felt that he couldn’t tack any of the issues that prevented him from walking through life with his head held high saying ‘yes, this is who I am and these are my circumstances’. He put his hands into the pockets of his leathers and shook his head. Saxton pressed a hand to his cheek.

“Don’t ruin this reunion with your parents for that. And I would not mention it again, clearly now is not the appropriate occasion.”

Blessed be the sixth sense of his lover to find what to say at every moment. Blay smiled a little.

“So this” he moved an arm to cover the house “is what had you so busy lately?”

Saxton’s laughter was like tinkling bells.

“Oh, Blaylock, if it was only your parents home!” he wandered around the spacious room to the door that would lead to a small balcony. “Since the glymera declared, a couple of months ago, that the risk of lesser attacks in Caldwell was virtually non-existent, families have put the real estate market upside down.”

Blay followed him, breathing the night’s breeze.

“They all want new homes to return here, don’t they?”

That had been the King’s, advice. Since they had killed Lash and practically dismantled the Lessening Society, except to that kid who commanded it, life had been usually peaceful. The glymera, dispersed throughout the East Coast, wanted to return to Caldwell but, as a simple matter of caution, Wrath had advised them to move into new houses. They didn’t know how many old addresses Lash knew and if he could have given those to the new Forelesser. It was better for families who could afford it to start from scratch in new homes.

Everyone needed a lawyer who was in charge of the property transfer. Deeds. Buying and selling. And there were not many fanged lawyers who were familiar both to human laws and the race’. Saxton shrugged with a smile.

“I’m not complaining. It means more work for me. Although…” he lightly stroked his hand with his fingertips “…nothing could prevent me from enjoying your free night.”

Blay imperceptibly looked towards the closed door of the room before returning the caress.

“Want to do something special?”

“Mmm… I know a nice club with live music. What do you say?”

“Sounds like a plan, it’s not Iron Mask?”, he joked. “My ears still hurt after tonight.” Blay made a face.

Saxton, always so clever, shot him a look out of the corner of the eye between his fair-haired eyelashes.

“You’ve gone back to that place? I thought that you didn’t like it. It’s has been months that you haven’t been there.”

‘That place’ as a synonym for ‘pigsty’, was clear. And as a synonym for territory of you-already-know-who. Blay shifted.

“It has only been for work. Information. Things for the Brotherhood.” he muttered.

“I am glad to hear it. On the other hand…” Saxton approached him, emanating warmth and scent of cologne. He threw his arms around his waist to support his hands dangerously close to his ass and talked against his ear “…I must admit that your patrolling clothes brought out my… ghoulish instincts.”

Blaylock huffed while putting his hands on his chest.

“Tell that to my parents, if you would have seen the face of…”

“Blay? Saxton? We’re finished.”

His father’s voice on the other side of the door was about to make him jump up to the roof. He eased himself from Saxton, keeping and distance from him, and put his hands in his pockets as if the fucking things had ‘guilty’ written in marker. Judging by the rumbling of his heart and the heat he felt, he knew that his red-haired genes were about to proclaim his discomfort directly on this cheeks. He had time to see the hurt expression on his lover’s face before his father opened the door.

“Oh, hello, you’re here.” Rocke smiled. Just a little. “Saxton, you have all the papers signed. Did you like the house, Blay?”

“It’s beautiful.” He muttered with a dry throat.

Saxton walked to his father, all Ally McBeal lawyer again.

“I’ll send you copies of the deed as soon as I have them signed by the notary, Sir. However, now you can be considered legally new owners.”

Blay followed his father and Saxton down the stairs, crestfallen. They shook hands, exchanged papers and Blay’s mother smiled from ear to ear. For some reason. Blaylock was put on red alert.

“Saxton, we are very thankful for your quickness. We would like to open the house, perhaps with a meal or snacks on the terrace to enjoy the views. Nothing too formal, just the family” She shrank her shoulders, disdaining the habitual rigidity of that type of occasions. “Of course, it would be a pleasure that you joined us.”

What? Blay turned to his mother with his eyes like saucers. Oh, no, no, no. Hetero parents, plus closet gay son, plus gay confessed secret lover was not a good combination.

“It will be an honor, Madam.” Saxton deployed all his range of charms, putting his hand to his heart and doing a small reverence. “You have my phone number. Only with a call you can be sure that I will come.”

Okay, I can do this. I can do this. They are only my parents and Saxton. I can do this.

Blay forced his nerves to return to their fucking position and he was about to achieve it.

Until his father opened his mouth.

“Sweetheart, why not also invite Qhuinn?” He gestured towards Saxton. “They are cousins, after all, and Blay and he can be practically considered brothers.”

“Of course!” His mother shone like the fucking rainbow. “Blay, dear, will you tell him or should I call him?”

His blood became ice in his veins and from Saxton’s stiff pose, his lover was the same.

“I don’t think that it’s a good idea. Qhuinn is… busy with John. He always has to watch him and…”

“Nonsense.” His mother rejected his excuse with a hand gesture. “You have a night off from time to time, right? I’m sure you can ask the King to give you both the night off. But if not, I’ll ask him. Either way, we have to get in touch with him to communicate him our new address, so it’s decided.”

Trap, trap, trap. There was no way that Blay would dissuade his mother’s from her fantastic plan without giving her more clues that sitting Saxton, Qhuinn and him at the same table was the easiest way to start a war on a large scale.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have yet to visit a couple of more houses tonight.” Saxton muttered.

“Of course, let me walk you out, so I will feel more like the Lady of the house.”

Blay kept watching his mother while she walked Saxton to the door, dodging boxes and transport porters, with the feeling that the rope that he seemed to have around his neck squeezed a bit harder. The two disappeared in the garden.

“He is a male of worth.” His father said, sitting on the soft sofas of the dining room with a gesture of satisfaction. “It’s a pity that he has those… tendencies.”

More. The knot of the rope became slightly tighter. He didn’t turn towards Rocke when he spoke.

“What do you mean? You seem quite fond of him”.

“Oh, and we are. He is an efficient and extremely polite young man. But that he has chosen that, um, you know… way is a pity for his family. They were expelled from the glymera, now they only have themselves to succeed. And their lineage will end with Saxton. The boy has condemned them to extinction by wanting to lead such a life.” he sighed with satisfaction. “Wow, these sofas are great. Your mother will love living here; it is much more welcoming than our old house.”

Blaylock turned his face towards the other side of the dining room so his father couldn’t see his expression.

“By the way, son. The glymera is organizing its annual summer dance.” Rocke tried to accommodate some cushions behind his back. “This year will be special, with the return to Caldwell. It will be a good time to… meet people of your own age. It’s time that you start to connect with someone other than with warriors; you’re going to forget how to wear a tuxedo.”

His father laughed, but the sound reached Blay’s ears distorted. Was it possible to suffocate without anyone strangling him? Because, shit, that was how he felt. He was thinking of what answer to give his father that was not a ‘leave me alone’ that the male didn’t deserve, when his cell rang in his pocket.

“Sorry.” Ke looked at the number before answering, Marissa’s private cell. “Yes, Marissa, hello…”

The female sighed on the other side of the line, as if she was stressed, tired, worried, or all three things at once. It was not surprising. Managing the Safe Place was a 24 hours a day, 365 days work. And not a walk between rosebushes.

“Blaylock, good evening. Sorry for calling you, it’s a bad time?”

She couldn’t have called in a better time.

“No, no. Tell me. Did something happen? A new admission?” God knew that he had left fired up more than once when a female whose hellren had mistreated her by having her locked up at home without feeding had arrived.

“It’s not that. Actually… I might be bothering you in vain”, there was an infant’s scream in the background and Marissa’s acute hasty footsteps. A door closing. “Sorry, the children are excited. You see, it’s about Martha.”

“Martha? The teacher?” Blay frowned, attracting the eyes of his father. The female had been his professor when he was a pretrans, like with half of the Nobles children. She had taken advantage of the glymera’s flight to give classes at the Safe Place that, probably, satisfied her more. “What has happened to her?”

“That’s what is worrisome, I do not know. Last night she did not come and today either.” He heard liquid being poured, perhaps Marissa was preparing a relaxing tea for herself. “Her hellren said that she left their home at the usual time, but she never came to the Safe Place. He knows nothing of her since then and she won’t answer her phone. It’s not like Martha, she has always been very reliable. And, certainly, would never leave for so long without her hellren know her whereabouts.” she sighed. “The children miss her and are shaken. You know how any change in their surroundings affects them. The truth is I don’t know what exactly you could do, Blaylock. I did not want to call the Brotherhood because I don’t know if this is one of their issues.”

No, in fact, it would be a matter for a civilian police force, as Marissa and he had been talking about countless times since he had begun to lend a hand in the Safe Place. The Brothers were warriors. They didn’t have the social skills and the minimum level of empathy that was required to mediate civil disputes. The race needed some guards, but didn’t have them.

“Don’t worry, Marissa.” Blay looked at his father. “I’ve finished patrolling this evening; I can take a look around Martha’s neighborhood. If I don’t find anything, I’ll comment it at the mansion. Send me the address.”

“Thank the Virgin. I’m grateful to you, Blay, I would do it myself, but I cannot be in more places at once.”

Yeah, sure, as if Butch would not cut off his balls if he ever found out that Blay had let the female play detective all alone out in the streets. They may not be together but the cop definitely had his eye on her.

“Your welcome, I’ll call you if anything.” He hung up and turned towards his father. “I know that I promised to help with the boxes, but…”

Rocke shook his head at his grave expression.

“Do not even apologize. Go help were you can. You don’t only help the race by fighting with the Brotherhood.”

True. Very true.

* * *

Certainly, the fucking tequila didn’t have enough alcohol proof to calm the nest of vipers that he had as nerves lately.

Qhuinn drank his forth dose of Herradura and crashed the glass on the table with more force than necessary, alone at the Brotherhoods table in Iron Mask. John and Xhex were still locked in the Shadows’ office and, no matter how much he more or less got along with the pair of assassins, Trez and iAm did not share their secrets with anyone except with their ex boss and her hellren. Ashtrux nostrum his cock; in the IM, they set the rules. And John would be safer in that fucking office with three assassins than with anything he could offer him.

He began clattering with his foot on the floor, nervously, and rubbing his palms on his leather pants while looking at the seat beside him, empty, and the half drank Corona that Blay had left.

As much as it fucking pissed him off, he had to admit that, although it had been the first time in three months that the redhead had gone to get a drink with them, it couldn’t be considered as progress. Blay had only accompanied them in case the Shadows had any useful information for their work and left as soon as he had and excuse.

On a scale of 1 to 10, Qhuinn was finding it difficult to pick what was fucking with him more, in that moment.

That John didn’t really need a shit from him in terms of protection, making very clear that his 24/7 job for life was only a strategy to save his own skin, because his friend was a more than competent warrior that was mated with a female who had centuries of killing. I made him feel like a useless housewife.

That his best friend had slammed the door in his face when he had offered to help his parents, who, by the way, had been the closest thing that Qhuinn had had to a real family.

That Blay would not speak to him, that he would not look at him, that there was a world of a distance between them despite the fact that their arms were touching.

That everything had been his fault.

The black hole with teeth that was permanently in his chest gnawed a bit more at him. Shit, one day everyone would wake up and find that that black hole of misery had devoured Qhuinn completely. The question was, would anyone care?

Gina made another walk of exhibition six feet in front of him and Qhuinn pursed his lips. There was the type of people that were interested in him or, rather, in his cock. Fast, forgettable screws that, until now, had provided him the appropriate dose of ‘someone is looking at me and touching me, so I’m not a ghost’, and now they were making the fucking hole bigger. Seeing John happy with Xhex and knowing that Blay had moved on with his life, leaving him with his anonymous fucks, made him more aware that he had cold pizza as a substitute for a hot dinner.

He was as pathetic as he had been his whole life.

But it was the only thing that he had to make people see that he was not alone, the only lie he could console himself with. So when Gina sent him a look over her shoulder, he stood up and pulled up his leathers.

John chose that exact moment to exit the Shadows office, with Xhex saying goodbye to her colleagues. Damn his time. He couldn’t even decide when to fuck. John looked at him and then towards the pro, who walked away with a grimace of flirtatious disappointment.

“I just fucked up your plans, right?”

“Yeah, it’s not like she was the princess of the ball at midnight. She’ll be here tomorrow.” Just like him. Drinking.

“Xhex and I can have a couple of drinks to give you time.”

Yep, great, just what he needed. His protegé doing him a favor by counting the minutes while Qhuinn exercised his cock.

“There’s no need. I‘ll just jerk off at home.”

“Where’s Blay?”

“Went crazy. His parents arrived today to their new home. Moving. Boxes. You know.”

John’s look told him that his friend was not stupid and hadn’t bought it. Time to lead their little talk to something more useful.

“Shadows have anything?”

John made a face of annoyance before beginning to sign. “Nothing concrete on lessers. Not a single clue. Just things about Caldwell‘s underworld.”

Underworld, his specialty.

“Spit it out”.

John shrugged, while Xhex stood next to him studying the crowd with the same look as when she was head of security.

“Trouble with gangs. Many of their girls”, he nodded towards several prostitutes that alternated in the club, “live in low laying areas of Caldwell, controlled by human gangs. It’s been several times that either Trez or iAm have had to pick them up at their homes so they could get here in one piece.”

“Why?”

“Because the gangs are fighting over them.” Xhex intervened. “The girls that work here are quality material and the gangs want them for their brothel shit. They think that whores are not protected by anyone. They threaten and extort them so they will be at their service. Then another gang threatens them so they leave and join them. A vicious circle. The two major gangs in Caldwell have become quite active in this regard lately.”

“And are we interested in that?” Qhuinn crossed his arms over his chest, sweating under his leather coat.

“Not at first sight” John began to walk towards the door somewhat turned so he could track the movement of his hands. “Since we don’t have shit on the lessers, everything we know about the streets count. Maybe putting together something from here and there we find some clues.”

“The Virgin hears you.” Qhuinn moved his neck, popping the vertebrae.

Because if he could not vent by slashing some lessers throat, things were going to get real fuck up with what was left of his mental stability.

* * *

Well, well. The precarious stability in the streets of Caldwell was going to blow up, it seemed.

After leaving his female in the basement of the Lohstrong mansion, he walked to the streets completely invisible, following the Omega display of power to a run-down building on the banks of the Hudson, in the river warehouse district.

Imperceptible, he had slipped inside of the building, passing between the small groups of Latin gang members, all crack sniffers and potentially active offenders, attentive to their conversation. He had approached with all precautions, masking his presence in case the Omega was still around, when he had seen a group of new lessers coming out of what looked like an access to a basement, staggering with the black and gold windbreakers soaked in human blood and blackish oil.

Two dozen lessers.

Members of a human gang.

Organized, hierarchical and loyal to their leader who turned out to be… bingo, that scrawny urchin whom the Omega put in his place.

He receded a bit from the scene, assessing the new situation. He had to recognize that the kid, Carlos he thought was his name, had a brain. Or, at least, the kind cleverness that gives a life on the street. He didn’t know that he was a gang member when he had induced him, but he must have belonged to the lowest levels at the time.

Now he seemed to be the new leader of the gang, judging by how all those petty criminals formed a circle around him and the new lessers, offering their allegiance.

The bastard must have been climbing the scale for the control of the gang those last three months until taking over the leadership, and then offer the Omega an entire already formed army, used to working together and tightly bound. He didn’t know shit about human gangs, but it was common knowledge that groups had branches throughout the country.

The Omega had begun to create an unstoppable army.

Which had a good side: the Brotherhood would be swept off the map. And a bad side: it was impossible for him to face all of them and get the Omega off of Dhuhnd. He had to find a way to counter this new turn of events, to get rid of the Brotherhood and create his own troops.

“Listen to me!” The shitty kid had begun his speech of the night. “I am the Rey Sol” Really, the Sun King? “The dark god I serve has come to help us get the Bloods out of our city!” Screams and applauses. “We now have the power! We’ll take their territory , their neighborhoods, and their money.” Another round of screams. “We’ll be the most powerful Latin chapel in the US!” He held his hands high, making the sign of victory with his fingers “Long live to the Almighty Kings and Queens!”

Woohoo, long live…

If not because it would attract the attention of the Omega, he would have reduced them all to ashes right there.

So that was the kid’s plan. To turn all his followers into lessers in order to eliminate the rival gang and taking the city. Probably the Omega would be practicing inductions in groups until the whole fucking gang was lessers. And once they destroyed those Bloods, the AKG would turn towards the vampires, because the Omega would demand results when they were finished with their human wars.

He was going to have strange bed partners again, he decided while he retreated into the shadows.

* * *

“I’ve found no trace of her, Marissa, sorry.” Blay lit a cigarette with one hand while holding the cell with the other, in the shadow of the alley. “I’ve talked to her hellren. Martha left home last night and went to the garage to get her car. The male doesn’t know anything more and her car is still in there. I haven’t seen signs of a struggle or anything that can give us a clue. Her hellren keeps calling her, but there is no answer, nor has she been admitted at Havers clinic. Or she has left for some reason or… she has been taken.”

Marissa sighed on the other side of the line.

“All right. Thanks for you time, Blaylock. I will keep calling and will notify Havers to be on alert for if she is admitted.”

“Hey, Marissa, I’ll talk to Wrath tonight. If all the Brothers that patrol have her description it’s possible that we find her sooner or later.” Blay puffed deeply and exhaled, looking up and down the quite neighborhood. “I’ll stop by the Safe Place on my night off, okay?”

“Yes, please. We thank you. You already know how difficult it is to find donors.” He now noticed a smile in Marissa’s voice. “Ahna leaves tomorrow. Do you remember her? She has a baby girl.”

Blay had to smile.

“Yes, she was your second female allowed, right?” He remembered her. The female had been accepted after a brutal beating and had given birth to a baby girl two days later. That had been half a year ago and Blay had offered Ahna his vein several times since then.

“That’s it. We have found her work and an apartment. Also a babysitter that will help her with the child while she works. She is one of our first successes. We will do a follow up, but starting tomorrow she will be reincorporated into a normal life, will you come to see her off?”

“Count on it. See you.”

Blaylock hung up the phone with a bittersweet feeling. Something bad could have happened to Martha, but the next night a female who had gone through hell was starting a new life. Bridging the gap, he could very well understand that situation. One could say that he had begun a new life three months ago.

He began to walk on the sidewalk, smoking calmly, instead of materializing back to the mansion. Because he needed to breath fresh air, not because he didn’t want to bump into someone. Although, probably, Someone was between the legs of a certain blond whore at the Iron Mask.

And it’s not that it mattered to him.

He had left behind that unproductive obsession of years thanks to willpower, to killing himself working every night and to Saxton. And he didn’t know in what order.

It had not all been bad since he had made the healthy decision to go ahead with his life instead of agonizing waiting for something that was never going to come. Normally, it was said that to overcome an unrequited love, the best remedy was to put space between them. Which, in his case, was difficult as hell. Someone lived in the room next to his. They worked in the same field and team. They had a fucking best friend in common.

So, that had been the trick. Not look him in the eyes. Never.

And putting as much space as possible with him by refusing to have drinks at the IM if it was not strictly for work. And, if John tied them up for the three to sit at the same table, Blay would drink his beer without looking up and then go.

Fleeing? Mmm… more like strategic retreat.

In fact, he was so busy patrolling and helping in the Safe Place that the occasions in which the three could coincide in a free-action situation could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Being a donor had happened by chance, after hearing a comment from Butch on the problems that Marissa had to feed the females. She was looking for male volunteers who didn’t look like psychotic killers to be able to offer their vein to the admitted, and Blay found a new cause to which enlist.

Living by his complex of ‘I need someone to need me, so I won’t feel like a ghost again’.

What had begun as a way to stay busy outside the mansion for a longer time, -fleeing?- had morphed into a source of satisfaction and projects. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on a trashcan and walked with eyes lost in the lights of downtown skyscrapers in the distance.

He liked taking care of others, it was second nature to him and, according to Marissa, despite being a closet of muscles, he transmitted sweetness. The thought made him uncomfortable as hell but the truth was that the females trusted him. Assisting the Brotherhood was also helping the race, yes, but more… indirectly. The Brothers were assassins for a good cause that rarely related to civilians and, although Blay wanted to fight, he had more satisfaction dealing directly with those they protected.

Butch had told him once, talking about everything, that Blay had a cop inside. He didn’t know if it was true, but the race needed a civilian police force that was dedicated, with a controlled use of force, to prevent domestic abuse, child abandonment, extortion of the nobles to civilians indebted… the list was endless. The Brothers stabbed hearts, not mediated between two parties trying to implement the law and reserving force as the last resort.

He sighed as he walked, glancing a sleepless human that peeked out from the window of his home, fanning himself in search of freshness.

And there was… Saxton. If Blay had to define him in some way, it would be as a tourniquet, someone who had stopped his particular hemorrhage of self-esteem. Not only had he given him the first time that anyone would want… also many more since then.

It’s not that they had a normal relationship. They saw each other on Blay’s free night, which was only once a week. They would go to a restaurant, an elegant bar, a jazz or blues concert and they ended at Saxton’s home. Specifically, in the room. They never went out with friends, which was fine because, honestly, taking John and Xhex for drinks with Saxton would be like mixing wine and explosives. Opposite worlds. And Blay would never take Him. He neither had met Sax’s friends, so he imagined that the same was happening to him.

As for the sex… With Saxton, you couldn’t expect less than an hour. His lover would undress him slowly, like opening a gift. Each touch was sensual. He enjoyed exploring him, taking him to the limit and then relaxing and starting all over again. A lot of hand over skin, so much attention and care. And he also let himself be touched.

Which was… nice?

Just as Blay had… hoped?

Someone that was aware of him, that looked at him and saw him, that took pleasure in caressing him, that wouldn't ignore him in favor of others, that wouldn't him one moment and ran away the next as if he had the plague, leaving him with his self-esteem in tatters and with undeserving guilt.

Yes, precisely. Saxton never hurt him; never put him in a difficult situation.

Their relationship was easy. Painless. Manageable.

Blay stopped at a small viewpoint over the river and rested on the metal railing, contemplating the night. He had a job, projects, a lover and dignity, what more could he ask for?

Then, whispered a small voice in the back of his mind, why can't you sleep cuddling Sax after having sex?

And why, when you lay in bed after having been with him, do you stare at the ceiling for hours?

He frowned. Because it was his first relationship and he was still adjusting to it. That’s why. Of course.

And now his parents had made him nervous as hell by placing him in front of a mirror to see all the loose ends his life had. A dinner with his parents, Saxton, and Him. Shit. His mother getting upset again about the fighting. Twice shit. Or his father, who he never believed had prejudices, raising an eyebrow because Saxton was gay. Great.

Blaylock remained at that viewpoint for a long while, wondering why the breeze that had begun to blow along the river could not dispel his breathlessness.

* * *

Suffocating…

As soon as his boots set foot in the colorful mosaic foyer of the mansion, Qhuinn had the same feeling that he did every night. The walls and ceiling were moving on hydraulic plates, locking him in, crushing him. He gasped for air to deal with the long hours of the night that still lay ahead, plus the even longer hours of the day.

Because the Virgin knew that he hadn't shortened the account of hours of sleeplessness very much lately. Since when he didn't get to sleep all the day long?

“Gentlemen, my lady. Lemonade to beat the heat?”

Fucking Fritz. The man seemed to get there on rails with a tray in hand, cheeks dancing with a smile and wearing his stupid white gloves. There were three lemonades on the tray. And he kept calling Xhex ‘lady’ without knowing that he was playing ass every time he did.

The female shot him daggers with her gaze and refused paint blank to drink anything. John thanked him before picking up his glass and Qhuinn thought that perhaps he was hydrated enough.

‘Thanks Fritz.’ The little man had of course learned sign language to conveniently serve his new Sir, so he followed John’s hands with interested eyes. ‘Have the Brother’s arrived?’

“Not yet, Sir. Can I get you a snack before Last Meal?”

“I’m going to shower.” Xhex rolled her eyes before climbing the stairs to the first floor. “John?”

‘Coming.’ He turned to Qhuinn, somewhat hesitant. ‘Sorry we came home so early and fucked up your night. Xhex has a session with Mary and I rather be here when they are done. It’s complicated.’

“No problemo, man.” He smiled. and empty one, as if it had been painted on his face, and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Go with your female. I think I’ll go kick something in the gym"

'Roger that'

Qhuinn stared at the stairs for a while after John and Xhex had walked down the hall on the first floor and the sound of their footsteps had died out. Fritz had disappeared, probably to make gallons of lemonade with straws for everyone. No Brother entered the foyer, no talk from the shellans.

Silence all around him.

The feeling was so stifling familiar that Qhuinn rubbed his chest, blinking.

The great mansion with beautiful colors, full of people who had their lives without him being a part of them even though they lived in the same space. Sounds, laughter and conversations around that didn't include him. The impression of being secluded in a beautiful scenery in which no one wanted to see him, looking at life through the glass of an aquarium, without participating…

He could go and seek any of the shellans. Or settle in the Pit and wait for V and Butch to see if they wanted to spend some time with him. Or…

That. He could try to put himself under the noses of others from them to see him and let him share a bit of their lives rather than be marginalized in a corner.

The colors of the mosaic floor blurred before his eyes when, for no reason, he recalled a scene from his childhood.

Qhuinn had spent hours in his room, scrambling to assemble the Lego model airplane that his father had brought him. The fact that he had remembered him with a gift was so exceptional that Qhuinn wanted to live up to the expectations. He wanted his father to be proud of him, to see that despite being a familiar stain, unworthy of being shown to others, he could indulge him in that little thing. He could assemble the fucking plane that his dad had brought him.

Little Qhuinn had dared to leave his room before Last Meal, against orders, specifically clear when there were visitors. He had almost fallen head first down the stairs in his haste to show his father that he could, that he had done well. To earn a smile and perhaps to sit with his family in the lounge for a while.

“Dad! Look, dad! I’ve done it!” He ran with the plane in his small hand, breaking into the room with his heart pounding.

It became silent around him.

It was like a picture perfect bourgeois. His mother with a cup of tea in hand, his father lighting the cigar of his noble guest. His sister’s hands over the keys of the piano and his brother standing behind the seat of his father, the worthy heir.

His father lowered the hand that was holding the lighter and turned in his direction, though his eyes didn’t look at him, slipping over his anxious figure to the doggen of the house.

“Return him to his room, please, you know what to do.” Lohstrong turned back to his guest, his mother’s brother, lighting his cigar, and smiled when the male exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Delicious, don’t you think? You were talking about Lash; he seems to be a very promising young boy.”

Qhuinn took the plane with all the strength of his small hands and silently followed the doggen to his room. When he entered, he threw the plane into the trash and sat on the bed with his hands between legs that didn't touch the ground.

“Your father made you the grace to buy those models to keep you entertained and not go down when there is guest.” The doggen informed without looking at him, having made the sign against the evil eye. “Since you had not been grateful, I will have to give them to your brother.”

Qhuinn didn’t say anything, only stared at the wall. Didn’t move when the doggen closed and locked his door, something that became a habit each time there were guests.

He remained sitting on his bed, watching the opposite wall and listening to the laughter and the music of the piano in the lounge, a life that he was not allowed to share. That was the last time that he tried to please his father in something, however insignificant. What for? He was shit, a monstrosity, someone not valid, and that’s what he would always be.

In the silence of his room, he wanted to scream, but he didn’t.

“Qhuinn? Are you ok?”

The soft female voice nearly gave him a tachycardia and he returned from his journey to the realm of memories with a start, blinking. Mary, Rhage’s shellan, seemed about to head to the kitchen from the stairs. Nalla whimpered in her arms, nibbling on her blouse.

“Hey, Mary.” He frowned, forcing himself back to Earth. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little… What’s wrong with Nalla?”

Mary cradled her a moment, tenderly kissing the soft fuzz on the crown of her head. Qhuinn felt a fucking lump in his throat like a pussy, without knowing why.

“Nothing serious, she is teething and has itchy gums.” The woman smiled a little above Nalla’s head. “I'm going to get the tethers that Fritz keeps in the freezer, to see if they comfort her. The heat doesn’t help either and I don’t want Bella and Zsadist to come back from their night out and find her upset".

“You’re babysitting?” Qhuinn slightly smiled as he approached the female.

“Yes, they have the right to go out a little when Z is out of rotation.” Nalla gave a moan and Mary whispered in her ear, cradling her in her arms. “Let’s see if I get her to sleep soon, I have a session with Xhex.

“She and John have already arrived. Hey, Mary you look good with a baby in your arms, you know.”

Oh, shit. His bad karma had played him another dirty trick. Because, instead of rejoicing, Mary’s whole face suffered a rapid decay, as if he had said she was suffering from a terminal illness or something. She looked down, pressing Nalla more to her chest and muttering under her breath as she passed quickly by his side.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked with open arms, thinking if he suffered any other divine curse saying the inappropriateness in the worst possible time.

“No… no, Qhuinn, nothing.” Mary looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m going to the kitchen, alright? Good night.”

Fuck. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. That was his second gift, in addition to getting people to exclude him, when it related to someone, he always fucked it up.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the pain.

A kind of cold cramping that swept him from head to tow by clicking the nerve endings, causing spasms that twisted his tendons. He hit his head against something hard while his eyes became blank, his limbs were shaking like snakes with epilepsy and he vomited spitted, biting his tongue.

When it was over, he gasped aloud and his lungs constricted for a moment to open, sucking in air. He felt the movements of his rib cage, up and down, and somehow managed to lift his arm to then drop it over his ribs. His heart was beating against the palm of his hand and so he knew he was alive.

But with a blank mind. Without memories.

He opened his eyes, the panic gnawing his guts and his vision clearing up, focusing on the light on the concrete ceiling. He turned his head to one side: steel shelves with neatly ordered boxes, covered with dust. A vintage vintner with dozens of bottles of wine and champagne. A washer and dryer, baskets on wheels for the laundry.

A service basement.

Something stirred in the confusion of his mind. The service basement of his home.

He leaned on his hands on the dirty ground, sitting as if a crane was pulling him up, painfully slow. His head spun around and it took him several minutes to overcome a wave of nausea. He finally did it, then glanced at his own body. He was wearing a blue silk robe and under it, pajama’s of the same material, he guessed. All stained with dried blood.

A lighting crossed his brain. Shattered memories were attracted to his mind, reconstructing the puzzle of horror.

His parents dried blood.

His sister’s.

From when the lessers had assaulted his house, slitting their throats in their room, leaving a trail of blood on the walls and floor, laughing as his family gurgled like pigs while they dismembered them and…

A gasp, from a living creature near him, pulled him out of his nightmare. Maybe they were alive, maybe his mother or his sister were.

He turned towards the sound. There was an old mattress in the corner of the basement and someone curled up there, covering herself with old blankets.

“Hello. Mahmen?”

He forced his legs to hold him and had to use some of the stacked boxes to reconcile with sense of balance enough to take a few steps toward the shrunken figure. Huge dark eyes looked at him in a face dotted with black soot. Empty. Dead. It was a female, but not from his family. What was she doing in his basement? A delicate hand came out from the blankets, stretching towards him.

“K-kill me. Please. D-Don’t let him come back. Please…”

He knew her, he was sure, but he couldn’t find the name in the chaos that was his head until he was just one-step from the female. Martha, his younger brother’s former instructress. What…? A strange smell floated around her, sweet and sticky as death itself. He had smelled it before, but couldn't locate… The old blanket that covered the female slipped to reveal that she was naked underneath it. There were marks on her neck, as if someone had fed from her, several times and violently. Like an animal.

And that smell emanated from her. Her body.

Like a lesser. As the undead demons that had attacked, massacred, and killed…

He cried out and clutched his head with his hands when the memories came back, vivid, the smell of the blood of his family still hot and heavy in his nose, the shrieks piercing his eardrums.

The female began to moan, making an ugly chorus.

“Oh, please.” The voice that echoed behind him sounded annoyed. “Spare me the spectacle of the PTSD, we have work to do. And you, shut the fuck up, bitch.”

The moans of the female were instantly silenced.

He dropped his hands and his bare feet scraped against the concrete floor when he turned towards that voice.

“By the Virgin…” His throat felt sandy, dry and grating.

Leaning against an ironing board was a pitch-black shadow, at which the fluorescent started artificial flashes.

The Omega. The curse of his race.

He stepped back. The shadow bowed his head to one side and shook his hand, dismissing his fears. Something in that gesture pressed a switch in his memories. It was familiar, which made no sense and…

“The Virgin has nothing to do with it. And do me the favor of not thinking about the Omega. I run the risk of becoming violent.”

The tone… the voice was distinct, that thing sounded as if he were talking inside a metal box, but the tone was a mixture of pride and weariness that was very, very well known. As much as…

“Lash?” he asked, choking on the name. It couldn’t be. That… thing made of black smoke and… fear and… evil could not be his cousin. But…

The being clapped his hands like if he was celebrating a solved puzzle and, even though his hands were nothing more than shadows, the sound echoed in the small space.

“My dear cousin Eckle…” The being walked towards him, stopping just below the fluorescent light on the ceiling. His features were translucent, strange, but, undoubtedly, they were those of Lash. When he smiled, he flashed a pair of fangs, white in the darkness of his mouth. “But what a sweet family reunion we have here.”

Eckle staggered back, avoiding that thing.

“What has ha…? How?” his hands convulsively girded his robe and brushed the dry blood that stained it. “My parents… they… and my sister. Who?”

“Shhh… What has become of that aristocratic calm, cousin?” Lash walked under the flickering light, his hands folded behind his back, looking at him with his head tilted. “The answer to everything is simple: Qhuinn.”

Eckle blinked. And then blinked again. He was dreaming. It was just a horrifying nightmare, a result of trauma, he was sure. However, he felt compelled to continue the conversation.

“Qhuinn?” he croaked, glancing toward the female… vampire… or lesser. It’s a nightmare, remember, this is not real. There are no lesser female vampires. It is not real. The female seemed lost in a comatose dream.

The grim Lash clicked his tongue. Or what he had.

“Yup. Qhuinn. Killed me, remember? He slit my throat.” he shook his hands making a fuss. “A stupid thing that, apparently, remained unpunished.”

In the parallel dimension where it was normal to talk to a ghost, Eckle felt outraged.

“That’s not true. We disinherited him. We applied a punishment of honor. I did it myself.” Oh yes, and he had enjoyed breaking the ribs of his moron brother. “But the King appointed him ahstrux nostrum of the queen’s brother.”

Lash stood very still. The darkness of his body swirled like clouds in the context of their form.

“Ahstrux nostrum. To John Matthew. That explains a lot of things. Many, many things…” He observed a moment of silence before sitting above the washing machine with his legs dangling. “Unfortunately, the fact is that Qhuinn killed me and turned me into… this.” Lash opened his arms, pointing to his condition.

“What is… what are you?” He. Is. Not. Real.

The white fangs, materials, peered between the black ink.

“Your worst nightmare. A son of a bitch who enjoys being it. And someone who can turn you into a lesser.”

“You’re lying. A vampire can’t be turned into a…”

“You want to ask her?” Lash twisted his head pointing to the female in a coma in the corner. Eckle’s nose dilated when he looked at the woman, smelling the putrefaction.

“You can not… do that… no…”

“Says the one who has spent three months hibernating in this fucking basement.” Lash crossed one leg over the other.

Three months? Eckle looked at the pajama’s he was wearing. The same one’s he wore when he was about to go to sleep and the undead attacked his home. To him it had just happened but… he touched the blood with his fingers. It was so dry that it fell off in red dust.

“But… someone would’ve found me. We were attacked, surely the Brotherhood…”

Lash hit the washer with the palms of his hands, startling him with the metallic echo.

“The fucking bloody Brotherhood wasn’t here to protect you, cousin, were they? Oh, no, the guys that the whole race support didn't get here on time. And now that we are at it, your stupid brother either. And he lives with them, right?” He jumped off the washer walking towards him. “You know what the reality is?” He was so close that Eckle could smell the evil in him, the smell of torture, panic, corruption and murder. “The reality is that your brother fucked me over. That neither the Brotherhood nor Qhuinn prevented that your family’s guts be hung from the lights in the dining room. That you’re as fucked as me and those who are to blame for this crap are sipping hot chocolate and sleeping on silk sheets.” His white fangs grew. “That is the reality. And you know the good news? That it could still get worse for you.” Lash looked over his shoulder towards the corner with the corrupted female vampire. “So, why not recover old family ties to mutual advantages, cousin?”

Something wet and warm began to slide down Eckle’s legs, wetting his pants. He kept pissing himself and biting his tongue with his eyes staring into the wells of darkness before him. There was no sanity there, there was no ‘hey, maybe there is still something in me to appeal’. Only a condemnation to eternal undeath.

“What…what do you want… from me?”

He preferred the new Lash with an angry look. Seriously. Because seeing him smile was much worse.

“You were always a smart guy, cousin. Let me explain to you what we are going to do…”

* * *

The gym was still like a big empty box full of machines, which wouldn't last a shit as soon as the Brothers returned from the streets empty handed and their aggressiveness tank overflowing. Qhuinn opened his locker and changed, putting on shorts, a tank top and sneakers. He took his iPod, putting on his headphones.

As in his case. The gym had become his only way to vent all when there wasn't a single fight in the horizon.

When he entered the big room, he saw the boxing machine sealed. Rhage had shattered it two nights ago; it was the only way he found to keep the beast under control. One of the punching bags was new; Z had slashed it with a knife the night before. And there were rumors that the smithy walls were more blackened than usual as a result of Vishous goddamn awful mood for the simple fact to have found Dr. Mannello, who the Brother had kidnapped, helping Payne with her rehabilitation.

He almost felt like a princess for only aspiring to run a little.

‘Clint Eastwood’, by Gorillaz, began with its insistent tune while jogged, warming up, staring at the wall. Whenever he ran, he imagined a long straight road stretching to the horizon. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he ran or fled.

There, with the music in his ears, he had no other choice but to face it. He was alone.

He could ignore that fact while the mirage of company on patrols lasted. Perhaps he could extend that feeling over drinks afterwards. Qhuinn was always the one to propose it. He needed to prolong the fact of having someone next to him, talking to him, looking at him.

He increased the speed of the machine, starting to ask serious things from the muscles in his legs, controlling his breathing. The truth was he panicked when the patrols and the hanging out for drinks ended. He panicked when he arrived to the mansion and the reality hit him in the face. John and Xhex had their own life and needed privacy. Most of the Brothers were mated and weren't always available as friends for hours.

And Blaylock had become a stranger.

He gasped. Every time they returned to the mansion and everyone went to their rooms, to their lives, Qhuinn was again that little boy locked alone in his room listening to the sounds of the others.

I’m useless but not for long/ The future is coming.

He twisted his lips when he heard the song's lyrics. In his case, if the future was coming he was nearsighted because he couldn’t see it. His future could be Layla, if he wanted. During those three months, they had seen each other more. She wasn’t only his blood donor; she was also Tohr’s and sometimes Blay’s. Furthermore, she was a close friend of Payne’s, V’s twin sister who was in a wheelchair. So she had a reason to be around the mansion.

Qhuinn and she had been together several times and it could be said that he knew the body of the Chosen very well. And vice versa. But they hadn't slept together, not yet. Qhuinn had been about to do it the night he heard Saxton and Blay together, behind that door, but he had been unable to. The hole that his heart had become had hurt so much for so long that he couldn’t even think of using Layla as consolation.

He lost his step as the sound of that nightmare was repeated in his ears, like a stuck tape.

Tuc… Tuc… Tuc…Tuc…

The rhythmic creaking of the mattress in Saxton’s room. The stake nailing in his chest. Tuc, an inch. Tuc, another one.

All he had to do was imagine what had happened in that room for his vision turned black. He increased the speed, panting like a dog when he had to force his muscles to the max to keep pace with the machine.

Blay…

When had he lost him, exactly? When he had not taken him to his room and made love to him after that first kiss in the recovery room? When he had told him to look for someone who he really deserved because he saw himself with a female? When he had not fucked him until devouring him, against the dresser?

When had he managed for Blay to listen to him and continue his life without him?

He almost tripped and had to hold on to the side bars to regain his balance and keep running, with his lungs burning and his heart in ashes.

The case being, the bastard son of a bitch that he was, is that Qhuinn, in fact, would have never believed that Blay would follow his advice. That he would have looked for someone else for his first time, starting a kind of relationship with another guy. He had assumed that Blaylock would always be there. That it didn’t matter how many girls or guys he fucked in his face, those blue eyes would never divert from his.

That Blay would always be hung up on him in case Qhuinn regretted his road trip to normality.

Stupid, fucking, pile of shit of movie cliché.

“You never know that you really love someone until you lose them.”

Pam! The final blow to plunge the stake into his heart.

So, now that Blaylock had found someone, now that he wasn’t always after him, Qhuinn couldn't stop looking at him. Of course.

He surprised himself more often each day spying Blay. At meals, at meetings. Gazing those soft lips, bright eyes, and the profile of his back. Imagining that smug bastard cousin of his sliding his hands on that freckled skin, making him sweat, sliding down his stomach down to his crotch…

Hooray! How do you spell it? J-E-A-L-O-U-S-Y.

Stupid, pointless, and useless jealousy.

Qhuinn stumbled, fell and ended up being dragged back until landing his ass on the floor.

Sh-it.

He stayed as he was, sitting on the gym floor, drenched in sweat and panting like a runaway horse. He crossed his legs, put his arms on them and lowered his head, out of breath.

He couldn’t complain, that’s what he had sought. He had pushed Blay away because the last thing that he wanted to do in his fucking life was to hurt the only real friend that he ever had, the only guy who was always there to look him in the eyes and tell him that yes, his family sucked. Qhuinn knew what he was, a failure to the perfect assembly line of the glymera, someone who came with a factory defect that wasn't only mismatched eyes.

He was a quivering pile of shit full of complexes, insecurities and inner demons that ate him alive. He was the ‘I want to show my daddy that I can get what he never thought I’d get and cure myself of the fucking disease.’ That was it.

Blay didn't deserve someone like that. He didn't deserve to give himself with all generosity to Qhuinn and have him breaking his heart when something detonated that little button to one of his complexes. Blay was worthy of a male who would respect him as the noble warrior that he was, who would accompany him in life, that would never deceive him with another, that would make him laugh and gasp and that treat him like the fucking diamond he was.

And Saxton wasn't that male.

Qhuinn punched the floor, not giving a damn whether he broke his knuckles. He stood up and walked to the showers, unsteady, still panting. After undressing, he leaned his hands on the tiled wall, letting the water run down his back.

He knew his cousin. Shit, Saxton had been his fucking hero until the day he had become interested in Blay. The guy had had the courage to cast a glove into the faces of the glymera, making it public that he was gay and that he planed to enjoy it, that you very much. His family had supported him despite being expelled from the social club and Sax had opened his own way through life, working and with his chin held high, to become the lawyer of the same nobles who he had previously shocked.

Something like giving them the finger and saying, ‘Does it fuck you to need me? Well, get used to it.’

Yes, Qhuinn could respect him for that. The problem was that Saxton didn’t do the whole process without leaving something behind. Something like humanity. For all he knew, Saxton had no real friends. He didn’t relate to anyone beyond his professional circle and collected lovers like someone who collected butterflies. He was an educated business warrior, so stylish that he could get whoever he wanted to warm his bed, buy them a bottle of champagne and then give them a fine kick in the ass.

His fucking copy but with better manners and more refined taste.

He wasn't the guy Blay deserved.

Shit, he didn’t know why his friend and his cousin had kept seeing each other all those months, but it looked bad. Looked like Blay could be falling in love and Saxton had to be squeezing all the juice before sending him to fuck…

He lifted his head after hearing a sound and just opened his eyes when he realized it was his roar.

Shit, he couldn’t bear the idea of someone hurting Blay. His fucking conscience began to whisper something else, but Qhuinn crushed it like a worm. If only… if only things could go back to being a bit how they were.

No, of course, not returning to the trio playing Xbox. Now they were adults and two had… relationships. He turned off the water and walked to the locker room to dry himself. But maybe he could stand in front of Blay and say he was sorry, that he was a fucking bastard and ask him to at least look at him again and let him share some of his warm.

And, since he was opening the can of worms, he could also say him sorry for fucking half the galaxy in front of him knowing how that killed him, he could say sorry that he was a sucker that still saw his dead parents eyes judging him and he was unable, incapable, of being what Blay needed.

Because that was the fucking truth, his family had trained him very well, with metaphorical collars and beatings, and the orders were too well itched in his brain to ignore even though they were six feet under.

God, how pathetic. If something good had come out of being disinherited, it was that now he had a permanent job and that his family was pushing up the daisies, so it should make him feel freer. Free to try and shake off all the shit that he had learned since he was born.

He didn’t know if he would get it. Knowing him, probably not. But at least he could strip his heart in front of Blay and explain to him exactly why he had behaved the way he did.

Yes, he could tell him the whole truth. In the end, he had no family to impress, right?

* * *

Blay sighed in silence with relief as he entered the door of the mansion and listened. Noise in the dining room, moving of chairs and cutlery clicking. The Brother Vishous tight-lipped disappearing through the door that lead to the underground tunnel, with Butch swearing under his breath right behind him, as if to stop a derailing train. Zsadist taking his daughter from the arms of a very serious Mary, while Rhage was leading to the gym to break something.

The normal scenes.

No sign of Someone.

He jogged down the hall of statues on the first floor, heading for a shower in his room, his coat in his arm. He needed the quiet of his room and the tranquility of some soft music because he was on edge.

When he headed down the hallway, the sounds of the mansion left behind and he let go of the air he was holding, slowing down his step. He held out his hand, ready to open the door of his room…

“Blay.”

“Fucking bitch!” He jumped in his boots after his heart fled through his mouth and bounced away down the hall.

A huge shadow emerged from between two statues and Blaylock instantly lowered his vision while passing a trembling hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Qhuinn’s voice sounded solemn and low, like the purr of a lion.

“Scared me? You almost caused me an aneurysm.” He put his hand on his chest, with his head lowered. “Were you lurking in the shadows or what the hell?”

“No, I was waiting for you.” Qhuinn’s sneakers didn’t make noise on the mosaic floor and Blay saw them enter his field of vision. When he inhaled deeply, Qhuinn’s aroma came like a bolt through his brain. He smelled like heat, sex and things that he had prohibited himself. “I didn’t want to wait in your room. Ultimately… I’m not well received.”

Blay clenched the hand that he had over his heart. That comment didn't have to hurt like holy hell. But it did.

“What do you want?”

“Talk. Spend some time together.” Qhuinn’s entire body was less than two feet from him. “Is that to much to ask of a friend?”

Blay turned around. Qhuinn's requests always sounded like veiled threats.

“Look, I need a shower, okay? The heat is hell and I’m sweaty.”

“Fine, I’ll wait sitting on your bed.” Did he expect Qhuinn to take the hint? He turned his face to the other vampire over his shoulder before reaching for the doorknob. Without looking at him.

“What did you want to talk about?”

From the silence that followed, he knew that the question had hurt.

“About the weather. The league. Do I have to tell you before?”

“Yes.”

The silence was eternal in the hallway, like a damn plane from “Brokeback Mountain”. Full of sharp things that hurt without the need to say them aloud.

“You hate me that much?” For once, Qhuinn whispered.

Blay breathed in, looking at the closed door to his room with the presence of Qhuinn behind him. It would help if he were drunk. A drunken Qhuinn he could send away, a sober one… he didn’t know.

“I don’t hate you.”

“We’re still friends?”

“Yes.”

“Then, why the hell don’t you look at me? Or is that I’m also a stain to your beautiful world of happiness?”

The constrictor that lived in his chest, that Blay had thought he had tamed, returned to squeeze him at once.

“Qhuinn…I’m tired.” Of everything. “And… I think that we have said everything that is needed".

He began to turn the knob, feeling that his room represented the safety that he had built all those months and the hall with Qhuinn represented everything that hurt… and missed.

Qhuinn’s hand suddenly appeared before him, leaning hard on the door so he couldn’t open it, and he sucked the warmth of his friend when Qhuinn's body nearly touched his. Looking at him sideways, with his head down, Blay saw that he was naked from the waist up.

Oh, fuck, no.

His eyes went like magnets to his nipples piercing, two small silver hoops against the tanned skin, smooth and perfect, of his huge pecks.

He had to get out and this time he didn’t bother to deny that it would be a flight.

“Look at me.” Qhuinn’s voice had the strength of a slab, low and serious.

“What do you think you're doing? Move your hand and let me enter the room.” Damned, damned Qhuinn.

“Not unless you look at me.”

"Go to hell.”

Qhuinn didn’t say anything for a second and Blay thought that he had won. Until Qhuinn’s hands tightened on his arms like two traps, making him drop his coat. The dark-head pushed him away from the door to his room with the momentum of surprise. When Blay finally realized it, he was flushed against the opposite wall with Qhuinn on him, bruising his arms, both hidden between two statues.

Game over. If he had learned something in that time, it was self-confidence. Enough with always starring at Qhuinn’s back like a cat without owner or head down to avoid looking at him directly. Blay had got over it and he had to stop Qhuinn. With his back against the wall, he looked up.

Looking directly into his eyes. Those blue and green eyes were fixed on him with enough force to pierce his skull, under black lashes.

Error.

Welded one to the other. Negative pole-Positive pole.

With the strength of a magnet.

He absorved Qhuinn with his eyes as if he hadn’t seen him in three months and a lifetime. His black hair, the piercing on his left eyebrow and on his lower lip, fleshy and sensual, were all the same. That hot body, hard and tanned was the same. The red tear that marked his destiny was still on the tanned skin of his cheek.

His eyes?

Qhuinn was like a flaming version of Medusa; burning everything that he saw. Like him. He had tried to forget him, had tried to replace him with Saxton’s alluring gray eyes.

But that was like being content with the heat of a candle instead of the sun. God, he had thought that he had overcome that. When the blood burned in his veins, Blaylock had to admit his lie. That was not exceeded.

And yes, in that moment he hated Qhuinn for forcing him to admit it.

For the first time in a lifetime, Blay’s fangs grew in his gums like two daggers and he groaned, retreating his lips to show them to Qhuinn.

“Let me go you self-centered bastard.”

* * *

Qhuinn blinked twice when Blaylock, his long time friend, became a stranger with a mask of fury that he had never seen. His flaming blue eyes and his fangs promised tearing and his whole body exuded auras of anger.

He let his arms go slowly and clenched his hands into fists.

He had been waiting a long time, like an idiot, standing in the hallway between two statues, trying not to impose his presence by entering Blay’s room uninvited as he had done throughout his life. He had been mulling over what he wanted to say, carefully choosing his words because he knew his cursed mouth would fuck it up. He was willing to vomit all that shit in front of Blay without drinking a single drop before, so he wouldn’t be able to say he was drunk.

A catharsis session that was going to make him feel like a stupid rag doll, but was willing to do if he could recover some of Blay.

And he had met with a stranger who refused to look at him. That had made him throw his miserable self-control in the air. And now his anger fought with his humiliation and pain for the first place in his emotions.

“What, Blaylock? Your beloved Sax has used you to a perfect world where they don’t admit friends with defects?” He took a step towards the redhead, fist to his sides, white fangs extended, piercing Blay with his eyes. “Have you become a smug asshole like him and are you ashamed of me?” Shit, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “It didn’t seem to bother you much when I touched you when you were after me. And also, when you wanted me to fuck you. What Blaylock, now that you have a noble dick are you ashamed to having wanted mine?”

Blaylock’s eyes opened and Qhuinn had never seen them so blue, lit from within by rage. The redhead took a step toward him like a spring, away from the wall. He put his open palms on his chest and pushed him, slamming him into the door of his room. Qhuinn hit his head against the wood and by the time he could re-focus his vision, Blay was on him like a killer tiger, with his hands still on his chest, and his nose near his.

When the hell had he gotten that attitude?

That… fire?

“You listen to me good because I’ll only say it once, damned bastard.” Blay hissed, warm hands on his skin. “You and I are done. You had your chance but you fucked it up, you hear me? Stay away from me. Don’t look for me. I’m not your doll so you can play with me when you feel like it. Not anymore. You understand me?” He pushed his body harder, his nose touching his. “You have no power over me”

Clack. Qhuinn’s internal mechanism fucking lost it.

Blay couldn’t abandon him. Not Blay.

He couldn’t be saying that Qhuinn didn’t affect him when his own guts twisted every time he thought of his best friend and his cousin together, when he was getting hard with just having Blay so close.

Blay couldn’t say that he no longer felt anything for him when -oh, well- he had realized everything that he felt for Blay.

And their friendship was not half it.

Qhuinn’s hands moved alone without him having any control over their actions. He caught Blaylock’s face with strength, preventing his escape, and his mouth closed over the redhead's with a possessive growl.

Oh, God…

Blay stood still, stiff as if suspended in time, with his lips pressed together, and the hands against his chest slipped, without force, covering his abs. Qhuinn moved on those soft lips, totally abandoned to the sensation and Blay gasped suddenly, opening his mouth.

Deny this.

* * *

Lash glanced Eckle while the pathetic figure shuffled around the house after going out into the street to make the phone call he had wanted in a public booth and smiled. His cousin was still wearing pissed pants stuck to his thighs. Shit, he patted himself on his back for having the brilliant idea of keeping him in hibernation instead of killing him along with rest of the family.

It had been a fucking occurrence linking Eckle's temporary ecstasy to his own life force, yes, sir. The knife that Xhex had sunk into his heart had not killed him, only scattered his essence, so the spell that held his cousin had been preserved. If he had done the same with Xhex, rather than holding the spell with his willpower, the female would still be his and have black blood in her veins.

The good thing about returning from the undead after a forced vacation is that you are wiser.

Something that Lash had learned in that time? Don’t get your hands dirty if someone can do it for you.

“You’ll have to wait for the Brothers to take you somewhere where you can wash up.” He said with a twisted smile. “The company has cut the water to the house. Three months is a long time, you know.” Eckle looked at him and Lash laughed. It had been so easy to manipulate him. “We will be in touch, cousin…”

While he dissolved into ether, he congratulated himself again mentally.

He had his first course of feeding assured.

He had his Trojan horse.

Now all he needed was to get his troops and that would be painfully easy.

* * *

In the hallway of the mansion, Blaylock sucked all the air that had escaped from the world against Qhuinn’s lips, hot and wet. He noticed the ring on his lower lip just before the dark-head’s tongue entered his mouth, just like the guy entered the lives of everyone in the world, with a fucking loaded cavalry.

His tongue touched Qhuinn’s, while the piercing ball that he had stroked his and their saliva mixed and that erased in one second all the months of separation, everyday with its 24 hours in which he had relegated him to some painless corner of his heart.

Back to that kiss in the recovery room in the mansion. No, that had been sweet. This was like the kiss from the dresser in his room but worse. With more anxiety, more anger and more… desire.

Qhuinn turned his head to fit his mouth to his, stealing the air from his lungs and saliva from his mouth and the opportunity to consider any other kiss he would receive in his life could match this one. Qhuinn's mouth was wide opened, tongue swirling around his, fingers bruising his face and that fucking kiss sucking part of the self-confidence that he had built.

No more.

Blay broke contact, throwing his head back. The two were breating through their mouths. And something in Blay’s heart broke again knowing what he had to do.

He clenched his fist, threw it back and smashed it against Qhuinn’s face. That beautiful face he had revered since he could remember and had decided to no longer would cause him grief but, even so, pushing him far away seemed as impossible as fleeing from a giant magnet.

When he heard the dry impact, it hurt him as much as it had Qhuinn.

The dark-head turned to one side banging his head against the door to his room. A trickle of blood slid from his lower lip. Blay took three steps away, cowering on the inside but not regretting it. Qhuinn raised his hand, using the back to wipe his mouth, and his eyes showed the deepest betrayal that he had ever seen in anyone.

Then his fangs came out and he knew that they would end up fighting in the bloody statues hall because there was a limit beyond which words were no longer shit.

Qhuinn growled and pushed forward like a fucking bullet and he did…

The two crashed into a wall that appeared suddenly between them and a gloved fist caught him by the front of his shirt. The next thing Blay knew, someone had sent him flying backwards and he had hit his back on the fucking marble pedestal of a statue.

“ENOUGH!” Vishous’ white eyes glowed like fire after the guy showed who the hell knew from where. “What the hell do you think this is? A fucking playground?”

Blay was about to spit that the Brother had had to be separated from Mannello more times than he could remember, but no one said that to V and lived to tell about it. He stumbled up, leaning on the pedestal, while Qhuinn did the same on the wall. Vishous was right in the middle, watching them from one to the other as if he could wipe them off the face of the planet with a single look, challenging them to disobey.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Butch came trotting towards them from the stairs and stood next to V. “Whatever it is, leave it for later. No, better, just forget it. Now we need you focused.” He turned towards Qhuinn. “Especially you.”

Good way to extinguish a fire: with another fire.

“What the hell is going on?” Qhuinn drew smoke from his ears, his eyes dancing between the Brothers and him.

Vishous watched them with his arms crossed until he was sure that they had reached a temporary truce.

“We’ve received a call in the Brotherhood's external line. A request for help. From a phone booth.” He took the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and searched until he found his lighter.

“From who?” Qhuinn frowned.

Despite everything that had happened, the alarm of ‘serious problems’ burned in Blay’s brain, disconnecting the “heartache” and the “fuck, we kissed”.

Vishous watched Qhuinn while lighting his cigarette as if to gauge whether the ashtrux nostrum was in the right state of mind to face what was coming.

“From your brother, Eckle, he’s alive.”

“What!?”

Qhuinn took two steps back as if they had beat him and Blaylock’s instinct told him that the period of peace, both the pause of the war and the emotional one, was over.

He knew that dark times were coming and that the fleeing, for better of worse, had also come to an end.

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