Shadows in the Blood

by JaneDavitt

Summary:

In a world where vampires exist, Takato is bitten and turned. For the man who loves him, that changes everything and nothing.

Chapter 1

Tokyo's fifty-seventh victim of a vampire attack that year was renowned actor Saijou Takato.

It was a decade after the Discovery and seven years after the first vampire was chipped (and torn apart a week later, left out for the dawn to take by vampires, acting as a team for once, protesting the subjugation of vampire kind) but protocols and PSAs only went so far.

Takato knew to be careful but it was an hour to sunset when he stepped out of Sasaki's car and waved goodbye to his manager. Plenty of time to indulge a whim and go, not inside his safe, warded apartment building, but across the street to a convenience store for some candy.

He bought the chocolate he would never eat (a large bar of Meiji Milk) and a magazine he'd never read (AniAni, even though he wasn't on the cover and the man who was…well. The less said about him the better. Ham!) and stepped outside. The heavy clouds swirling all day had thickened and on this November day it was already getting dark. Still. Not sunset. Like most people, he wore a government issued watch, the notification beeps and vibrations beginning an hour before, repeated every ten minutes and increasing in urgency as the crucial moment approached.

It took a determined person to overlook the alarm. Sirens used to sound and there'd been experiments with streetlights projecting artificial sunlight but the first got annoying and the second didn't work.

Vampires knew attacking a human brought a quick staking. If the patrols didn't handle it, the global database and chipping made escape from justice impossible for long.

So they eye-fucked and charmed their victims into signing consent forms or set up accounts with blood banks that provided warm blood from employees born with a natural resistance to the glamour.

There were always those who snapped. Those for whom the thrill of the hunt was an itch, a craving that grew until slaking it, just once more, just once, was worth the risk of a staking.

Every vampire thought they were immortal, after all.

Takato's path crossed with one of them that night.

New vampires, those not taken in by the patrols immediately for training and rehab, were dangerous. They were dealing with the short-term memory loss following their turning and racked by a hunger so intense it overrode all else. Some who'd gone through the training lacked a safe place to sleep, rejected by their family and friends, their bank accounts frozen until the legalities were complete, and they woke early, many sun-taken only days or weeks into their supposedly eternal life.

Maybe the clouds confused this one or she thought it was a risk worth taking. She wouldn't have recognized him with hunger ravaging her senses; only seen him as weak and distracted; perfect prey.

She'd torn his throat to shreds when the patrol arrived and the first bullet, silver-coated, gouged a deep furrow across her neck.

She bled from her wound before it healed and the droplets fell, scarlet, thick. They coated Takato's lips and tongue as he gasped, screaming soundlessly from a ruined larynx.

He swallowed.

He turned.

She was staked moments later, but not her most recent meal; the law was the law. Turned vampires were considered innocent victims until they fed from the unwilling. Besides, if she didn't know who she'd attacked, the leader of the patrol did. Hayashi Minato had always enjoyed Saijou's work and it was with genuine grief that he stared down at the pain-twisted features and those stunning blue eyes, filled now with confusion as the body altered, repairing itself, rebuilding itself.

He never got over the queasy fascination of the sight of skin knitting together.

Shaking off his emotions, he took out the implant device and put it against Saijou's leg. The needle shot out, piercing fabric and rapidly cooling flesh, depositing a microchip and tracker along with a temporary tranquiliser.

The readout on the device assigned a number. Saijou Takato was now Vampire 205679AX3.

Saijou Takato was dead.

The watches did more than signal an alarm; Hayashi picked up the vampire's limp arm and tapped a master code into the watch on the slender wrist, ignoring the blood splatters. It would send an alert to whoever Saijou had designated to look after him when he was turned, if he had thought that far ahead. Not everyone did.The watch was supposed to do it automatically if it lost a pulse, but they glitched too often to rely on. The watch face glowed green, indicating that the message had been sent, then pulsed five times.

Five. Saijou hadn’t asked to be staked immediately then.

Fair enough.

Hayashi snapped silver handcuffs around the vampire's wrists and watched the drug take hold fully. Long eyelashes fluttered down and a body that had taken its last breath as a human sank into a chemical-induced sleep of sorts.

"Load him up," he ordered and turned away as the body was carried to the waiting van and locked inside a coffin, ready for transportation to the morgue at the end of the night.

His earpiece buzzed. Another attack, this time a suspected snatch and grab of a twelve-year old boy. Vampires did that sometimes to ensure a steady and free supply of blood. They weren't staked when they were found. They were publically executed; tethered to a post and sun-fried to oblivion.

Hayashi sighed. The world had been a mess before the vampires emerged, no doubt about it, but now…

Now was worse.

He rubbed his hand across his face and wondered what else this shift would hold. One thing was for sure; the headlines tomorrow would be focused on one man.

People were going to miss the guy they'd voted the Sexiest Man Alive for five years running.

No one would want a hug from him now.

***

Sasaki was reading to his daughter, in bed early with a cold he suspected had a lot to do with a math test the following day, when his watch turned red and sent out a sharp, high screech. He dropped the book into his lap and twisted his wrist to stare at it, horror rising. His wife and daughter were here with him. There was only one other person—

"Takato-kun!"

Rina came into the bedroom on a run, stumbling forward and grabbing the side of the dresser to steady herself. "What is it? What happened? Who—?"

Nana sat upright, her eyes swimming with tears. She was young, but not that young. Children lost their innocence early these days. She knew what that color, that sound meant. "No! Papa! No!"

Automatically, Sasaki drew Nana close, wrapping his arms around her, then resting his head on Rina's shoulder as she sank onto the bed and huddled close.

He'd lost a client, someone he'd worked with for years. He'd played a significant role in Takato's success, though few realized that and gave him the credit he was due. Without Saijou Takato, he would have to start over with a new talent. The work of years wiped out in a flash.

None of that mattered.

He'd lost a friend in the most brutal way possible.

It hurt. His chest tightened, head throbbing as if the news was forcing its way inside his skull and there was no room for it. Takato's sly humor, his endless generosity to Nana, his talent, his loyalty, the charm tempered with the necessary arrogance of someone always looking over his shoulder as he fought to stay on top… All gone, snuffed out by a monster in need of a pint of blood. The sheer sickening waste of it...

The implications of the alert struck him next. He'd agreed to be the person the authorities notified if….if… To be Takato's guardian after turning. It had seemed a natural extension of his duties as agent and a favor for a close friend.

He'd never expected to carry out the responsibilities of that position. Vampire attacks happened, of course they did, but not that often and Takato was careful, sensible. What had happened? Why hadn't he gone inside his building? Takato cursed himself. He should have stayed, waiting, watching until Takato was safe, not driven off with that last careless wave of his hand. An hour to sunset, though and the traffic was bad; he'd wanted the safety of home too.

Coldness gripped him even as he stroked Nana's hair and soothed her as she sobbed, heartbroken and close to hysterics. This was a nightmare he couldn't tell her wasn't real. No nightlight would help dispel these shadows.

The analytical business side of his brain kicked into gear, a refuge from his guilt and grief. Takato had no money, no home and no possessions. Not until the court ruled on his case. Until then, Sasaki was responsible for housing him safely and for—

Oh God, he had to arrange to feed him. Pushing Nana at Rina, Sasaki ran to the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet, coughing and spitting to clear the foul taste. Buying blood for a vampire to drink…disgusting. Vile.

His stomach lurched and he rode out a second wave of nausea.

***

The news got out as bad news always does. Across Japan, people read it, heard it, were told it and gasped. A wave of shock and sorrow turned into a resurgence of anti-vampire hatred that had the undead staying hidden until it calmed to the more usual simmering fear and dislike.

Saijou's films were watched and wept over and anything he'd signed tripled in price, grabbed by collectors and fans in the hope of making a quick yen. His parents mourned the son that fame and a career had already turned into a stranger and Nitto Agency cast around for his replacement.

Saijou the legend wouldn't be forgotten but the man himself was lost in the feeding frenzy.

***

Azumaya Junta was one of the first to find out Saijou had been turned. He'd set up alerts for anything mentioning Saijou's name. Every day brought dozens, mostly gossip or trivialities. He was waiting to hear that Saijou had accepted the role in Midday Star and would be working with him again, though that news would probably come from his agent.

He took his phone and drink over to the couch and sat down, taking a sip of water as he idly scrolled to the update.

The glass lurched as his hand closed on it convulsively. Slowly, carefully, he set it on the coffee table, water running down the sides to pool on the wooden surface. He brought the phone closer to his face, peering at the words, willing them to shift into something that made sense, because this didn't. This was impossible.

His mind and body shut down, but that merciful oblivion shattered as his phone sounded again and again, telling him the news from a dozen different sources, each one wounding him, stabbing at him until he bled out, losing all joy, all color, all light, left in a grey stupor of grief.

He let his phone fall and clutched his right shoulder, rocking back and forth, a howl rising, tearing at his throat and filling the room. He wasn't sane in that moment, not wholly, and something in him recognized the peril and drew him back from the edge.

Sobbing, the tears leaching the madness from him, allowing him an outlet, he sat, slumped, still gripping his shoulder, remembering that cool, polite voice—

"Let’s do our best, Azumaya-kun."

Saijou had clapped him on the shoulder and brought him to life.

And now Saijou was gone, taking the light with him.

He'd planned everything after that movie ended, warm with love, bubbling with anticipation and weaving plans and strategies to get himself on set with Saijou again. That was the best way to get close; show Saijou he was good now, able to meet on the same level. Well. Kind of. He knew Saijou's talent surpassed his, of course it did, but maybe Saijou would see an improvement? They'd go out for a drink, get to know each other and he'd ask, oh, what would he ask for first when he wanted everything from the man?

Maybe to call him Takato-san? Would that be allowed since they were fellow actors?

He'd been overjoyed when he'd won the role in Midday Star and heard who might be his co-star. Every day he'd woken with that sense that something wonderful was about to happen and now…

He stood, pacing, striding around the small apartment slamming against walls, punching them too, a violent expression of grief that wore him out but did nothing to dull the pain.

Aching, bruised, he sank to the floor, dry-eyed now, facing a future that held nothing because Saijou was dead.

He wasn't sure when the idea came to him. It seeped into his thoughts, coloring them faintly, a single strand of red in the endless fog of grey.

Had Saijou asked to be staked immediately or had he… Was he still in the world, but a vampire now?

Why hadn't he even considered that possibility?

He scrambled for his phone, and read the news again, going to a newspaper this time, staid, reputable. It had more details and though it refused to give away confidential information, it confirmed that Saijou wasn't registered on the public list of those who'd made it plain they wanted to die rather than live—exist—as a vampire.

In that case, he probably had a guardian. Who would it be? His parents? Maybe. His manager? Junta knew him. Had called him after taking an exhausted Saijou to the hospital that one time. Sasaki had been kind, mild brown eyes twinkling as if he guessed Junta's feelings.

He'd given Junta his card...

***

Sasaki had fielded call after call, then unable to bear another conversation about Takato's death and the endless questions that went with it, turned off his work phone. Rina was with Nana, watching her sleep, her lovely face haggard with sadness. Sasaki wanted to go out onto the balcony and let the cold air calm him but after sunset balconies weren't safe. Were they part of the building or outside? He wasn't taking any chances.

So he sat and sipped a beer he didn't want and stared out of the window at the city, his thoughts and emotions tangling into a knot, stomach still unsettled.

His personal phone rang. Not many people had that number. Takato had been one of them.

He slid his hand into the pocket of his pants and took it out.

Azumaya? How did he have this— Oh, of course. Silly of him. He'd given it to Azumaya himself in the hospital with a pale, unconscious Takato lying—no, don't go there!

Clearing his throat, he said, "Azumaya-kun, this isn't a good time—"

"Are you his guardian?"

The low, tense voice sent a shiver though him. "Uh, that's not something I can discuss."

The question was repeated, a monotone repetition, each word spaced out. "Are you Saijou-san's guardian?"

Impatient, annoyed, Sasaki snapped, "I told you—"

"Are you his guardian?"

He sighed, the irritation leaving him. Azumaya was bound to be upset. His crush on Takato had been obvious, sweet in its sincerity, and he was a rising star. Might as well answer him. Sasaki was too experienced to make enemies. "Yes, and don't spread that around. Now if that's all, please respect my grief and—"

Calmly, no emotion showing, Azumaya said, "I don't want you to change that. They'll deal with his case as a priority given who he is so it won't apply for more than a few months. Appoint me your representative until then, Sasaki-san. Let me take care of him."

Huh? Sasaki replayed the request, frowning as he tried to make sense of it. "What? Don't be ridiculous, please."

Insistent now, some life and urgency present in his voice, Azumaya said, "It's allowed. Guardians aren't always able to provide a safe home and legal blood. They can delegate."

"Yes, I know, but you're a stranger. Takato trusted me to look after him. I can't hand him over like a, like a pet I'm allergic to." His voice faltered. He didn't want to do it. Didn't want a vampire in his life, around his family. Everyone had heard the horror stories about a freshly made vampire taking out his family or friends, not recognising them, not knowing…not caring too much anyway.

"I'm not a stranger," Azumaya told him. "I'm in love with him. I would have done anything for him when he was alive; do you think I'd turn my back on him now?"

Love? That might have applied before, but now? Was Azumaya in shock, acting on impulse? That made sense. Kindly now, on solid ground, Sasaki said, "Azumaya-kun, I appreciate the, uh, the offer but you have more important things to think about. You'll be shooting Midday soon, for one. Huge opportunity for you. Focus on that."

Hesitant for the first time, Azumaya asked, "Was he—Had he accepted the role?"

"Uh, yes," Sasaki admitted and heard Azumaya's breath catch. "So much lost… He was so talented. I'm in shock, I'll admit it, but he was my friend and I owe it to him to take care of him."

Wasn't he noble? He hated how trite his words were, how lacking in true feeling. Takato had meant a lot to him, but a vampire? Dead flesh, nourished by blood? That wasn't his friend. That was an abomination.

"You don't want to." How cold Azumaya sounded. "I hear it in your voice. You're sad but you want nothing to do with him now. He scares you. Repulses you."

"How do you know—" Sasaki swallowed, guilt choking him. "Azumaya-kun, why are you asking me to do this? You say you love him? I know on set there were some…incidents, but Takato never said anything to make me think he cared about you."

That wasn't entirely true, but why dwell on it now?

"I would have made him care."

The flat certainty in that cool voice did nothing to warm Sasaki's body. He was shivering now, skin clammy, a rank sweat breaking out, as if the small, mean thoughts plaguing him were being expelled through every pore. The weight of his burden threatened to crush him. Be disloyal to Takato or endanger his family? Was Takato even there now in that undead body? Was a vampire ever the same as the human they'd once been? No one knew. Theories, lurid speculation, wishful thinking…they all added up to a shrug and a maybe yes, maybe no.

A stuffed toy Nana had left on the couch caught his eyes, a soft, squishy black cat with blue eyes. Takato had given it to her… Takato would never have expected him to risk Nana's life…

He clutched the soft toy in his hand, squeezing it tightly, then tossed it away, decision made.

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes."

The single word convinced Sasaki more than an impassioned speech.

"I'll call the morgue and tell them you're taking over. It’s the main one beside the park; you know it? Good. You can use my name as reference and I'll see you have sufficient funds to find him somewhere in keeping with his position."

"I don't need it. I have plenty of money." There was a pause, then Azumaya said gently, "I'll protect him, Sasaki-san. He'll need me to do that and I will, I give you my word."

Sasaki ended the call with tears stinging his eyes. He'd failed Takato…or had he given the job to someone who could do it properly?

Another thought occurred to him. Protect Takato? Most people would see Azumaya as the one in need of protecting.

The death rate for guardians was high.

He told himself that wasn't a factor in his decision and almost believed it.

***

Junta moved fast when he was motivated. Getting Sasaki's agreement calmed him enough that he slept, a few hours at least. Might as well rest while he could. He knew that a fresh vampire would be kept shackled and coffined for several days, feeding from a tube inserted into the coffin, attached to a bag of blood. The coffins were made of reinforced steel and the lid had an inset panel of thick see-through plastic at face level, covered with a sliding steel panel that locked automatically during daylight hours.

When a vampire had survived the first frenzied hunger, and shown themselves capable of holding a rational conversation, they were released in stages; allowed out of the coffin, then the handcuffs removed, then put in a room with a human resistant to glamor (they got paid a lot and they earned it) and then finally allowed to leave in the company of their guardian to start a new life as a monster.

Or staked at any point if the authorities decided the vampire wasn't adjusting well.

They wouldn't let him near Saijou—no, Takato-san. He was calling him that, in his head at least. Takato-san… He shaped the name silently and felt a familiar yearning. So. They wouldn't let him see him for at least forty-eight hours. That gave him time to find a place for Takato-san to live until his estate was settled.

Two bedrooms, no windows, one darkroom, as they were called. Junta's room couldn't be a darkroom too; he needed air. Takato's would be a sealed box with a lock on the inside.

There was a newly converted set of condos for vampires not far from Takato's old home. Nice area, impeccable safety rating and exorbitant rent. It had a vacancy. Junta didn't ask questions about why. He took a virtual tour of the apartment the next day, paid a hefty deposit, and arranged to move in immediately.

That done, he called the morgue. Sasaki had spoken to them, smoothing the way, and Junta, if not as well known as Takato, was famous enough for it to make the formalities go a little faster than normal. It wasn't right, but it was how the world was.

He learned that Takato had roused, his body dispelling the drug, had fed, which was good, was raving, which was expected, and with sunrise had lapsed into the chilly stillness of the undead.

What next? Oh…he supposed he should call his agent and break the bad news.

Midday Star would need to find two new actors, not one.

Junta's focus was on Takato; his career had ceased to matter. Had never mattered except as a path to walk with Takato by his side.

Let's see…would Takato have a preference when it came to blood type? He'd order a selection. Oh, and a blood warmer. Takato liked hot chocolate more than cold drinks.

And eventually, maybe, when it was safe…

He shuddered with a mix of desire and anticipation and caressed his wrist where the veins showed blue against his skin.

There…or his neck…or…

He hardened, his body reacting to the swirl of images flooding his mind but he reached for the mints he crunched to take the edge off his cravings.

Not yet. Not alone.

Only with Takato-san would he, could he, find pleasure.

Chapter 2

Hunger. It consumed him, owned him. It clawed at him savagely, it froze him, burned him, crushed him.

It took over every cell in his body; extinguished every thought until all he was, had been, would ever be, was emptiness filled with the darker emptiness that was starvation.

It filled him and left no room for anything else.

That meant it was everything and he was nothing.

Nothing but the hunger.

If he'd had a mouth, he would have used it to beg. If he'd had hands he would have reached out, desperate, imploring.

He had nothing. He was nothing.

It beat at him, the hunger, waves of it, endlessly crashing, leaving him no space to breathe. It blinded him; the darkness was absolute. It bound him so moving, any movement, was impossible. It took away each sense and left him nothing.

The only escape was in madness but something held him back.

Something was there, he sensed it and with that revelation, he returned to the world. Dark; yes, it was dark, but it was…it was a small dark because he was in a small space. Something brushed his lips (Lips? He had a mouth then, after all. He could scream.)

He opened his lips to do just that and something hard/soft pushed inside them. Warm. A tube of warmth and inside it—

The madness had been patient. As his teeth bit through the tube and the contents gushed out, it took him, a delirium of greed, seeking satiation and never finding it.

Blood. He knew it was blood and what should have repulsed him did not. Blood was life. It was the only true food.

He suckled, a newborn, feeding through the grace of another, and anger stirred beneath the frantic suck and swallow that brought a relief so fleeting it was exquisite torture.

Feed him? Like this? How dared they! Blood was his to take, from shredded throats, hot, salt, thick blood, gushing out, trickling down, coating his fangs…

(Fangs? Blood?)

The tube was tugged free and his lips closed on emptiness.

He screamed then and the sound colored the darkness red.

***

The sun set. Even in this endless darkness, he felt the earth tilt away from that cruel, burning flame into the soft night.

A sound reached him, a grate and scrape, and a rectangle of light struck his eyes blinder than the dark. He hissed, blinking, but his eyes adjusted quickly and he stared up, seeing a white ceiling high above him and then—

He reared, fangs out, ravenous for the blood pumping around the body of the man peering down at him. His head struck something hard and he fell back.

"Naughty, naughty. Not nice to bite."

His lips peeled away from his fangs and he hissed, furious, insulted. This man would die in agony and it would make his blood taste sweeter still.

He liked sweet things. Didn't he? Yes, he did.

"Let's get on with it. Name? Come on, you." A hand struck the clear barrier between them, a contemptuous slap. "What. Is. Your. Name. Or you stay in this box for another night."

Name? Why did he need a name to feed?

A second voice, deeper, gruff but friendly. "Don't be an asshole, Yama. He's new. Let me handle it."

"What the fuck, do it. No hints though. He's gotta figure it out or it's stake time, baby."

The new face was rounder, the eyes soft, but there was strength there too. "Hey. I know this is confusing. Not allowed to give you the answer but I can tell you that you're a vampire. Guess the blood and fangs gave that away, huh? You were turned last night. Little bit out of it, then you fed and you slept, if that's what you people do in the day. I just work here, y'know? Can't let you out yet. You'd tear me up trying to feed. Need more blood and need to know who you are first. Anything surfacing?"

The flow of words confused him. Words, though… He was good at learning his lines, no matter how complicated the dialogue was.

Wait. Lines? So…actor? It felt right. Cautiously, hating the need to cooperate to win his freedom, he offered it up. "Actor?"

"Yeah! Hey! That's good, that's really good. And so were you. Man, I loved you in Sunlight and Sugar. Cried at the ending like you wouldn't believe. So…got a little more for me?"

The mask slipped a little there. The kindness wasn't real then? How rude.

He started the sentence in his head. Let it flow, no hesitation. Hi. My name is— Nothing. He tried again. Failed again.

An actor. Well known unless that was a lie too. He pictured a script and got a flash of a booklet, green, with a title. Midday Star. Yeah…his agent had given it to him to look at, wanting him to take the role even though he wouldn't be the lead. That role was Azumaya Junta's, the fucking ham. Second? As if! Saijou Takato was the lead, always!

He scowled, then realized anger had given him the key to this cage. He smiled instead and saw the face above him react with a flicker of fear. Not the usual response to a smile from him.

Slowly, clearly, with utter confidence, he said. "I'm Saijou Takato. And I'm hungry." He narrowed his eyes and felt a quiver of unease run through the man watching him. There was a connection there if he could just… Bits and pieces were coming back to him. Vampires could glamor humans. Some could resist and he supposed this one could or he wouldn't be working here, but it was worth a try. "So feed me. Now."

The connection was thin, but it was there, a spider's web, tangling the human's will, puppet strings to bind him…

Sluggish, dazed. "Feed…you…"

A little smugly, Takato nodded. Then the thread snapped and the human's brown eyes cleared and sharpened.

"Almost had me there. You're a strong one. Might be safer to stake you because I guarantee that's what's waiting for you sooner or later."

Stake him? No!

A door slammed open, banged shut. "He asked for blood," a new voice said, cold and furious. "If you don't give it to him through the tube, I'll break open the coffin and let him feed off you."

He knew that voice. He closed his eyes, memories rising, bubbling up, faster and faster. One stood out. Water cascading down, hands slamming into the wall, caging him, a face getting closer, lips parted, warm breath caressing his skin, eyes, hungry, avid, scaring him, frightening him. He'd run from that kiss, that man.

Azumaya Junta.

Takato didn't want to run now. Even inside the coffin, encased in steel and plastic, Azumaya's scent enveloped him.

He smelled…edible.

Chapter 3

Junta closed his laptop and reviewed what he'd learned. It was a mass of contradictions because even after centuries of folklore and a decade of research (some used other words for what certain countries had done to captured vampires, unethical being the mildest) there was no agreement on anything, except maybe that vampires needed blood to survive. Even then, he'd stumbled on one site insisting that synthetic blood from plants would work.

What plant blood was, Junta had no idea, but he wasn't planning to feed Takato any.

He'd been looking for something definitive about how long it took for a vampire to regain his memory. The trauma of being turned built a wall between the old personality and the new, a wall that crumbled over time; but how much time?

The current procedure to break it down was to ask the vampire repeatedly who they were until the correct answer surfaced. It was a stranger doing the asking though; wouldn't it make sense for it to be someone the vampire knew?

In this case, him?

The more he thought about it, the more staying away from Takato became unbearable.

He needed to see him. To reassure himself that in some way at least, Takato existed and wasn't lost to him forever.

So much else was out of reach.

His plan had been to meet Takato as an equal, tell him how he felt and ask, beg, plead with him to be brave. Because he knew Takato felt something for him; he was so attuned to Takato that a word, a look, told him more than Takato realized. Takato wanted him but he was scared of the fallout. He'd tell him he didn't need to be, that he was always safe, and then…

He'd dreamed of walking with Takato on beaches or through the city… Of hot spring soaks and vacations in faraway places, of breakfasts on the balcony, the sun streaming over them, Takato sleepy, smiling, sipping coffee and allowing Junta to bring him back inside to tumble onto an unmade bed and make love again… Oh, the things he wanted to do with Takato in bed! He couldn't allow himself to fantasize often because it left him achingly hard, aroused to the point of abandoning reason and going in search of Takato.

Dreams and fantasies. They'd never come true now. Takato would never walk in the daylight again. They'd never act together either. Vampires showed up on film but their images were blurry, out of focus; Takato could act on stage, maybe, but even if his talent remained, the difficulties of rehearsals and the undeniable fact that an audience would be hostile made it unlikely he'd be cast in anything.

Even the role of a vampire.

Time to make new plans but the main goal hadn't changed; human or vampire, he loved Takato and wanted to share his life. Eternal for Takato… He shoved that truth away. Not the time.

It was after two in the afternoon and sunset was approaching. He checked. Yes. 4.28 today. He called the realtor again and after some persuasion got her to agree that he could move in immediately.

"You'll be in an apartment building filled with sleeping vampires," she pointed out. "If you're there as a guardian, with your vampire to protect you, that's one thing, but if you leave the apartment after sunset and meet a vamp who doesn't know you, well, it could lead to trouble. They'll try to glamor you or assume you're a donor…"

"If I've been claimed, that won't happen."

"Claimed? Oh…" She stifled a chuckle. "That's, uh, a nice idea, but it's more of a myth, isn't it? They have to save your life for that and let me tell you, it's not something a vampire's likely to do. They don't see us as anything but food. You can't make friends with them or get them to care. Don't want to burst your bubble. That romantic creature of the night stuff might have flown before we knew they were real, but not now."

"They're territorial," Junta said without responding to the patronising advice. "It's been disinfected? All traces of the vampire who lived there before have gone?"

"All the bloodstains? Yeah. All gone."

"Bloodstains?" So much for that five star safety rating…

"You didn't ask, so I didn't say, but, yeah. He snapped and took out the social worker calling to see how he was, plus his guardian, who was his sister, not that he cared, and the only reason it ended there was because the social worker managed to hit the emergency button by the door and the building security came running. Not fast enough, but they staked him on the spot. Still want to move in and get snuggly with your vampire pal?"

She'd been a lot nicer before he'd signed the lease and put down a deposit, Junta reflected.

"I've paid the first month already, so it's mine to live in if I want. I won't be there much until he's released but I want to get it ready."

She sighed, sounding more bored than worried about him. "Fine. Pick up the key card at reception. They'll handle the warding and you can add your vampire when he's released."

"Warding? I thought…"

"Why bother when it's a building full of vamps? Yeah, that's one reason it's expensive. The building, well, anyone can come in if they're got a key to the main door. Each individual apartment is warded though. The only vamp who can get in is the one who lives there. If that makes you feel safe, I'm happy for you."

She ended the call and Junta leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. His plans and all the activity of the last day had left him exhausted in spirit. Takato wasn't the only one whose life had been turned upside down and shaken hard.

It didn't matter. He'd call by the new place, check it out, drop off a bag of supplies for him, clothes, toiletries, food, and stock the fridge with blood for Takato. He didn't know when Takato would be released, but it stayed fresh for a while.

Then he was going to the morgue. He'd be there by sunset and he'd get in to see Takato, using charm, a bribe, or whatever else it took.

Something was tugging at him, pulling him toward Takato and it didn't need to tug hard because he wasn't resisting.

***

It was easier than he'd thought. He was, after all, Takato's guardian (once removed…) and he was willing to sign any number of waivers.

The person in charge met him with a lot of stonewalling, but Junta patiently, persistently broke every brick.

Wasn't Takato handcuffed and in a coffin? Wasn't he safe? If not, why was the morgue staff allowed in? What harm could it do for him to see Takato, speak to him, maybe hasten the process of his memory restoration?

Didn't he have the right, the legal right, to confirm his charge was being dealt with as the law decreed?

Wasn't it true that—

The director threw up her hands. Saito Hana was in her late fifties maybe, brusque and direct, but not interested enough to be hostile. "Enough! He's in room 14. Along the corridor and take a right. Two handlers are in there; regulations, always got to be two, and if they ask, tell them I said you could look inside the coffin—look, not open— and try to interact with the vampire. What's the rush anyway? He's immortal, isn't he?"

Junta smiled without replying, bowed, and strode out, his heart thudding with a mix of excitement and dread.

He was at the door to the room with Takato's coffin inside when he heard a man say "Feed you?" in a puzzled voice, then, his voice stronger, "Almost had me there. You're a strong one. Might be safer to stake you because I guarantee that's what's waiting for you sooner or later."

Stake him? Turn his Takato to ashes and dust because he'd asked for food?

Vampires spoke of a blood lust when they were interviewed; visibly relishing the fear they created as they described it.

They weren't the only ones with the capacity for violence.

Junta slammed through the door, fury rising, ready to kill to protect Takato. There was no hesitation; he lunged forward as the man spoke, responding to the threat.

Time slowed; he scanned the room, noting the men, their positions, the lack of stakes in their hands—good—the ones hanging on every wall—bad—and the coffin.

Takato's coffin.

He couldn't hear anything from Takato now. It was after sunset; Takato was awake. Hungry? Confused? He replayed the man's words. Strong one? Almost had him? What had Takato attempted? To break out of the coffin? In a feeding frenzy a vampire's strength and speed was off the charts.

"He asked for blood. If you don't give it to him through the tube, I'll break open the coffin and let him feed off you."

He didn't snarl it or scream it; he had them backing away from him because he meant it. Every word.

Except…no. No, he didn't. He changed his mind completely when he saw the shrunken bag of blood on an IV pole and the tube leading into the coffin. The implication slammed into him. Takato had fed and it hadn't been from Junta.

He hadn't thought it would matter; feed Takato bought blood, then let Takato feed on him as foreplay, an intimate sharing. He'd planned to cook many delicious meals for Takato before he was turned but he knew there'd be times they ate out or separately.

Blood wasn't food though. Blood was different. Blood was life. It came from another body, a living body. If Takato drank from a warmed bag of blood it was better, marginally, than putting his mouth on a stranger's flesh and piercing it with his fangs, but it was still… He didn't like it.

No.

Every drop Takato drank from now would be from him. That was how it should be.

He accepted he had a lot to learn about being with a vampire, but this felt right. He nodded to himself, decision made.

The man who'd threatened to stake Takato folded his arms across his chest, settling down again after his instinctive retreat.

"You've got thirty seconds to get out or I call security."

Absently, still dealing with the possessive emotions flooding him, Junta said, "That's not necessary. The director said I could come here and see him. I'm his guardian."

"Not happening."

Junta nodded at an internal phone on the wall. "Call her."

It was a struggle to speak rationally, calmly with Takato a few metres away. He wanted the two of them gone and he wanted to see Takato's face. It had been weeks since the last glimpse of him at a fan signing. Junta hadn't got close, hat pulled down, sunglasses on, but he'd watched Takato smile and charm the fans for as long as he could bear it before slipping away.

The last time he'd seen him as a human… It seemed he should have known that, but he'd walked away, not even looking back.

"Yamamoto, you do it."

"Sure, sure…"

The call went through and the men exchanged looks that came close to being eye rolls after the brief conversation confirmed Junta's right to be there.

"Fine, you can look at him through the window but if you try to open the lid, you'll die and so will we. Vamps move fast and the cuffs won't slow him down that much. Plus, he just tried to glamor me and came close and I'm immune. That means you try, on your own or because he's controlling you, we do our best to stop you."

Junta nodded, accepting they had a point but more concerned about the risk to Takato if they saw him as dangerous. A human could potentially survive a bullet; a stake to the heart was instant death, guaranteed, for a vampire. Well, possibly for a human too…"I won't open it."

In an injured voice, the man who'd threatened Takato said, "And he'll get blood so no need to get on our case like that. We don't starve them. Think we're stupid? Feed them and they're easier to handle."

"Whose blood is it?" Junta asked.

Yamamoto frowned. "Huh? What kind of question is that? It's blood. It gets delivered. They don't care who it's from or the blood type. Do you ask the name of the cow your steak came from?"

"I want him to have my blood," Junta said. "Only mine."

"Got ourselves a freak here, Sugawara," Yamamoto muttered. "Yeah, that's not possible."

"Why?"

"It's not the way we do it, that's why. We have a supplier, it arrives, it goes in the fridge, we get it out and it's all recorded because there's a market for it, always has been. You mess around giving him yours and the books don't balance."

"That means there isn't a real reason." Junta tilted his head on one side studying them. Were they set in their ways or giving him trouble because he'd jumped to conclusions? "Get a bag out and throw it away. The books balance then. Draw my blood to replace it. Or open the window on the coffin and I'll give him my wrist."

Sugawara gaped at him, face slack with disbelief. "Give a freshly turned vamp your wrist? He'd tear your hand off, you fool."

Takato's hunger was a presence in the room, a thrumming, persistent beat. Or was that his blood, pounding in his ears? Junta curled his hands into fists, then forced himself to relax. They'd let him in, but they had the right to throw him out if he got violent.

Why was he standing here? They'd said he could see Takato, so why wasn't he walking over there?

He knew why if he were honest with himself. When their eyes met, if he saw blankness, it would pierce him through. Takato had always looked at him with his emotions on display, always. From that first assessing once-over to the hostility when Junta's acting had annoyed him to that moment by the wall, eyes wide with shock and something more as Junta moved to kiss him, driven by the need to claim those lips.

No more hesitating.

One step, another, a third and he was close enough to touch the steel box holding Takato captive. The sliding panel was open.

He leaned over; looked down.

Takato. Unchanged at first to his eyes; pale, but Takato was always pale; hair tangled, matted with blood— With a lurching stomach, Junta realized it was probably Takato's. No; the bullet…was it vampire blood? Was it— He swallowed and his gaze went to the small, pretty mouth. Fangs gleamed, sharp and white, changing the shape of Takato's jaw, making him, for a moment, unfamiliar, then Junta adjusted to this new version of him.

The eyes… He knew he shouldn't stare into them, but he'd been tested at school like every child, and told he was unusually resistant to a vampire's glamor. It hadn't mattered then. It guaranteed him a job feeding vamps but the idea held zero appeal.

He couldn't imagine a world where he'd flinch from meeting Takato's eyes so he let their gazes meet and melt.

Oh… He hadn't been this close to him in months. Even with the clear barrier in the way, he lost himself in that furious, beseeching glare.

"Azumaya…" Takato growled it, purred it, a seductive rasp to his voice that hadn't been there before. "I smell you. I see you. Let me taste you."

What? Junta jerked upright and spun around. "He knows me? His memories are back already?"

He got a shrug. "He knows his name. It's early, yeah. Never seen one snap back that fast myself, but it happens."

"He knows me…" Turning back, Junta smiled at Takato. "I'll feed you, Takato-san, don't worry."

"Who said you could call me that?" Takato raised his eyebrows. "Was it me? Did I tell you...?" His eyes fluttered closed, face twisting in pain. "Hungry…"

"Takato-san!"

"He'll fade in and out for a while," Yamamoto told him. "It's normal."

"He needs more blood." Junta held up his hand, exposing his wrist. "Where do I go to fill a bag with mine?"

It was thirty minutes before he was back in the room, a little dizzy but triumphant. Thirty-three minutes before the bag with his blood was hooked up.

He didn't care when the men thought of him. He leaned over and watched Takato take his first taste. Saw the flash of silver in the blue eyes and the intent concentration as Takato sucked hard, greedily draining the bag.

They wouldn't take more than that from him at the clinic on the floor above the morgue. It made sense; he had to stay strong to be useful to Takato. He'd asked questions as he lay, blood trickling out of his arm. The nurse, responding to his smile, had been eager to help. Yes, a healthy adult could keep a vampire fed, she assured him.

"You'll need to adjust your diet to avoid an iron deficiency but if he shares his blood with you, even a drop or two, that helps as well. They get attached to a regular donor sometimes. I suppose it's no different from us liking a particular brand of beer or something. They'll be able to find you too. I heard one donor moved cities when a vampire he was feeding got too demanding and the vampire tracked him down and, well…"

All the stories had one ending. Vamp goes feral; kills human; gets staked.

If that was his fate, his only regret would be that Takato would die with him.

Takato finished the bag and licked his lips clean, gaze fixed on Junta.

"You know who I am?" Junta asked, needing to hear his name on Takato's lips again.

Takato nodded, robbing him of that joy, then blinked once, slowly, a cat in the sunlight, and said clearly, drawling the words, "Azumaya…Junta."

"Yes! Takato-san, I know you're confused, but it's okay now. I'm here. I'm your guardian." Seeing Takato open his mouth, he added, "Yes, it was Sasaki-san you chose, but he, uh, he asked me to do it."

Panic. Rejection. He saw the emotions pass over that stunning face, and forced a smile, speaking quickly, reassuringly. "I've found you an apartment. A safe place close to where you used to live. You need to get strong and then you can—Takato-san, you can come home with me."

Takato glared at him. "My home. Mine." The glare faded and he ran his tongue over his lips again as if seeking every trace of Junta's blood. "You can feed me. That's all." Even bound, even confined, he radiated confidence as if he stood on stage before a rapt, adoring audience. "Make sure you remember who you are, Azumaya. Not my guardian, not my equal, not my friend. You're a meal." He smiled, thin, vicious. "I'll drain you dry if you step over the line. Well? Still want to live with me?"

Something woke in Junta at that challenge. Something that could match Takato's icy darkness with a blazing light. Physically, Takato was stronger now, but when it came to willpower and determination he trusted himself to win that fight.

"Yes. And Takato-san, listen to me. I'll make it so my blood is the only blood you crave, the only one that truly satisfies your hunger. You'll feed from me and me alone. Always. So don't drain me because if I die, you'll die too."

Takato met his gaze and Junta saw that twist of silver again, weaving through the midnight blue. "Guardian," he murmured, turning it into an insult, disdain dripping from the word. "Who's guarding me from you?"

"You don't need anyone. I'll protect you. Always."

Takato showed his fangs. "The only thing I need from you is your blood."

Junta slammed his wrist against the clear barrier, showing Takato the veins filled with what he needed to survive. Takato raised his head, a striking snake, hissing with annoyance as his forehead struck the barrier. "It's here. I've been waiting a year for you, Takato-san. Don't keep me waiting much longer."

He straightened and glanced at the men. "I'll be back after sunrise and I'm taking him home with me."

"It takes longer than that to clear a release—"

Junta shook his head. "Tomorrow, at sunrise," he repeated. "Keep him in the coffin. I'll arrange the transport."

"It's not safe—"

Junta opened the door. "I didn't fall in love with safe."

As he walked away, exhilarated, wound up, he heard a mocking whisper, echoing in his head: Nice exit line for a ham actor. Maybe you did listen to me after all…

Chapter 4

Nine minutes to sunset. Junta walked around the unfamiliar apartment, furnished sparsely now with a sofa, a low table, and a new bed in the room he intended to use. He'd brought over some odds and ends from his place too, closing the door behind him with a sense of leaving one life for another.

After overseeing the transportation of Takato, asleep in his coffin, from the morgue to the apartment's darkroom, he hadn't left the building. The press had gathered at the morgue, flies on rotting meat, but a single ambulance leaving well before Takato was expected to be released had slipped past them.

The darkroom was locked, programmed to open at sunset. Takato was safe. Yet Junta couldn't bear to leave him when he was vulnerable, deep in the slumber of a vampire during daylight. Was it sleep? Did he dream?

So much to discover.

He'd ordered supplies and odds and ends online, spending lavishly but calling a furniture store on the phone to get the essentials delivered that day. It had cost him, but it was worth it.

It would be an adjustment to match their waking hours but not sleep through the whole day. He had to protect Takato as well as enjoy his company. He'd manage.

When Takato had recovered fully, where would they go at night? People scurried inside at sunset but they emerged again after a while, some of them, anyway. Vampires weren't that numerous and life went on. Junta thought that soon the sunset alarms would be silenced and people would share their world with vampires in an uneasy truce. It wasn't as if fellow humans weren't a threat too.

The night had always been a time to huddle in a cave, a fire blazing to keep the monsters away, but when the monsters could get blood without killing for it and were microchipped and eliminated if they attacked, they were losing their scare factor.

Humans wanted to walk under the stars; go out to clubs and get drunk; go home from a night shift without their heart squeezed with fear.

They were quickly forgetting what vampires could do as the chipping and lethal consequences drove attacks down.

Takato's turning was big enough news to jolt that complacency. Junta hadn't followed the story; why bother when he was part of it? His phone was on, but incoming calls were blocked. That was a dam about to burst. His agency, Sasaki, and the press all wanted to ask questions and he didn't want to answer them.

Later. Takato came first.

Seven minutes.

He'd made sure he wore a short-sleeved T-shirt for easy access to his wrist and throat if it came to that and, listening to the grudging advice of the attendants at the morgue, had drawn another bag of his blood, using a different clinic and lying about how long it had been since the last time.

"First feed?" they'd told him. "Keep him in the coffin. You don't want to let him out when he's hungry, not this soon. He sounds rational but he could snap."

He trusted Takato, but he wasn't stupid. Even as a human, Takato had lashed out when startled and scared and hurt him, scoring the back of his hand with his fingernails. That had stung and throbbed and healed fast.

Takato lashing out now could be lethal for both of them.

Five minutes. He took the blood bag off the counter where it had been reaching room temperature. He'd canceled the blood warmer; Takato would be drinking it at exactly the right heat after this.

He checked he had the code to open the coffin correctly memorised and the key for the cuffs ready.

Drank some iron fortified energy supplement, then wished he hadn't. It tasted foul and left his mouth coated with an unpleasant film.

Two minutes. This was torture. He was finding small, stupid tasks, straightening the couch because it wasn't perfectly aligned with a floorboard and opening the fridge to turn a can of soda so the label faced outward. The nasty taste in his mouth gave him something else to do.

He brushed his teeth quickly, rinsed, spat—and in the achingly quiet space heard a small, definite click as the darkroom door lock released. The tension in his shoulders disappeared, replaced by anticipation.

Show time.

***

Takato went from not to here. He was in a new place, a nightlight illuminating the room gently from the floor, not a bulb overhead blinding him. The panel above his face was pulled back so he could see plain white walls and ceiling. That disturbed him more than comforted; when had that been done? He shook off his annoyance; obviously after he'd been put in the darkroom or he'd be ashes.

Still trapped. A line from Macbeth came to him: But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound…

Was this Azumaya's home? No… He'd said he'd found Takato a new place, a safe place… He was here though; Takato didn't need to breathe but he could inhale and taste Azumaya's scent like honey, sweet, rich, all summer sunshine and burning bee stings; could feel his presence like a quiver in the air, a deep thrum of anticipation, getting closer.

What did the man want from him?

Oh, Takato knew what he used to want. Had come close to begging him to take it once… How easy it was to look back and sneer at his timidity and the anguished soul searching that followed that almost kiss as the water rained down.

That Takato was fading; a pale shadowy memory. He wasn't human now. He was a vampire and for some reason he didn't mind. Odd.

He was sane too. He remembered he wasn't supposed to be. Confusion and memory loss, violent feeding frenzies and fangs out and ready for days, weeks even.

Nonsense. Vampire or not, he was still Saijou Takato and he was in complete control of body and mind. He was… Was that blood?

His fangs descended, a smooth snick into place that left him prodding them gingerly with his tongue. He'd get used to them, he supposed. Meanwhile, that fucking floppy tube was filling with blood and dripping into his ear.

He twisted his head to escape the wetness and said loudly, "I don't want it!"

"What?" Azumaya's face came into view. "Takato-san, you need to eat. Drink, I mean."

"And I will. Properly. From you or failing that, a glass. A mug. Anything but a tube!"

"Feed and I'll let you out."

"Did someone tell you to be scared of me?" Takato asked silkily, relishing the guilt in Azumaya's green eyes. "The tube has no end on it, you idiot. I bit it off, remember? The blood is soaking into a shirt that cost more than your entire wardrobe and I am tired of being cooped up. Out. Now."

The ooze of blood ended as Azumaya yanked the tube out, but the coffin lid didn't move.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes." Something told him the answer to that question would always be yes.

"I want you to feed from me, but I'm not a vending machine. I can't feed you over and over. I drew this from my arm today so it's fresh. Please drink it, Takato-san."

Takato sighed. Weird to do that and feel no air leave him but he could still do it. "I'm cramped and bored. I'm a vampire, Azumaya! I want to see what I can do. I've no interest in going on a killing spree and though we need to talk about why you're here, not my manager, I suppose you did well getting me out of that awful place. I won't kill you. I swear on my grandmother's grave."

Suzuko… She'd died before the Discovery. He'd wondered sometimes if, like others had done, she would have chosen to be turned instead of dying of cancer. Maybe. Maybe not; few vampires stayed with their partners and her marriage had been a happy one. The love, the connection, snapped leaving indifference and immortality for one and not the other completed the destruction.

Lucky for him he'd never been in love. He'd lost no one. Well. He'd lost the former version of himself, but did that matter? Wasn't he better now? Stronger, immortal, and even more stunning than before if possible? If only he had a reflection…

He all but saw the gears turn as Azumaya thought it through but eventually he got a nod. "Please be telling the truth, Takato-san," Azumaya said quietly. "I want to kiss you before I die, not as I die."

"Kiss?" Where did that come from? Didn't the fool know what he was now? Vampires didn't kiss. They bit. "Is that all?"

Was he flirting? It had sounded like it and he hadn't intended it to.

"It's a long list, don't worry."

Was Azumaya daring to laugh at him? Oh, he'd pay for that!

The coffin lid out of the way, Takato grudgingly allowed Azumaya to help him sit up. His hands were cuffed in front of him and he raised them, silently waiting for release, not begging.

When they were off, he left the coffin in a leap that ended with him on the floor, moaning in distress.

No blood circulating didn't mean he could spend two days in one position and not have his muscles lock up.

"Takato-san!"

Strong arms around him, the lightest of brushes against his hair as that kiss was taken, if indirectly… Azumaya didn't pass up an opportunity to pounce, did he?

"I'm fine! Let go!" So undignified…

"I'll massage you…"

Takato batted his hands away. "I'm starving, soggy and irritable. I'll leave it to you to decide which of those problems you should deal with first."

There was enough of the blood left to fill a coffee mug. White with a blue heart on it. At least it wasn't covered in cute kittens but it didn't seem appropriate. The amount left wasn't enough, not with the source sitting beside him on a couch most definitely too bright for Takato's taste, but comfortable. He wanted fresh, hot blood, spurting into his mouth, saturating his senses. These few gulps of lukewarm staleness weren't good enough.

"Azumaya…"

"Call me Junta? Please?"

"Why?"

"Please?" A vampire could get lost in those green eyes, that compelling smile. Azumaya sparkled and glowed. Any vampire with a weaker will than Saijou Takato, that was.

Still…he owed the man. A small concession that cost him nothing wouldn't hurt. It struck Takato that if Azumaya was his guardian—and he was finding out how that happened!—he'd better keep him happy. Play along, get his freedom and then walk away.

Good plan.

His fangs had slipped back inside after finishing the blood. It didn't hurt but it was a sensation that would take some getting used to, as if his face reshaped itself in the time it took to blink, too fast to register, too profound to miss. He opened his mouth to speak and as he did, his fangs dropped again, catching this tongue, making the name come out wrong, all wrong.

Azumaya stared at him with a growing grin. "Uh, Takato-san, it's not 'Chunta', it's 'Junta'."

Vampires didn't, couldn't blush but he was so flustered he sliced his tongue open on a fang. It healed instantly, but it stung.

Attack was his only option. "I know what your name is! It's what I say it is, human! And I say it's Chunta."

The man had the nerve to bow while sitting and say, "I like Chunta when it's you saying it, Takato-san. Thank you."

"Yes, well, forget that nonsense. Why are you my guardian? How did Sasaki permit it? Where is he?" The soaked collar of his shirt and the scent of blood from it was unsettling. He squirmed. "I need to change and take a bath."

Was that relief he saw? What was it Junta was hiding from him? "I'll answer all your questions but a bath would refresh you. I couldn't go to your place; it's sealed until the judge rules otherwise, but I picked up some clothes that should fit. They're in my room."

Junta stood, turning his back in a way that the predator in Takato found both a challenge and an insult. It showed Junta trusted him though and that was good.

I'm lulling him. I've got him under control.

The bathroom was clean to the point of antiseptic and the bathwater deep and hot. Takato sank into it with a delicious shiver of pleasure while Junta went to retrieve the clothes. They'd be completely unsuitable, of course, since from memory Junta dressed like a man who'd decided well-fitted, flattering clothing was for other people, but they'd do for now.

He closed his eyes. This was morning for him now. He wanted to go out and prowl the city, seeing it through new eyes. The bland, white walls of the apartment and the flat, clean smell bored him. How far could he see? What could he hear? He was a vampire and he—

He was a vampire.

Alone, steam curling up from the water, clouded with blood from his skin and hair, the loss of what he'd been slammed into him brutally.

He was a vampire.

For the first time, he relived his final moments without flinching from them. Stepping out of the shop onto the sidewalk. The shadows moving, forming into a shape, hands grabbing him, strong, cruel hands, yanking him deeper into the darkness (but it wasn't sunset! It wasn't fair!). He'd dropped the magazine; seen it fall, pages fluttering, seen, for an instant, Junta's face smoldering up at him from one of those pages, sexy, confident, the face of a rival. The chocolate bar—what had happened to it? He couldn’t remember, couldn't recall how it would've tasted anyway, couldn't remember how red wine filled his mouth, soft, oaked, mellow or the fresh zing of strawberries, the decadent creaminess of cake or the subtle complexities of sushi. He didn't want them now; only blood, but it hurt to lose the memories.

He willed himself to finish. She'd tilted his head, exposing his throat with such brutality he'd heard a bone crack in his neck, the pain lost as her fangs dug in, worrying at his flesh, tearing at it. The ugly slurping, gobbling sounds she'd made….revolting.

Then mercifully, he'd begun to die, a slow slide into nothing. Was this his last breath? No. That one? Maybe… He'd heard the gunshot, felt her jerk and grab him tighter, then that alien blood had dripped onto his mouth, gaping open on his final gasp and since he'd bitten through his lip in his agony, her blood, vampire blood, had mixed with his and death had turned into a different form…

He was a vampire—

He made a sound, small, anguished, and beat the water with the flat of his hands, over and over, a scream building that tore from him.

"No! No! I don't want—Change me back! Change me back! No!"

The door was closed and locked but Junta came through it anyway, leaving the edge splintered, the lock broken.

Chest heaving, eyes blazing…"Takato-san!"

Wordless, speechless, Takato turned away, but Junta knelt beside the bath with a thud, put out his hand and touched his averted face.

Mistake.

Slow. Junta was so slow. Takato was out of the bath and had Junta on his back, gaping up at him, in a flurry of smooth, efficient movement that his body executed with ease.

Now who had water dripping onto him, looking up at the face of a ravenous beast?

Fangs out, snarling with fury that he'd been seen at such a vulnerable moment, Takato forgot he didn't want to be what he so undoubtedly was.

There. The throat, the neck, those veins, calling to him, plump and juicy with blood. He'd bite carefully, precisely, not like her, but he'd still bite down and drink…

He leaned down, relishing the anticipation of the taste, and Junta moved, capturing his face between big, warm hands, so warm against his cool skin, and kissed him on his open mouth.

Kissed his lips, thrust his tongue into Takato's fang-filled mouth and moaned as if he'd tasted something he'd craved for ever.

Takato could have broken free and snapped Junta's wrists. Bitten down and torn the tongue out of Junta's mouth.

He couldn't. He'd been waiting for this kiss a long time too.

His fangs retracted and it was with a human-looking mouth that he kissed Junta back, lying naked on top of him, his body, cold again now the water wasn't giving it a fleeting, surface warmth, flushing with heat that wouldn't have registered on a thermometer.

Not heat; lust.

He wanted more. He flickered his tongue against Junta's, willing his body to take the pleasure offered and no more, aware, as Junta seemingly wasn't, of how easy it would be for this to go wrong.

He didn't trust himself. Too soon after being turned, his emotions a wild, chaotic mess, but Junta was holding him close, aroused, ready, and nothing about that seemed wrong to the vampire he was now.

Want; take. That felt right.

He ended the kiss, shook free of Junta's hands and smiled down at him, grabbing Junta's hands and pinning them to the tiled floor without even trying. He squirmed, lewd and blatant, against an erection that even through clothing was impressive, and smiled. Too soon for Junta to feed him again? Well, he had other appetites to satisfy.

"I see you're ready. Good. I'll enjoy using you…Chunta."

Junta's struggles were amusing, but they were always going to fail.

Chapter 5

Junta hummed under his breath as he searched for clothing. The apartment was a good size and the fitted closet in his room had ample drawers and rods for hangers. More than enough for the two of them to share. The darkroom was a room with a raised dais in the middle, wide enough to take a coffin and that was it. No closets, nothing.

Silly, really; why couldn't Takato have a bed in there? He'd ask him and see what he—

He heard Takato scream and the soft, dark blue sweatshirt fell from his hands.

Mind racing, he ran to the bathroom. An intruder? How? Sunlight—no, couldn’t be—

The locked door resisted his shove, then with a growl of frustration he stepped back, raised his foot and kicked hard. The darkroom door would have held or required more than one kick; a flimsy internal door like this was easy to smash through.

Takato's anguished wailed plea hung in the steamy air: "No! No! I don't want—Change me back! Change me back! No!"

If he could've granted that wish, he would have given everything he had to do it, including his life, but all he could do was go to Takato and touch him, offering comfort.

If Takato had been human, he might have ended up holding him, wet, sobbing, clinging, naked.

Takato wasn't human now.

Junta found himself on his back and Takato was wet and naked, yes, but his eyes were brimming with fury, not tears, and his fangs, curved elegantly, needle-point sharp, were out.

If Takato wanted to feed from him in this state, Junta wasn't sure he'd survive. No time to remind Takato of his promise; with what might be his final chance to do it, he cupped Takato's face, feeling the angular press of bone distorting his jawline, and kissed those red, open lips.

He kept his eyes open. He wasn't missing any of this.

Takato yielded to the kiss in a way that spoke to the beast in Junta; a struggling, grudging surrender that tempted and teased Junta to demand more. He licked the sharp fangs carefully; resented the need to hold back. In that moment, he was kin to Takato; he also wanted to devour.

His cock hardened, a response to Takato squirming on him and all that smooth coolness to caress and explore. Slender, strong. Takato was a silver sword, beautiful and deadly.

Or a scabbard for Junta to fill— Huh? What—

Wrists pinned to the floor with a grip he couldn't break, he stared up, shocked, as Takato, eyes gleaming, said softly, "I see you're ready. Good. I'll enjoy using you…Chunta."

Junta's experience with women was minimal; with men, non-existent. Until Takato had touched him for the first time with that careless clap on the shoulder, he'd been indifferent to romance and no more than mildly interested in sex.

Once woken, he'd seen that differently. He wanted Takato with a hunger that consumed him. He'd dreamed of what he'd do with him in bed and intended to make dreams reality.

None of those dreams had involved him being used in the way Takato intended and that was mostly because he sensed, no, he knew Takato, the human Takato, didn't want that.

Jerking off was all about pleasing himself; making love was all about pleasing his partner and trusting them to do the same. Takato wouldn't enjoy fucking Junta so he wouldn't let him do it. Simple.

Did Takato think becoming a vampire had changed him so much? Junta wasn't seeing it. Forget the sunlight and blood; Takato was still his adored and adorable prickly, grumpy, vulnerable, talented, infinitely precious self. Junta wanted to protect him from a breeze and fuck him until he was a wreck; pamper and spoil him and make him submit to every luscious, intimate indignity Junta had lined up.

Nothing had changed.

Striving to project calm assurance, and succeeding because somehow he couldn't be scared of Takato, he said, "Takato-san, I'm yours. I've been yours since we met a year ago. I'd planned to tell you that and then— It doesn't matter. I'm not letting anything come between making the first time with you perfect and now…now isn't the time."

Flatly, growling it, Takato pointed out the obvious. "You're hard."

"Around you? Like this? It'd be a struggle not to be." He saw Takato preen and leaned into that small breach in his defences. "You were perfect before. Everything about you. I stood watching you with your eyes closed once and your eyelashes…black fans, thick and soft. They shadow your skin and that's perfect too… You move like you're dancing slowly with yourself, so graceful and controlled, and if you had me worshiping you then, I'm on my knees to you now but you're dealing with too much to add sex to the list. Give it a day—a night, I mean. Adjust to all this first."

Takato released his grip on Junta's wrists and Junta bit back a gasp as the blood flowed back into his hands. Takato had left bruises, not because he'd wanted to hurt Junta but because he didn't know how to use his newfound strength.

Yeah, sex wasn't happening yet or with Takato in charge of it.

"But I want you."

Takato's directness staggered Junta. Cautiously, he flexed his numb fingers. "I want you too, but not on a tiled floor when you're upset."

"I'm not upset! I'm…I'm…"

Takato moved again, another of those blindingly fast shifts that left the air filling the gap where he was with an all but audible whoosh. He ended up huddled in a corner, looking so lost Junta's emotions melted and dissolved, his arousal and worry and longing a swirling pool of colors.

"You're wet. Let me dry you."

Takato sent him a puzzled, half sullen glance. "Why? I won't catch cold."

"Because I want to." Junta snagged the hem of the towel on the rail beside him and tugged. He'd brought them from his place; new towels never dried as well as ones that'd been washed a few times and these were soft and big enough to wrap Takato in that softness. A smaller one fell down with it and he gathered them and crawled across the floor. Why he didn't stand, he wasn't sure, but his instincts told him not to loom or seem a threat.

He knelt by Takato and draped the big towel around his shoulders, then used the other to blot the water from Takato's soaked hair.

Oh, he'd looked forward to moments like this! Caring for Takato, making life easy for him… He worked so hard and he deserved a little spoiling.

Humming again, smiling, he toweled the silky hair dry, then chuckled when he saw how fluffy it was.

"What?"

"You look like a baby chick, all ruffled feathers. Here, let me—" He used his fingers to comb it into something like the way Takato styled it and couldn't resist letting his hand keep going, tracing the dark, sleek eyebrows with a fingertip, running it down the bridge of Takato's nose.

"How are you so beautiful?" he murmured.

"Am I?" Takato blinked rapidly as if holding back tears. Did vampires cry? Junta didn't want to find out if it meant Takato was unhappy. "I'll never know if you're lying and I'm hideous now. I can't see myself, remember?"

Touch with one hand. Don't make him feel trapped… Junta stroked the trembling lips soothingly.

"Let me be your mirror. Look into my eyes, Takato-san. See yourself in them."

Their gazes met and Junta didn't fight Takato's pull. It wasn't glamor; it was the same undying, unalterable love he'd felt for the past year. He wasn't the actor Takato was—had been—but he didn't need to be; he let Takato see all he felt for him and it was Takato's eyes that hazed over, dreamy, unfocused.

He wound his arms around Junta's neck, tilting his head back, lips curved in an invitation. "Chunta… Kiss me. Please, Chunta…want you inside me…"

Junta froze. What? Why the change in plans? It wasn't what Takato had wanted a few minutes ago.

"We were going to wait, remember?"

A nod, up and down, up and down. "Yes, Chunta. I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you tell me to."

Testing a theory, dread rising, Junta said, "Or I could make love to you right now, Takato-san. Hammer your ass hard. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Do it, Chunta!" Takato tossed the towel aside and without hesitation went to his hands and knees, ass up. "I'm ready."

Junta closed his eyes to block the view of that curved ass waiting for his hands to caress, that glimpse of Takato's hole, empty, needing to be filled, the tight mass of his balls there to be fondled. It was heaven offered to him, and his body was shaking as he held back, but he had to turn away.

Somehow, without intending it, he'd glamored Takato. That wasn't supposed to happen. That couldn't happen.

Takato glanced back and gave Junta a wavering, puzzled smile that turned to a frown as the spell snapped. "What the fuck? What did you do to me?"

Junta scrambled back, hands up, warding off a furious, embarrassed Takato who looked ready to rip his throat out. "Nothing! I swear it!"

"Then why am I on my hands and knees like this?"

By the time he'd finished his question, he wasn't. Grabbing the towel, he stood, wrapping it around his waist with jerky movements. "Get me some clothes. Drain the bath. Then I want to talk to you, Chunta. The questions keep piling up and you won't answer any of them, but until you do, you can keep your fucking distance, are we clear? No more cuddling me like I'm a toy, no more sentimental crap and no more kissing me."

"Takato-san…"

"Clothes!"

He stalked off, leaving Junta kneeling on the tiled floor, head spinning.

He'd just glamored a vampire? How? The implications of it were too huge to grasp but he knew one thing; when he made love to Takato, if he had to do it blindfold, he was doing it with Takato willing and eager, not under a compulsion he'd never intended to conjure up and didn't want to repeat.

Takato on his hands and knees…

He shuddered with arousal so darkly seductive it scared him, and stood, balls aching, his control tattered and threadbare, but barely holding.

He'd promised to protect Takato; if he was the threat, that wouldn't be easy.

Chapter 6

"They're fluffy," Takato said, holding the sweatshirt and matching pants out at arms' length. At least they were plain blue, but whatever had possessed Junta to buy them for him? "Vampires don't do fluffy."

"I didn't see a rule book tucked into your coffin."

Aiming for calm dignity and failing, Takato snapped, "It's a matter of appropriate attire. This isn't it."

"We're at home for the night, no one's expected, so why not be comfortable?" Junta scratched his neck. "If you don't feel the cold, though…"

Triumphant, Takato said, "I don't."

"Then stay naked. Why not?" Junta gave him an angelic smile, innocent and fake, fake, fake! "I'm enjoying the view. Pictured it so often and you don't disappoint, Takato-san. You never could."

In that case… Takato yanked the clothes on, fuming. His skin didn't warm up but the cloud-softness of the material was deliciously decadent. He admitted to himself, grudgingly, that Junta had a small—tiny!—point. After all, it wasn't as if he even owned a cape. Or leather pants. Or a ruffled shirt. Or was that a pirate?

Plus, he'd worn enough designer clothes to recognize the brand and the price tag on them was high. Vampires certainly deserved the best of everything.

Except the evil bitch who'd turned him. He was so glad she'd been staked because if he owed her some form of loyalty, well, hard pass on that.

He flopped onto the couch, brooding. What was he supposed to do? The court would rule on his case soon enough and until then this man seemed eager to serve him, which was nice, but though his bank account was healthy, it wouldn't last forever.

And that was what he had to look forward to now. Forever. Eternity.

Focus, he told himself. It wasn't easy. The change had been so abrupt and recent that he couldn't process it. It didn't help that he was different now. Didn't help that he couldn't put into words where the difference lay.

Junta sat beside him, crowding close. "Talk to me? Ask me anything, vent, yell, anything."

"Why are you doing all this?" Takato asked, helpless under that intent, adoring stare. A stare he didn't meet for long. What the fuck had happened in the bathroom? His willpower had melted like butter in the sun, and everything Junta said seemed to make perfect sense; was exactly, precisely what he wanted to do, no question about it.

Horrifying. Terrifying. One of the vampiric skills that led to a quick staking if employed to get a meal, but even so, having it used against him was deeply unfair.

"I told you. I love you."

So…excessive an emotion. "Fine! You were a fan! That was before and this is now! I'm a vampire, Chunta. I drink blood, I live forever, and I'm a soulless fiend."

"You're not." Junta's lips tightened and for a moment Takato shrank back. Junta seemed larger, a dark aura about him, storm clouds and flickering lightning… "Your physical body and what it needs to survive have altered. You're faster, stronger and you heal instantly. That's offset by being unable to survive in the light, by having half your life spent in a coma from sunrise to sunset. Whatever. You're still you, Takato-san. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Uh, I died?"

Junta waved his hand dismissively. "People die and get revived all the time. Drowning victims, hypothermia… They don't lose their souls when they're brought back. Maybe you'll change over time; I don't know, but right now, I look at you and see the Takato-san I acted with, the one who guzzles hot chocolate and silences the crew with his talent. The man who helped me act better and brought the light to me when my world was grey. I see you and I love you and I won't let the darkness take you, Takato-san. You're mine. Forever. You're mine."

That was so uncompromising a declaration that if he still breathed, he would have been left gasping for air. "Chunta…"

"Mine." Junta repeated and there was no gap between them now. "If I kiss you, will you attack? If I peel those clothes off and put my hands and mouth on every part of you, will you run out the door?"

"Not if I'm naked. They arrest you for that whether you're human or vampire."

Junta grimaced. "Ha. Funny. You're so funny, Takato-san, but you're trembling." He raised his eyebrows. "Can't be the cold so maybe it's me? Don't be scared. I promised I'd protect you—"

"Stop!" He didn't stammer it, but he came close. "Back off! Promised who?"

"Sasaki."

His mind was so fuzzy, he almost asked, "Who?" Instead he squirmed back a little, needing the space, and said, "Sasaki? Yeah. Let's talk about him. Why isn't he where you are, looking after me? He's my agent! He's supposed to be my guardian!"

"I—" Junta bit his lower lip, catching it between his teeth. Takato saw the flesh dent and the blood darken on either side of the teeth and saw nothing else. Mind whiting out.

Blood. Close to the surface. Calling to him.

The snick of his fangs emerging broke him free of his momentary trance. "Stop biting your lip," he ground out. "Don't do that!"

"Huh?" Junta covered his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry!"

"Forget it." How did he make his fangs go back in? If he thought about it, they didn't move. So frustrating. He couldn't speak well with them out. His mouth felt crowded. "Sasaki. Why?"

"He was… He was worried about Nana," Junta told him, his reluctance plain. "I wanted to help and he's allowed to pick a deputy so he signed you over to me. He was mourning you. Don't think he didn't care."

The betrayal stunned him. "Nana?" His voice broke. "He thought I would ever hurt Nana?"

Pity softened Junta's voice but his words still hit hard."Vampires do. You know they do, Takato-san. They target their family and friends because they're easy pickings."

Bitterly, he asked, "And you still think we have souls?"

Junta hesitated before answering, choosing his words. "I think being turned gives you an excuse to hurt and kill and do whatever you want if you're weak or evil to start with. You're neither of those. And you've recovered fast, Takato-san. Most new vampires take weeks and they're starving and scared and they can't control what they do. Lots of reasons why tragedies happen. That's why I'm here. I won't let you hurt anyone, because that means they'll stake you and I won't let that happen. Ever."

"I might need staking," Takato whispered, close to breaking down. The room was closing in around him and the control Junta spoke of seemed gossamer-thin. He thought he was okay and then he—wasn't. "It might be what I deserve."

He saw Junta clench his teeth as if choking back a growl, "If you ever need staking, I'll do it myself, but you won't."

"That's your idea of romancing me?"

"That's my way of telling you to trust me." Junta was so close again, hand hovering, almost, not quite, touching his face. "Do you, Takato-san?"

"I...don't…know…"

"I trust you." Junta turned his hand and offered Takato his wrist. "I can't let you have much, but take some and stop. Prove to yourself you can do it. Taste me, Takato-san, then let me taste you."

"Taste me?"

"I want to fuck you," Junta said, bluntly. "I said we should wait, but if you feed off me, I won't be able to hold back." He closed his eyes for a moment, face twisting. "I'm at my limit, Takato-san. Seeing you naked, being this close to you… I'm so hard it hurts. I need you."

Recalling that hardness beneath him, the size of it, Takato wished Junta wasn't so determined to be the one on top. Maybe they could take turns? Something told him that wasn't happening. Wait, why was he even thinking about sex as if it was inevitable? Junta's powers of persuasion again? No, they hadn't made real eye contact… "That's your idea of a swap? Your blood for my ass?"

"You've changed a little," Junta said with a flickering smile. "You're more honest now."

"I am?" He wanted time to think that through, explore that change, but Junta's hand was still there and all he had to do was lean over…

He slipped one hand under Junta's, feeling the bump and press of the bones against his palm, and used his other to grip just above the wrist. Junta's skin was so warm…Then for the first time he used his fangs to pierce flesh.

It was easy; a slight resistance, but his fangs were sharp and the skin was fragile, thin, the blood waiting to burst out and fill his mouth with a heady, rich sweetness.

He swallowed and moaned, sucking without haste, lost in the wonder of it. Oh, nothing had ever tasted so good, nothing, ever. It sank into his body, water into sand, reviving it, making arid soil turn to a wild, riotous growth of flowers and leaves…. He soared, each swallow sending him higher. Junta's heartbeat pushed the blood out and he feasted from the open wound, taking what Junta gave and coaxing more out.

"Takato-san—stop."

Stop? Oh…right. He was supposed to take a little, just a bit. He'd stop, but one more swallow—oh, that woke his hunger. He was ravenous. Why had he not known that? Starving and here was this delicious blood, welling up, spurting out… Plenty to drink, so he could bite down more, worry at the flesh with his fangs, tiny shreds of flesh mixing in with the thick liquid…

No! Stop!

He heard it in his head, a firm command, an order that brought with it a chilling wave, not of anger, not of fear, but a control so absolute he couldn't disobey. He opened his mouth wide, his fangs tearing free of ravaged flesh and tilted his head back, staring up at Junta's pale face, contorted with pain.

"Chunta?" Blood dripped from his lips and he rubbed his hand across his mouth, cutting his finger on the edge of his fang. It sliced his finger, leaving a scarlet line, but even as he winced, the skin closed, leaving behind small beads of blood.

Junta grabbed his hand and before Takato could protest, before the small droplets of blood smeared and dried, he licked them without hesitation, using his teeth to bite and getting nowhere. Vampire skin didn't yield so easily.

"More," Junta said hoarsely, weakly imploring. "You took too much. I won't heal. Give me more of your blood, Takato-san."

Mute with shock, gazing at the gory ruin of Junta's wrist, Takato nodded and without thinking about it too much, sliced his finger open again, squeezing the blood out so it dripped directly onto the wound.

It didn't heal as quickly as his flesh would, and it took four more applications of his blood to complete the process but eventually Junta's wrist was whole again, the skin knitted together, if raw and reddened, with the first puncture marks showing as livid purple circles.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I'm not."

Startled, he looked up and this time meeting Junta's gaze didn't bring with it any sense of being controlled. He saw the blaze of desire in the green depths of Junta's eyes and knew he was the cause.

"I hurt you… I couldn't stop."

"I won't stop either. Not if you beg, not if your tears spill down your face like rain. I gave you my blood, Takato-san. Now let me give you my body."

"You still want to—"

Junta shook his head. "Still? No. Always. I'll always want you, Takato-san." He stood and held out his hand, the one Takato had fed from, helping Takato to stand. "You were hungry and you fed not that long ago. I've been starving for a year."

He drew Takato to him and mouthed the side of his neck, making Takato shudder. That was where he'd bite if he was feeding…. "I've got until sunrise, Takato-san. It's not long enough, but—"

"Sunrise? That's hours away! I won't survive!"

"Vampire," Junta reminded him and swept him up into his arms.

Chapter 7

Lying on his back on the wide bed, covered with a thick, leaf green comforter that framed him, Takato stared up at Junta. What now? What would he do? He willed his body to relax. If he unconsciously saw Junta as a threat and attacked… He didn't want to do that.

"I want you," he thought, repeating it aloud. "Chunta, I want this."

Junta smiled, his eyes gleaming as he pulled his T-shirt off, still damp from hugging Takato in the bathroom. It had hung loosely on him but Takato saw what it had hidden and wondered why he'd never realized how broad that strong chest was, how well-defined the muscles.

"You say that, but you don't know what I'm going to do to you."

"Well, I, I, of course I know," Takato said, unable to blush but still flustered. "You're going to, um…" He faltered and ground to a halt.

Of course he knew. Sex. Yes. He knew all about it—in theory. This was reality. He was aroused but keeping that desire in check was his irritation at not knowing his part. What was he supposed to do or say? How should he react when he was touched or kissed? What expression was right for the moment Junta's cock slid into him?

He didn't know and improv had never been his strong point.

"I'll help you out since you're struggling. I'm going to do more than anyone's ever done to you."

"Mission accomplished," Takato muttered.

"Hmm?"

His lack of experience would be painfully obvious soon enough. Get it over with, gloss over it fast; move on. "I've never…"

He couldn't finish his confession.

"Never?" Junta prompted and that was too much to endure.

Takato sat up and glared at him. "You know already so don't make me say it."

"I'm the first one who—?" Junta was implacable. Kneeling over him and pushing him back again, he put his hands on either side of Takato's head, caging him. "Kissed you? No, you must have been kissed…"

"Why?" Takato demanded, angry now, despite his efforts to stay calm.

Junta had to be careful! Why didn't he see that? Junta acted as if he was no threat and that was insulting and reckless. If he turned on him, Junta would be a bloody mess of flesh and bone in thirty seconds, all life gone. He knew that from experience. Part of him, a dark, merciless, hungry part struggling to be heard, wanted that release; saw it as natural, even right. He wasn't the same species as Junta. Animals were slaughtered and devoured by humans daily. Now they'd learned they weren't the apex predator after all. They could fight back against vampires but if the numbers were equal, which they weren't, humanity would cease to exist.

Except then, what would vampires eat?

"Why, Chunta? Because I was the man people most wanted to fuck or be fucked by? What about what I want? I didn't—not with anyone. Never had time, never made time. So you don't have to worry I'll compare you to anyone else, man or woman, because there isn't anyone. Satisfied now? Have I humiliated myself enough to please you? I can see you're smiling; stop it! Don't look at me!"

He covered his face with a pillow, breathing in the scent of an unfamiliar detergent. That unsettled him more than it should; it reminded him this wasn't his home, his bedding.

Junta used one big hand to gently remove the barrier between them. "Takato-san…knowing I'm the only one you've let get this close is what's making me happy. That's how it will be forever now. I'll never let you go to anyone else."

"Possessive…"

"About you? Yes."

Junta leaned down to kiss him and Takato instinctively turned his head, panic rising. So close…

"No," Junta said. "You don't have to look me in the eyes if you're worried about what happened in the bathroom, but don't turn away from me, Takato-san."

He stroked Takato's face, the touch leaving Takato's skin tingling with warmth.

"I'm not worried," Takato said and knew it was a lie. "If you try to trick me into obeying you again, I'll drink cow blood before I touch a drop of yours!"

Animal blood…it sounded nasty, though he knew some vampires did turn to it because it was cheaper than human.

"So angry… I didn't do it deliberately." Junta brushed his fingers across Takato's eyelids. "Close your eyes, then. If you don't want to look at me, close your eyes. Because I want to see you, Takato-san. Every bit of you."

Takato closed them, then changed his mind. If Junta swooped on him, he needed to brace himself.

Then Junta kissed him, slow and sure and his eyes slid closed all on their own.

Junta lay beside him, their legs tangled, bodies pressed close because Junta wouldn't let him pull away, and was this what he'd missed all those years ago as a teenager? The achingly sweet, fiery hot kisses and shy touches, mapping his back, the curve of his ass? He got them now. Junta kissed the reluctance out of him and slowly, imperceptibly, they moved to new territory.

A hand, slid up inside that sinfully soft sweatshirt, fingernails scratching his back, waking the skin, then that hand dipped lower, diving inside the loose waistband of his pants and finding bare skin.

These weren't shy caresses now; they claimed him, making each part Junta touched belong to him.

The vampire in him was always there but new enough a tenant that it hadn't unpacked yet; Junta took advantage of that and swept aside the innate territorial instincts that warned Takato to fight this, to stay himself, alone, aloof.

He was cool, he was ice, and Junta was the sun that melted him.

He dissolved into the kisses, breaking them, not to gasp for breath (never needed again, that frantic gulping of air, never) but for the joy of meeting those lips as if for the first time. He wanted to bite down, craving the zing a taste of Junta's blood would deliver, but held back, quivering. He had to remember Junta was human and, though strong, a twig he could snap.

He lost his sweatshirt; kicked out of his pants with Junta matching him. Bare, they rolled so Takato was on his back again. Junta was done with the foreplay from that glazed, heated intensity in his face.

Takato stared down the length of his body and saw the thrust of Junta's cock rubbing against his, huge, solid, the head slick. That was going in him? Impossible. He couldn't. It would hurt. Even if he healed a second later, it would hurt.

"I'll make you feel good, Takato-san."

Was Junta reading his mind? No; he'd crawled up the bed, huddling into a defensive ball; obvious he was freaking out.

"Changed my mind!" he declared.

"I haven't."

"Chunta—"

"Trust me." It was an order, but it reassured too. "I thought I wouldn't be able to hold back once I touched you, but you're here with me, Takato-san, not a fantasy and that makes it easier. That's funny, huh? I can wait for you, but you don't want me to stop. Be honest."

He took hold of Takato's knees and spread them, pushing them wide as Takato yelped with shock at the exposure. He wasn't as big as Junta but he was equally hard, something even the onset of second thoughts hadn't affected. Seeing Junta's gaze directed there made him squirm.

"You're skin's cooling now. It was warm after you fed on me. What will it feel like when your cock's in my mouth?"

"When—what?"

Junta showed him.

Takato threw back his head, slamming it into the wall behind him but he didn't care. He stifled his cry with his hand and his fangs slid out, gouging his flesh. He didn't care about that either.

Junta lapped at his erection, licking it from root to tip, swirling his tongue across the head, digging it into the slit. Then he mouthed Takato's balls, gentle as a mama cat with a kitten, rolling them and teasing the flesh until it formed a solid mass.

He raised his head and matter-of-factly stuck out his tongue, removing a dark hair clinging to it and giving Takato a grin. "I could eat you up, Takato-san. You're my favorite food from now on."

The assault on his senses had drained Takato, but he managed a husky, defiant, "Not…food…You're….food…"

His body was one taut, strung-out quiver of need. Hard? Yes, but that was nothing. Somehow the touch of Junta's tongue did more than leave his cock wet; it left it sizzling, tiny sparks of pleasure flaring, spreading across his belly, arrowing toward his hole.

"Hmm? But you're so tasty."

Junta's tongue had damaged his defences; when he took Takato's cock into his mouth and that heat soaked in, Takato was engulfed, burning.

His climax hit him, his first one in months and his first ever involving someone else. Usually, when he jerked off, it was joyless, a little ashamed, not of the act itself but that he had no choice but to use his own hand. He'd told himself being alone was a choice; a way to concentrate on his career, but he'd been lonely now and then…

That was then. This was now.

The pleasure hadn't built to a crescendo, a slow climb, a dizzying plunge; it was his body reaching a point where Junta's mouth was doing too much to handle. There was no room for more sensation and his climax wiped the slate clean. He flooded Junta's mouth, hips jerking, moaning, wondering vaguely what his come tasted like now; if it was as cool as his skin, or tinged pink…no, why would it be—

Junta swallowed and raised his head, tongue sweeping across his lips as he chased the taste. "Mm. I wish I knew what it was like before to compare it."

The genuine regret baffled Takato and brought him back to reality after the mind-splintering release. "Well, you can't."

"I know." Junta sighed then brightened. "So that was the first time you've had a blow—"

"Yes!" Takato tightened his lips in sheer annoyance. "I have not had sex. Any sex. With anyone. Can we please move on?"

"Of course, Takato-san," Junta murmured. "Please turn over."

He might be incapable of turning into a bat but his voice hadn't gotten the memo. He all but squeaked his response. "What?"

"I can do it this way, if you prefer, but you said you didn't want to look at me, so…"

How many traps lay scattered around him, waiting to be sprung? Takato thought fast in a crunch; he had half a dozen stories of disasters on set or stage averted by his skill, but this was unfamiliar ground.

An idea occurred to him. "I could go on top."

"I don't think—"

"On top of you," Takato clarified. "Sit on…top…of…you—"

As he said it, he saw it. As he saw it, his resolve shattered. He'd have to move. Grab that thick hard cock and guide it to where it had to go. Ride Junta, bouncing, undignified—

Silently, grimly determined now, all arousal fled and not because of his recent orgasm, he went to all fours, head down, gaze unfocused. Not here, wasn't happening, what the fuck had happened to his life and why wasn't this a nightmare he could wake from?

"Oh, Takato-san…. The view you're giving me."

How could anyone sound so fucking reverent staring at someone's ass?

He was braced for a rough, agonizing thrust as Junta got straight to it, but instead he got more kisses and licks. Give Junta an ice cream and he'd have it eaten before the first dribble happened. Junta brushed the hair at his neck aside and found a place to put his lips that sent chills over Takato. He shuddered and mewled before he caught himself.

Down his spine, lick, kiss, lick, a Morse code message from Junta's lips to Takato's body.

What did it say? Did it matter?

Junta reached the end of Takato's spine, cupped his ass and spread his cheeks before continuing to lick and kiss. Takato tore the pillowcase, barely aware of it ripping, babbled nonsense and didn't listen. His world had narrowed to that wet, insinuating flicker of tongue in the tight space that yielded slowly, inexorably.

A finger next, and then a second, a third. Junta fucked his hole open with infinite care and a lot of spit.

It didn't hurt. Maybe if he'd been human there would have been discomfort, a raw rasping of delicate flesh, but his body neutralized the pain so quickly it didn't register as more than friction and heat.

He wanted the heat. He didn't feel the cold, but this was the warmth of life and something in him, wistful, envious, yearned to get closer to the source.

The blunt push of something bigger than fingers silenced him. He concentrated, relaxing, taking it and adjusting to the newness of the sensation. He was filled but it didn't feel good, exactly, just….

"You're so tight…squeezing me…" Junta was gratifyingly breathless but there was still something missing…

Then the angle changed and Junta plunged deeper, and what he'd missed before, he hit dead centre.

Takato howled and Junta laughed, triumphant, relieved; who knew what he was feeling?

"I found a good spot."

Yeah. It's my fucking prostate. Now find it again. Find it—aah!

The grip on his hips went punishingly tight, but he didn't mind. Junta hammered into him, taking his pleasure and taking Takato with him. His body went taut, striving for something and not knowing what it was. More of those sweet spot hits? A hand wrapped around his neglected cock?

No. What brought him to his climax was the rush of hot come into his ass and Junta reaching around and pushing his finger inside Takato's mouth, deliberately slicing it on his fangs and letting Takato taste him.

Blood. Junta's blood. The taste of it mixed with the pleasure, inextricably linked now. Was he being trained? He didn't know. Didn't care. Felt good.

Junta pulled out, his cock easing free, his finger removed even as Takato chased it. He collapsed onto the bed, tugging Takato into his arms and kissing his face with frantic, greedy kisses.

"So good, Takato-san, love you, want you so much. Never thought it would feel so good, love you, love you…"

What could he say back? He didn't love Chunta. Could he? Was that emotion even possible for him now? What did he feel for the man who'd rescued him, fed him, fucked him?

Takato wished he knew.

The only word that came to mind was 'mine'.

He wasn't sure that was what Junta wanted to hear.

Chapter 8

Sasaki was in the back of the courtroom, face sombre, gaze fixed on Takato.

Who had ignored him completely throughout the proceedings.

Junta stifled a sigh. He would never, could never, take anyone's side but Takato's, that was a given, but it was hard not to sympathize a little with Takato's former manager. Especially since Sasaki stepping aside had left the path clear for him to take over.

Still, with Takato's career over (all his contracts of employment were automatically null and void after he was turned) Sasaki's role was too. They could have stayed as friends if Takato had gone to another agency, but not after this betrayal, as Takato called it.

He was hurt and Junta's job was to make him happy so he walked to Sasaki's side during a short break for the judge to read through a document and sat beside him.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm his guardian," Sasaki said calmly enough. "You're the one with no real standing here. I don't know why the judge allowed you to represent Takato today and told me I wasn't needed."

Junta wasn't sure either. He'd asked to be the one reporting on Takato's mental and emotional state, as required by law, but expected to be told exactly what Sasaki had said. Yet somehow his request had been allowed and everything today had gone smoothly.

It should have pleased him. It didn't. He had the sense of someone pulling strings and that troubled him. There was nothing he could label definitively as suspicious but everything had been easy, from taking over from Sasaki to going to see Takato at the morgue, to getting his early release…the vacant apartment…

Later. Deal with this issue first.

"He's angry with you."

Bad choice of words. Sasaki flinched, mouth opening on a gasp.

"Still? What does he plan to do to me? If he targets my family—"

Takato, waiting in silence in the warded space to the left of the judge, a slim, elegant, composed Takato with an unreadable expression, turned his head at that. Sasaki got a look that never became a glare but held no warmth. Junta had learned to interpret the mask Takato used to hide his emotions. There were always clues as to what lay beneath and he was uneasy now as he studied the stunning face. There was less hurt there; more anger.

"He heard me?" Sasaki whispered, as if that would give them privacy.

"He could hear you if you were in the street," Junta told him without lowering his voice. "His powers are still expanding but enhanced hearing's basic."

Sasaki was no coward. He met Takato's cold, blank stare and said clearly, "Takato, forgive me for not being strong enough to stand by you, but if you still have any of my old friend left in you, then you know why."

Not the best way to put it. Takato was sensitive to the implication he wasn't still Saijou Takato. "What makes me who I am?" he'd demanded bitterly, throwing a copy of AniAni across the room. It was a special edition devoted to him but it made it clear the man adored by millions, along with his blazing talent and charm were lost forever. "They talk as if I'm an invader who took over Saijou's body. I'm not. I'm me. My body changed; so? If I'd been paralyzed in an accident, I'd still be me." He tapped the side of his head and then his heart. "Same!"

Junta wasn't sure about that, but he loved both versions so he didn't care either. He knew the vampire better than the human after the last month and the human was lost to him, so why waste time brooding?

Takato was evolving, night by night. Each time he fed, each discovery of something he could or couldn't do, sped up that change.

People spoke as though being turned happened in an instant and that was it, conversion complete. It wasn't. That drop of vampire blood splashing on an open wound in the moment Takato drew his last breath had made him something new, but the process of change and adaptation was ongoing.

Junta never forgot that if vampires had emerged from the shadows a decade before, they weren't created then. Takato was a baby vampire; they'd been around for as long as humanity some said and though eternal life was there for the taking, he guessed few vampires made it past a couple of centuries. Too easy to become complacent or bored of existence.

That didn't mean all of them sunwalked or found a quick end writhing on a stake as their bodies turned to dust. There had to be old vampires out there, powerful, twisted by loneliness or driven mad by frustration, Junta supposed. So?

One vampire interested him. One. His life consisted of keeping Takato safe, showing him he was loved. Keeping pace with him as he grew.

"Azumaya-kun—" Sasaki's eyes were haunted eyes, dark shadows under them, reddened as if sleep had been hard to achieve. "If he goes after me or my family, they'll stake him. If you don't care about me, you must care about that."

"He won't." Junta hesitated, then said, knowing it was cruel as well as kind, "You don't matter that much to him now."

He watched the implications of that sink in. Sasaki bowed his head, hands gripped painfully tight, the skin whitening on his knuckles, then nodded and stood, pushing his way past the onlookers crowded outside the door. Takato was too famous for this to be open to the public; too much of a risk to him, but a few members of the press were present. They watched Sasaki leave but he wasn't important to the story they had to write so they let him go.

The judge finished reading the form, signed it, and with a few flat, rote words, restored Takato's rights to exist, every right a human had, with the warning that if he broke the laws governing vampire kind, he'd be staked.

She glanced at Takato, not meeting his eyes. "Welcome back, Saijou-san." The warding around Takato was released and he bowed to her, a slow inclination of his head, no more, then turned to Junta.

There was an appeal in the blue eyes no one but he got to stare into. Not hard to read: get me out of here!

The formalities of unfreezing Takato's accounts were done by a government department, the forms prepared in advance and going into effect the instant the gavel came down. If the judge had ruled against Takato, the paperwork would have gone on hold but there had never been any danger of that. Takato was demonstrably coherent, Junta had vouched he was non-violent, and he had an unblemished record before he was turned.

It hadn't stopped him fretting from sundown to this hearing, two hours later. Luckily, by now Junta had a few ways to calm him. Blood and sex worked, but so, surprisingly, did watching a movie with Takato in it (he critiqued himself mercilessly, delivering a running commentary that left Junta watching Takato, not the screen, delighting in the vivid emotions on show). A bath too; Takato loved to soak, neck deep in bubbles, emerging with a rose-pink flush to his skin that faded fast and a better mood that lasted a little longer.

Junta rubbed his wrist. Takato had bitten down hard, though he was used to it now. He healed faster each time, too, as though his body was adapting to the nightly wounding. So far, Takato had only fed from Junta's wrists. Junta had offered the crook of his arms and his neck, but Takato had shaken his head and looked away, murmuring, "Another time."

The weeks since Takato was turned had left Junta's career in ruins. He'd burned too many bridges to return to acting and narrowly escaped being sued by the people behind Midday Star.

Again; lucky. Too lucky? They'd explained, a little huffily, that without Saijou, there was no one who'd match well with his style of acting. Better to recast both leads. Easier and cheaper and get the hell out of here!

Mitsuya had been distraught, weepy, fuming, mellowing to awash in sentiment, then finally brusquely practical.

"Junny, sweetie, your face, your body, you'll always be able to work. So if you need money or change your mind, well, you've got my number. And don't go back to delivering pizzas, hmm? Such a waste." Teeth bared in a smile, he added, "Give Takky my regards, won't you? So happy that even as an undead bloodsucker, he's still able to destroy my star actors and ruin my business!"

With no work, living off his savings, Junta patiently made Takato his focus.

That first walk outside one night, with the winter stars all but lost in the city lights for him, but sparkling for Takato. The way Takato had slid his cool hand into Junta's, glaring at anyone who'd given them a sidelong, scandalized look. The heart-stopping moment when a drunk had lurched sideways and sent Junta staggering into the busy road… There was no time for fear to grow; Takato had grabbed him and yanked him to safety, moving faster than the human eye could take in. Takato's fangs had appeared a pulse beat later and he'd snarled so viciously the drunk had pissed himself, cowering back, falling to his knees, gibbering excuses and apologies.

It had been a test of Takato's control and he'd passed. With a contemptuous sniff, fangs vanishing, he'd swept Junta back to their apartment.

What followed had left Junta bruised and scratched as Takato demanded sex that verged on brutal at times, as if the fear of losing Junta had woken something dark in him.

When dawn came, Junta had carried Takato to the darkroom, kissed him, and stood on the other side of the locked door, shaking with reaction. For the first time, he'd left Takato sleeping and gone back to his old apartment for a few hours, soaking in the light streaming through the windows, moving from room to room, crowded with bright colors and softness, not the bare, windowless boxes that were his current home.

He couldn't afford to keep paying the rent on it; it would have to go soon, but the short respite had helped. When sunset came, he'd greeted a contrite, embarrassed Takato with a smile.

He shook free of his thoughts and found Takato by his side, frowning slightly. He didn't think Takato could read his mind but there'd definitely been times they'd communicated by thought. Not unheard of, but rare and almost always between a vampire and the person they fed off the most.

Blood of my blood…

"We're done here."

"Yes, Takato-san. Where would you like to go to celebrate?"

He'd expected Takato to want to go home, but Takato tapped a slender finger against his lips in pretended thought.

"Hmm. I want to go to somewhere I can get drunk."

"Huh?"

Drunk? Was that a joke? A pun he wasn't getting?

Takato stared off into the distance, ignoring the reporters gathering, too wary to rush and push their way into a conversation between a vampire and his donor.

Speaking casually, Takato said, "I used your phone the night before last and searched for clubs that let humans in if they were with a vampire. There's one that's close to where we live and they offer rooms for anyone who doesn't want to risk getting caught by sunrise. It's members only and it's expensive to join, but…" Saijou conveyed his thoughts on the triviality of that condition with a raised eyebrow and a delicate sneer. "I bought a guest pass for the night to see what it was like. I used your credit card, but I'll pay you back now I have money again."

He'd thought there'd been something weird about Takato when he'd emerged from the bath and found him reading a magazine with an absorbed interest that an advert for body spray didn't merit. So that was what he'd been doing? Huh.

Part of him didn't want to go. Didn't want to see Takato surrounded by other vampires. Didn't want to spend hours on guard, skin prickling, in case a vampire decided he looked snackable.

There was a wistfulness about Takato as he described the club though. How had he felt on their night walks knowing the humans they passed were staring with hostility or fear, not the adoration he was used to? To be one vampire in a sea of humans?

Maybe older vampires, other vampires, could give him something Junta couldn't. A sense of belonging.

One last attempt to get out of it. "I'm not dressed for anywhere fancy—" Black jeans and a green T-shirt with a heavy, baggy jacket in khaki. Nothing that stood out.

Takato waved that aside. "I checked. There's no dress code. At the prices they charge, you can wear what you like and they'll assume it's designer."

Make the best of it. It was only a few hours, after all. "Then let's go—"

"Saijou-san! Is Azumaya your donor? Are you drinking from anyone else?"

"Over here! Is it true you've given all your money to Victims of Vampires?"

"Big fan, Saijou-san! How do you feel knowing the last project you worked on has been scrapped?"

"Let's go now," Junta said, shooting the reporters a cold, inimical glare. "What's it called? I need to find the closest place to park."

"Smoke and Mirrors, and no need. There's a private underground garage."

Junta nodded and headed for the door the judge had used. It was marked private, but he'd arranged with her earlier that they could use it, anticipating the need for a quick exit.

A vampire bar… And just what did Takato plan to drink there? Junta couldn't give him more than a few swallows, not without leaving himself too weak to drive home. He assumed there'd be regular drinks for the humans who tagged along, but if Takato thought he was drinking blood from anyone else—

"Hurry up, Chunta." Takato's eyes sparkled as he dragged Junta toward their car. "This is going to be fun, I promise."

Junta forced a smile. "Time to celebrate, Takato-san."

Chapter 9

The club was so discreet Junta drove around the block twice before he saw the entrance to the underground parking lot. If there was another way in from the street or for someone on foot, it was well hidden.

The barrier rose silently when Junta tapped in the code Takato read off from the invitation and he found a place for his car in a section reserved for non-members.

His car stood out. It was too small, too cheap. Around him were vehicles whose combined worth was in the billions of yen, classic cars, luxurious and roomy or sports cars, flashy and sleek.

And probably all fitted with glass that filtered out the sunlight, just in case, and had backseats that lifted up to reveal a space for a vampire to huddle in safety. Retrofitting for vampires wasn't only for buildings.

The lighting was diffuse but effective; this was no dingy industrial space reeking of piss, scattered with litter. The floor was concrete, yes, but smooth, sealed, clean and the concrete walls were painted a soft cream that added to the airy feel. There were two elevators in the corner, their doors paneled in dark wood, but a sign declared them for the use of members only.

"Over there," Takato said nodding at a short flight of stairs leading to a door with a security camera over it, obvious, a silent warning.

The door opened when they were still at the foot of the stairs. A man, tall, dark, smoking a cigarette, stood framed in the doorway.

"No need to go through all the formalities. We know who you two are. Come in."

Junta hesitated, but Takato, smiling, was already climbing up to greet the owner of that deep, drawling voice. Where Takato went, he'd follow, but he wished he'd gone first just in case this was a trap of some sort.

The room was a reception area, fitted out with a cloakroom for coats and shoes and a desk in one corner with a leather office chair behind it.

"Anything you leave here is safe. We had a petty thief once but he proved a valuable object lesson so there's that. Help yourself to the indoor slippers. They come in a variety of sizes."

Junta ignored most of that. He was looking at their host. Had to be the owner or the manager. No average employee would speak with such bored confidence. Also a vampire; there was a chilly perfection about them and this one had that in spades. Good looking in a cold way, wearing glasses that had to be an affectation since no vampire needed them, and staring at Takato in a way that made Junta want to step between them.

Smoking? Well, he supposed there was no health risk to him, but what was the point of it?

Stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk, a shallow bowl of heavy crystal that deserved better, the man smiled, flashing a hint of fang. Takato couldn't do that yet; all out or nothing.

"Welcome to Smoke and Mirrors. I'm Usaka Kazuomi."

Takato bowed, all grace and good manners. "Thank you for letting us visit."

"Oh, I hope you'll do more than visit but I appreciate you'll want to see for yourself if the club's to your taste."

Was that a lingering emphasis on the final word? Junta told himself not to read too much into everything. It was a club. It wasn't what he'd expected so far, but Takato was all but purring at the treatment he was getting.

Coats and shoes dealt with, he turned, only to find Usaka holding out a tray with three strips of leather on it.

No. They had buckles. Collars. Black, red and white leather collars.

"Pick one for your human," Usaka said pleasantly. He made 'human' sound like 'pet'. "I know it seems extreme but it saves a lot of trouble if their status is clear. Black means they're off limits, exclusive to you, red means anyone can take a sip, and white is for someone's who's never been fed from. They're off limits too but it restricts the rooms they can enter."

Takato made a confused sound, instinctively stepping back and casting Junta a worried look.

A collar? Was it that kind of club?

"Nothing will happen to you that's against your will or contrary to your desires." Usaka had another cigarette lit already, blowing out smoke with practised ease. Junta wondered how that worked with a vampire's lungs but didn't care enough to ask. "It's a simple way to identify a human and saves a lot of boring questions and unwanted advances."

"Chunta?"

No one could mistake a human for a vampire but the rest made sense. Junta's issue was the choice of labels. What was wrong with a wristband? A nametag? The real problem was that Takato clearly still wanted to go inside. Would he come back alone if Junta insisted they left now? He could do anything he liked now he was free of a guardian.

Without answering, meeting Usaka's ice-grey eyes without flinching, Junta picked the black collar off the tray. He raised it to his neck but Usaka shook his head.

"Indulge me here. It's custom for the own—that is, the vampire, to fasten it. Kneeling is traditional but optional. We live in modern times, after all."

Takato was reluctant, but he took the collar Junta thrust at him and the difference in their heights meant he could fasten it without Junta needing to do more than bend his knees a little. He didn't mind kneeling in front of Takato at certain times, no, not at all, but not here, not here…

The leather was cool and rough against his neck but Takato had fastened it loosely. He wanted to touch it; adjust it, but he kept his hands by his side. No. Usaka didn't need another victory.

"Good." Usaka smiled without warmth. "Let me show you around."

His gaze was on Takato, but Junta answered for them both.

"Do we need a guided tour when we're here for a drink?"

A flicker of amusement showed, a glint in those cool eyes. "You’re new and one of you is human. Seeing you with me will reassure the members that you're no threat." Usaka tapped a code into a keypad by the door leading deeper into the building. "Let's start with the bar. You have something to celebrate, isn't that right, Saijou-san?"

"Takato-san only drinks from me." He was making that clear before they took another step.

"Chunta," Takato didn't snap it but there was an edge to his voice. "You're not my owner and you're acting as if you control me. Stop."

"Takato-san—"

Back off or lose him.

He was used to hearing Takato—well, maybe not used to, but he didn't mind it. These words were delivered in a vicious stab, painful, drilling into his skull. He cried out, grabbing his head.

Like a blizzard, chilling him, blinding him, Usaka continued, his thoughts a wild roar blasting his senses. Did that hurt? What do you expect? You open a door to one of us and leave it unlocked? Fool. Learn to shield better or any vampire will walk on in.

Jaw clamped to keep from voicing the pain, Junta dropped his hands and stood straight, defiant, furious. A spiked ball was rolling around behind his eyes and his sinuses throbbed. Major brain freeze.

"Chunta?" Takato came close to him, hand outstretched, worry darkening his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Takato-san." Junta took Takato's hand and squeezed it gently before releasing it. That took some effort. He wanted to grab tight and take Takato out of here, running, running fast for safety. "Let's get you that drink."

"But—"

Levelly, Junta said, "I'm sure the nice vampire has something we'll both enjoy."

Usaka removed the cigarette from his lips. "We aim to please."

The door led to a wide hallway and opened into a huge space, a vaulted ceiling sparkling with lights from chandeliers dripping with crystals, and a wide balcony running around the floor above, staircases in each corner providing access.

Looking up was dizzying; Junta's attention was caught by the ceiling, showing the sun and the moon in opposite quadrants and pinprick stars filling the other two. The moon, set against darkness, gleamed silver and the sun, against deep blue, shone gold.

Something told Junta it wasn't paint making them look like that.

"They're not real diamonds, but the effect's good." Usaka shrugged. "A little gaudy, but it was here when I took over and people like it."

"When was that?" Takato asked politely.

"Oh, a while back." Usaka walked across the floor, dark wood, unpolished but the matte finish worked, grounding the room.

Like any bar, it had tables and chairs, but they were around the walls, intimate places, shadowed, all jewel colored velvet couches and low tables in that same dark wood, leaving most of the floor bare. For dancing? Fighting? An impromptu baseball game? It was big enough…

There was music playing but nothing Junta recognized. It stirred his senses, a deep bass beat, a twist of guitar, a wail of a voice in a language he didn't know.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and he saw Takato's nostrils flare, his eyes flash silver as the smell hit him hard.

The people were the main decoration… It was busy enough, but not crowded. No one had to push through a throng to get anywhere, but Junta thought if he hadn't been trailing after Usaka, in his wake, it would have been difficult to move. The collective will of anyone looking—and many were—seemed to wish him gone from Takato's side.

Shield, huh? He wasn't sure how to do it, but he went with the obvious and pictured the door Usaka mentioned. He made it a bank vault, slammed it closed, and locked it tight.

Maybe it worked, or maybe his imagination had gone wild before, but the pressure in his head eased. Probably survival instincts warning him that he was surrounded by predators.

If they decided to kill him, nothing would save him; not his collar, not the laws, not Takato.

There were a lot of vampires here.

More men than women, dressed in clothing that ranged from traditional kimonos, some casual, suitable for street wear, some that looked museum quality, to modern clothing of all descriptions.

No dress code was accurate; a man walked by, human, naked apart from a complex arrangement of straps that criss-crossed his body leaving his erect cock bare, jutting out, a metal cock ring catching the light.

Usaka didn't spare him a look but the red collar on the man's neck was gilding the lily; bite marks showed all over him, some still oozing blood. The man was in his late twenties and smiling, showing no signs of being drunk, drugged or glamored so Junta let it go. Beside him, Takato averted his eyes and cleared his throat, striving to seem unaffected. The casual nudity jarred; it didn't match the elegance of the bar and it underlined the status of a human here; a walking appetiser, naked because animals didn't wear clothing.

"As a member, all basic refreshments are free," Usaka said blandly. "It won't surprise you to know we still make a profit. People are willing to pay extra for the, ah, vintage drinks."

Meaning what? Junta didn't ask. He wouldn't like the answer, if he even got a truthful one, so why bother?

A few hours here, less if possible, then home. He clung to that vision grimly. Home with Takato and then avoid this place in the future. He could persuade Takato to find somewhere else. There had to be bars and clubs where they could go that didn't feel like a stage set.

Still, this place was old. It felt as if the city had grown around it, weathering the storms and the ravages of war and sending roots down deeper with every decade. He didn't grudge vampires a sanctuary but he didn't want to lose Takato to a world he could never enter either.

Unless… He didn't finish his thought. Maybe one day, but for now, Takato needed a safe, reliable food source and a protector during the day.

"We drink blood, of course we do," Usaka said, finding them seats at the bar. The back wall was the usual array of bottles, beer pumps rose, shining and reassuringly familiar from the long expanse of wood, and glasses glittered from shelves set, not against a mirror, but panelling. "That's necessary and enjoyable. Blood intoxicates in its own way, especially when the source is appealing."

Junta endured an appraising look that told him Usaka would turn to dust rather than take a drop from him. "So why—"

Continuing as if Junta were invisible, Usaka said, "We soon discovered though, centuries ago, that it's still perfectly possible to enjoy any drink, if there's a small amount of blood mixed in. With alcohol or other stimulants, the effects are transitory but enjoyable."

Repressing the urge to gag, Junta decided to avoid anything he was offered.

"Your body will reject large quantities of anything that isn't blood until you get used to it, but discovering your limits is part of the fun. Some drinks won't appeal now, even if they did before and some will taste good but different." Usaka smiled. "So what will it be? Champagne? Rosé, of course? Or something else?"

Takato surprised Junta often. Now he did it again. "Whatever I drink will taste good if it has Chunta's blood in it, but I've fed from him once tonight already so I'll pass."

"No need." A young man appeared, reddish brown hair long enough to brush his shoulders, eyes to match, and a beauty mark on his chin. Fully dressed, which was a relief, and wearing a red collar, which Junta found less so, he edged between Junta and Takato, turning his back on his fellow human. "I have plenty for someone special like you, Saijou-san. Huge fan by the way."

"Ayagi." Usaka's voice bit deep. "Isn't your owner looking for you? She was in the cocktail bar last I saw her and she seemed annoyed."

"Madame is always annoyed with me. She enjoys it." Aygai inclined his head. "Fellow actor here, though not your caliber, of course. My dream was to act with you one day."

"I'm sorry you won't have that opportunity," Takato replied. "Do you mind?" He gestured Ayagi to the side and with a chuckle, Ayagi obeyed, letting Junta see Takato again.

"I'm serious, though." Ayagi took something small and shiny out of his pant pocket and slipped it onto his left thumb. It was a fake nail, metal, razor-sharp, heavily chased. Beautiful and deadly. He held up his right hand and casually nicked a vein, then offered his bleeding wrist to Takato. "If he's too weak to feed you, use me. I go well with red wine and brandy, I'm told."

Junta didn't stop to think. He clamped his hand on Ayagi's shoulder and spun him away from Takato with enough force that Ayagi staggered.

"Hey!"

Struggling to control his rage, rooted in possessiveness, he knew, Junta said, "I'm the only one Takato –"

"I can speak for myself, Chunta."

Takato slid off the bar stool and stood, arms folded, fangs out. He was pure vampire in that moment, radiating power that for all it was untried was no less intimidating. He was shorter than the three around him but it didn't matter; he was stunning as a human and as a vampire… Junta couldn't find words for that beauty, that perfection of features, the smooth, flawless skin, the silver-tinged blue eyes. Takato captivated him on every level.

"Ayagi, your blood's not appealing. It smells…watery, tasteless, and I suspect if we'd acted together you'd have been a disappointment there too." He flickered those thick, long eyelashes and sent Junta a look that held no softness but still left Junta warm to the core. "I drink from Chunta alone. My choice. I don't drain him to the point where's he's weak because I have other uses for him. Now, Usaka, charming though your little place is, I'll pass on the membership, I think."

He snapped his fingers. "Chunta, take off that silly collar and let's go."

"Not yet."

Usaka didn't bar their way but his scowl was enough to have Takato pausing. Junta unfastened the collar and tossed it onto the bar. Loose though it'd been, he felt its weight even now.

"Are we prisoners?" Takato demanded.

"Don't be so dramatic. I wanted to talk to you, but I can see this isn't the time or place." Usaka spread his hands. "We're vampires. We have eternity, after all."

"Talk to me about what?"

Conjuring up a lit cigarette, Usaka smiled through the grey haze of smoke he exhaled. "Your grandmother, as it happens. Like I said; it can wait."

"Suzuko?" Takato's voice faltered on the word. "She—she's dead."

"Her choice, but yes."

"Her choice? What do you mean?" Takato snarled, an ugly, whining sound, vicious and making Junta's skin prickle. His eyes were full silver now, fingers spread, not balled into fists, fingernails lengthening, sharp as Ayagi's toy. He looked ready to rend Usaka's flesh from his bones. "What did you do to her?"

Usaka raised his hand, bored and clearly unimpressed. "Enough. I warned you about the drama, Princess. I'm making allowances for how new you are, but my patience's always been in short supply and you won't like what happens when it runs out."

Junta didn't crowd Takato and he knew better than to touch him, but he stood beside him, splitting Usaka's attention. "Don't threaten him. Ever."

The curl of Usaka's lip was eloquent. "You can't do anything to stop me, so save the posturing. Even the weakest vampire here could break you into pieces."

"I know that." Junta stepped in front of Takato, his body Takato's shield. "I'll protect him until whoever you send finishes the job, though."

"Oh, spare me. Your heroics and his drama? I've got indigestion." Usaka gave an exasperated hiss. "Go. Get out of here. And Saijou; when you want to hear me out, show up here any night, but do it alone. Your human's a pest. Now scoot."

"Not until you—"

"Takato-san." Junta didn't make it an order or a plea, but it got through that vibrant, quivering fury.

Takato threw back his head, staring at the ceiling, the tendons in his neck taut, then lowered it. Smiling, eyes blue again, relaxed and in control, fangs no longer showing, he bowed without speaking before heading toward the door.

Ayagi stepped forward, mouth open as if to speak, then thought better of it, fading into the crowd watching them leave.

Ayagi…Junta made a note of the name as he followed Takato out. He'd stepped away from acting but he'd find out more about him easily enough. Something told him that encounter at the bar hadn't been accidental.

***

"Where to?" Junta asked as he started the car, wondering who was monitoring their departure. Would the barrier stay closed or would they be allowed to go? "Home?"

Takato shook his head, his mouth set in unhappy lines. "Take me somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can see the city and not be part of it. Sunrise is hours away. We have time."

Junta smiled, picturing the lookout over the river with the cool factory lights glimmering, reflected in the dark water below. He'd always planned to share his favorite refuge with Takato but the moment had never been right. "I know the perfect place."

Chapter 10

Junta turned off the engine after parking at the lookout and the quietness crept back in.

"It's chilly, but we could get out and—"

"I don't feel the cold. Vampire, remember?" Takato snapped.

The patience in Junta's voice didn't falter. "I never forget it. I was going to say I didn't mind because I'm wearing a heavy coat."

Takato knew how a cat felt whose fur had been ruffled the wrong way; irritable, uncomfortable and ready to scratch anyone who came near with a brush. He hated being in the wrong and yet here he was.

"It's an interesting place this."

As amends went, it was pitiful. Junta seemed to accept it though. He nodded, taking off his seatbelt and staring out at the view. "I come here to think things over. I've never seen anyone else around so it feels like mine somehow. Nights are the best. The factories over there are all lit up but they're not crowded somehow the way the city is. They're not watching me."

"Did you come here when I was turned?"

"I was too busy."

Busy? "Doing what?"

Junta turned and clicked the release on Takato's seatbelt. He cupped Takato's face, brushing his thumb across Takato's lips. "What do you think? I'd heard the man I loved had died. I didn't know you'd been turned at first. I thought I'd lost you forever, Takato-san and I went somewhere dark. Then I got you back, changed, a vampire and I had work to do. I wasn't losing you twice. That collar you put on me tonight—"

"Don't." Takato warded him off, head ducked because he couldn't meet those green eyes without shame. "I hated that. I should have told him no. We should've left. I'm sorry, Chunta."

Junta hooked his fingertips under Takato's chin and pushed his head up again. "I'd do more than wear a piece of leather around my neck if it gave you happiness. You wanted to be with people like you. I get it."

"It wasn't what I expected," Takato murmured. "I thought…"

"It was staged," Junta said flatly, letting his hand fall. "We saw what Usaka wanted us to see. He needed us off-balance so he could control the situation. That naked guy walking by, that actor showing up to flatter you into taking a sip…none of that was a coincidence."

Takato shuddered. "The smell of blood wasn't faked." It had called to him, he couldn't deny it, but it had overwhelmed him. Too many different scents, some of them fresh, others old enough that instead of carrying the promise of life, they stank of death.

Blood shouldn't smell that way.

"You don't know him? Ayagi?"

Takato prided himself on his memory for all things to do with his career. "I've never met him, but I've heard of him, if that's the same guy and it probably is. People say he's lazy, doesn't make an effort and gets parts he doesn't deserve. No good. Even so, I didn't expect to see him in a place like that or to be a donor."

"A red collar…"

He winced. "Please don't say that word again."

Junta grinned. "You hated seeing me in one that much, hmm?"

Primly, Takato said, "It didn't suit you."

That didn't come close to describing his reaction to seeing it on Junta or being the one to put it there. He'd never forgive Usaka for making—No. It'd been his choice. He had to own that.

"If he's feeding a vampire that could explain a lot about his career. If he's with an old one, someone with money and power…"

"Mm." Takato didn't care about Ayagi. Repairing the damage to his relationship came first. And then… "Chunta, what he said…"

He didn't need to spell it out. "About your grandmother?"

Suzuko's face flashed through his mind and he closed down his reaction. Some losses never lost their poignancy. Not the time to get emotional. "Yes. I have to find out more. Not by going back there, but somehow."

"Leave it to me." Junta rolled his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. "Whatever he says won't change anything but I know that won't satisfy you, so let me handle it."

Tartly, annoyed Junta seemed to see him as helpless, Takato asked, "How can you deal with a vampire? You're human!"

Junta got closer. The car wasn't huge, and he loomed over Takato who shrank back. Around Junta it was a struggle sometimes to remember he was a vampire, a killing machine, a deadly predator with supernatural strength and— yeah. With Junta's breath warm on his face, those big hands roaming his body possessively, Takato knew he was prey, captured prey about to be devoured.

He didn't mind it as much as he sometimes thought he should.

"Takato-san, who am I?"

"What?" Hands. Touching him, pushing up under his shirt, finding skin, fingers brushing a nipple to hardness… All this and he was supposed to answer questions?

"You want to fight me? See who's stronger?"

Stung, Takato did something he'd shied away from and struck at Junta's neck, not with his fangs though gah, it was difficult to force them to stay hidden, but his teeth.

He missed. Junta moved first, capturing Takato's mouth in a kiss, biting down on his lower lip, sucking it, bringing a flash of pain and heat before soothing it with a lick.

"Chunta! What the fuck?" Furious, Takato swiped at his mouth. "If you're making a point, I don't get it."

"Yes, you do. You'll never bite me unless I let you. Never hurt me, never…collar me. You were mine before you were turned and nothing's changed. I'll never let you go, Takato-san. I'll tell you, I'll show you, I'll prove it again and again, as often as you need it, but that's the truth." Junta flicked open a button, then another, undoing Takato's shirt with a deliberation more emphatic than tearing it open.

"Look at you," Junta said softly. "So beautiful, Takato-san."

Flailing, failing, Takato tried to shield his face. "Don't look at me like that."

Junta lowered both seats and straddled Takato. The confined space made escape impossible. He told himself that even as the vampire in him hissed and spat and pointed out any number of ways to kill Junta and push his cooling corpse aside.

"I'll always look at you, Takato-san. You make it impossible for me to look away."

Sweet…so sweet. "Chunta…"

Junta was breathing faster, eyes glittering with an excitement that had one cause. "I want you. I could wait until we're home, but I don't want to wait. I want to be inside you, hearing you make those cute little sounds, feeling your arms and legs wrap around me."

"Vampires don't do cute!"

"You do. So cute, Takato-san, so cute…"

Where had his shoes gone? How was Junta managing to ease down his pants and briefs and bare him from the waist?

Half naked… It was more vulnerable than bare in bed because they were in public. The darkness pressed around them but there were lights on the hill behind them and Junta had parked near to the spill of brightness from one.

Kisses…so many kisses, and Junta never stopped touching him, exploring what he could of Takato's body. Junta didn't undress but he unzipped his pants and loose as they were, it was easy for him to push them down enough to free his cock.

That hot, hard length rubbed against Takato's belly and thighs then Junta reached down and wrapped his hands around their erections, working them slowly.

Takato cried out, already close to coming. So soon… He had no willpower when Junta was in this mood. His body wanted that heat and passion and he'd learned to crave the pleasure Junta gave him.

It was all new, these sensations, this love—no. Love? Did he— Oh, he did. He couldn't pretend he didn't. Junta had stood in front of him tonight and challenged a room of vampires. He could have died and he hadn't backed down.

I'll turn you if you die. I won't let you go either, Chunta!

Was it one of those times his thoughts found their way into Junta's mind? He didn't know. Senses swimming, he clung as tightly as he could and tilted his hips, taking Junta's cock and meeting every thrust with a wild abandon he'd groan over later.

Junta had coated his cock with lube tonight, producing a small bottle from thin air, it felt like, the cool slickness making his assault a seduction. Takato didn't mind if it made it better for Junta because it chafed less (humans; so fragile) but he reminded himself as the darkness sparked behind his closed eyelids to tell Junta not to bother on his account. Junta couldn't fuck him hard enough to damage him.

He bucked and whimpered and dug his nails into Junta's back, but it was Junta's teeth digging into his neck that sent him over. Junta didn't break the skin, couldn't mark it for longer than a moment or two, but he did his best.

There was something so deliciously perverse about a human biting him that Takato came with a howl, not caring that the cool stickiness of his come went everywhere. Junta wouldn't mind.

Two thrusts later, Junta filled his ass, the sensation still novel, the brief moment of warmth and wetness inside him precious, if fleeting.

He lay still, not letting go and waited for Junta's breathing to even out, stroking his thick hair, the smooth, sweat-damp back.

He didn't want Junta in a collar, but as his swirling thoughts settled, one shone clearly and he shared it because it was important.

"Chunta."

"Mmm? Again, Takato-san?"

"No. Well, if you want to, though a bed would be nicer. Listen, Chunta. If you ever, and I mean a single drop, if you ever give your blood to another vampire, I'll rip their fangs out."

Junta made a soft, amused sound, muffled because he kissed Takato's hair as he chuckled. "And what will you do to me, Takato-san?"

"Is it ever going to happen?" Takato asked icily, shoving Junta away and glaring up at him. Laughing! About something this important!

"No."

Takato sniffed. "Then you don't need to know."

"No, I guess not. It wouldn't matter what happened, good or bad. My blood's yours, Takato-san. I'm yours."

"Yes, well, just so we're clear— What are you doing?" How had Junta found space to get on his knees in the seat well?

"Cleaning you up," Junta said between licks.

"There are wipes in the car! Use the wipes!"

"Not for this."

He was hardening again, cock twitching, filling. Junta murmured something indistinct, then put his mouth over the tip, sealing his lips around it, flickering his tongue.

Yeah, they weren't going home yet.

Chapter 11

The door to the darkroom closed with a firm click and Junta was alone. He'd offered to spend the day in there with Takato once, but received a blank look.

"Why? It's pitch black dark and I'm asleep. You'd be trapped too. No leaving if you got bored or hungry and you are not pissing into a bucket or something. Not in my room."

Put like that… He had moved a bed in there though, a single, wedged against the dais with the coffin. He didn't know which one Takato used, but at least he had options.

Asleep… Was that what Takato did? Sleep? He didn't think so. He'd asked about that too and Takato had given him an answer so vague it made Junta wonder if Takato knew himself. Was it like going under for an operation? There, then not, awakening hours later with no awareness of time passed?

Whatever. He had work to do. Online first. There was a lot he could accomplish without leaving the apartment.

He was still not used to the lack of windows. He craved the sunlight and he made sure, now his initial over-protectiveness had settled, to go for a walk each day or take care of the shopping for the food he needed well before sunset.

And now he could shop for Takato too; if he could tolerate a drink with blood mixed in, they could try it, as long as it was Junta's blood in there. Maybe a red wine…

Junta had a knack for research and slightly less than legal deep diving into personal information, texts and emails. In the year he'd spent without Takato close by, his obsession (yeah, it was, he knew it) had driven him to stalk Takato shamelessly. Crumbs to a starving man, but it'd helped a little. Now he turned those skills to good use to help Takato find out more about the new complications in his life.

After a short while, he knew plenty about Ayagi Chihiro, none of it good. Sleazy, opportunistic and small-time. Not terrible as an actor though, but too lazy to put the effort in to improve. Junta had experienced apathy but it hadn't been laziness for him; more an inability to become invested or excited by anything around him. Until Takato woke him, that was.

His conclusion was that Ayagi was no threat but a potential source of information.

He moved to Usaka, starting with the global database for vampires that anyone could access. Oh….interesting. He'd been turned before the Discovery and the attack that killed him and another student, Arisu Kiyotaka, on campus had been reported at the time as a simple disappearance. No body; no crime. They'd self-registered as vampires years later, months apart, Usaka in Japan, Arisu in Germany, submitted to being chipped, and added details of their turning in a helpful, cooperative way. Out for a walk after sunset, jumped, helpless, ow, dead, woke a vampire. Bare bones, impossible to prove or disprove and not all that important.

Before his encounter with a vampire, Usaka had been on the verge of a promising career in television on the production side and Arisu had been an emerging musical genius. Maybe. It was common for a talent to disappear when someone was turned, the assumption being that vampires didn't have the empathy and creative spark to write, sing, act, whatever. That didn't mean the future a grieving family said had been stolen was guaranteed. Arisu could've burned out early or made a tiny splash, soon forgotten.

The world would never know.

Arisu didn't seem relevant so Junta concentrated on the club itself. The laptop didn't provide any useful snippets. The club's ownership and history were shrouded, hidden behind walls and mirrors, dead ends and traps. The building had been there in one form or another since the city began; it was inspected, had its licences in order, paid its employees, who in turn paid taxes, but money bought invisibility. It was there, on the map, but that was all. A members list? No. A plan of the building? No.

Junta admired the opacity; it was clever to be so above board and legitimate and yet still hide everything important. A passive aggressive fuck you to the humans.

So he focused on the people. Usaka and Ayagi? What about Takato and his grandmother? Where did they fit in? Junta had the sense of a web, threads linking people to events and each other but who was the spider spinning it?

Ayagi was the most promising lead; human, therefore vulnerable and available in daylight and after that stunt in the bar…oh, Junta would love to pound the truth out of him…

Offer Takato his blood? In what universe did he dare— Junta discovered his hands were fisted, his chest rising and falling as he dealt with a rush of anger out of proportion to what the guy had done.

He wasn't sure where it'd come from but he needed a clear head. This was no time for revenge, not if it cost him information.

Ayagi's agency was a small one but solid enough. They wouldn't give out personal details but maybe he could pose as a client and lure Ayagi out? Or find out where he hung out in the day when he wasn't working?

Or hack the agency records and find his schedule.

That was easiest.

So when Ayagi slouched out of a photographer's studio, yawning and scratching his ass, Junta was waiting, leaning against the wall. He moved, blocking Ayagi's path.

"Buy you a drink?"

Ayagi squinted at him. Junta had the light at his back, a deliberate choice. "Huh? Get lost. I'm not interested—oh. It's you."

In daylight, Ayagi looked wan and washed out. Blood loss and not enough sleep did that to a person.

Junta knew that look. The bathroom in the apartment didn't come with a mirror but he'd put one up. In the first week, he'd looked like Ayagi. He'd adjusted to his new sleeping hours and Takato was considerate with his demands, so he didn't show signs of being a donor now. Clearly Ayagi's clients, or whatever he called them, weren't as kind.

"Yes, it's me. So? Drink?"

Ayagi chewed the offer over then shrugged. "It's eleven in the morning. Make it a coffee."

"Fine."

They settled in a corner booth of a crowded coffee shop with their drinks. Junta had black coffee; Ayagi had a whipped cream, caramel frothed something or other.

"Sugar. Energy. Need it. Thanks, I guess." Ayagi slurped his coffee then licked the foam off his lips. "So is this the part where you threaten me? Or bribe me? Or seduce me?"

Seduce him? When violence was available as an option? Never. "What would happen if I did any of those?"

Ayagi ticked them off on his fingers. "I'd scream, I'd say no, I'd tell you you're not my type." He sighed soulfully. "Saijou though…he could drain me and I'd squeeze out one last drop from somewhere else, know what I mean? He's the kind of vampire I go for. The ones who don't mind bending over. I bet Saijou's real flexible."

Junta pictured grabbing Ayagi's hair and slamming his face down onto the table, breaking bones and seeing blood splatter. Soothing thoughts.

Forcing the words out so they sounded calm, even bored was an effort but reacting to the provocation was stupid. "Saijou's taken. By me. So forget him."

"Hard to do. That cute little ass, those big blue eyes…"

"I said—"

"I heard you." More slurping. Some color was back in Ayagi's face now and his eyes were alert, not hazy with fatigue. Even so, what was that saying? Burning the candle at both ends? Ayagi's candle would melt if he kept this up. "So ask me what you want to know. Usaka told me what I could say if you tracked me down."

"Usaka…"

Ayagi tapped the table with his finger, his frown making him look older. "Now he's scary. Way scarier than you."

"Want to test that theory?"

Ayagi eyed him scornfully. "He could tear my throat out and watch me die choking on blood and not bat an eyelid. You'd be happy with punching me. Yeah, I know you want to. So tell me again who to run from? Except I couldn't outrun him. Vampires are everywhere…like cockroaches and just as hard to kill. He'd find me."

Killing vampires wasn't a topic of conversation Junta intended to pursue. Takato was so vulnerable…he hated that.

"Why is he interested in Saijou?"

Shaking back his hair, Ayagi said indifferently, "Don't ask me. Not for his ass, if that helps. Usaka's got his own method of stress relief."

Good to know. At least… No, he didn't want to ask what that involved in case it was gross. For a man in love with a vampire, Junta still had a deep dislike of horror.

"How does he know Saijou's grandmother?"

Ayagi spread his hands in apparent regret at his lack of knowledge but there was something in his eyes that told Junta he was being toyed with, a malicious glint of amusement. "She's dead, right? What does it matter? Old news."

With a sigh, Junta said, "One last chance, then we move to what makes me happy."

"What's that—ah. Got it. Listen, I'm under strict orders here. Don't shoot the messenger. Or punch him."

"You're not a messenger if you tell me nothing," Junta pointed out. "Fine, Let's try it from a different angle. What message do you have for me from Usaka?"

"Took you long enough to get there." Ayagi pushed his half-finished drink aside and stood. "'Leave him to me. Walk away, or die.'" Ayagi patted Junta's shoulder. "That's more or less it. I never did see the point in sticking to the script. Learning lines is boring."

Junta let Ayagi leave unscathed. He'd confirmed a few things and learned he had an enemy. It was a start.

Usaka would have to live with disappointment though.

Walk away from Takato?

Not in this life or the next.

Chapter 12

Takato came out of the darkroom yawning, a reflex action he couldn't shake, and with his soft sleep pants slipping down his hips.

He saw the arousal kindle in Junta's eyes and smothered a grin. It was nice to be wanted so wholeheartedly. Nice to know he had such power. Vampires were all about the power.

He couldn't glamor Junta but that didn't mean he couldn't bewitch him.

Seduction… He'd never known how to go about it. People told him he was hot, desirable, all the adjectives a man could want to hear, but if they were tools at his disposal he didn't have a clue how to use them and less interest.

Now, with Junta, it was unnecessary. A smile, a crooked finger? Even that was more effort than required. He could look at Junta and have him panting and pawing the ground.

All the power. His.

So why did the tables turn when they had sex? At what point did the control slip from his fingers, only to be grabbed by Junta?

Tonight, he'd find out. Pinpoint that precise instant and deal with it better.

One time. He just wanted one time when he stayed in charge from start to finish.

He'd accepted, outwardly grudging, inwardly relieved, that Junta didn't want to get fucked. It worked out. Being fucked was so mind-blowingly good he couldn't complain. Even so! He could, um, direct matters a little more and not lose his self-respect so thoroughly.

Junta needn't think that because he knew all those vulnerable places to caress and lick that Takato was easy prey. That the sounds he drew out of Takato were beyond his ability to bite back, that his wriggles and squirms weren't completely intentional.

"Hello, Takato-san."

"Chunta."

Oh, he'd said that too coldly; Junta blinked, puzzled, hurt. To make amends, he walked over, smiled up at him and gave him a swift peck on the lips. There!

"Takato-san…." Junta breathed his name reverently and gathered him close, returning the peck with a kiss that left Takato's lips warm for a moment, tingling for longer. The kind of kiss that sunk in and lingered.

"I'm hungry, Chunta."

"Of course. My wrist?"

He assessed his need for blood. Manageable. He could wait a little longer without issue. No; he'd feed during their lovemaking. That got tricky sometimes; two competing hungers was a lot to handle, but he was getting better at it. To climax with Junta's cock splitting his ass deliciously and to have Junta's blood trickling down his throat as his come bathed Takato's hole with fleeting warmth …

"Takato-san…" Junta growled it, all his sweetness lost in the heat rising between them. "I feel it. You're calling to me."

Was he? Was he calling? He should be demanding. Resolve, Takato!

He could have picked Junta up without effort but that didn't feel…no. Instead, he took Junta's hand and led him to the couch, pushing Junta down onto it.

Folding his arms, he said imperiously, "Unzip and uh…"

Junta raised his eyebrows, bewilderment melting to a faint amusement but he did what he was told, and a step more, easing his hardening cock out of his cargo pants and idly working it without taking his gaze off Takato as if that was all the stimulus he needed.

Takato shimmied out of the loose pants and stepped forward, straddling Junta's lap and letting their erections kiss.

"You're bold tonight, Takato-san."

Bold? Yes, he was. This was better. Much better. The club had been disquieting in some ways but something in that space, the message that humans existed to serve, had stirred a response in him. He was torn; Junta had taken care of him and worshiped him and done it without humbling himself so it was possible for there to be a meeting of equals but the club had told him, subtly and overtly, that it wasn't natural.

One of them was immortal. One of them was strong. One of them could heal and move fast enough that they were a blur, could hear a whisper across a busy street, see the dark gleam in a crow's eye as it floated high above, could…

And one of them was Junta.

Somehow, with Junta holding him, it was difficult to see himself as an apex predator. Not when Junta brought him to surrender with a single touch.

Without replying, he took the initiative and kissed Junta, not a darting dab, but a lingering smooch, flickering his tongue against Junta's and running his fingers through that thick, soft hair.

Junta raked his nails lightly down Takato's back, scoring the skin enough to kindle that flash of pain/pleasure Takato loved. Breaking the kiss, Junta bent his head, paying attention to Takato's nipples, a part of his body Takato had never considered relevant. They were there. So? They didn't do anything. Junta made them his focus and the wet laps of his tongue, the pinches, the tickles, the sucking, biting kisses fused to make them become a source of ecstasy.

Takato flung his head back, arched, mutely offering himself for more, then as his desire rose, threatening to pull him under, he rallied.

Time to assert himself.

A blow job? No. Too risky. Even Junta would flinch if Takato's fangs came out, and they were about to, he felt it…yeah, there they were. So why not use them?

With a wriggle, he lifted up and sank down onto Junta's cock. That was the plan. The reality was a painful (judging by Junta's yelp) bump and a complete lack of penetration.

"Stay still, Takato-san. Let me—"

"No! I've got this." He reached under and grabbed the thick shaft then awkwardly guided the head to the pucker of his hole. No lube. Damn; he'd meant to ask if Junta preferred it. Too late now.

Junta stretched out his hand, flipped a cushion out of the way and revealed a bottle of slick. "I put it there just in case."

Boy Scout!

Junta smoothed a generous dollop over his hard-on and tossed the capped bottle aside. "That should help."

Mood. Ruined.

Takato gave him a tight smile that the fangs made fearsome (he hoped) and tried the sit, sink down, own Junta's cock manoeuvre a second time.

It worked better. Impossible to slam down, but after rising and falling, gaining more each time, he got there.

Then he waited. This position wasn't one they'd never used, but it was usually Junta rolling him over, still impaled, and using his hands to lift Takato up and down. Junta, in fact, doing all the work.

Not tonight and not solely because that was how he'd planned it. Junta sat there, a bump on a log, smiling at him lovingly but doing nothing to help.

Humans were so fucking idle.

He bobbed up and down a few times, then remembered he was hungry.

Junta's neck…so inviting and in this position accessible.

Takato had shied away from feeding from there. It was traditional and he wanted to see Junta's neck fang-marked, but…that was how he'd been turned and the memories of the pain as his flesh tore under a vampire's razor-sharp fangs… He never wanted Junta to feel that onslaught of agony and terror.

Did he have the control to make it pleasurable? He knew being fed on, if done right, left a human shuddering with euphoria, flying high, addicted to the rush, but so far, though Junta obviously didn't mind, he hadn't reacted like that. He was doing something wrong.

That maddened him. Saijou Takato did nothing wrong! Take this awkward up and down. He was riding Junta's cock. Fine; he knew how to ride. He'd had an entire scene on horseback once for a commercial about, oh, yeah, shampoo. Posting, that was it. You matched your rise and fall to the rhythm of the trotting horse.

Junta wasn't moving though; there was nothing to match to.

Frustration rose and his fangs ached with it along with his balls.

Instinct took over and he snarled and rose, sliding down that thick, hot length and nuzzling Junta's neck as a warning. Junta moaned, the kind of sound Takato knew he made during lovemaking, hoarse, desperate, begging.

"Takato-san….I can't hold back. I tried but I can't—"

What? No! Or…maybe…

Share the load.

Takato gently, with infinite care, pierced Junta's neck, seeking out the ideal place for his fangs to break skin, where all that juicy, rich blood lay so close to the surface. Dimly, as the salt-copper taste broke over him, he felt Junta clamp his hands on his ass and hips, moving him, fucking up into him in brutal, perfect choppy thrusts, but he let that physicality be the background to the gush of blood.

How could he share this with Junta? How could he… Something changed. He felt his fangs extend a fraction more and something spurted from them, mingling with Junta's blood, flowing into Junta's body through the holes in his flesh.

It changed the taste of the blood, more layers, complexity, a darker thread of satisfaction connecting them, a twisting, living flame.

Takato swallowed and came, the two actions simultaneous so his fangs locked in flesh as his body froze, then shuddered through a climax that ripped him apart.

He knew Junta was coming too, heard his voice in his mind as well as his ears, heard his name, over and over as Junta called to him, claimed him.

He eased his fangs out and stared at the holes, watching them close without his blood, leaving the skin marked with scarlet dots, nothing more.

That was…not what he'd expected.

He roused from his haze, cradled on Junta's lap, come oozing from his hole, his back stinging from the claw marks Junta had inflicted. Junta's chest was heaving as he caught his breath, sweat starring his chest.

"Takato-san…"

"I know."

"Yeah." Junta gingerly explored his neck with his fingertips. "Doesn't hurt. Throbs a little, but it healed…"

"Mmm." Takato didn't want to talk about it. Not yet. He snuggled close, taking in the earthy ripe smells of Junta after sex. As a human, he thought they would have had him wrinkling his nose in fastidious distaste; as a vampire he relished them.

"Takato-san, I love you. I never want to leave you."

Drowsily, Takato murmured, "Well, of course not. Why would you?"

"Remember that," Junta told him and tilted Takato's face up, not for a kiss but to stare into his eyes. "Remember I will never leave you, Takato-san."

Was he being glamored? Didn't feel like it. Sleepy from the sex and the blood, Takato yawned and nestled in again.

Felt nice.

Had his plan worked? He wasn't sure, but a little smugly, he decided Junta had learned who was in control. He made the mistake of saying so.

Junta scratched his chin. "That was what you were doing? Teaching me that you're in charge when we fuck?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I was." Tracing his name on Junta's chest, broad enough for an entire essay, Takato smiled. "Did it sink in?"

There was a pause as if Junta was giving it serious thought. "Oh, yes, Takato-san. Why don't I show you what an attentive student I am?"

"Huh?"

"I'll make love to you and show you exactly who's in charge."

"Me? It's me, right? So why do we have to— Chunta, why are we—What are you—"

It wasn't him.

Lesson learned.

Three times.

Chapter 13

Takato was bored. Bounding off the walls bored, a restless roaming of the apartment, prowling, head down, glowering, fidgeting.

Junta watched him for a while, working out a strategy. Takato had fed from him, greedily but not for long, pulling away, fangs dripping, then almost as an afterthought nicking his finger to heal the puncture marks on Junta's wrist.

Maybe a direct approach would be best. "Takato-san, what's—"

"I'm bored." Takato swirled around and punched the wall hard enough that Junta heard bones crack and saw a spasm of pain register, but there was no regret because Takato did it again, same hand, before it healed.

Junta didn't stop to think it was risky to intervene; he raced over to Takato and grabbed his arm. "Don't!"

"What?" Takato turned on him, fangs out, eyes cold. "You don't tell me what to do."

Junta didn't back down. "You're hurting yourself. Want to punch something? Hit me."

"I'd kill you." Takato didn't sound like he cared. It stung, but not much. Takato wasn't himself tonight.

"Maybe."

"I'd break you."

Telling the simple truth, Junta told him, "Watching you like this already did. I hate seeing you unhappy, Takato-san. Let me fix it."

Takato's eyes blurred, silver to blue and back again then settled. He sighed without sound. "I don't know what's wrong. My skin itches. I can't settle."

"Then let's go out."

Takato nodded, but there was defeat in his expression now and a dragging listlessness as they walked out of the building.

Outside, on the quiet streets, the moon rode high and full. Junta stared up at it wondering if that had anything to do with Takato's strange mood. He said as much and Takato shrugged.

"Moon? Isn't that werewolves?"

Werewolves, if they existed and who knew these days, hadn't stepped forward when vampires did. Probably wise. There were stories of labs with vampires in them, kept alive because there was no experimenting on a pile of ash…

"Humans get affected by it too. Always more murders, more accidents, I've heard."

"Well, all I know is that eternity's going to drag if all I do is sleep, feed and fuck." Takato rolled his shoulders. "I used to be busy. All the time, busy. I worked. I had a schedule with no empty spaces and now…"

"Money isn't an issue," Junta said quickly, eager to reassure. "I'll give up my place and move in properly with you—"

"About that…" Takato drew Junta down an alleyway into the shadows and pushed him against a wall, gently but firmly. "Chunta, I want you to move out not in. Go back to your apartment. You can feed me every night, no change there, but we need some time apart. No. You have all day, after all. I need some time alone."

The bluntness of it was a shock. Junta sucked in a breath. "Huh? Where did that come from?"

Takato hesitated as if choosing his words, then said slowly, "If I hadn't been turned and you'd seduced me as a human we wouldn't have been living together a month later. Yet here we are."

Panicking, seeing his happiness at being with Takato slipping through his fingers, no, stolen from him, Junta said fiercely, "You need me!"

"I need your blood." There it was; that flash of coldness that was all vampire. "You want me to only feed from you. Fine. I'll allow it. You taste good and the sex is great and you keep me safe. It's all good, Chunta…but you're holding me so tightly, protecting me so much and I don't…I need to fly and you can't so you're keeping me on the ground."

The bitter frustration in Takato's voice stunned him. "What?"

Fangs flashed white. "You heard me. When did you let me choose? All of it's been your decision from the moment that bitch bit me and you took over from Sasaki."

"Takato-san…"

Takato crowded close, kissing him, a swift, hard press of cold lips. "If I can love anyone, I love you. I think. I'm not sure how it works for us. I know you're my human and I'd never let anyone hurt you or another vampire feed from you, but I need to explore and the places I want to go…you can't survive there."

"Where? That club? Is that it? You want to go back and talk to Usaka? Meet him somewhere I can go then! It's not safe for you to be there alone!"

"Not safe?" Takato snarled it. He reached out and grabbed the drain pipe running down the wall beside Junta, tearing it free from the brackets then bending the bottom meter or so up until it snapped. "Can you do that?"

He tossed the twisted metal aside to land and skid with a discordant clatter. He wasn't finished. He stepped back, leaped up and kicked off the wall, ricocheting off the narrow sides of the alleyway twice, three times, then plummeting to the ground, landing lightly.

"I know you can't do that." He smiled, relaxing a little as if the exhibition had released some of the pent-up emotion souring his mood. "I didn't know I could either! Did you see me? See how high I went? It was…it felt so good, Chunta. It was easy."

Speechless, Junta stared at him. The differences between them were always there. Yet, even when Takato fed for him, it was an act that brought them closer. That demonstration of strength and agility had separated them. Vampire/human.

Takato threw back his head, all quivering intensity. "I hear a couple arguing a few blocks away. I hear a baby crying and a mother's footsteps as she goes toward the cradle. I smell the city and I hear the blood pumping around a thousand bodies, waiting to be drunk, to become part of me… Tonight, it may be the moon, I don't know, but tonight, I want to be all vampire, Chunta. To have my fangs out. To be myself. Don't stop me. Not tonight. I'll be home before dawn and we'll talk before I sleep, maybe."

"Takato-san! Don't go. Stay with me. Let me go with you—"

"I won't feed from anyone else." Takato got close, fangs finding flesh, raking sharpness scoring Junta's throat. "There. My mark's on you and you smell of me. No one will touch you. You're safe. Go home, Chunta. To my place if you like, one more time, or to yours. It's dangerous out here. The streets are full of us. I hear them."

"Takato-san!" He whispered it, then screamed it, but Takato twisted out of his hands and he was alone in the darkness, alone in the night.

He raised a hand to his throat, tracing the marks left by Takato's fangs. Would they scar? Mark him forever? What was the point if Takato didn't want him anymore?

The moonlight found a path into the alley and he stared up at the pale circle. Was it to blame? Or was everything Takato said the truth as he saw it?

He pictured it; the routine visit at sunset, the silent, emotionless feeding, then the door closing behind him as Takato pushed him out, away.

He squeezed his eyes closed against the bleak vision. No. He wouldn't let that happen. Takato was his. He didn't see the dangers of this new world of his and he didn't realize the risk a powerful vampire like Usaka posed. A few tricks wouldn't impress Usaka. He could snap his fingers and have a hundred vampires massed behind him if he wanted. The club was proof of that. Usaka was strong, an eagle, and Takato a down-covered fledgling chirping and clueless.

And what am I? To them, what are any humans?

The answer was easy. Food.

And maybe, also, the enemy.

Could vampires love? Junta didn't know about vampires in general. He was sure Takato could though.

I've heard your voice in my head, in my heart. You're mine and you love me. I know that because you told me. I'll find you, Takato-san. Fly as high as you can, touch the sky, but when you fall back to earth, I'll catch you.

He wiped at his tear-wet eyes and pushed away from the wall. He'd go back to Takato's—no. To their home. Be waiting for him.

He didn't make it out of the alley.

They fell from the rooftops, three of them, scraps of shadow, swirling and grabbing him, breath rank with old blood, hands cruel as they captured him.

Takato was right.

Compared to a vampire, he wasn't strong at all.

They didn't bite him, but a needle slipped into his neck, bright metal squirting a drug into the blood Takato needed to survive and Junta fell into darkness.

Chapter 14

Why had no one told him he could do this? Grinning, Takato ran across a flat rooftop, kicked off, and flew to the next roof, the gap between them narrow but still nothing he could have crossed as a human. The time in the air didn't last long enough…

Bathed in moonlight, he tested his powers, running fast, leaping high in the empty spaces above the city streets, giddy and exultant. In the back of his mind lay the memory of Junta screaming his name, but that was a whisper and his joy was a shout. He refused to seek out Junta's scent. Tonight was for him. One night.

Although…wasn't the moon full for three?

It didn't matter. He spun around wildly and saw a cloud darken the sky, biting a chunk out of the moon, then swallowing it.

Darkness… With an abruptness that froze him in place, he came to his senses. He couldn't blame the moon. This was on him.

He wasn't wrong to want space or to ask for it, but he'd been cruel in the way he did it. Cruel to disappear leaving Junta alone in a city full of monsters. Monsters like him, moon-drunk and savage.

He'd find him. They'd…oh, they'd go to that lookout place maybe. Fuck in the grass, blanketed in dew and starlight. No. It was winter. Junta would freeze.

Takato sank into a crouch, a popped balloon. Junta would forgive him. That wasn't the problem. He didn't want forgiveness or understanding. He wanted…

He didn't know and until he did, it was pointless to pull stunts like this. Pushing Junta away…telling him to move back to his place… They could have discussed it. He still thought he'd made valid points but he hadn't let Junta answer any of them.

And he was hungry. He hadn't fed enough and he hadn't been fucked and he was lonely up here, far from home. What time was it?

Panic struck. Was dawn coming?

He reached out, seeking Junta, knowing he could find him no matter what physical distance lay between them.

Nothing. Was Junta blocking him? Was he angry?

He tried again and again but where the sense of Junta should be, a warm glow, a welcoming blaze, he found nothing. There was no sense of him existing at all.

No. No. He would've felt it if Junta had—no.

Maybe he was asleep. It was late, after all. His phone. That would tell him the time and maybe Junta had texted him.

He dragged it out. Three hours to dawn and no message from Junta. He had to be asleep.

A flicker of rebellion kindled. Junta was already angry and hurt and there was nothing he could do about it for hours. So why not take advantage of this time alone and go back to the club, find Usaka and get some answers?

It was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea.

He was still doing it.

Over him, the clouds passed by and the moon shone again.

He took it as a sign.

***

It should have set off alarm bells that someone was waiting in the street to guide him to an unobtrusive door on the other side of the building to the parking lot. The guard wasn't talkative; he said Usaka had expected him and would Takato join him in his apartment so they could talk privately. After delivering that message, his lips closed.

Takato, still riding that wave of recklessness, had nodded.

The guard took him in through a private door leading to a small elevator. It went down, not up, and Takato, aware of dawn approaching, found that a comfort.

The elevator doors slid apart revealing a hallway, bare, white, and at the end was a set of double doors, opening with a code and an eye scan. The guard waved him inside but didn't follow.

Why all the security when this was still part of the club? Did Usaka have enemies? Or was it excessive caution?

The living quarters were modern, all grey, white and wood, comfortable without being lavish. A piano, glossy black, took up one corner of the huge room and bookcases lined another wall. Big TV, vast sectionals in dark grey leather, deep armchairs upholstered in moss-green velvet, faded rugs on a dark wooden floor… It was a mix of styles and sophisticated and comfortable at the same time.

Usaka stood when Takato walked in, a faint smile showing.

"I expected you and you didn't disappoint."

That made no sense, but Takato smiled back as he took off his shoes and murmured a greeting. Socializing was much the same whether he was a human or a vampire; smile; hide your emotions and/or boredom.

Usaka didn't bore him though. Scared him a little.

"So you live here?" Live? Was there a better way of putting that? Where was his copy of Vampire Etiquette when he needed it?

"Yes." Usaka gestured to the couch. "Please. Sit."

The couch was deep and inviting. Takato wanted to curl up on it like a cat, but he restrained himself, sitting with his back upright and his feet on the floor.

The silence grew until its weight forced the words out of Takato. "You said you knew my grandmother. How?"

"Straight to that?" Usaka lit a cigarette, pulling an ashtray closer. "It's a long story and a private one, now I think about it. Let's say she did me a favor so I was in her debt. She also made me aware of you and I've followed your career ever since. You were good, Takato—I can call you that?—very good. That your talent's been lost now is tragic."

"I'll survive." Would he? How much of his identity had been built on that foundation of being an actor? Without it, was he floating, aimless, lost? Yeah. He was.

"Yes. You're strong. You could still act, though. On stage, at least."

"Evening performances only. And who would come to watch? Who'd feel safe knowing they might be sitting next to a vampire?"

"Another vampire." Usaka smiled at Takato's jerk of surprise. "I lost my career too. I wanted to be a producer. The club…I drifted into that for the most part. I've been considering branching out into the theater. Performances for us, by us. No humans."

"Is that legal?"

"Private performances. It'd be owned and operated by the club for the members."

"And who owns and operates this place?" Takato asked, suspicious and curious.

"No one you know."

The finality in the reply silenced Takato's questions. He said, "Well, I'll think about it, but right now, I'm, uh, adjusting."

"Yes." Usaka pushed up his glasses. "About that…"

It was his night to blurt out random thoughts. "Why do you still wear those? And smoke?"

Usaka shrugged without moving his shoulders more than a fraction, indifferent and uninterested. "Because I want to. Why do you let that human of yours treat you like property?"

"What?" Floundering, his worry and guilt flaring to life again, Takato snapped, "I don't! And what business is it of yours anyway?"

"I told you I feel indebted to Suzuko in a small way. Letting her grandson make a fool of himself, paint a target on his back… That would trouble me."

"I'm fine."

Ignoring him, Usaka said, "I've guided your career at times. No, don't look like that. You got where you were on merit, unlike, say Ayagi. There were times though when I made sure you were considered for a role that would showcase your talents."

Takato was on his feet, quivering with outrage. "I never asked you to! I never wanted you to! So if you think that gives you the right to dictate to me about who I fuck, who I feed off—"

"I don't care if you host an orgy and drain them all dry by dawn."

The boredom in that flat drawl acted like a dash of cold water. Takato subsided back onto the couch, still bewildered. He didn't know this man; why was Usaka so hand on and concerned?

"Azumaya though…" Usaka pursed his lips. "He's not suitable for you. It's helpful for a pet to be devoted, ready to die for you, but possessive? Dictatorial? No. Whose idea was it that you only feed from him, hmm? Who chose that apartment, wouldn't let you enjoy even a single night out? He was obsessed with you as a human and now he thinks he owns you. That turns my stomach."

"It's none of your business." As a human, he would have been a mess of embarrassment at having his relationship dissected so mercilessly but being a vampire had made him less self-conscious, less inhibited. A little bit less, anyway. "I'll deal with my relationship the way I want."

Leaning forward, some urgency driving him now, Usaka said, "We're better than them, Takato, in every way. Stronger, immortal… Unless you turn him, you'll blink and he'll be middle-aged, sleep and wake to find him old, glance away, look back and see his corpse. They're not around for long enough to love. If you're desperate for a mate, find a vampire."

That idea was new. So much of what he did with Junta was bound up in feeding. "Vampires mate?"

"Some do. Always another of their kind. Not always forever…" Usaka winced as if he was recalling a painful memory or anticipating something he didn't want to think about.

"Are you mated?" Takato demanded, not caring that he was being rude.

"He's taken, mated, and mine. Is that a problem?"

Takato twisted to see a vampire close behind him. He hadn't heard him approach and that meant he'd been absorbed in Usaka or the newcomer had mastered teleportation. Reddish hair, golden eyes and a tall, rangy body. He moved like a big cat, with slow grace and without waiting for a reply, he sauntered over to the piano, sat and began to pick out notes. Within a few moments, they turned into a melody and after that he stopped paying attention to anything but the music as far as Takato could tell.

"Arisu Kiyotaka," Usaka said. "And he's mine. Question answered?"

Something deep inside Takato hurt. He wanted Junta. Here, by his side, his scent filling the room, his presence a balm to his jagged edges. "So you've got someone? Then you know how I feel. I'm not giving up Az—Chunta. I want him. It's my choice."

Usaka tilted his head. "Final word?"

"Yes," Takato said firmly. "Now it's getting late so I'll leave. Thanks for the advice and if you ever decide to tell me about how you know Suz—"

He didn't finish his sentence. The piano fell silent and Arisu moved, a flicker, a rush of air.

Takato found himself on his back on the floor, hands pinned above his head by Arisu, Usaka straddling him. The attack had been so swift, so shocking, he couldn't process it for a second. He'd been sitting… He replayed it. Usaka had lunged forward and his eyes had held Takato's, glasses discarded, that gaze piercing him. He's fallen under the glamor like a human, captured and enslaved. The ground had come up to meet him as Usaka shoved him sideways and then…this.

He struggled but they were older than him, stronger. Two against one when he was on his back, helpless, was never going to be a battle he could win.

"Let me go!"

"In a moment." Usaka's fangs were long, curving. He snagged his wrist on one, smiled over Takato at Arisu, then caught a droplet of blood on his finger and shoved it into Takato's mouth.

Takato choked, spat, but the blood was on his tongue and the taste seeped into him, alien, unwelcome. "What are you doing?"

"More?" Arisu asked, voice dreamy. "Let me."

Arisu tore open his wrist, a messy gouge. It must have hurt but he sighed with pleasure not pain and worried the torn skin a little more. His fangs were scarlet-smeared and he grinned as he rubbed the wound over Takato's lips. It was impossible not to swallow with that trickle-gush seeping into his mouth before the skin knitted. Now he had the blood of two vampires in him.

"Why?" he whispered, already feeling the effects. "What are you doing to me?"

"Poisoning you." Usaka smiled, thin and sharp. "Blood from mated vampires? Your body isn't designed to take that. It's in you now and without an antidote, you'll wither away. It's not a pleasant way to go."

"Antidote?" That meant he could recover…but why would they infect him then cure him?

"If you're fast."

His lips weren't responding, numb but tingling, an itch a burn. That same prickle was in every cell, a maddening sensation. He squirmed and the itch became agony, his nerves on fire. He tried to scream, but his throat was numb too and all that emerged was a croak.

They released him and scooped him up, dropping him on the couch with careless ease.

"I'll cure you, but you have to swear you'll give up Azumaya," Usaka told him.

He moved his head, rejecting that demand.

"Then die and lose him anyway."

No… He thought it, shaped the word as best he could, using the last of his strength to glare at those cold eyes in that cold face. What did Arisu see in him? What was there to love?

"The cure's right here." He heard a door open and footsteps. Human then. Oh, fuck, it was Ayagi. He knew that scent, too intense in some places, too weak in others. Junta was gold; Ayagi rust.

How was he a cure?

Arisu crooned to him, all charm. "He's who we feed off when we want to share. We used him tonight. He has our blood in him and he'll cure you, Takato. One sip and you'll be safe."

"Only… from…Chunta…" He knew Usaka understood that garbled murmur because he scowled.

"You'll die over something this stupid? Is that what Azumaya would want? Really?"

No. Probably not. Even so…

Usaka clicked his tongue. "Ayagi, get over here."

Ayagi came closer, crouching beside Takato but he was clearly sulking and his skin was paler than looked healthy. "Hey. I'm pretty tapped out. Do I get paid extra for this?"

"Yes," Usaka said. "I won't kill you for disobeying me and as a bonus, I won't let Arisu play with you before you die. How's that?"

Ayagi winced. "Convincing."

"I thought it might be."

"I never have any fun," Arisu said with a pout. He didn't seem to be joking which sent a shiver through Takato. "Make it up to me later? There has to be someone around the place we don't need."

"I'll think of something to amuse you. Or someone."

They were flirting over him as he lay dying? The annoyance Takato felt cleared his head a little. One sip. Would Chunta mind that much? Better than dying. Again.

Survive; kill them all. There; he had a plan.

He reached up, grabbed Ayagi by the shirt (why pink? Why?) and hauled him close.

He'd sunk his fangs into that skinny neck with the same distaste he'd feel at taking medicine and felt the warm, salt blood ooze up when a wave of rage struck at him, a cold, dark fury.

"Get away from him!"

Oh fuck. Chunta. In the doorway.

Chunta.

Chapter 15

Junta woke to darkness. He lay still, exploring his state of being, slowly gathering the scattered pieces. The alley. The argument. The attack. Vampires. They'd been too strong to be anything else. He knew that inflexible grip. Takato had clutched his shoulders once during sex and cracked a bone. It had healed, but slowly, over days. Human bones weren't meant to regrow in a matter of moments. Junta had suffered without showing it, or so he'd thought, but after that Takato had been cautious, careful.

Junta hated it. He wanted Takato to fly freely, no matter what Takato thought. During their lovemaking, it mattered most that Takato show everything he felt, all barriers gone. He wished…

So. Darkness. And he was handcuffed. That hit him first; that was new and unfamiliar. He lay on a bed. More familiar. He smelled the mundane scent of fabric softener and his cheek was against a yielding pillow. How wide a bed? He reached out and paused. His hands were bound with the cuffs, but there was a metallic shifting, link on link. The cuffs were attached to a chain, or maybe the other way around?

Hard to focus his thoughts. The sedative lingered, making him lethargic, uncaring. He drifted back to sleep and the next time he woke it was to blink against the light cast by a bare bulb in a ceiling above.

Yes, the bed was a single. Yes, a chain ran to the wall, fed through a solid hoop cemented in.

And he wasn't alone.

"Hi."

Junta didn't answer. He knew who this was, leaning against a wall, long-limbed and with a wild glint in those leonine eyes. He'd seen photographs and Arisu, obviously, years later, still looked exactly like that young man. He moved Arisu from out of the picture to very much part of it.

"Time to wake up. You were an actor, yeah? This is your cue." Junta stared at him, luring him out with silence, that most irritating of replies. Arisu pushed away from the wall and closed the gap, kicking out with a bare foot and aiming for Junta's face.

Junta brought up his hands and parried the blow, using his handcuffs to deal out a little discomfort at least as toes struck steel.

"Hey!"

Not used to your victims fighting back? Too bad.

Junta swung his feet around and stood. His head swam but he kept himself upright. "Why am I here, Arisu?"

No honorific. Vampires didn't get them as a rule but even if they did, Junta wasn't inclined to politeness under the circumstances.

"You know me? Am I famous or are you nosy? Let's see…Bait, leverage…" Arisu grinned with a flash of fang. "Supper?"

"I don't taste good."

"Not what I've heard from Taka-Taka-Takato." Arisu crooned Takato's name, making it a jeer. "You're so delicious he doesn't want anyone else." He frowned, seemingly honestly bewildered. "What a weird idea. Like a human always eating the same meal, day in, day out. Boring."

Junta wasn't debating or explaining his views on Takato only feeding from him. He retreated into silence again. He would have no chance with his hands free and the drug out of his system; as he was now, an attack was suicidal.

If he died from being drained, Arisu would be staked—

Assuming his body was found, the DNA link made, the database accessed and the vampire identified. Then Arisu had to tracked down, captured and—yeah. Not happening. No one knew he was here and he would disappear, one more mystery never to be solved.

Takato had been angry with him… To die with that fight weighing heavily on his mind hurt worse than anything Arisu had planned.

"So, Takato… You trust him?"

Answer or not? Junta gave a small nod, the merest inclination of his head.

"Trust him not to drain you? Or turn you? Or abandon you when you get old and wrinkly?"

Takato could do the first without meaning to, the second from guilt, the third…only if by then Junta hadn't gained his love.

"Yes. And if he did any of those, I'd be the one to blame, not him."

"Hmm." Arisu got in close enough that Junta wanted to step back, away from the faint, nauseating scent of blood. "I like your voice. I want to hurt you just to hear you scream. You'd take a long time to break and that would be so…much…fun."

"Not for me."

He made Arisu giggle at that, a soft, wicked sound. "Got that right. I'm not allowed to play with my food without permission though so don't worry. My mate's got plans and he needs you alive for now."

"Usaka…"

"You know that too?" Arisu snarled at him, vicious and low, his mood changing with a finger-snap swiftness. "You think you can go tap-tap-tap on a keyboard and find out all about us? Huh? Who put that fake shit on there? We did. Our story's ours and if I shared it…" The anger disappeared in a flash. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Funny, huh? I could whisper it, whisper soft, but he'd hear it and then he'd hurt me in bad ways. So stop asking!"

"I wasn't—" The crack of Arisu's hand across his face left Junta dizzy. A slap…not even a punch, no windup, no effort and he was reeling, staggering from it. His face throbbed, pain blooming darkly, blood filling his mouth because he'd bitten his tongue.

"Stop asking," Arisu whispered.

Insanity or a way to unsettle him? Didn't matter.

"Want to see him? Your blue-eyed boy?"

"Takato-san's here?" Junta demanded, panic rising, wiping away his pain and worry for himself. His sweet Takato, scared, alone… "You kidnapped him too? Let him go!"

"Do anything you like to me-e-e but let him go? Isn't that the line the hero says?" Arisu's eyes held no madness now, only mockery. "He's fine. He invited himself over and he's chatting on the couch. More fun than being here with you, so catch you later, dead man walking."

He tossed something into the corner of the room, something small, something metal. "Have fun getting out of the cuffs. When you do, we're two doors down on the right."

He left the door ajar and Junta didn't waste time. The key was out of reach thanks to the chain. He twisted and stretched, leaving skin and blood on the cuffs, but he couldn't snag the key with his hands or feet. The bed was bare of covers.

Bed. The pillow. Cursing himself, he grabbed it and used it as an extension of his hand, dragging the key toward him.

Undoing cuffs when they were on his wrists, blood smeared and slick wasn't easy but Junta slowed down after dropping the key twice and took his time, regulating his breathing, forcing calm. He didn't rush out of the door either, or go in the direction he'd been told. His phone was missing, no surprise there, but who would he have called for help? This place felt deep underground too; he couldn't explain why, but it did. He explored, finding locked doors and a dead end.

Fine; he'd go where he'd been told.

He walked quickly but with every sense engaged, drawing in all the information he could, straining to hear Takato's voice, wishing, just for a moment, that he had a vampire's range of hearing and scent.

Then he opened the door to a huge room and saw Takato grab Ayagi, pull him close, and start to feed.

So this was what blind, unthinking rage felt like. Interesting. And behind it the anguish of loss, because nothing could ever be right again between them and he'd had happiness for so short a time…

Better to have loved and lost? No. He hadn't been unhappy before meeting Takato, after all. Now he knew what love was and the torture of knowing and then losing it…

Words dropping like stones into still water, he said "Get away from him," and wasn't sure who he meant that icy command for, Ayagi or Takato.

It didn't matter.

The damage was done.

Takato had betrayed him.

Three vampires, one human… His target was clear but even as he started forward, Takato shoved Ayagi away with enough force that the man ended up sprawled on the floor unconscious after slamming into the low table with a sickening thud.

Good enough for now.

Usaka was standing, arms folded, with a supercilious sneer on his face and Arisu…

"Dum, dum, te-dum…" Arisu sang, playing the Death March then slipping into a fast-paced flurry of nonsense. "And you trusted him… The look on your face is better than I'd get by ripping off your eyelids one at a time. You're hurting. I love it."

Junta shuddered with revulsion and turned his attention to the only one in the room who mattered.

"Takato-san—"

Takato-san rose, smoothly, taut with a fury that came close to matching Junta's own. He glared at Usaka. "This was your plan? This? Pathetic!"

Plan?

Eyes once blue turned silver. Takato's face twisted, fangs out, hands claws.

"You took him? You hurt him? Look at his face! Chunta is mine. I'll stake you out for the sun to fry and burn this club to the ground for this insult to me!"

To him? His? Was that how Takato viewed him? Interesting again. He hadn't seen this possessive side often.

"Takato," Usaka said with a flicker of concern showing, but no more than that, "calm down. You need to understand—"

Takato threw back his head and screamed, the sound enough to bring Junta to his knees, hands clamped over his ears as he tried to drown out that awful shriek. It pierced him, and from the ground, even passed out, Ayagi whimpered, twitching and jerking.

Usaka threw out his hand, stopping Arisu from rushing forward. "Takato, stop that. I'll admit to moving too fast, but you have to accept—"

"No, I don't."

Takato moved then, faster than Junta, racked with agony, head throbbing viciously, could track. His arm was grabbed and Takato hauled him to his feet. Fangs out, Ayagi's blood on his chin… He was feral, consumed with rage, but when he slipped his hand into Junta's, skin on skin, he calmed visibly. His fangs remained, but he spoke without that edge of madness to his voice. "We're going home, Chunta. Now."

"Dawn's close," Usaka said. "Better not risk it."

Takato lashed out with his foot, sending the heavy sectional flying as if it was made of cardboard. Usaka dodged but barely and staggered, off-balance for a moment. A moment Junta treasured even in the depths of his misery and despair.

"I'd sooner burn to ash than sleep here."

He moved his hand to grip Junta's wrist, heedless of the bruised, bleeding flesh he crushed with his long, cool fingers, and headed for the exit. Junta stumbled after Takato, forcing heavy legs to keep up with Takato's long, swift steps. His wrist ached from Takato's hold on it, his face from Arisu's slap, the drug still swam in his body, but that wasn't what hurt the most…

No one stopped them from leaving. Through a door, up an elevator, into a street still mercifully dark and no one blocked their way. He didn't speak and Takato, after a brief glance at Junta's bruised face, didn't either.

Junta wondered, distantly, if Takato would offer him blood to help him heal. He hoped not. What they had to say to each other needed to be done away from here and he knew even his control had limits.

They made it across the city and to Takato's place with minutes to spare. Junta saw how Takato's movements became purposeful, how he scanned the sky, tiny whines of panic bursting from him as the sunrise approached. Takato was scared and it showed.

Once inside, Takato lost his anxiety. He didn't heave a sigh of relief; those small, human mannerisms were fading away. He stood straighter though, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. Kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket, he seemed himself again.

Breaking the long silence, he said, "Chunta, now we're home, I want to explain—"

Junta smiled at him, gently, lovingly. "There's nothing to explain, Takato-san."

Takato frowned. Blue eyes again, not silver… So pretty those eyes in that delicate, perfect face. "Well, there is, of course there is. You see—"

"You fed from Ayagi," Junta told him. "There's nothing you can say to change that. I saw you." He took hold of Takato's shoulders and pushed, walking him backward until they reached the darkroom door.

"I know, but I had to!" Takato's voice rose to a wail. He raised his hands as if to cup Junta's face but Junta wasn't letting that happen. "Chunta, listen!"

"No," Junta said with finality and shoved Takato through the door, slamming it closed and hearing it lock as the sun rose.

Takato wasn't coming out for hours. Even if he overrode the darkroom lock, he couldn't leave the apartment.

That gave him time to find Ayagi and kill him. Slowly. Sunset was a long way off, after all.

Chapter 16

Notes:

This gets dark at the end.

Takato raised his fists to bang on the door, then let them fall. Sunrise was dragging at him and he felt his body yielding to that insistent tug. Older vampires could stay awake during the day if they chose, but it would be a while before he had that ability. His body had altered, dramatically altered, and though to a human he looked like any other vampire, he was in fact a baby learning to toddle and speak in some ways.

He was strong, fast, and could heal…but he needed to drink blood every night for a while; needed to sleep during the daylight hours, and his physical and sensory limits were yet to be reached.

So he stumbled across the room and fell onto the bed and into the dark quietness of oblivion.

Usually, he had no dreams and no memory of his time asleep. Today was different. Was it the vampire blood in his system? Or Ayagi's? Whatever the cause, he dreamed and cried out, twisting and fighting shadows.

Junta…face cold, eyes dead, raising a stake to plunge into Takato's heart… Again and again, he suffered death at Junta's hands, unable to run, mouth choked with words he couldn't speak and if he had, he knew Junta wouldn't listen.

He lay, bound, in a coffin, thirsty, hungering for blood and felt his body wither and shrink. Desiccation…it took a long time for a vampire to die that way. Horror stories from around the world flooded him mind of coffins dragged out of crypts, broken open under the sun, near skeletal vampires rising up, mouths gaping, hands grasping…then the merciful release of the soft explosion into ash. To lie for decades, centuries, too weak to escape a nailed down coffin lid or stone sarcophagus…how long could sanity last?

He woke at sunset, crying out Junta's name but he knew before the door opened that he was alone.

Alone and hungry.

He waited for hours, then called Junta. The voice that answered after an endless time was Usaka's.

"Oh, it's you, Takato. Lost track of your pet?"

"Why do you have his phone?" Takato demanded. Had Usaka sat listening to the ringtone, stretching out Takato's wait?

"We took it off him when he was our guest. You can come and get it if you like."

Come into my house, said the spider to the fly…

"No. You took it; you can return it. Bring it to me. I'd tell you my address, but I don't need to, do I?"

"So demanding. Very well, though it's not your property, you know. I'd send Ayagi but the day shift tells me he didn't show up and he's not here now. I wonder if he knows where your human is? Poor Ayagi if so."

The dry amusement in that drawling voice had Takato's fangs out, a growl rising. He settled for hanging up without replying as the safest option.

Ayagi? Junta wouldn't have… Oh, what was he saying? Of course, he would.

Takato groaned aloud. If Junta hurt Ayagi or worse, Usaka would make sure the authorities found out. Why risk killing Junta? Get him locked up for murdering Ayagi instead.

It was too late now. There had been plenty of time for Junta to take care of Ayagi. Even so, the urge to rush out and search was strong.

He decided to wait for the delivery of Junta's phone first. He was under no illusion that Junta needed it so badly that he'd return for it but it might have something on it…no, it'd be password protected…

He showered and changed, then paced and prowled the apartment, reduced to going to the bedroom to catch the strongest scent of Junta from the sheets and laundry basket. Junta hadn't taken his clothes with him, but he'd never brought them all over so that meant nothing.

Was he coming back? Was he? One argument… It couldn't end like that. Junta had destroyed his career to be with Takato, shared his blood, turned his back on the sun… Their bodies and thoughts had joined…

And you betrayed him.

Had he? Was that how Junta would see it after he knew all the facts? Now, yes, sure, he was hurt and furious and jealous and—but once he knew? He had to forgive Takato then.

Didn't he?

A rap at the door had him jumping. He hurried to it, even knowing it wasn't Junta.

The man Usaka had sent was human, young…and wearing a red T-shirt. Funny as a hangover.

Takato glared at him, resenting the smirk he also wore, and snatched the phone from him without caring that he was being rude.

A slow smile curled the pouting lips. "Usaka-sama said anything else you wanted from me, go ahead. On the house."

That honorific for Usaka? Really?

"Not interested." He pushed the door to, but a foot was in the way. Reluctantly, he opened it again. "Go away."

"I came all the way here and you want me to turn around?" He had light eyes and dyed blond hair. Not a match to Junta but a nod to him maybe.

As if that mattered. There was only one Junta and this wasn't him.

"I think that covers it, yes."

"I can smell your hunger," the man said softly. "See in your eyes how much you want a sip or two. You're new, right? Yeah, you need to feed a lot the first few months. Seriously. Like, as much as is safe from three humans a night. You won't get to be one of the strong ones otherwise."

Was that true? Troubled, Takato stared at him, belatedly realizing his mistake when the guy winced and dropped his gaze. Oh. Had he almost glamored someone accidentally? That was risky. He wasn't apologizing though.

"I'll arrange my own food, thanks. Now go back to Usaka and tell him we're done and if he comes near me again, I'll make him regret it."

How? He didn't know. He'd come up with something though.

"He'll kill me."

Takato rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't tell him anything."

"Can I at least tell him you fed off me?" The man was pleading now, his cocky assurance gone, eyes wide and haunted. "Jesus, if I say you turned me down, the best I can hope for is he tears my throat out."

"What's the worst?" Takato asked without thinking.

"He gives me to Arisu-sama to play with first."

"Huh? Is he that—no, I don't want to know." He really didn't. He also didn't want this guy's death on his conscience, but how many more times was Usaka going to force him to feed on someone other than Junta though devious means?

He had to stay strong.

"If you lie, he'll know?"

"Yeah. He'll smell it. He'll know."

Stuck. Helpless. God, he hated this feeling! Ever since he'd been turned, he'd been grabbed and pushed and molded into a shape chosen by someone else… When was it his turn to make a decision about his life?

"I'm not feeding on you," he said firmly. "That's not happening."

"Oh, fuck." With a whimpering moan, the man slid to his knees. "I'm begging you. Bite me. Please. Bite me."

"No." Takato folded his arms across his chest. "I'll do this for you though. I'll go to the club with you and I'll deal with Usaka and make him promise not to hurt you."

The man gaped at him, bewildered and skeptical. "How?"

"What touching faith."

"You don't know him. He's ice-cold. He'll…fuck, I'm dead." He scrambled up, voice rising to a hoarse scream. Takato hadn't met any neighbors yet; he hoped they were all out for the night or he'd be marked down as a troublemaker. "Why did he pick me to come here? Did he know you'd turn me down? Is he looking for a reason to kill me? What did I do? What did I do?"

Slapping the man—what was his name? Oh, who cared?—across his tear-streaked face was so satisfying Takato almost did it twice.

"Shut up, you."

"Hikana. Hikana Taru."

"Didn't ask, don't care," Takato said briskly. "Club, with me, now, or get on the train and don't look back."

"Or you can just fucking feed on me, you snooty, picky asshole!" Eyes blazing now, Hikana ripped down the neck of his T-shirt, exposing the welts of an earlier feeding. "See? I'm popular! I taste just fucking fine, so bite me!"

Ugh. Put his fangs where another vampire had put theirs? The idea revolted him. The idea of feeding; less so. For a vampire, hunger, thirst, weren't centered in the mouth or stomach; his entire body was parched and starving. His skin was tight, dry, his head light. Every cell craved blood. He could control himself, but for how much longer?

Where the fuck was Chunta? Tell him not to feed on anyone else, then disappear in a snit? How dare he?

Anger boiled up. Maybe it was partly fueled by hunger; he didn't know. It was real and it suffused him, tingling through him, an illusory power.

He grabbed Hikana's chin. "Let's try this instead."

Sinking into Hikana's mind was easy. He took control of him, forcing a single thought deep into that scared/arrogant, bully/coward of a brain. So much confusion but he wasn't there to tidy up.

You gave me your blood. I drank, not much but enough to satisfy me. I was angry but too hungry to resist. I told you not to come back and sent you away.

With Hikana still spaced-out, eyes glassy, he gouged the healing holes on his neck with a sharp fingernail, making them bleed.

The blood-scent rose, ripe, tempting, but he wiped his finger clean and forced his fangs back.

There. That should work.

***

Three hours later, when he'd given up on guessing Junta's password and cursing himself for staying put, not going out to find Junta's scent in the city, there was a thud at the door.

He opened it.

On the floor outside was a large envelope. He heard the sound of footsteps but when he ran to the stairwell, no one was in sight.

He took the envelope inside and opened it, spilling the contents onto the coffee table.

Photographs.

He picked up the first one, turning it, trying to make sense of it. Red. So much—

Vampires didn't throw up but he wanted to.

Hikana had died slowly, taken apart by hands that knew how to work with delicate precision, how to inflict agony and prolong suffering.

Takato stared at the photograph through eyes blurring with tears, giving Hikana that much respect, at least, then quickly sorted through the rest, barely glancing at them, making sure there was no message to him other than this brutal, contemptuous rejection of his attempt to fool them.

He put them back into the envelope wondering how it was still pristine, white, when it held so much horror. Shouldn't Hikana's agony have leaked out, staining the white paper scarlet?

He didn't know what to do with the envelope so he settled for putting it inside the darkroom. If he had nightmares with them so close as he slept, he deserved them.

Then he left the apartment that wasn't safe, wasn't a refuge from anything now, just a cold box, and walked out into the city, desperate for a trace of Junta's scent, a whispered thought to track.

Where was Junta? Together, they stood a chance of surviving. Alone?

They were blood and ash.

Chapter 17

Junta tracked Ayagi down to, of all places, a coin laundry. It was empty apart from an old lady staring at her washing as it went round, a small, shapeless bundle of clothing herself, eyes vacant, and Ayagi who was studying his phone.

Junta smiled, picturing Ayagi rammed into one of the huge machines, drowning in soap suds, endlessly revolving… Now he was face to face with his target, the anger festering solidified to a cold, icy resolve. "Hello, Ayagi."

"You." Ayagi didn't look up. "Come to threaten me? Warn me off? Kill me where I sit?"

"You always give me such interesting options."

"Yeah, I'm that kind of a guy," Ayagi muttered. He yawned and tucked his phone away, then gave Junta a glance from sharp, if reddened eyes. "God, you look like death. Listen, I do what I'm told, okay? If you think I have a say in anything, you're wrong. Sorry it was me saving your boy's life, not you, but if you're gonna hold a grudge over that, well, that's on you."

"Save his life?" Junta loomed over Ayagi, blocking his route to the door. His body tingled, anticipating Ayagi's terror when he was dangling, choking to death. "By feeding him your filthy, tainted blood?"

Ayagi bridled, a faint flush staining his cheeks. He looked pale today, tired and listless, but that roused him. "Excuse me? My blood's fine and if it was seething with germs or what-the-fuck ever, it wouldn't hurt a vamp, so take that back!"

"You gave him your blood." Junta's tone made it clear how he viewed that. When would the old woman leave? He didn't want witnesses and he didn't want interruptions.

"Had to." Ayagi scratched his nose, lost in thought for a moment, his eyes hazy. "Not sure I've ever seen a vamp drink from a vamp before but stands to reason it's lethal. Can't keep something dead alive by feeding it blood from another corpse."

Hearing Takato described that way made Junta's jaw clench, but he stayed focused on his mission. Ayagi wasn't making sense but a twist of unease was growing.

"What vampire? What are you talking about?"

Ayagi sighed. "What am I, the commentator for a game? You want a blow-by-blow? Usa—no, not saying his name, even if he's snoozing. He put the whammy-eyes on your little precious princess and forced his blood into him. His blood and that psycho freak he's mated with. Your boy was gonna die for real unless he got my blood, so even though I was close to fucking drained, light-headed, room spinning—"

Junta might have wished Ayagi had been less cagey with the names, but he got the picture. His desire to kill Ayagi slowly was seeping away, replaced by dread. Something was wrong. The drugs in him…had they affected him? No. Takato had reached out and pulled this piece of shit close; bitten his neck and drank. That had happened. He'd seen it. He had.

"I don't care if you were in a coma. Get on with it."

"Such a charmer." Ayagi gave him a half-hearted sneer. "Uh, where was I? Oh, yeah. He needed my blood 'cause I was the human those two had fed off last or something. Now that, hmm, not sure that was true, but they wanted him to drink from someone not you and he was so out of it with their blood in him, he'd have sucked on an elephant's dick if they'd told him to."

Junta controlled his reaction with an effort of will. Takato had been poisoned? Given a choice between death and feeding off someone else?

Slowly, choosing his words, he clarified, "He drank from you to save himself?"

"Yeah, I'm a lifesaver. Give me a medal." Ayagi raised his hand, contemplating his fingernails. "While we're having this nice, friendly chat, let me tell you, this idea you have that he can exist on your blood when he's fresh turned is going nowhere."

"What?"

"He needs blood," Ayagi said, spacing out the words. "Lots and lots and lots of it. Later, a year from now, two, sure, he can stick to just you, how sweet, how romantic, but right now? He needs more than you can give him or he'll end up, how can I put this? He won't be the star, he won't be main cast; he'll be someone in the crowd with no lines. He'll be weak."

Junta's instincts told him Ayagi was telling the truth but it went against everything he wanted to believe so he fought back. "You're lying. The nurse at the clinic told me I'd be able to keep him fed. She said I could."

"Yeah? Well, she was wrong," Ayagi said with a flat indifference that was more convincing than impassioned speeches. "It's food, you possessive bastard. Let the poor guy go to bed with a full belly; let him eat out once in a while, y'know?" The dryer nearest him finished and Ayagi stood. "Looks like I'm done. See you around, Azumaya. And if you want one more piece of advice—"

"I don't."

Ayagi opened the dryer door and hauled out his dry laundry, stuffing it into a bag. "Gonna give it to you anyway. The club? It's not a good place for him to be. It's not safe. For some reason, you-know-who has taken an interest in your boy and that's not going to end well. Never does."

"That's advice?"

"Yeah, you're right. I've got no solutions. You're screwed. Call it more of a warning." Ayagi pushed past Junta and went out into the street without looking back.

He'd missed a sock; it lay, forgotten on the tiled floor, white, grubby-soled and with a hole in it.

Junta could have picked it up and gone after Ayagi; or kicked it under a bench, out of sight.

He settled for leaving it where it was.

What had he done? Why hadn't he listened when Takato tried to explain? That stunned, hurt expression on Takato's face when he'd been thrust into the darkroom, rejected by the man who'd sworn to love and protect him…

He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. He could fix this. He could make it right.

An indignant voice, quavery with age, jolted him out of his thoughts. "In my day, people opened the door for old ladies with their arms full!"

He smiled as he apologized but for once, it didn't work. She gave him a haughty sniff and swept out, probably planning how she'd describe him to her friends when she regaled them with his rudeness.

He hoped Takato was more receptive to his guilt-laced groveling.

Chapter 18

After his encounter with Ayagi, Junta was restless and disturbed, longing to see Takato, but with hours before that was possible.

He wasn't in a good space, he admitted it. For him, being with Takato was his prime goal; loving him, keeping him safe. Now he had Takato pushing him away, Usaka doing his best to break them up, and his own possessiveness leading him to lash out at Takato and even contemplate killing Ayagi.

Too much to deal with.

His phone needed replacing, he had a few errands to run, mundane tasks that even in the middle of all this drama he couldn't put off forever, and he turned his back on all of them and went to the lookout point.

He came here mostly at night, but it soothed him now. He stared out at the water, flowing placidly beneath and let it lull him into a hazy state where he could regain some measure of balance.

Then his stomach growled and he was hit with the need to piss. Yeah, life went on…

Grocery shopping and doing some laundry of his own filled in some hours, then ended up back at his apartment in the late afternoon. He was content with the space; he'd made it his own over his time there, bright colors, soft, comfortable seating and a homey feel, but like anywhere without Takato, it was no more than walls and objects now. Takato's apartment—he wanted to call it theirs, but it wasn't, not really—was cold, windowless, bare, but it held the one source of warmth in Junta's world and it drew him now. He couldn't turn his back on Takato. Not ever.

Still too early to go over there. He wanted Takato awake when he arrived. It would be better that way; to have Takato see he'd listened and wasn't showing up uninvited. He'd knock, apologize and Takato would ask him to come in and then… He yawned and decided to take a nap. The food he'd eaten had made him sleepy.

It was more than that, he realized when he woke, long after sunset, deep into the night. Stressed, weakened by the constant feeding, still affected by the sedative injected into his veins, he'd slept for hours, his body rebelling and demanding a space of time to recuperate.

He was groggy, but he felt Takato's hunger and need of him like a drumbeat, insistent, powerful and that gave him energy.

He had a new phone now. Takato wouldn't recognize the number, but he could try… No. Wait. He called his own phone first, the one taken off him. Was it at the club or had Usaka tossed it away?

Takato answered, bringing a rush of joy to Junta. He clutched the phone. "Takato-san! Where are you?"

"Chunta? Is that you?"

The hesitancy reminded Junta of how they'd parted but he refused to let the awkwardness build. Rushing into his apology, he said, "Takato-san, I'm sorry. For all of it. I have to see you. Where are you?"

"Where are you?" Takato countered.

For one dreadful moment, Junta wondered if Usaka was with Takato, prompting his questions with a view to finding Junta. He shrugged. It didn't matter. If Takato betrayed him, he had nothing left to live for anyway.

"At my place." He wished he wasn't. Takato couldn't visit him; the building was warded and if he invited Takato in, the entire building would be vulnerable.

"Oh. Well, I can't meet you there and my place isn't... It's not a good idea at the moment." Takato cleared his throat and Junta swore he felt the blush rise in Takato's face, "Why don't we…There are places…You know. Those kind of places."

Junta knew. Love hotels, of sorts, but they were designed for humans and vampires to meet and feed, for money or through a bond of affection; the people renting the room didn't care. As long as the human went in without being glamored and emerged alive, they didn't interfere.

"Yes." If his phone had been with Usaka for long he was sure it had some kind of tracker in it. Better not make him a gift of where they'd be. "Takato, leave my phone. Throw it away, drop it in a lake, anything. Then call me on this number from a payphone and I'll tell you where to go."

"What? Why—Oh. You think…"

"Just do it. I'll find us somewhere to go."

With a flash of the old Takato, the one he fell in love with a year ago, Takato said, "Nothing tacky. I want somewhere with clean sheets and room service."

Junta smiled. "I'll be your room service and the sheets won't stay clean for long."

"Chunta!"

"Call me soon, Takato-san."

***

The door closed behind them and the lights came on. It was a high-end place compared to most; Junta had been allowed to pay in advance for the rest of the night and then for the darkroom attached to the main room to open, allowing Takato to sleep until the following sunset. It cost about a week's rent, but he didn't grudge a yen.

They were here, anonymous, safe, and that was good enough.

He set the carryall he'd brought with him on a chair. Clothes, toiletries, a book, his phone, snacks…and a cooler full of blood bags.

He'd bowed to the inevitable.

The room was a simple setup; large bed, a TV on the wall opposite with a door on each side, flanking it. One was painted black, the universal symbol for a vampire-safe space, the other led, he discovered to a small bathroom with a toilet behind another door. No bath; shower only.

A mini-fridge held blood and energy drinks, sugary, supplemented with iron. There were a whole range of such drinks, their taste not the greatest but they did what they set out to do. He drank a lot of them. The orange ones weren't terrible.

There was no way he was letting Takato drink blood from a hotel room though; it wasn't the price (extortionate) but the risks. Vampires weren't affected by anything nasty in human blood when it came to disease but if it was laced with silver nitrate… Activists had been known to tamper with blood.

Takato stood, silent, gaze flickering as he scanned the room after removing his shoes. He'd greeted Junta with a tiny nod, no smile.

Time to make things right.

Junta turned to him. "Takato-san, I didn't listen to you. I didn't let you explain. I'm sorry."

"You were angry. It doesn't matter." The dull apathy gave Junta nothing to grasp; like fighting fog. No, he realized, looking closer at Takato. Not apathy; shock. Thinking back, it had lain there behind their brief conversation, a sense that Takato was operating on reflex, following a script, genuine emotions locked away.

"Takato-san, has something happened? Something new?"

"Are you still angry with me?" Takato reached out but didn't touch Junta. "Are you?"

His throat closed, guilt choking him, but he replied, voice steady as he could make it, "No, Takato-san. I'm not angry with you."

"Then will you let me taste you? Will you make love to me? One last time. Just once more before I…" Takato's voice trailed away.

What? "Both of those, yes, but…last time? No. I'll give you my blood and my body and my love over and over, Takato-san. Forever."

Takato had to believe that and trust in him. He couldn't picture a world where they weren't together. Not now.

"No." Takato smiled at him, but it was a heartbreaking smile, wavering, his lips trembling. "I can't have you after tonight. You need to stake me, Junta. Or hold me down and let the sun burn me to ash. You're strong enough for that, aren't you? Or maybe chain me with silver. I don't know what the best way is. You'll think of something."

He touched Junta then, caressing his face, his fingers colder than usual. Junta felt the touches like snowflakes falling, leaving icy wetness behind. Wetness? Oh… He was crying, tears streaking his cheeks because what Takato was asking was impossible to give him, but why did he even want it? What had happened to make Takato seek death?

"That's something I can't do, Takato-san. Why would you ask me to? Why be so cruel?"

Takato slumped against him and Junta held him close, breathing in his scent, the slender body against his shaking. "Chunta… What they did to him…my fault. All my fault."

Lost, confused, Junta asked, "Did to who?"

"Usaka sent someone to me with your phone." Broken words, tear-choked voice. Takato was sobbing now, clinging to Junta with desperate strength. His grip was bruise-tight, but Junta didn't flinch. "He wanted me to feed from him and I wouldn't—I'd broken my promise once—but I had to, Chunta! I had to because—"

Junta stroked the silk-black hair and pressed a kiss against Takato's head to silence him. "I know. Ayagi told me. It's fine."

"He said they'd hurt him if he failed so I glamored him to think I'd fed from him and he left and they didn't—it didn't work! Arisu tore him apart, Chunta. Killed him—no, that's not the word. It wasn't clean, or quick. It was—" Takato tilted his head back and met Junta's eyes. Tears glimmered, their tracks outlining each perfect sweep of cheekbone, each hollow. Vampires had to work to look ugly, but Takato was transcendent in grief. "They sent me the photographs. I close my eyes and I see the blood and oh God, Chunta, part of me wants to lick it off him, part of me wants to throw up. I'm a monster. I have to be to even think that way."

Fighting back the urge to gag, Junta told him, "Takato-san, you wouldn't. It's not in you to be like that. Maybe part of you craves the violence, but everyone has darkness in them. You wouldn't do it. You wouldn't."

"Yeah? His death though, that was all on me. Because I wouldn't feed, wouldn't let you go. They'll do it to you soon, Chunta. The broken bones, the way he was sliced open—I won't let them! I'll die and then you'll be safe. I'll make sure you're safe." His face changed, fangs out, bones sharp, eyes vivid blue, swirled with silver. He stood straight, though still within the circle of Junta's arms. "They won't hurt what's mine!"

"Takato-san!" Aghast, moved, horrified; what emotion was uppermost? Junta didn't know. He pushed aside the images of the tortured man; nothing could alter his fate, though for him it had sealed Arisu and Usaka's. They'd died once; he'd make sure the next time was for eternity. Instead, he focused on Takato. Takato needed calming and reassuring. Words wouldn't do it fast enough.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped back and shrugged out of his jacket, out of his T-shirt. Bare to the waist, he sat on the bed and pulled Takato onto his lap, so Takato straddled him.

He saw the haze of sadness disappear, a faint heat kindling. Still not speaking, he undressed Takato to match him. All that cool pale skin… He kissed it, mouthing it roughly, bringing faint, fleeting marks up on Takato's neck, his shoulders, his chest; brought the brown-pink smudges of nipples to dark points, swollen and tender.

As he kissed, he drew his hands down Takato's back, raking it with his nails, giving pain to trigger pleasure, loving the hissed out sounds Takato made, the way he arched his back, a pure, beautiful bow of flesh and bone.

He glutted himself on the taste of Takato without kissing his lips, then tilted his head and offered his neck and throat.

"Chunta…" With a moan, Takato struck like a snake, burying his fangs in flesh and sucking greedily at the blood Junta's pierced flesh yielded.

The pain of the bite was over with so fast Junta did no more than draw in a sharp breath, then it was his turn for the transmutation of agony to ecstasy. Waves of delight rolled over him, drowning him in sweet fire. Each suck, each swallow seemed to join him with Takato, a rope woven to bind them. He clutched Takato close, cradling his head, holding him in place, making sure Takato knew he was allowed to drink his fill.

In his mind, he heard Takato, no words, this time, but a sharing more intimate than sex. He was inside Takato's head now, experiencing the feeding with him.

Oh…blood was hot, salt-sweet, and piquant, delicate and yet a solid smack of satisfaction for his starving body. It pumped into his mouth, each pulse anticipated, met with joy, each swallow almost regretful as the taste was lessened, though never lost. It was so different to eating, this; it was encompassing, every sense engaged.

The next breathe he took, the connection snapped, but he'd never forget what he'd been shown. Not even close to knowing what being a vampire was like, but a glimpse of that other, alien world at least.

He was hard, his body responding to the physical sensations, blood saturated with endorphins, not numbing the discomfort of torn flesh and blood loss but making it an addictive source of sensual pleasure.

This was dangerous…but he held Takato to him long past the point where it was safe, riding the arousal until his body found release in a swift, shuddering climax and Takato reared back, eyes closed, face unrecognizable for a moment, all vampire, all jutting bones and dripping fangs.

Then he sank those fangs into his lower lip, a brutal gashing of soft flesh and sealed his mouth to Junta's, feeding him to close the wound at his neck.

"Now fuck me," Takato whispered and bit Junta's earlobe. "I don't care if you came. I left you enough blood to get hard, so fuck me, Chunta. Hard enough I forget everything but you."

"If you forget me, you won't forget what I do to you tonight," Junta told him and bit Takato's neck, mirroring the closing bite on his, tasting the cool seep of blood and letting it revive him fully.

Then he pushed Takato down onto the bed and stripped him bare.