Dancing on Wire by Lianne Burwell Carpe Noctem Book Two Chapter One nce upon a time, there'd been a brief period where Victor Mansfield had been in control of his own destiny. Not when he was a kid, no. Growing up, he'd been kept firmly under his father's thumb. His father, a successful business man, had mapped out his son's life for him from an early age: He would graduate from high school at the top of his class, go to Queen's University for a degree in business management, then move into a vice-presidency in his father's company. Eventually he would marry the daughter of one or another of his father's business contracts, raise a couple kids of his own, preserving the Mansfield name. And eventually he would take over the company from his father. Basically, his father wanted a clone, not a son. Too bad for him his son had different plans. Sure, he'd graduated from high school, top of his class, right on schedule, but then he'd dropped the bombshell: He wasn't going to university or joining the family business, he was going to the police academy. His father had ranted and raved, then had thrown him out of the house. Vic had packed his bags, kissed his baby sister goodbye, then left without a word. He never saw his father again. His mother had called on a regular basis at first, trying to change his mind, but Vic had ignored her pleas and eventually she had given up. He had thrown himself into his training and had graduated top of his class. He had hit the streets of Toronto, doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life: Stopping crooks who preyed on the weak. And for a while, life was perfect. He loved his job, he had a great apartment and he fell hard for Stan, a fellow cop he'd met at the academy. They'd had to be discreet, of course, but life was good. For the first time in his life, Vic had been in control. But that had only lasted a few years. Then Stan had convinced him to transfer over to the drug squad with him, and being in love, Vic had agreed. Only thing was, the squad had been dirty, and when he had refused to play ball, they had taken him out of the game. In a flash, life had spiraled out of control. Faster than he would have believed possible, Vic had found himself behind bars, framed for drug trafficking. He had spent the next year dodging would-be rapists and monsters who wanted to amuse themselves with the disgraced cop. And worst of all had been knowing that Stan had done nothing to stop it, had helped them do it to him. Then one day a woman had come to see him. She had offered him a way out. He could come work for her, doing the law enforcement that was part of his soul, but there was a catch. He would never again be a cop. Despite his attempts at bluster, he'd known he had little choice. He had said yes. Since that day, his life had been out of his control. The Agency controlled where he lived, what his hobbies were, what he did, even who he did it with. He knew that the Director had deliberately arranged things so that LiAnn would dump him. Perhaps it had been for the best. After all, if it had been that easy to drive them apart then they hadn't had much of a chance anyway. It was about that time that he had started to give up on the idea of a permanent relationship. It just wasn't going to happen as long as the Agency controlled his life. But, oh how he wanted someone. Someone to share his life, someone to be there when he went to bed, when he woke up. He dreamt of it constantly. And as time went by, that dream had started, more and more, to wear the face of his other partner, Mac Ramsey, a man made commitment-shy by as many bad experiences as Vic. Then, during a trip to San Francisco, life had changed irrevocably—again—and he had learned a new fact: The Agency didn't just control his life, it controlled his afterlife as well. But he'd also learned that maybe his dreams weren't as impossible as he'd thought. Vic hummed under his breath as he headed through the corridors of the Agency headquarters in Toronto. It was just after sunset on a beautiful early-spring evening and as usual, the place was deserted. "Someone's cheerful tonight." Vic grinned as he entered the Director's main briefing room. Mac was sitting alone at the table, a cocky grin on his face. He hadn't seen his partner in several weeks and it was good to see a friendly face. "Why not? It's a gorgeous night and I don't have to deal with Moira tonight. In fact, I don't have to deal with her ever again. Trust me, Mac, if you get a choice, you don't want to be Gangrel." After San Francisco, they both knew that it was only a matter of time before the Director arranged Mac's Embrace, just like she'd planned to arrange Vic's. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on your point of view—circumstances had taken care of it before she could. Mac snorted. Moira was the Gangrel leader for the few members of the clan in Toronto. The Director had ordered her to train Vic in his new abilities, using threats to back up the order. To say that Moira had been upset would be an understatement, but the Director was not going to let one of her agents be Caitiff— clanless. The Gangrel clan didn't have enough of a presence in Toronto to command any power, let alone a seat in the Prince's council. They were there on the Prince's sufferance, and if they wanted to stay, they had to follow her orders. Vic had quickly learned that his sire's—Cash's—position in San Francisco was a rare one for the clan these days since they'd decided to go independent. However, obeying the Prince didn't mean that Moira couldn't make his life hell, just as long as she taught him. She had done both with great skill. Some of the basic skills had come quickly—surprising so, Moira had admitted once, then denied ever having said anything—such as seeing in the dark and growing the animal-like talons of the Kindred. He'd also found it easy to summon animals in the area and even understand their strange forms of communication, although he had the best rapport with cats. But there were a few skills that still eluded him. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't manage to merge with earth like Moira could. She'd finally given up, saying that the first time he was stuck outside on a sunny day and weakened he would either figure it out or die; she didn't really care which. Vic just felt it was too much like being buried alive. The other skill he'd had little success with was shape-shifting. Again, it seemed more a mental block than lack of ability. A part of him was scared that if he did succeed in turning into an animal, he wouldn't be able to change back. Moira also hadn't been shy about telling him just how unusual all this personal training was. Most Gangrel were Embraced, then abandoned to figure out all of this on their own. They would be watched and eventually brought into the clan if they didn't manage to get themselves killed first. She made no secret of the fact that she thought that all this hand-holding was a disgrace that would weaken him in the end. She also made it plain that she considered him Caitiff, even if he did know his sire. Certainly, she wasn't going to acknowledge him as part of the Toronto clan. Vic didn't much care. "So that's it, you've learned everything you need to know?" Mac asked, breaking his train of thought. Vic shrugged. "She said she's taught me everything that can be taught and tossed me out last night. Told me to stay the hell away from her from now on." Vic grinned. That last injunction was one he had no problem with; he and the older Kindred got along like, well... cats and dogs. Moira's preferred shape was a wolf, while Vic's best attempt at shape-shifting had been definitely feline. And Moira's job—if you could call it that—was at the Toronto Zoo, so it wasn't like they were likely to ever run into each other. He hoped. "Indeed. Well then, I suppose you're ready to go back to work." Both Mac and Vic jumped at the unexpected voice behind them. They turned and found the Director watching them with an amused expression on her face. She moved over to her usual seat on the other side of the long conference table. She dropped the folder she was carrying in front of her seat with a bang, making them jump again. "We have reports that a small farm about an hour north of Toronto is being used for the manufacture of a new designer drug," she said, sliding the folder towards them. The first item in it was a map, followed by the lab's report on the new drug, detailing its make-up and effects. It sounded pretty nasty from what Vic read. It provided incredible hallucinations, making it very popular, but was addictive from the first dose and inevitably fatal. "The two of you are to go check out the farm. If you see signs that it is being used for that purpose, you will simply report it. You will not act against them. Is that understood, Mr. Ramsey?" She stared at the younger man pointedly. "What? I can follow orders," Mac protested. Vic snorted, remembering all the times when Mac's enthusiasm—not to mention impatience—had led to trouble. Mac finally sighed and nodded. "Fine. Yes, I understand. Okay?" "Good. Now get going. And boys?" she called out as they headed for the door. "Try to be back before dawn." Emerging into the cool night air, Vic took a deep, grateful breath. Indoor air had always seemed stuffy to him, but since his Embrace he'd found it almost choking in its deadness. Thankfully, his job allowed him to spend most of his time outdoors. He started to head for his truck when Mac grabbed his arm and started to steer him towards his own car. "What's wrong with the truck?" Vic snapped, suddenly irritated. He liked his truck. He certainly preferred it to the ostentatious thing that Mac insisted on driving. Besides, if they were going to farm country, a truck would be better camouflage. "Nothing," Mac told him soothingly. "However, the truck doesn't have a trunk modified to let in plenty of air while still blocking out light. Just in case, you know." Vic blinked in surprise. It wasn't a response he'd expected. "You let them modify your beloved car?" Mac's eyes slid to the side in an 'I'm embarrassed or hiding something' look. "It was my idea," he mumbled. Vic stopped in his tracks, completely thrown by the answer. He and Mac were friends—Hell, more than friends since San Francisco—but still, that was Mac's car. A classic... something; he'd never been big on car types. "Thanks," he said honestly. Of course, the thing had a tiny little trunk that would be unbelievably uncomfortably, but like they said, it's the thought that counts. Still, it was the little things like this that made him wonder if maybe there was a chance for him and Mac. They'd slept together, during the trip to San Francisco. It wasn't exactly planned, or anything. After his Embrace, the Director had locked the two of them in a room for almost two days. She'd said that he had to learn control of the Hunger fast, and she had just the incentive: If he didn't, Mac was the one he would end up killing. That was unthinkable to Vic, so he'd controlled the Hunger. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he'd channeled it. He'd fed off Mac without killing him, but he'd also practically raped the younger man, even if Mac had cooperated enthusiastically. Mac may have been willing, but if he hadn't been, it wouldn't have changed anything. It had taken Vic a while to deal with that after their return to Toronto. Afterwards, Mac had suggested continuing as casual lovers, but Vic had been reluctant. He still wanted something permanent, and Mac had admitted that he wasn't really ready for the level of commitment that Vic was looking for. However, Mac had pointed out that maybe they shouldn't get that serious right away. He'd suggested taking it one day at a time until they were both sure. As he said, it didn't have to be that complicated. Vic was wondering if maybe Mac was right, maybe he did ask for too much, too fast. They would see. After his exposure to the Gangrel of Toronto and their loose, almost pack-like relationships, suddenly what he had with Mac was sounding more and more stable all the time. But in the meantime they had a farm to check out. No longer protesting, Vic climbed into the passenger's seat and opened the glove compartment to see what CDs Mac had, hoping he'd find something worth listening to since there wasn't a chance in hell they'd be able to agree on a radio station. Inside, mixed in with the latest in the flash-in-the-pan dance bands, he was surprised to find a couple of his favorite blues albums. Mac noticed what he was looking at and shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, if we're going to be using my car more often, I figured I should have something you'd listen to. Just as long as I can listen to my music at least part of the time. Besides, they're not bad," he added, looking embarrassed having to admit liking something older than a month. "You've listened to them? Mac Ramsey actually listened to Muddy Waters? And the world didn't come to a sudden and explosive end?" Vic shook his head in amused disbelief. "Hey, watch it or I'll toss them." "Don't you dare," Vic said, sliding one of the CDs into the car stereo. Immediately, the sound of an un-amplified guitar filled the air. Vic sighed happily and leaned back in his seat. "Thanks," he said. "No problem. But we listen to my music too, right?" "Right." If Mac was willing to make this gesture, the least he could do was reciprocate. Yeah, maybe they did have a chance. After all, compromise made a relationship. "So, what have you been up to for the last of couple months?" He hadn't seen either of his partners since their return to Toronto when the Director had handed him over to Moira and had told him not to come back until he was finished his training. He'd missed them, especially Mac. Mac shrugged, keeping his eye on the road as they headed north on the 401. "Not much. Lots of surveillance and grunt work, really. Booooring," he drawled. "I get the feeling that the Director doesn't trust us with the juicy stuff if we don't have you around to be the voice of caution." Mac grinned at him. "And LiAnn? How is she doing?" Mac sighed. "Well, better, I suppose. She's still a little twitchy around anyone she knows is Kindred, but she works with them. The only one she doesn't have a problem with is the Director." "Well, we already knew she was a blood-sucking creature." They both laughed, even though they knew there was probably a bug in the car recording their conversation. "Seriously, though, she always got along with the Director. Teacher's pet." "Anyway, being forced to work with Jackie for a couple of weeks took care of most of the problem. It's kind of hard to be scared of the Kindred and contemptuous of one of them at the same time." "And you?" "Well, Jackie still scares the shit out of me. Some of her come- ons these days#151;" Mac shuddered theatrically. "Please, I don't want to know anything more." Vic could just imagine. Jackie flirted with everyone, male and female, and her old style of flirtation was bad enough. He could just imagine what it was like with someone who knew just what she really was. He'd met a couple other Malkavian clan members during his training and had discovered that the Director was right: the clan was completely loony-tunes. They were also practically psychic. There was one that had told him... Well, he wasn't going to go there. "So where is LiAnn tonight?" Mac frowned. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen her for more than a week and the Director won't tell me where she was. She also wouldn't tell me where you live now, which is why I didn't drop by to see how you were doing." Vic felt a tension he hadn't even realized was there relax. "I wondered about that," he admitted. "Yeah, well I tried breaking into the Agency records to find the address, but there was just a note saying 'moved, see the Director or Dobrinsky for details.' Needless to say, I was not going to do that." Vic grinned. "I can just imagine what Dobrinsky would say. Then again, maybe he would have traded the info for a nibble?" "Nah. It seems I'm not his type." "What?" Blood was blood, Vic had found, and the blood type didn't matter. "Well, I've been learning about the Kindred while you were gone. That, the Director was willing to tell me about. Seems that the Ventrue tend to be very picky about who they feed from. For example the Director only feeds from people she's danced with." Vic snorted. "You've got to be joking," he said in disbelief. "Weird, huh? Anyway, Dobrinsky only feeds from car mechanics, if you can believe it. I guess it goes with that car collection of his." "Or maybe he just likes the taste of motor oil." That made Mac laugh. After that, they fell into an easy silence for the rest of the drive. Vic was a little surprised at that; he'd expected things to be a little edgier after everything that had happened, but it was like they hadn't just spent more than a month apart, let alone the change to Vic's... situation. Instead, Vic lost himself in the music, which Mac really did seem to be enjoying, until they pulled to a stop. Mac pulled out the map and a small flashlight to read it by. "We're about a mile from the farm," he said. "We should go on foot from here, so they don't hear us coming." "Sounds good to me." Vic got out of the car and drew a deep breath. The air here was so much clearer than in Toronto, although he could still smell the taint of pollution. From what he'd been told, there were few places left in the world that didn't have that taint. Someday he'd like the chance to see some of those places before they disappeared too. But he could also smell the clean, healthy scent of growing things, along with the spoor of a variety of living creatures. The air felt... alive. It was a clear night and the sky was full of stars. The moon, nearly full, was just above the horizon and rising. To Vic, it was as clear as day used to be. Even Mac shouldn't have too much trouble. "I'll take point," he said. Mac nodded, after making sure that the car wasn't going to be obvious to anyone driving by. They both checked their guns—just because they were only supposed to case the place didn't mean that they couldn't run into trouble— and set off through the trees. The farm they were checking out was bordered on three sides by forest, no doubt chosen to keep any neighbors from becoming suspicious. However, it also gave anyone trying to sneak up on them plenty of cover, which was a good thing for Vic and Mac. In the shade of the trees with their new leaves, the available light decreased dramatically. This wasn't a problem for Vic, but Mac had to turn on his flashlight in order to move quickly without breaking an ankle or his neck. Vic could see the light reflecting off the eyes of watching animals. They were three-quarters of the way to the farm when Vic stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. "What is it?" Mac asked, clicking off his flashlight and scanning the surrounding woods, although he probably couldn't see a thing. Vic waved him silent, listening. There no unusual sounds. Just the normal night noises of the woods, completely undisturbed by the intruders. Finally he shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry." But he could have sworn he'd scented something. Something that shouldn't have been there. He just wasn't sure what it was. They reached the farm, just before midnight. At that hour, a real farm should have been dark and silent, everyone asleep. Instead, the house and outbuildings were brightly lit and there were men moving around. Vic came to a stop at the edge of the woods and gestured for Mac to move parallel to him. Already Vic could smell a heavy chemical smell coming from one of the barns. It was similar to what he'd been exposed to during his brief stint working the drug squad during raids on drug labs back in his days as a cop. Then again, it smelt slightly different. He wasn't sure if it was because they were making a different sort of drug or if it was due to his enhanced Kindred senses. As a result, he wanted to investigate a little closer before they headed back to Toronto. Vic moved closer to the barn that the odor was coming from. His nose wrinkled. As he got closer, the stink became more and more overwhelming. It would be obvious to anyone, even a normal human. Across the central space, he could see Mac heading towards the farmhouse. As he approached the barn, he could hear voices, all male and joking crudely. They complained about the late hours spent brewing whatever it was they were brewing and about not getting paid enough for it. They belched and scratched and generally behaved like pigs. Suddenly, a low growl broke his concentration and he cursed himself for a fool. He'd seen the guard dogs, but they had all been asleep so he'd forgotten about them. Unfortunately, one of them had woken and was now prowling in his direction. Any second now, the beast was going to start barking, waking his fellows and alerting the men in the barn. Vic took a deep breath and locked eyes with the beast. He growled deep in his throat, urging the dog to go back to his bed and to sleep. He hoped it would work. He didn't really communicate well with dogs. He held his breath, concentrating hard. If this didn't work, he was going to have to kill the beast so that they could get away, which he didn't really want to do. For one thing, he didn't want to kill the animal just for doing its job. For another, a dead guard dog would alert the drug manufacturers that someone was checking them out. He was just about to give up and just kill the dog when it whimpered slightly and turned and headed back the way it had come. It reached its fellows, turned three times and dropped to the ground, its eyes already closing. Vic breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then he froze. For a moment, there was the same scent he'd smelt before. Then it was gone again as the breeze shifted directions. This was beginning to bug him. Deciding that they'd seen enough, Vic looked for his partner. His eyes went wide when he saw the man coming out of the farmhouse. He was going to have to talk to the man. Trust him to do something this risky. They headed away from the buildings, back the way they'd come. Once they were well out of earshot, even of the dogs, Vic grabbed Mac's arm. "What the hell were you doing? You could have been caught!" "Relax! I checked first to make sure that no one was moving around. I found an office and some records of materials and sales." Mac slipped a small camera out of his pocket. "The Director wanted some evidence, I got it. Don't worry, I put everything back where I found it. No one is going to notice." "You better be right," Vic muttered. He wasn't really angry, he just wished that Mac wasn't quite so reckless. Although he had to admit that the young man had improved over time. The old Mac would have just walked up to the barn and asked the men inside what they were doing. He'd done it before, just because he was bored with surveillance. Vic paused a moment to shudder at the memory of the contents of the van that they'd been watching that time. They'd been told that the thugs were smuggling guns. Instead, they'd been smuggling lungs. They were nearly back to the car when Vic stopped. The wind had changed and the strange scent was back again, stronger this time. It was almost... floral. Like a perfume? The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Suddenly he was sure that they were being watched. "Vic?" Mac whispered, obviously worried. Vic slipped his gun from his holster, but no matter how hard he scanned the surrounding woods, he couldn't see a thing. Finally, he tapped Mac's arm. "I don't know what's going on, but I suggest we get the hell out of here." They only had the chance to take two steps when there was the sound of a loud explosion behind them. Spinning in shock, they could see the glow of flames through the trees. It looked like every building on the farm had gone up. "Shit! What the hell was that? Do we go back and check it out?" Vic shook his head. His instincts were to run and run fast, but he refused to give in to the panic. "No. We head back to Toronto and report to the Director. She can decide what to do next." They quickly reached the car and Vic paused before climbing in. The feeling that they were being watched was still strong. But whoever or whatever it was, they were good. Other than the scent and the feeling, he couldn't find a trace. "Vic?" Shaking his head, Vic climbed into the car. "Let's get out of here." As they drove away, he rolled down the window to let in some fresh air and for a moment, he could have sworn he heard laughter. Chapter Two By the time they reached the Agency headquarters in Toronto, Mac was breathing a little easier. The investigation of the farm had not exactly gone as planned. First there was Vic's strange behavior. From almost the moment they'd arrived on-site, the man had been twitchy. Well, twitchier normal. Mac hadn't noticed anything, but Vic was convinced that they'd been watched. At the farm itself, everything had been by the book. They'd skulked around, seen that whatever the farm was being used for, it certainly wasn't farming. Well, he couldn't be completely sure, never having spent any time on a real farm, but still, this one didn't look right. So, while Vic checked out the barn where the most activity had been, Mac had broken into the farmhouse. Actually, breaking in was the wrong term for it. The door had been unlocked and the papers had been strewn all over the desk in the small office off the kitchen. In fact, the most difficult part had been putting the mess back exactly the way it had been after he had photographed everything. But he needn't have bothered. They'd been on the way back to the car when Vic had suddenly decided that they were being watched again. Even Mac had felt like there were eyes drilling into his back. Finally, Vic had suggested getting the hell out of there, and Mac was more than willing to go along with that plan. And then the farm blew up. "It... blew up?" The Director's eyebrows went up in disbelief. Mac fidgeted uneasily under her stare, but Vic was as cool as a cucumber. "Yes, it blew up." She paced for a moment, taping one fingernail against her lip. "Perhaps the workers made a mistake in the brewing process. Drug processing isn't exactly a safe occupation." Vic shook his head. "I doubt it. Their setup might not have been high-tech, but I saw nothing that looked like it was about to blow. Besides, I heard a series of explosions, too many to just be a chain reaction in the equipment. Someone rigged the place to blow." Mac blinked. He'd only heard one explosion, but he knew that Vic's ears were now sharper than his own, so he took the man at his word. "And," Vic continued, "we were being watched." That caught her attention. "By who?" "I don't know. All I know is that there was someone else out there." "And that someone blew up the farm without you noticing?" Vic shrugged. There was no way of knowing whether or not that was true or even possible. Again, Mac was trusting his partner on whether or not anyone had really been there at all. He considered himself a pretty observant guy, but he hadn't noticed anything to suggest that they'd been watched. The Director was looking distinctly peeved now. "So there's nothing that could lead us to the people behind this operation? Is that what you're saying?" "Not exactly," Mac said, raising his hand. For some reason, she always made him feel like a kid in school. He pulled the mini- camera from his pocket. "I photographed everything on the desk inside the house. I didn't exactly have the time to read anything, but there might be something useful." She took the camera from him. "Very good, Mac. Not exactly what you were supposed to do, but fortunate." Then she reached out and pinched his ear. Hard. "Next time, don't take risks when you aren't supposed to." Rubbing his throbbing ear, Mac glared back at her. "It wasn't a risk. I checked to make sure that there was no one around before I went in." "Whatever. Give the film to Otto for developing. Then I suggest the two of you go home. It's been a long night and sunrise isn't long off. Be back this evening." Mac headed for the door, glad to have gotten off so lightly, but Vic paused. "What about LiAnn?" "What about her?" Vic rolled his eyes. "Where is LiAnn? She is a part of this team, after all." The Director sighed theatrically. "LiAnn needed... time. She decided to go home to visit her family." Mac stared at her in disbelief. "That isn't funny." "It isn't intended to be." "They sold her when she was twelve years old. To a brothel! Why would she want to visit them?" She shrugged. "She has issues. Many of those issues start with her family. I suggested that she needed to deal with them and her feelings about them. She'll be back in a few weeks." "Assuming that she doesn't get hauled in for murder," Mac muttered. Despite her cool exterior, LiAnn had a temper and he knew how she felt about what her family had done her. The few times she'd spoken of them, the hurt and anger had bled through, even though she would be the first to admit that she was better off because of what they had done. If they hadn't sold her, she would still be living in a dirt-poor village in China, probably married at sixteen and old before her time. Instead, when the Tangs had bought the brothel and Father had sent all the under-aged girls home, she'd picked his pocket, which got his attention. He'd taken her in and instead of the village, she'd had Hong Kong, an education, a new family. But deep inside was still the little girl who'd been handed over to the recruiters who scoured the villages of China looking for fodder for the brothels frequented by foreign businessmen. A little girl who still wanted to know 'why.' It was the same 'why' he'd had when his father had turned up out of the blue after being gone from his life for years. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten his answer before the man had vanished again. Mac hoped she'd be all right. Report delivered, they headed for the parking lot and Mac fidgeted, wondering how to ask the question he wanted to ask. It was strange. Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to demand Vic's address. After all, they were partners. They needed to know how to get in touch with each other. But they weren't just partners anymore, and asking might be considered a come-on, which it wasn't. Well, mostly it wasn't. It might be considered a hint. Finally deciding to just go ahead and ask, Mac looked up to find Vic watching him with an amused expression. "I'm a little tired," the man offered. "Would you mind dropping me off at my place and picking me up again tonight? If it's not too much trouble." "Sure," Mac said, grabbing the excuse. "You'll have to give me directions, though. Um... you don't think that the Director will mind, do you?" "Who cares?" Mac wasn't so sure about the bravado, but then again, she had to have expected that he would find out as soon as they started working together again. Then Mac laughed and shook his head as he headed for the car, Vic already there and waiting impatiently. He couldn't believe that he of all people was getting worried about what the Director wanted. Before San Francisco, he would have just gone ahead and done it. Being on his own for the last month—minus both his partners—had obviously affected him, and now it was time to correct that. "You're right," he said, climbing behind the steering wheel. "Who cares. Now. How about some directions." As he pulled to a stop in front of the building, Mac felt a flash of uncertainty return. He wondered if inviting himself up would be pushing it a little too fast, since Vic had said he wanted to take it slow. But it had been a while, so you couldn't exactly call it rushing things. And damnit, he wanted the man. The building was a bit of a surprise, though. It was only a few kilometers from his own apartment, a ten-minute drive at the most, and that was only because this area of Toronto had a ton of one-way streets. The suspicious part of his mind wondered if the Director had chosen it because it would put them close together. It was a nice idea. It was an older building than his, but looked to be in good condition. Unlike his, this one even had balconies. It also bordered on a large park, something he knew was important to Gangrels, based on what the Director had told him. He would even bet that Vic's new place overlooked the park. The Director might be a manipulative bitch, but she did try to keep her people reasonably happy, if only because they worked better that way. "My spot is over there, if you want to come up and see the apartment," Vic said, matter-of-factly. Mac grinned. "Sure. Let's see if your sense of decorating style has improved any." He aimed for the indicated parking spot. They were silent on the ride up the elevator, old and creaking. Mac winced a little at the sound of metal on metal, but Vic just ignored it. After all, he'd had more than a month to get used to it. Unlike the elevator, the corridor it opened onto was clean, bright and well-lit. Vic led him to the end of the hallway and unlocked the several dead-bolts to open the apartment door. Unlike the exterior of the building, the apartment was pure modern, obviously recently re-modeled. At the same time, most of the furniture was familiar from Vic's old apartment. The wall of bookcases holding books, pictures and stereo, including the old eight-track player that his partner insisted on keeping, god only knew why. The sofa, the old dinette set in the corner, the pictures on the walls. Even the over-abundance of kitchen equipment that Vic had bought when he'd taken up cooking as a hobby was there. Mac wasn't sure why the man had kept those, since he didn't exactly eat any more. Mac hung up his jacket in the closet and prowled around, checking every corner, indulging his curiosity. Vic watched him with an amused expression, but didn't say anything, so Mac took it as an invitation to continue. The bedroom, as billed, was an interior room, with no windows to let in that pesky and potentially fatal sunlight. The bed was the same one he'd spent more than an hour in one night waiting for Vic to get home so that he could drag him into a caper with the Rivers family. Mac smiled to himself at the memory. The sheets were new, though. He ran an appreciative hand over them. Silk. He might have wondered if it was part of a seduction scene if it weren't obvious that they'd already been slept on. Either the Director had had all his sheets tossed and these left in their place or Vic was turning into a sensualist in his... afterlife. The bathroom was a typical bathroom, with a separate tub and shower. However, the towels were thick and fluffy, as luxurious as the sheets on the bed. Bath salts and oils sat on the ledge of the tub. "Do you approve?" Vic asked, only slightly sarcastic, as Mac headed back to the living room. The television was turned on to CNN—one of the few channels that wasn't showing infomercials at four in the morning. "Very nice. You're even developing some style. The sheets are a nice touch." "My old sheets... itched. Moira suggested the silk and she was right: They do feel better." "I'll bet," Mac said, grinning. "You hungry? I've got some stuff in the freezer that I can heat up, if you like." Mac blinked in surprise. "Why?" Vic shrugged. "I still like to cook," he said. "It's relaxing. Besides, I figured that someone would eat it eventually. Either you or LiAnn. Or I could always send it to the local food bank." "Okay. Thanks." Vic headed into the kitchen and pulled a container seemingly at random from the freezer. He stuck it in the microwave and started the machine whirring. "It'll take a while to defrost," he said apologetically. "I hope it's okay, though. I've been playing with a few new recipes. Authentic Chinese, stuff. Nothing raw or that had tentacles when it was still alive, though." The man looked embarrassed and Mac understood what he was really saying. It was sort of like Mac buying some of Vic's favorite blues albums for the car: Compromise. "I'm sure it will be fine," he assured his partner. Then he grinned. "And if it isn't, you can keep practicing. I'll eat it." Then a thought occurred to him. "What about you? I mean, you haven't had anything since we headed off to check out the farm." Vic turned back to the kitchen. "I've got some bagged stuff," he said. Mac grabbed his arm. "Hey, if you're going to feed me, the least I can do is feed you." "You don't have to..." Vic's voice trailed off, but the hunger in his eyes was obvious to Mac. "Please, let me?" Mac turned on the pleading eyes. It was silly really, but he liked having Vic feed from him. It wasn't just because of the intense sexual feelings it provoked. He just liked knowing that he could do something this important for someone he cared about. The physical rush was just a very nice bonus. Vic wavered a moment, then stepped in close, lifting his hand to run a gentle finger down Mac's neck, right over the big vein pulsing there. Mac shuddered and pressed up against Vic. It had been so long. How could he have gotten so addicted to a feeling he'd only experienced for a few days? Vic was licking his neck now. Mac hummed low in his throat in anticipation. He wrapped his arms around his partner, leaning against the hard muscled form. Already his knees were going weak and Vic hadn't even bit him yet. And then the fangs went in and the rush flooded through him, as perfect as he remembered. Vic was sucking and Mac felt that connection flare to life. Cash had told him that drinking a Kindred's blood formed a bond with that Kindred. He wondered if the reverse was true. When Vic finally pulled back, Mac found that they'd moved somehow while he wasn't noticing. He had a wall against his back and he was glad for the support. Vic lifted his head to meet his eyes and Mac found himself drowning in a green ocean. Not willing to hold back anymore, Mac dived in for a kiss. Vic's mouth was cool and perfect, lightly flavored with the coppery taste of Mac's blood. The kiss was also as perfect as he remembered, with none of the nose-bumping, tooth-scraping awkwardness that new lovers had. When they came up for air, Mac was breathing heavily. "Bed?" he suggested hopefully. Vic hesitated and Mac worried that maybe he was pressing too hard. Then he smiled that little-boy smile and Mac grinned back. Without a word, they headed for the bedroom. Quickly stripped and pressed back into the mattress, Mac rediscovered just how sinfully good silk felt against the skin. He loved silk shirts, but the silk sheets caressed every inch of him. The cool, sensuous touch was almost enough to distract him from the feeling of Vic pressing down on top of him. Yeah, right. As he ran his hands over Vic's back and sides, Mac could swear that Vic had lost weight since the last time. Either that or he was more toned than before, although he hadn't exactly been a slouch in the hard body department. Whatever the difference was, he felt great. And what he was doing felt great too. For the longest time they were both happy just to touch and kiss and reacquaint themselves with each other's bodies. Then Mac remembered that Vic had done one hell of a lot more exploring than he had last time, so he decided to even things up. He surged upwards and Vic allowed himself to be flipped over. Mac loomed above him, just admiring for a moment. Vic's sheets were a dark emerald green and his pale skin looked delicious against it. Mac lowered his head and started to nip at Vic's face, enjoying the little shivers it sent through the man. He nipped his way down, spending a long time on the man's neck. That made the man go absolutely nuts, groaning and writhing underneath him. But it still wasn't enough. The man's chest called him; especially the nipples. They were small and rose-brown in a nearly hairless chest, and they stood up just begging for attention. He bent his head to lick one, then waited for the reaction. Michael had hated having his nipples played with—it was something only women should enjoy, he'd said—and his two male lovers since then had been more into fuck and suck, skip the foreplay, please. But Vic just moaned and arched up into the touch, so Mac went for it. It was a revelation. He'd thought that Vic's neck was sensitive, but playing with his nipples turned him into a madman, completely inarticulate but definitely appreciative. Mac licked, then sucked them until they looked swollen, then nipped at them gently. That got him a scream and nearly bucked off of the bed. Mac wanted to play a lot more with them, but Vic obviously had different ideas. He flipped them over again, landing on top of Mac hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Mac's protest was muffled by the man's mouth coming down on his, hard and hungry. Mac parted his legs in open invitation and let Vic land between them. Vic grinned at him, then reached into the bedside table for a tube of lubricant. It was half-empty and Mac felt a surge of jealousy, wondering who Vic had been playing with. Then he squashed it down. Whoever they were, they were out of the picture now. Vic squeezed a generous pool of lube into the palm of his hand, then tossed the tube aside, not even bothering to recap it. Much better than LiAnn, who would have complained because he squeezed the tube from the middle, let alone not putting the cap on. Of course, with LiAnn, the tube wouldn't have been necessary at all. The Vic reached between them and all thoughts of LiAnn vanished. Vic gathered up both their erections in one callused hand and started stroking. Mac closed his eyes and moaned, his hips thrusting up into the grasp. But then the touch was gone, along with the weight pressing down on him. Mac's eyes flew open as he groaned in protest. Then he groaned again, for very different reasons. Vic was poised above him, crouched directly over his cock. While he watched in disbelief, Vic held Mac's cock steady, centered himself, then slowly lowered himself onto it. "Shit!" was all that Mac could think of to say as he was engulfed. Vic's ass was tight and yielding and ever so slightly cool. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Then Vic started moving and he felt like the top of his head was going to blow off. Sex had never been this intense before in his life. Only one thing would make it more intense. Immediately, as if Vic could read his mind, his wrist was seized and raised to Vic's lips. Wicked green eyes grinned at him as Vic slowly licked the vein, then bit down, never pausing in his steady rise and fall, milking Mac's cock. The rush hit him again and he screamed, arching upwards, embedding himself as far inside Vic as he could get. It was like a double orgasm, pumping out of both his cock and his wrist. And then everything went black. A distant ping woke him, some time later. A glance at the glowing numbers on the clock radio next to the bed told him that he couldn't have been out for very long. Long enough for someone to clean him up, at least. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and groaned. He felt... He felt better than he had in weeks. "Awake yet?" Mac looked over at the doorway. Vic was standing there in a white bathrobe, holding a tray. He could see the steam rising from the plate on it. "Breakfast in bed? For me? Vic, you shouldn't have." "Yeah, well, it was finished defrosting so it was either heat it up or throw it out. But if you don't want it..." He turned away. "Don't even think about it," Mac said, sitting up a little straighter. His stomach was growling so loudly that not only could Vic hear it, the people in the next apartment could probably hear it. He didn't care how bad Vic's attempt at real cooking was, he'd eat it. Vic grinned and placed the tray in his lap, then sat back and watched. It didn't look great, but the aroma was fantastic. It was some sort of basic stir fry with vegetables and tofu on noodles in an oyster sauce. Mac picked up the lacquered chopsticks sitting next to the plate (chopsticks? Vic?) and picked up a piece of carrot and popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly. Vic was watching him expectantly, with only a hint of uncertainty. Mac closed his eyes and considered the taste. Then he grinned and picked up the plate, his chopsticks moving fast. Vic's expression was one of satisfaction as Mac stuffed his face. "So?" "Vic, you have been practicing," Mac mumbled around a mouthful. "This is good." "Yeah, well a stir-fry doesn't take a lot of skill." Still, he sounded pleased. Mac emptied the plate in short order and gave serious consideration to licking it clean. He was still hungry, but at least his stomach wasn't trying to wrap itself around his spine anymore. By the time they'd cleaned up, Mac deciding to do his part and wash the dishes he'd used, the sun was coming up and Vic was looking a little droopy. Mac herded him through a quick shower, then put him to bed. He found that a sleepy Vic could be a fun Vic as he cleaned and dried the man, then tucked him in. He crawled in next to Vic, deciding to get a little quality cuddling time in. He hadn't actually slept with anyone since LiAnn, choosing instead to leave and head to his own apartment and bed, and even she wasn't much into cuddling. Now that he could, he was going to take advantage of it. "You going to be here when I wake up?" Vic mumbled, his eyes already shut. "Probably not," Mac answered. "I do need to get out this afternoon to do some things. But I'll be by at sunset to pick you up." "'Kay. Keys with the green tag on the hook next to the door are yours." That caught Mac off-guard. "You're giving me a key to your apartment? You never did before." "Yeah, well if you need to get a hold of me during the day, I don't know that a phone ringing would wake me up. You might have to come in person to do that." Mac shrugged. "I could always pick the lock." "I know. You've done it before," was the wry, if sleepy response. "Easier to just give you the key." "Faster, too." "Hmmm..." Mac glanced down at the man and his smile turned fond. Vic was out like a light. He wrapped himself around the sleeping man and shut his eyes, wanting to get a few hours of sleep too. Amazing how right this felt, he thought to himself as he drifted off. Maybe white picket fences weren't as scary a thought as it had been before. Mac woke at about one in the afternoon. Careful not to disturb Vic, he found his clothes, neatly piled on the sofa in the living room where he'd put them before they'd gone to bed, got dressed and closed the apartment door behind him softly. He locked it and tossed the keys in his hand a couple times before slipping them into his pocket. The day was overcast and damp, the wind chilling him. It wasn't actually raining, but it had earlier and it was certainly going to again before the day was out. Mac shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket up. It was a far cry from the pleasant, almost summer weather of the day before. He headed for his car, making a mental list of the things he needed to do before coming back to pick up Vic. He needed to pick up his dry cleaning, buy some groceries for himself and maybe a few for Vic's place. Unlocking the car door, he thought he might even bring over a few clothes to keep there, in case he stayed over the full day in the future. Worst thing that could happen was that Vic would say no, and after that morning, he didn't think that was very likely. Before he could get into the car, he froze. For a moment, it felt like every hair on his body—and there was a lot of it—was standing on end. He stood up straight, twisting to search the area. Nothing. But the feeling didn't go away. He could swear that someone was watching him. It reminded him of Vic's insistence that someone had been watching them the night before, out at the farm. Maybe it was the same someone. Except that meant that the person had followed them all the way back to town and the Agency, then to Vic's place, which was ridiculous. Bit by bit, the watched feeling faded, then finally disappeared. All Mac saw was a twitch in the curtains at a house across the street from the apartment building, backing onto the park. Mac shook his head ruefully. Just a nosy neighbor. He was jumping at shadows. But as he drove away, he noticed the curtains move again and felt a chill. After the last few years, he couldn't help wondering if maybe there was more to it. Chapter Three When Vic woke, he was alone in the large bed. It wasn't very surprising—the day was too long to expect Mac to stick around while he was comatose—but he was still a little disappointed. The younger man gave a good cuddle. But Mac would be back soon to pick him up, so he didn't have time to lay about in bed. Of course, that thought did have some good points, but it would get them to work late, and that was not a good idea. Even if the Director didn't punish them, she'd never let them live it down. So he got up and headed for the shower. He didn't dawdle, washing thoroughly, but quickly. He brushed his teeth and checked to make sure that he didn't need to shave yet. One side-effect of being Kindred was that his hair had slowed down its growth. As a result, he only needed to shave every week or so. It was a good thing he didn't have any real desire to grow a thick beard. Heading back to the bedroom, he took a deep breath and grimaced. While the thick scent of sex had been intoxicating when he'd gone to sleep that morning, after a full day it was just... stale. Wrinkling his nose, he stripped the bed, making plans for a trip to the laundry room. Fresh sheets from the closet and the bed was made. Then he pulled on jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. A baggie of blood from the fridge was 'breakfast', although after his feeding from Mac the night before left it tasting rather... flat. There was no life to it, no sense of the person behind it. He wondered briefly—yet again—where the Director got the supply from. Did the Agency run a blood bank somewhere to keep the city Kindred supplied? Or were Agency support staff expected to provide the nourishment for their boss and her select few? Vic shrugged. Knowing the woman, he probably didn't want to know. Once he finished, he started strapping on his various guns and other weapons. After years of working for the Agency, he felt naked without them. While on the job, he never went anywhere without at least three guns secreted around his body; something that saved his life and the lives of his partners on more than one occasion. He was pulling his favorite leather jacket on when there was a knock at the door. He pulled it open and found Mac leaning against the frame, doing his best to look cool and nonchalant. It was something he did very endearingly. The younger man was wearing his favorite look; black pants and jacket with a white dress shirt open low enough to show some of his thick pelt of chest hair. He looked thoroughly edible, and if it weren't for the fact that they were already going to be late, Vic would have dragged him to the bedroom to do just that. Not to mention that the man's careful grooming always made him want to mess him up. He was also secretly pleased to see that Mac was also wearing the pendant that he'd bought him in San Francisco, just before everything had changed for them. It was just a pendant, and not a very valuable one, but it made him feel... appreciated. Come to think of it, Mac had been wearing it the night before, although he'd been more interested in other things about his partner to notice. Vic felt his cock twitch at the memory, and reminded himself again that they didn't have time. "You know," he said conversationally as he moved past Mac, stopping only long enough to lock the door behind himself, "I gave you a key to the place for a reason." "Well, you never know. You might have had company." The tone was teasing, but Vic could hear the slight hesitance in Mac's voice and grinned. "You mean you couldn't pose as nicely if you let yourself in," he said, reassuring Mac in a slightly oblique way. "Busted," Mac said, his grin a little easier. "We better move our butts, though," Vic said, heading for the stairs, "or the Director is going to have them in slings for being late." "Oooooh, kinky! Think she'd take us to the Caligula to do it?" Vic snorted. "More likely she'd hand us over to Dobrinsky to do it." "Ouch. In that case, let's get a move on." The Director was waiting for them when they arrived. She frowned, but didn't seem too upset by the fact that they had still ended up being late. Besides, it was only by twenty minutes or so. "Glad you could join us," she said without heat, obviously using the royal we. "The reports are in on the farm explosion." Vic took his seat and Mac the one next to him. "And?" "The Agency team finished their examination before the OPP arrived. Every building had at least four bombs—seven in the case of the main house—all the latest in high-tech and carefully concealed. The men running the lab wouldn't have noticed them." "So what set them off? Timer?" Mac asked. The Director shook her head. "No. Radio control. Someone, less that a mile away from the farm set them all off, almost simultaneously." Vic hissed under his breath, and by the glance Mac shot him, he knew that the other man was thinking the same thing. "Yes, your mysterious watcher, no doubt," the Director said. "Yeah, but who is she?" "She?" the Director said, one eyebrow going up. She leaned back against her desk, arms crossed over her chest. Vic was a little surprised at his own comment too. His eyes narrowed as he considered what had made him say that. "When we were being watched," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I smelled something light and slightly floral. A fragrance. Perfume, maybe." "And that does imply female, doesn't it. Well, anyway, thanks to Mac's little info raid before the big bang, we've linked the operation at the farm to one Jonathon Ramirez." She picked up a control and pointed at the screen set in one wall. A man's image appeared. He was heavy-set, with thick jowls. His black hair was almost greasy and very carefully done. His suit was Armani, and yet he managed to make it look like it had come off the rack, with no adjustments to make it fit better. He looked like a drug-lord wannabe. Vic wasn't impressed. "I wonder who he thinks he's impressing," Mac muttered under his breath, echoing Vic's own thoughts. "The local drug community," the Director replied, pointing out—in case he'd forgotten—that Kindred had sharper hearing than the average human. "Mr. Ramirez arrived two months ago from Florida and has been quickly establishing himself as the supplier of illegal drugs in town. Competitors have had unfortunate accidents and incidents that left them without product, and in at least two cases, without heads. Literally." She clicked a control and the image of Ramirez was replaced with the image of another man. This one was black, dressed in blue jeans and a jacket that was a motley of colors. Other than that, it was hard to tell anything about him, since his head was gone. In fact, from the look of what was left of the guys neck, his head had been twisted off. Next to him, Mac looked decidedly green. Vic looked a little closer. After a moment, he turned to meet the Director's eyes. "Kindred?" She nodded. "Or a werewolf, possibly," she said thoughtfully. "Werewolves?" Mac said, his voice rising to a squeak. "I doubt it," Vic said, considering the suggestion. "After all, they rarely go anywhere near cities if they can at all help it, from what Moira told me." "True," the Director said. "However, it has happened, especially if they are fighting for territory. And there is always the occasional pack outcast who becomes a mercenary. However, I do agree that it is unlikely. Kindred is a far more likely answer." "Werewolves?" Mac hissed in Vic's direction when no one responded to his original squeak. "I'll explain later," Vic said in an undertone. "So now what?" he asked, raising his voice again. "Find Ramirez and shut down his operation. More importantly, find his pet killer. Whoever it may be, they're risking the Masquerade." And if it was a Kindred, the penalty for that was True Death, Vic reminded himself with a shiver. "Find him? Do we get anything to go on besides a name?" Mac said sarcastically. The Director glared at him, then slid a file folder across the table to them. "If you need any more information, talk to Nathan." She headed for the door, then stopped and turned around. "And boys, do try to keep your minds on the job. I would hate to have to separate you." "Yes, ma'am," was the subdued response from both men as she disappeared from view. Mac turned to Vic as soon as she was gone. "So, what have we got?" Vic shuffled through the papers in the folder. "Not a hell of a lot. One condo in Forest Hill, a dance club#151;" "Really? Which one?" He could see Mac perking up. "Um... De Plata Lobo." Vic knew that 'lobo' meant wolf, but wasn't sure about the rest. "The Silver Wolf? I've heard of it, but I've never been in. Latin stuff is more the Director's thing, from what LiAnn tells me." "Hmm? What do you mean?" Vic looked up, a little confused. "The Nicholas Love case. While we were locked up at my place with Dobrinsky, they went to meet an informant at Salsa Night at the Lubianka." Mac snorted. "The Director dressed LiAnn up in a men's suit with a penciled on mustache and took her as her date." The image made Vic snicker too. Then he frowned. "There's no Salsa Night and the Lubianka," he said. Mac shrugged. "There is when the Director says there is," he replied. "Any way, De Plata Lobo is one of those places that plays Selena and Ricky Martin and other over-hyped Latin types. Not my style." "Well," Vic said, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe you should make it your style." Mac glared at him, then rolled his eyes. "What are you looking for?" "Oh, I don't know. This," he said, pointing to the paper in front of him, "says that the man probably runs most of his business from the club's upstairs offices. Might be something interesting in the safe, assuming that you can get into it." Mac bristled. "Of course I can. I've never met a safe that I couldn't get into." Vic suppressed a grin. In some ways, his partner was so easy. "We'll see," was all he said, ignoring the insulted look that Mac gave him. "Well, if we're going clubbing tonight, we better find something a little more appropriate to wear," Mac said, getting to his feet. "What 'we', kemosabe?" Mac turned his big eyes on Vic. "You wouldn't make me go alone, would you? I need someone to watch my back. Someone to#151;" "Someone to protect you from the underage and underdressed teenyboppers?" Mac grinned. "Something like that. So, are we going or aren't we?" Vic rolled his eyes, resigning himself to a night of loud music and too many people in an enclosed space. "We're going," he said and let Mac lead the way to the clothing department to find something that would let them blend in. They could already hear the music from a block away, the heavy beat making windows rattle. Vic was a little surprised that the neighbors hadn't called to complain about the noise. On the other hand, there probably weren't many neighbors around, he supposed. They were right on the edge of one of the industrial areas of town. From the look of it, the building was a converted warehouse or factory. And despite Mac's put-downs, the place was obviously popular. They'd had to park several blocks away, and considering the area of town, Mac hadn't objected to taking Vic's truck. Vic just hoped that it would be in one piece and where they left it when they were ready to head home. The bouncer at the door gave them a sharp look before letting them in. Glancing around the dance floor, Vic quickly understood why. While the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse, the average age was maybe twenty. Even Mac looked a little too old for the place. Then he noticed the few that were older. Other than the bartenders—who looked like they were being more than a little lax about checking for ids— there were a scattering of middle-aged men, mostly around the edge of the room. It only took Vic a minute to pick them all out, not to mention the bulges of concealed weapons. At least he and Mac were better at concealing weapons than these shmucks. And as quickly as he identified them, he was able to tell that they weren't Kindred. They might be werewolf, but he'd never met one, so he didn't know how to recognize one. Still, the name of the club was... suggestive. "Vic, you look like a cop," Mac said, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the music. "We get a drink and dance for a while until they stop watching us. Got it?" Vic snorted. "What, doesn't my outfit do the job?" He gestured at the black leather pants tight enough to be a second skin and the shirt of shiny emerald green. Mac's gaze swept down his body and back up. "It does the job for me," he said, his voice gone husky. Vic rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Drinks?" By the time they made it through the crowd around the bar, Vic needed a drink. "Whatever's on tap," he shouted to the bartender, deciding not to play twenty-questions with the man over what was available. Mac, on the other hand, ordered something in perfect Spanish that sounded complicated. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish," Vic said as they moved away from the bar with their drinks. "I have a lot of hidden talents," was the purred reply. "Seriously, though, Father had business around the world. He made sure that we were all multi-lingual." "How many languages do you speak?" Vic asked, intrigued. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?" He could tell that Mac was just itching to continue with the mildly suggestive conversation, but Vic refused to give in: They were there to do a job and he didn't want to face the Director and say that they didn't do it because they were flirting. She'd been scary enough back when she'd just been his boss. Now that she was his Prince, she was twice as scary. Some girl who didn't look old enough to be out alone, let alone this late at night, sidled up to them and asked Mac to dance. The younger man glanced at him to make sure it was okay before he took the invitation. Vic watched them move out onto the crowded dance floor and start gyrating in the way that was popular these days and felt old. In his day—God, did he just think that?—dancing with someone implied that you were touching them. These two weren't even looking at each other. But he was also a touch jealous. No one looked twice at the two dancing together, but if it were him and Mac, they'd probably have a crowd ready to kick their asses within a minute. Canada wasn't a bad place to live when you were in a gay relationship, but the types here didn't look too forgiving, despite their youth. Just as well that no one seemed interested in dancing with him, though, since he definitely wasn't up to those sorts of moves. But he was drawing a different sort of attention. Some of the hard men that he'd noticed coming in had moved to bracket him. They weren't making any hostile moves, but they were making no secret of the fact that they were watching him. Considering what their boss did for a living—not to mention what had happened to their drug production setup the night before—it wasn't very surprising. But the attention did have its plus side: If they were focused on him, then Mac could sneak upstairs. He hoped. A glance around the dance floor told him that his partner had made his move. Mac was nowhere to be seen or sensed. The younger man favored an unusual cologne, and Vic's Kindred sense of smell could easily pick it up. The only traces he found were rapidly fading, indicating that he'd left the room. Then Vic frowned. There was another fragrance, one both strange and familiar. It was the same fragrance he'd scented the night before in the woods outside the farm. Vic turned to scan the room again, looking for the source of the fragrance, but it was fading. Like Mac, whoever it was had left the room. He hoped that it wasn't going to be a problem for the younger man. "Can I help you?" The sarcastically drawled question drew Vic back to what he was supposed to be doing. He cursed himself for letting himself get so distracted that one of the hard men was able to sneak up on him. He looked the man up and down. "I doubt it," he said with more than a touch of disdain, a plan starting to occur to him. "I've got a message for Ramirez." The man's eyes narrowed. One of his hands twitched, like he was restraining an urge to go for his gun. "Fine. I'll pass it on." He waited expectantly. Vic snorted. "I don't deal with underlings," he said, easily slipping into the sort of underworld persona he'd used often in his undercover days with vice. "Well, too bad. Mr. Ramirez doesn't deal with street punks." Vic smiled coldly and let his Kindred side out, just a little. It wasn't much; just a flash of silver in the eyes, a hint of menace. The turkey probably wouldn't even notice consciously. Sub-consciously, on the other hand, he definitely noticed. He paled, no doubt realizing that he was in the presence of very nasty predator. "Mr. Ramirez isn't here right now," the thug said, beads of sweat forming on his brow. It was obvious to Vic that the man was lying, but he didn't press. "Fine. Give him this number," Vic pulled a pen from his pocket and in a flash of mischievousness, he wrote his cell phone number on the back of the guy's hand. It was more like something Mac would do, although the younger man probably would have written it on the moron's forehead. The thug looked at his hand a grimaced. "Fine. Is there a name to go with the number?" he asked, showing some pretty impressive self-restraint. "Mansfield." "All right. Consider your message delivered. Now, get lost." Vic smirked a little. "What, can't I enjoy the music?" "I don't think it's your style." "Finish my drink?" The man glared at him. Amused, Vic quickly tossed back the last of his beer. "It's been a pleasure," he said sarcastically and headed for the door. He could meet Mac outside just as easily. Outside the club, he headed around the corner, then pulled out a miniaturized headset from his pocket. An ear piece on a wire went in the ear, and a mini microphone adhered to his throat to pick up the vibrations of his throat. A last wire ran inside his jacket to a small battery pack. Altogether, he could wrap his fist around the entire package and have none of it show. "Mac," he whispered, hoping his partner had remembered to put on his own headset. Silence for a moment, then, "Here," at a barely audible level. "I've been ejected. I'll meet you at the truck." "'Kay. Give me a half-hour, max." "Got it." Instead of heading straight back to the truck, Vic decided to do a bit of scouting first. Now that he thought about it, his off-the-cuff plan was looking better and better all the time. If he presented himself as a rival supplier, got on Ramirez's bad side, then they wouldn't have to go looking for the man's pet killer, as the Director had put it; he or she would be looking for Vic. They would be able to set a trap. Of course there were always risks to that sort of plan. Maybe Ramirez wouldn't fall for it—although based on his files, Vic would bet that he would. Maybe his killer would turn out to be Kindred and would either sense the trap or be too old and too strong for him to fight back against. Still, it was the fastest way they had to meet the Director's orders. By this point in his musings, he was in the back alley, behind the club. The light was low, allowing him to keep to the shadows. With night-vision, he could easily see the thug keeping watch outside the back entrance. Ramirez might not be the brightest criminal Vic had ever gone up against, but he wasn't completely stupid. There was a bright flare as the man lit a cigarette. Vic wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent of tobacco. Okay, maybe the guy wasn't a guard, just a moron on a smoke break. Then he paused. Once more, that perfume. He scanned the alley, but whoever it was, she wasn't to be seen or felt. This was getting damned frustrating, he thought, growling softly to himself. He didn't know who this person was, or what her interest in Ramirez was, but she better not get in their way. With that thought, he headed back the way he came to wait for Mac at the truck. Chapter Four The music might not have been to Mac's normal tastes, but it had a good strong beat to dance to. He followed the girl who had invited him to dance out onto the floor, already moving to that beat. She turned around with a big smile and started to move her hips, arms high above her head, knees bent. As she danced, she flirted with not just her eyes but her whole body. She was a cute kid, but Mac was a little shocked to find that he thought of her as just that: A kid. God, he was getting old! Glancing around as he danced, he realized that he was probably the oldest person on the floor. The few people older in the building weren't there to dance. Of course, neither was he, but still... He had griped at his last birthday about the fact that he'd moved into an older age bracket—a fact that Dobrinsky had delighted in pointing out every chance that he got—but this was the first time that it had really been hammered home. He was so used to working with and against people who were older than himself that he didn't really notice that he was aging too. The next thing you knew, he was going to start finding white strands in his hair. Either that or losing it. Then again, maybe not. After all, Vic wasn't going to age anymore. From what she'd said, the Director intended the same for him and LiAnn as well. Mac let his eyes drift over to his lover briefly and considered that idea. Vic had adjusted to being a vampire pretty well, and he'd had no preparation for it. Mac had the feeling that the Director had no intention of letting his Embrace be quite as abrupt, or random. But did he really want to be a vampire? Assuming he was given a choice, of course. He knew what it was like to be on one side of the equation; human blood source to a vampire. It was incredible, like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and he couldn't help being curious about what it was like on the other end. Of course, there were the drawbacks. No sunlight, for one. Well, at least not for a few decades. Mac paused and frowned. What about Jackie? He'd seen her outside in daylight. Did that mean she'd been Embraced after being drafted by the Agency? The Director was a different matter, since she was... older. Just how old, she refused to say, but old enough to have built some immunity. Plus there was that protective makeup stuff she'd mentioned to Cash. The other potential drawback of what clan she picked to Embrace him. Every clan had its idiosyncrasies and its rivalries, he'd learned. What if he ended up in a clan that was instinctively hostile to the Gangrel? Cash had lost a lover when she was Embraced Brujah. He would hate to lose Vic the same way. He shook his head. Surely she wouldn't do something like that to them. Well, whatever happened, now was not the time to be worrying about it. He had a job to do and it was time he did it. He drifted away from his dance partner—something that was easy to do in the crowded room. He could see the stairs heading up to the offices, not far from the restrooms, so he headed that way. The stairs had a watcher, though, and he frowned. Getting past the man without attracting attention was going to be difficult, if not impossible. The stairs were in plain view of everyone in the room. But would Ramirez have his underworld pals come in through the club? Not bloody likely. Most of them were allergic to being seen. So, there had to be another way upstairs. A hidden way. Mac headed into the restroom and went about his business while he considered the puzzle. Maybe a hidden elevator? But surely that would be guarded too. Then he resisted the urge to smack himself. He was making things far too difficult. A building like this one had fire escapes, assuming that they wanted to stay open. The fire escape would be the easiest way to the upper level. Mac grinned, washed his hands and headed out into the crush again. He finally found a side door with a fire alarm that wasn't active and headed out into the back alleyway. A last glance over his shoulder showed Vic still standing against the wall on the other side of the dance floor looking incredibly uncomfortable. Despite Mac's best efforts, Vic just wasn't the nightclub type. Outside, a bucket next to the door filled with cigarette butts told Mac why the fire alarm wasn't turned on for that door: Obviously Ramirez's boys used the back for smoke breaks. Toronto city ordinances meant that the club had to be smoke free and the boys didn't look like the types to quit smoking because of that. A quick glance around the dirty alley showed that Mac was alone. A little further down, about halfway between the door and the street the alley opened onto, Mac could see the dim outline of a fire escape. "Jackpot," he murmured to himself with a grin as he headed for it. The start of the ladder was too high off the ground for him to reach, but a nearby dumpster was perfectly positioned. He climbed on top of it, trying not to breathe in the fumes that managed to escape from it even with the lid shut. From there, after a quick double-check to make sure that he was really alone, Mac bent his knees, took a deep—albeit distasteful—breath and leapt. He just barely caught the bottom of the railing that went around the lowest platform of the fire escape and hung there, swinging, for a moment. The metal creaked and he winced, feeling the rust digging into his palm. When he was sure that no one was going to come running to investigate, he carefully pulled himself upwards until he was able to pass between the bars and onto the semi-solid platform. He glanced at his hands and cursed lightly when he saw the blood seeping from the scrapes there. He pulled a pair of thin gloves from his pocket and put them on. They were intended to keep him from leaving fingerprints, but leaving blood splatters would be even worse, especially if the Director was right about there being Kindred involved. "Mac." Mac stiffened at the sound of his name, then remembered the tiny earpiece he'd forgotten he was wearing. He tapped the equally tiny microphone. "Here," he whispered. "I've been ejected. I'll meet you at the truck." "'Kay. Give me a half-hour, max." "Got it." The earpiece went silent. Ready to continue, he started up the fire escape to the second floor windows, moving as quietly as he could on the aging metal structure. Once there, he checked the window and found that it had been wired. Well, to a trained thief, the basic security system wasn't even close to a challenge. It took him only a couple minutes to disable the system and lift up the window. He winced a little as the frame creaked—the window obviously hadn't been opened in a long time—then climbed through. The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the throb of the music downstairs. Mac glanced around, but didn't see anyone. He closed the window, then went hunting. The third door he cracked open led to what was obviously Ramirez's office. The lights were out and no one was inside, so he opened the door and slipped in. Shutting the door behind him, he started a search of the office. He quickly came to the realization that Ramirez might be a slob—the place was a mess, with discarded plates and glasses hidden under piles of paper—but he wasn't stupid. Nothing that had been left out contained incriminating information. Mac eyed the computer for a moment, then bypassed it. He was good with computers, but not that good. He did check quickly to make sure that the machine had a phone line hooked up: If there was time before he left, he would try dialing into the Agency so that the computer geeks could download anything on the machine that might be of use. Instead, Mac glanced around, looking for where the safe would be hidden. He checked behind the paintings on the wall—after all, it was a cliché for good reason. Amazingly, all he found behind the brightly colored canvases was bare walls. Likewise, lifting the rugs showed only battered wood flooring. Obviously Ramirez wasn't quite as stupid as he looked. Mac paused, and considered where else a safe could be hidden. The sound of voices coming down the hallway interrupted his thoughts, and he looked around. The window was shut and wired, and he wouldn't have enough time to disarm the system and get out if the people in the hallway were coming away. The only other option was the door off to the side. It led to Ramirez's private bathroom, he'd found during his initial search. As the voices got closer, he gave a mental shrug and ducked into the small room. There was a window above the toilet—not wired, he noticed—but before he could try it, he heard a door open and the voices suddenly became much louder. Deciding to take a chance, he pressed himself against the door, straining to hear what was going on. It didn't take much effort, the walls were so thin. "What's the word from the farm?" he heard a voice ask in Spanish. It was loud and heavily accented; Ramirez, he assumed. The reply was too low for him to make out more than just the apologetic tone. Obviously Ramirez's people hadn't had any more luck than the Agency investigators. "Well, find out! I don't want anything to interfere with our plans. Now, tell me about this jerk downstairs." "Says his name is Mansfield," a new voice said, stronger than the first lackey. Mac's eyes went wide, and he wondered what the hell his partner was up to. "He wanted to talk to you. He didn't want to leave a message. Said he didn't deal with 'underlings.'" The man sounded insulted and Mac had to keep himself from snorting. "He left a phone number." There was a pause, then Ramirez spoke up again. "Find out who this Mansfield person is. I don't like wildcards." "Yessir." The door opened, then shut again. There was silence for a few minutes, and Mac was about to open the door again when he heard the creaking of the chair behind the desk. Mac groaned silently and considered trying for the window. He didn't know what was outside it, or if he could get out without attracting attention, but if he stayed where he was, he was going to be found, sooner or later. Before he could decide, he heard the door open again and he moved back to the door. "Where the hell have you been?" Ramirez said, in English, this time. Irritation was clear in his voice. "What's wrong, Jose, did you miss me?" was the sarcastic, lightly accented reply. Mac blinked at the new voice. It was deep and sultry and definitely female. Mac closed his eyes and tried to imagine a face to go with the sexy voice and the first thing that came to mind was Lillie Langtry, the glamorous Toreador Primogen from San Francisco. "Where have you been?" "None of your business. Why, don't you trust me?" The tone was light, but it had an edge to it that also reminded Mac of the Director. There was the sound of snorted laugh. "Trust you? I don't trust thieves, even if they do work for me." Mac's eyebrow went up at the word 'thief.' The woman's voice was suddenly arctic-cold. "I do not work for you, Ramirez, and you would do well to remember that. I work for Guylaine, and so do you, little man." There was silence for a moment. When Ramirez spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled. "What's the word on the Haitian?" This time, the woman's voice was all business. "Unlike the last three dealers, he turned down the offer to sell out. He said that the other cowards might be willing to give up, but no one was going to chase him off his turf." "Fine. Have him killed. Make it messy." "I'll see to it." "Then help Esteban track down this Mansfield person who was nosing around earlier." "Oh, I already know who he is." Mac could almost here the smirk in the woman's voice. "Oh really? Do tell," was the sneering reply. "Victor Mansfield. I saw him seven years ago when I was scouting the territory. Cop." Ramirez cursed in Spanish. "So he's undercover?" "I don't think so. He's now an ex cop. He was sent to jail about that time for stealing drugs from evidence and leaning on local drug dealers, I think it was." "He isn't in jail now." "How bright of you to notice. Considering his sentence, he must have some pretty powerful friends to be out so soon. The judge was making an example of him." "Well, find out who they are. No one is leaning on me. I want them found, then dealt with. Our plans are too far along to allow any interference now." "Consider it done." A moment later, Mac heard the office door open and shut again. He waited, but there were no sounds of life from the outer room. After a few minutes, he cracked the door open very cautiously. He glanced around, but decided that he was pushing the deadline he'd given himself. Given time, he could find the safe and crack it, but nearly getting caught once told him that he was pressing his luck. Besides, what he'd overheard gave them something to work with. He checked the hallway, and finding it empty, headed for the window he'd come in through. He slipped back through it and carefully restored the security system behind him. After all, it wouldn't do to let them know they'd been burgled— even if he hadn't taken anything. "Nice work," a familiar, sultry voice said from behind him. "Efficient and skilled." Mac twisted quickly to find a woman lounging on the fire escape behind him. She was nothing like he'd imagined, listening to her voice as she sparred verbally with Ramirez. Her hair was as dark as his own and tied back in a long braid that fell down her back, over the battered leather jacket she was wearing. Her jeans were ripped in all the right places, and where they weren't ripped, they were so worn that they were almost white. With it, she wore a black turtleneck shirt. The only really strange touch was the brightly colored scarf that was tied around her neck. She definitely didn't look like the type to be working with drug dealers or killers. "Umm..." he said, none too brightly, trying to come up with an excuse for why he was climbing out this window. Of course, there really wasn't any good excuse, other than the obvious: he was breaking in. "Find anything interesting?" she asked, honest curiosity in her voice. Mac shrugged. He was in deep already, so he might as well play along. "Not really. He seems pretty stupid, but he's good at hiding his safe, at least. I didn't have time to find it." She grinned. "That's because he didn't pick the location. I did. So..." She got to her feet suddenly, all casual grace gone, leaving a cold warrior—still graceful, but now deadly—behind. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" Mac caught his breath. She might be dangerous, but she was also beautiful. If he weren't already taken, in more ways than one, he might try making a play for her. Then again, he'd been burnt once, getting involved with a suspect, a mistake he was not eager to repeat. "Well..." he drawled, trying to collect his thoughts. "Ramirez is getting pretty well known on the streets. Anyone doing that much business should have plenty of cash on hand, right? I thought I might be able to... help myself to some." Her smile was downright feral. "And why shouldn't I take you in and hand you over to Ramirez? By morning, you'll be at the bottom of Lake Ontario." "Um... Because I'm cute?" Mac tried his most ingratiating grin, one that had even got him out of trouble with the Director from time to time. Sorta. Almost. Her eyebrows went up and she started to laugh. "You've got moxie, that's for sure. What's your name?" "Mac. You?" "Kata." She looked him up and down. "And you could almost be family, from the look of you." "Family?" "Hmm," she hummed to herself in an affirmative note, but said nothing more. Mac always found that infuriating, but found himself strangely reluctant to press for something more definitive. "So," she finally said. "A thief, albeit a cute one. But one that is empty handed, so not a very good one." Mac straightened up, his professional pride pricked. "I am an excellent thief. I was pressed for time, though. If I'd found the safe, you can bet it would be empty right now." Then he winced. What the hell was he saying? Luckily, she seemed more amused than anything else. "Oh really? Prove it." "How?" She considered for a moment, then smiled a slow and calculating smile. "A test, then. There's an Egyptian exhibit at the ROM right now. The centerpiece is a solid gold sarcophagus." Mac stared at her in disbelief. "Are you joking? The security on that thing is horrendous, it's impossible to fence. Not to mention the fact that it's a little heavy to carry out." "But I thought you were an excellent thief," she said, mockingly. "But no, I'm not asking you to steal the sarcophagus." "Then what are you asking?" he asked suspiciously. She lifted a wrist, showing a thin gold chain wrapped around it. She undid the clasp and dropped it in his hand. "Tuck this under golden-boy's chin. If you do it right, it will almost disappear against all the other gold. I'll look for it." Mac checked the bracelet. It was fine enough to do as she said. It was also not cheap. "You'll trust me not to run with this?" "Run, and I'll find you. And I won't be so nice. I'll give you one week. If by next... Saturday, let's say, you haven't succeeded, I'll expect you to come back and tell me. And return the bracelet, of course. If you do, I'll still let you go. If you don't..." She didn't continue, but the expression on her face chilled him to the bone. "All right," he said, dropping the chain into his pocket. "It's a deal. And I won't fail," he added. He wasn't sure what the Director was going to say about this, but his pride as a thief—albeit a retired one—was on the line. He'd never backed down from a challenge before, and no way was he going to back down from this one. "We'll see," she said, then jumped over the side of the fire escape. "Shit!" Mac said—softly, of course—and moved to look down. He fully expected to see her lying on the ground with a broken leg, if not worse. Instead, he saw a shapely figure heading down the alley, hips swaying in the age-old seductive dance. He blew out a gust of air. How the hell had she managed that? Hell, how'd she managed to sneak up on him in the first place. No one had ever done that before. Then he heard voices, and he shook off all thoughts other than getting out of there in one piece. Below, he saw one of Ramirez's thugs light a cigarette, then settle down for a smoke. Mac sighed, and resigned himself to waiting the man out. He couldn't even safely contact Vic and let him know what was happening. To distract himself, he considered the enigma of the woman, Kata. She didn't seem like the type to work for a man like Ramirez. On the other hand, according to the conversation he'd overheard, she didn't. Instead, someone else was pulling the strings. Someone named Guylaine. Maybe Nathan would be able to find something on this mysterious Guylaine. In the meantime, it looked like Vic was going to work the angle of a local trying to horn in on Ramirez's business. Heck, it wasn't a bad idea, albeit a dangerous one. So while he did that, Mac could work on Kata. Of course, first step would have to be breaking into the Royal Ontario Museum to meet her challenge. He grinned wolfishly at the idea. It had been a long time since he'd really stretched his muscles, so to speak, and he found he was looking forward to it. And it wasn't like anyone would get hurt, so the Director couldn't really object. Besides, it would be fun. A door slamming got his attention. A voice called out in Spanish. "Gregor, better get your ass inside. Ramirez is on a rampage. He wants everyone inside. Now." The man, Gregor, cursed softly, dropped his cigarette and ground it out under the heel of his shoes. Then he headed for the brightly lit doorway. As soon as the door shut, Mac was heading down the fire escape, as quietly as possible. Vic would be pissed if he had to wait too much longer. It looked like things were starting to get interesting. Chapter Five "You have got to be joking! No way, it's far too dangerous." Vic took a deep breath, but that didn't much help. The evening had not exactly gone as planned. First there was his run-in with Ramirez's goon, which had led to his possibly ill-conceived improvisation. Actually, the Director had actually seemed happy about that part, but what made her happy was usually pretty scary. Then Mac had arrived back at the truck, basically empty-handed except for the bracelet that was currently in the Director's hands. That and... Vic took another deep breath and fought down a flash of rage. Mac still reeked, to his nose. Reeked of the scent of their mysterious watcher. Something about that bothered him on levels he hadn't even expected existed. Mac was his. He shouldn't be smelling of anyone else. And that scared him. He'd never been this possessive of a lover in his life. Vic closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was to scare the younger man off with a fit of jealousy. Mac was coming around, but he was still a little twitchy about their relationship. Vic could understand, but his instincts were still to demand more than Mac was giving. Patience, Vic, he told himself. They were moving in the right direction. "Actually, I think this is an excellent opportunity," the Director said, letting the fine gold chain spill from one hand to the other. "You work on Ramirez, while Mac works on the lady flunky." "Not a flunky," Mac broke in. "In that conversation I overheard, she was quite clear on that. They both work for someone else named Guylaine. Any ideas who that might be?" "I stand corrected," the Director said with a look that said Mac should have kept his mouth shut. "And we will be investigating that link. I do have a few suspicions about who Guylaine is, though," she added thoughtfully as she wrapped the chain around her index finger before dropping into her palm again. Vic glanced at Mac. If the Director knew who this person was, it couldn't be good. But the Director didn't seem inclined to elaborate on that statement, so Vic went on with his objections. "She's a killer, and probably Kindred! You want Mac hanging around with her?" "We don't know that she's the killer." "You said that he told her to kill the Haitian." Mac was already shaking his head. "I said that Ramirez told her to have him killed. And she said that she would see to it. That doesn't necessarily mean that she's going to do it personally. She might simply be the person that the killer reports to." "And maybe the tooth fairy really does exist," Vic muttered to himself. Then he said in a louder voice, "And I suppose you don't think she could possibly be the killer?" That was fighting dirty, he knew; bringing up Claire, the industrial thief Mac had almost married, convinced that she had nothing to do with the theft of the design for a nuclear hand grenade. A belief he'd held to until the moment she'd pulled the damned thing on them at the church when LiAnn had exposed her plan. Mac bristled at the sarcasm. "Don't be an idiot," he said hotly. "Of course she could be the killer. She probably is the killer. She certainly strikes me as being capable." Vic winced at the angry glance Mac shot his way. He felt a little guilty for assuming that Mac wouldn't be able to... what? Think straight in the face of a beautiful woman? Vic squashed the momentary flash of insecurity. LiAnn had complained that Vic had been too insecure about their relationship, as if he expected her to leave him at any moment. She said it made him clingy. He was not going to make the same mistakes over again. Besides, Mac hadn't exactly said that she was beautiful. Maybe she was old and ugly and overweight. Yeah. Right. "The other question," the Director broke in pointedly, "is whether or not she is the person who blew up the farm with the drug processing lab. Is she is, then why? Perhaps there is a wedge that we can drive between them." "Divide and conquer," Mac chimed in. Vic was starting to feel outnumbered. Obviously, his partner and his boss had made their decision and weren't willing to listen to reason. "It's still too dangerous," he repeated, knowing that he sounded petulant but unable to help it. The Director waved off the comment, but the look in Mac's eyes said that he was going to be hearing a long and heated 'I can take care of myself' lecture from the younger man as soon as they were alone. "And setting yourself up as a potential target for Ramirez isn't?" was all Mac said. Vic winced. Point taken. Still, at the moment he was a little more capable of protecting himself, although he was smart enough not to say that out loud. "Victor," the Director said, breaking in again. "You will wait until Ramirez calls you. You will present yourself as someone who has a pipeline of illegal drugs into the city that could either be a rival or an ally, including a new drug, even more potent than the one Ramirez has." "What drug is that?" Vic asked suspiciously. "Candy." Mac stiffened, while Vic's eyes went wide, but her expression told them not to protest. Candy was a drug developed by an Agency scientist, Dr. Fry. He'd been looking for a way to turn ordinary people into perfect tools, without morals or conscience or inhibitions. It had succeeded, to a point, but the three test subjects had become unstable and had escaped to go on a violent spree. They'd barely stopped the three, but not before the so- called Drogues had addicted Dr. Fry to Candy to force him to make more for them. He'd later come up with a cure, while locked in an Agency lab. He just hoped that she didn't really intend to hand over even a tiny sample of the drug to the man. The thought of Candy available on the city streets scared the hell out of him. Satisfied that he wasn't going to challenge her, the Director turned to Mac. "You will work on this Kata. I'll arrange to have this placed," she said, jingling the gold chain in her hand. There was a wordless protest from Mac, and her eyebrow went up. Then she sighed. "Let me guess, Mr. Ramsey. You want to take care of it yourself." Mac shrugged his shoulders. "Well, she might be watching," he said weakly. Even Vic could tell that he was just making excuses. Mac really wanted to do it because it was a challenge. The Director smiled slightly. "Worried that the old skills might be getting a little rusty?" she said, one elegant eyebrow lifted. Mac flushed, his eyes downcast. "Never mind," she said, then tossed him the chain. "Very well, I will leave that to you. However, if you want to do it on your own, it will be completely on your own. No use of Agency resources. And we won't bail you out if you fail or get caught." "Fine by me," Mac said, catching the bracelet out of the air. Already, Vic could see the sparkle in the man's eyes. Mac rarely got to use the skills he'd trained most of his life to use—the skills of a master thief—and he relished every chance he got. And after being dragged along on the 'caper' with the Rivers family, Vic could kind of understand the appeal. The chance of discovery, of capture, made you feel more alive. Instead of brute force, your survival rested on fine skills. And even though the Director kept a straight face, he could see her amusement at the change. If she'd really wanted to, she could have shot Mac down. Instead, she was giving him exactly what he wanted; the chance to meet Kata's challenge and adding one of her own. Mac would work even harder to prove to her that he could do it on his own. If he wasn't supposed to be tackling Ramirez, Vic would have been tempted to tag along for the ride, just to recapture that special adrenaline rush he could still remember from the diamond theft. Finally, less than an hour before sunrise, the Director dismissed them. If she'd delayed any longer, Vic would have ended up sleeping at the Agency headquarters; something he hadn't done since his Embrace, and which he wasn't eager to do anytime soon. Mac was yawning widely as they headed for the parking lot. "My place?" Vic suggested, even though he knew that there wouldn't be time for anything more than a quick shower before the sun rising sent him into coma-land. Mac shook his head. "I need to drive past the ROM. It's going to take me a day or two to set up the job." "Will I see you tonight?" "Maybe," Mac replied, his gaze distant and distracted. Vic could see that most of his mind was on the upcoming job. He was more than a little disappointed, but they both knew that work had better come first if they didn't want the Director to split them up permanently. "Okay," he said reluctantly, one eye on the horizon. Even though the sky hadn't started to lighten yet, he could still feel the sun moving higher. He needed to get going immediately if he wanted to get home in time to do anything more than just crash. But if he couldn't have a warm Mac to cuddle against as he slept, he would at least have the taste of him. A grab at the back of the man's belt stopped him in his tracks, then reeled him in. The distracted look was gone, replaced by Mac's trademark smirk, as he turned to face Vic. "Forget something?" he asked. "Yeah. This." With that, Vic grabbed Mac's face between his hands and pulled him in for a long, heated kiss. His hands slipped lower, wrapping around Mac's waist, pulling the younger man tight against himself, and bent his head to nuzzle at Mac's neck. Then he paused and waited for permission. Mac's head fell back and he groaned. "Oh, yeah," he moaned. They didn't have time for anything long or involved, so after a few quick licks, Vic let his fangs drop down and plunged them into the vein right below the surface. A few quick swallows that burned through him like liquid fire, he withdrew and licked the wound shut and invisible before moving back up for another deep kiss. It wasn't really a feeding; he'd just taken a small taste. "Ahem." They practically flew apart at the amused cough. Turning, Vic already knew that the figure standing behind was Kindred, but thankfully it wasn't the Director. "You need to be more careful, Ace," Dobrinsky said, a self- satisfied smirk on his face. "There is such a thing as the Masquerade, you know." Vic brushed his mouth, self-consciously. "Who would see anything more than two lovers necking?" he shot back at the Ventrue. The large man was the Director's right-hand man, and he'd always been more than a little intimidating, even before Vic had found out about the man's true nature. "True. Doesn't mean someone seeing you might not be a gay-basher, though. Try to be a little more discreet, hmmm?" With that, Dobrinsky brushed past them, heading for one of his large collection of vintage cars. Vic had always wondered how the guy could afford to maintain a fleet of more than fifty cars, let alone buy them. Finding out that the man was more than a hundred years old had helped to answer that question. Mac kissed him again, quickly, then backed away. "You better get going," he said. "I prefer the un-toasted version of Vic Mansfield." "Be careful, Mac." The glare was back, but with less heat than before. "I'm a big boy, Vic. I might not have fangs and super strength, but I can take care of myself." "I know," Vic said sheepishly. "I just... worry." Mac snorted. "Worry? You? Vic, you raise worrying to a high art." Then his expression softened. "I worry about you too. So I'll make you a deal. I'll be super careful around Kata if you do the same around Ramirez. Deal?" "Deal. And watch your step with the lady. I might be the jealous type." He snorted, mentally. Who was he kidding? He was already jealous. Mac stepped closer. "You're not the only one," he growled in Vic's ear. "Remember that." He quickly kissed Vic, then headed off at a near run. Vic stood grinning as Mac climbed into his car and pulled away. Then, remembering the toast comment, he climbed into his own truck and headed for home. Vic woke nearly two hours before sunset, already alert. It hadn't taken him very long to adjust to waking before the sunset, although he was still dead to the world almost as soon as the sun came up. He hadn't seen any firm statistics on how long fledglings usually took to make that sort of adjustment, but based on what he'd been told, he was adjusting faster than most. According to both Moira and the Director, it had to do with how many 'generations' removed from Cain he was. Moira, at least, seemed to think that was a drawback, but he disagreed. Although he'd never dared to tell her, he felt that it made him a little more... human than the older Kindred. As for the Director, she just thought of it in terms of how it would affect his usefulness. Vic rolled over and found the other side of the bed mussed up and the scent of Mac on the pillow next to his. Vic grinned. The traces were a couple hours old, and he knew that there was no one else in the apartment at the moment, but he found himself absurdly pleased that Mac had come to his apartment for an afternoon nap instead of just going back to his own place. Maybe it wasn't too soon to start making subtle hints that Mac should move in with him... But being awake this long before sunset did have its drawbacks. The living room had large windows, and his instincts were telling him that it was a bright, sunny day outside and he had forgotten to close the drapes before collapsing into bed. As a result, he was basically trapped in his bedroom and its attached bathroom. Luckily, he planned for these things. Tucked into a corner was a small bar fridge with a couple packets of blood, just in case he got really desperate for drink. He also kept a well-stocked bookcase and a laptop computer in the bedroom. Despite people's assumptions, he wasn't a dumb hick cop. He'd always read, and now that he was looking at a very long life, he read even more. Fiction, non-fiction; you name it, he inhaled it. Currently, he was reading a novel built around cryptography— not your standard fare. It was nearly a thousand pages and he was only half-done. Fluffing up his pillows, he settled back to read. An hour—and nearly a hundred pages—later, he was pulled away by the ringing of his cell phone. He tucked his bookmark into the spot he was at and set the book on the side table before picking up the phone. "Mansfield." "I understand you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Mansfield. Or should I say, Officer Mansfield?" Vic sat up a little straighter at the accented voice. "Mr. Ramirez, I presume." "So what does a cop want with a simple nightclub owner?" The man's voice almost oozed with oil. It didn't disguise the underlying menace, however. Vic snorted. "Let's not play games, Mr. Ramirez. We both know that you are in the process of establishing yourself as the drug lord for Toronto. Not exactly the actions of a 'simple nightclub owner.'" "Is this were you tell me I'm going down hard, cop?" the man quipped, quoting too many bad movies. "I'm not a cop," Vic said mildly. "That's not what I hear." "Then your information is more than seven years out of date, Mr. Ramirez. Now, are we going to trade barbs all night or are we going to talk business?" "And what possible business could we have to discuss?" Vic found himself smirking at the smug tone of the man. Taking Ramirez down was going to feel so good. There was something about the bastard's voice that really put him off. Not to mention the fact that the man was importing poison into his city. "I understand you've decided to branch out from the standard street drugs. A little something called Dreamworks? Aren't you afraid that Spielberg might sue for trademark infringement?" "Very funny. Is there a point to all this?" Deciding that Ramirez was starting to sound a little too pissed, Vic got serious. "I represent a group that is in the business of... product development; both improving the existing and developing the new. However, they do not like to be bothered with marketing and distribution. They are looking for an agent to take care of that." "I'm listening," was the non-committal reply. "My employers have developed several methods for refining current popular street drugs to make them more addictive and more effective in smaller doses. That way, the drugs can be cut with more fillers, allowing you to sell the same amount of drugs to more people, bringing in higher profits." "And how much profit is eaten up by this 'refining' process?" Vic felt his lips draw back into a tight smile. He could hear the interest and greed in the other man's voice. "It adds about ten percent to the average producer's cost. However, it also allows them to double the potency of the product, so the same amount can be sold for twice as much." He paused and waited for the man to do the math. "Acceptable," Ramirez said. Vic resisted the urge to laugh; it was a sight more than 'acceptable.' "And you mentioned new product?" Vic winced: He'd been hoping that the refining process would be enough of a hook for the man. However, he was too good at his job to let his distaste bleed through. To anyone listening, he was cold as ice, all business. "It's a little thing we call Candy." "I've... heard of it. It sent users a rampage that caused a great deal of expensive damage. Not exactly a good selling point." "That was one of the initial field tests. It has been redesigned since then to reduce that instability factor. It couldn't be completely removed, since one of the side-effects is the reduction of personal morals and inhibitions. It is also addictive from the first dose, and stopping taking it means death, so a customer is forced to keep coming back, especially if you are the only source." "On the other hand, police tend to get a lot more interested in a designer drug that leaves more bodies than usual around," Ramirez pointed out. Vic silently cheered; you rarely found a drug dealer with that much common sense. "Hey, it's up to you." "All right. You've had your say. I will consider your information and if I decide it's in my interests to deal with your bosses, I'll get back to you. "However, I recommend that they don't try anything stupid, like going into business on their own, in the meantime. Competing with me would be a very bad idea. Do you understand?" Vic shivered. The menace in the other man's voice was no longer hidden and it was chilling, despite his b-movie villain accent and the unimpressive image from the pictures Vic had seen the evening before. "Understood. But understand, we are not the same sort of pushovers as the dealers you've been negotiating with up until now." "We'll see." Ramirez hung up, and Vic put down the cellphone, staring at it thoughtfully. A moment later, it rang again, making him jump. Frowning, he picked it up and flipped it open. "Mansfield." "Very nicely done, Victor," a very familiar voice purred in his ear. "I knew you did well in undercover work, but you were even more convincing than I'd expected." The Director. Vic glanced up at the light fixture over his bed. Obviously she had his new place as bugged as the last one. He was going to have to start scanning it too. Between his training and the new case, he just hadn't had the time yet. "Thanks," he said bitterly. "Awww, what's wrong, Victor?" Vic glanced at the clock. The sun would be going down in a few more minutes. Then he could get out of here and do something. He was already starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Maybe a walk in the park before he headed over to the Agency to do some research... But the Director was still waiting for an answer. "Why are we developing ways to make drugs more powerful?" he blurted out, not entirely sure if it was a smart thing to be asking. The Director sighed theatrically over the phone. "Victor, do you really believe that we are capable of playing with improving street drugs?" Vic's lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Yes" "True. However, in this case, wrong. We were actually trying to improve the effectiveness of so-called truth serums. The process just happened to translate to other forms of drugs as well." Vic had to admit that even though he didn't believe her, the explanation made sense. Too much sense for him to protest. "If you say so," he said noncommittally. "I do. So, what are your plans?" Vic sighed. "Well, there isn't a hell of a lot I can do until Ramirez decides to contact me again. I thought I'd talk to Nathan, see if we can't backtrack Ramirez to this Guylaine person." There was a pause. "That might not be wise." Vic was getting very suspicious now. His instincts were telling him that the Director knew exactly who this mysterious person was. Of course, she wasn't going to tell them anything that might help their investigation. After all, they'd gone through the same thing with Pucci, the rogue Agency assassin who'd tried to kill her. "It does need to be done," he pointed out. If she wasn't going to tell them anything, they were just going to have to do it themselves. "Fine," she said tersely. "But be careful, little boy. Remember, you're a fledgling in a very nasty world now. If you go poking in dark corners, you might disturb something that you can't handle." With that cryptic remark, she hung up. Vic stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then shrugged and put it down. The sun was down and it was time for him to get to work. He headed for the living room, stopped and smiled. The drapes were pulled tightly shut and a large note was pinned to where they joined. "Remember, un-toasted tastes better." Vic grinned and headed for the door. Chapter Six Mac whistled cheerfully as he drove away from the entrance to the Agency's underground headquarters. He wasn't worried about Vic getting under cover before sunrise—the man was too smart to get himself flambéed by making a stupid mistake like that. Of course, he had looked kissed stupid when Mac had left him in the parking lot. Still, even if he forgot, one of the Director's people would take care of him. Of course, Vic would never live that down. The image almost made up for the fact that he was still pissed off at the man. The old Vic—the pre-Embrace Vic—had been cautious, but not stupid. And stupid was the only way to describe Vic's behavior that night. Mac wasn't thinking about the man's improvisation at the club. No, he was pissed because after doing that, Vic had the gall to suggest that him working the woman, Kata, was too dangerous. Mac was a big boy; he could take care of himself. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to have to convince Vic of that little fact. Of course, the other explanation might be that Vic was simply jealous. Mac hadn't missed the flare of the man's nostrils every time he got close to Mac. Kindred had sharper noses than ordinary mortals, he knew. After all, Vic had recognized the scent before Mac could even start to explain what had happened while he was trying to break out of Ramirez's office. Vic's eyes had glowed that eerie silver while Mac had described his own little adventure. The memory still made him shiver in a way that wasn't completely unpleasant. Mac turned his car towards his apartment building, making plans in the back of his mind while he continued to consider the problem of his lover. And maybe that word, along with everything that went with it, was the problem. Lover. Mac well understood the urge to protect one's loved ones, even though he'd only gotten that close to a very few people in his life. LiAnn. He'd wanted to run from the Tang family partly because he could see himself being forced into roles that he wanted nothing to do with. Being ordered to head the gun-running operation had been the last straw and he would have run, even if she'd decided to stay. But a large part of his reason for leaving had been to protect LiAnn. Even though she'd refused to see it, he'd been able to see just how unstable Michael was becoming and what sort of danger their foster brother's obsession with LiAnn was going to cause them. Mac still went cold at the memory of the young and definitely psychotic man he'd called brother. Claire. He'd almost married her. He'd also tried to protect her from the Agency. Hell, he'd even tried to protect her from herself. And in return, she'd nearly blown them both up. The only thing he could say for her was that in the end, she hadn't been able to kill him. But the memory still burned in his mind with a sense of shame. LiAnn had tried to warn him, as had the Director. Even Vic had tried, although when he'd seen that Mac wasn't going to change his mind, he'd done everything he could to support him, even agreeing to be his best man. One of the many times that the man had been there for him, even though he'd tried to pass it off as eliminating him as a rival for LiAnn. Angie. Mac smiled wistfully at the memory. Angie Rivers had been the opposite of Claire in every way possible. Innocent instead of worldly. Clingy instead of self-sufficient. Dark instead of blonde. The only thing that the two women had in common was that they were both thieves. And Mac. But in Angie's case, he'd protected her by getting the hell out of her life when she and her family had left to start over in BC. She'd asked him to come with her, but all he would have been able to do for her otherwise was to drag her down with him. Besides, the Agency never would have let him go. After that, he had learned his lesson. He hadn't dated any woman more than once, and just for the purpose of sex. That didn't bother him, since they were only looking for great sex with a good-looking man and he had given it to them. A few of the men had rated more than one date, but again, sex was the only reason and they'd all known it. Men understood that a little better, not expecting romance or engagement rings. Even Cash had only been sex, albeit wrapped in a very fun package. But Vic was different. Vic, he couldn't keep at arm's length. Vic had already become part of him, through their work relationship. Adding sex to the mix had been dangerous, not to mention very, very thrilling. And even though it wasn't the best sex he'd ever had in his life, it was definitely the most satisfying, he realized. So much so that he wasn't willing to lose it. Maybe he was ready to try that commitment thing again. A few hours later, Mac was on the road again. The first thing he'd done on getting home was to take a short nap to recharge his batteries. He had a lot to do and he'd already been up all night. A little surprisingly, he found himself frequently reaching for a cool body that wasn't there. After years of sleeping alone, he found himself missing having his partner to cuddle. Instead, all he'd found were slightly stale-smelling sheets. On waking, he'd taken a long, hot shower, nearly scrubbing off the outer layer of his skin. Vic had been complaining so much about smelling Kata on him that Mac could almost smell it. Smelling, he hoped, of only soap and antiperspirant, Mac changed into fresh clothes, deliberately choosing for once to dress down in blue jeans and a green sweater to give the image of a typical college student. Then he headed out to his car an he was on the road again. He stopped briefly at a favorite patisserie for a quick breakfast—his cupboards were definitely getting bare—before heading downtown towards the ROM. The original Royal Ontario Museum had been opened in 1914 as part of the university of Toronto. Some forty years later, it was separated from the university and the five departments were merged into the single organization it now was. The focus was on archaeology and anthropology, mostly, and the museum funded expeditions all over the world, not just North America. It also had displays of zoology and geology, not to mention the dinosaur displays that were so popular with the kiddies. And always a favorite of the visitors; the Egyptian display. Of course, he hadn't known much of this before that morning. Amazing what you could learn from the internet, he thought to himself with a smile. The museum had a nicely informative website. He was a little surprised, though, to realize that he'd been in the city for nearly three years and hadn't yet gone to visit its most famous museum. He arrived just after the museum opened for the day. It was even early enough that he was able to find a parking spot in the closest lot, just down Bloor street from the museum. He paid his admission and started wandering the museum. Like any typical tourist, student or not, he bought the full museum guide and picked up a collection of glossy brochures. He drifted around, staring at a variety of exhibits, both permanent and traveling. In fact, if he weren't working he would be enjoying himself thoroughly. Unfortunately, museum rules didn't allow him to bring a camera in with him and thanks to the Director, he couldn't borrow one of the Agency's tiny spy cams. Instead, he had brought a large sketch pad and a variety of pencils, all tucked into a battered leather art case, along with pencil sharpeners and erasers. He hadn't even had to buy the art supplies. Growing up in Hong Kong, he'd been trained in fine arts, since on occasion they—he, Michael and LiAnn— would be sent to steal artwork from either private homes or museums and needed to be able to recognize fakes from masterpieces, as well as which were worth the most. As part of that training, he'd learned sketching, and had discovered that not only did he have a talent for it, he also enjoyed it. He'd stopped during his time in prison, not being allowed any sort of personal items. Maybe they thought he would stab himself to death with a sharp pencil. When the Agency had decided to mandate hobbies—a stupid rule, he still thought—he'd taken up drawing again. He hadn't told anyone about it, though, since he didn't want to be teased about either going along with the directive or what his choice had been. Picking a display that had nothing to do with Egypt—namely one of the totem or crest poles that soared above the main entrance—he sat down and flipped through the book, past sketches of LiAnn and Vic, stopping briefly to admire one of his most recent drawings, a nude of a sleeping Vic done from memory after their return from San Francisco. He also had cityscapes done from his balcony and a variety of other subjects. Finding a blank page, he drew a deep breath of the sterile, and yet somehow ancient feeling air of the museum and started to work. He quickly lost himself in his work, ignoring a few positive comments from people passing by that couldn't seem to help looking over the shoulder of a complete stranger. Once he was satisfied with the detailed drawing, he moved on, once again picking a sketch subject that wasn't part of the Egyptian exhibit. He didn't want to attract the wrong sort of attention, so he was circling in on his target. A few hours later, he broke for lunch. Normally, he would have gone to the expensive restaurant at the museum, or one down the street, preferring the finer things in life, but in keeping with his student look, he headed for the deli near the main entrance instead. He chose a roast beef on rye with mustard and a garden salad on the side, along with a pop since the deli didn't serve beer. Of course, even if they did, they wouldn't have his favorite Chinese beer, he was sure. Worrying about the time, he ate quickly, then went back to work. This time, he headed straight for the Egyptian exhibit, deciding that he'd established himself adequately as an art student, either local or from out of town. No one was giving him a second glance, and he'd even seen a couple other students doing the same sort of sketching that he was. Once again, he worked his way around to his goal, sketching first a statue, then a set of jewelry, both in black and white, as well as color pencil. He found himself a little regretful that they wouldn't allow him to bring watercolors, though, before reminding himself that he wasn't there for pleasure. Still, he made a mental note to come back again sometime when he wasn't on a case. He'd like to see a little more of the museum, now that it had been brought to his attention. Reaching the centerpiece of the display, the sarcophagus that was his target, he settled down on a marble bench and started to draw. The security guard watched him suspiciously for a moment, then ignored him. For the next hour, he sketched the display from several angles. Anyone looking over his shoulder would just see detailed drawings of the gold monstrosity surrounded by rough backgrounds. He didn't draw anything of the security, which would give him away, but he noted every obvious and not so obvious sign of the security setup. He'd already noted the tiny signs telling him who had set it up. He was still amazed that they were that stupid. On the other hand, he'd learned through the years that seemingly smart people really were that stupid. By mid-afternoon, he was pleased with himself. He had come up with the start of a plan of how to reach the room and get into the display case to add the gold chain while apparently concentrating only on his art. All he needed now was a better idea of the museum's security system, its wiring and the guard schedule, and thanks to the helpful advertising, he knew just where to find that information. But that would have to wait until night, when the security company's offices would be shut down for the day. In the meantime, he was starting to yawn again, thanks to the erratic schedule of the last few days. He left the museum, collected his car from the lot, paying the exorbitant parking fees, and pointed his chariot towards home. Sometime later, he came out of his haze to realize that he was pulling into the parking lot at Vic's building, not his own. He stared up at it, wondering what to do next. It was only a short drive to his own place, but instead he found himself pulling into a parking spot labeled visitors and heading for the elevator, making excuses to himself as he went. Finally, as he reached the apartment door, he gave up on even the excuses. After all, he hadn't been able to spend any time with Vic the night before. Well, no real personal time. And surely Vic wouldn't mind him taking liberties, since he had given Mac a key. The key that Mac was now using to let himself in. The apartment was silent, as expected. Mac locked the door behind himself, dropped his art case on the table next to the door, along with his keys, and headed into the living room. There, he stopped in his tracks and frowned at the wide open drapes. The room was flooded with sunlight, giving everything a bright glow. It had turned into a beautiful late spring afternoon, and normally this would be a pleasant sight, but he wasn't vulnerable to sunlight the way that Vic now was. Grumbling to himself about vampires who didn't have the sense to stay out of the sun, Mac pulled the drapes shut, checking to make sure that not even the smallest sliver of sunlight was getting through. Then, going with impulse yet again, he pulled a blank page from his sketchbook, wrote a pointed note on it and pinned it to the drapes where Vic wouldn't be able to miss it. Hopefully, he wouldn't miss the point either. The idiot definitely needed a keeper, Mac thought to himself, and it looked like he'd been nominated. Having prevented accidentally fried lover-kebob, Mac headed for the bedroom, stripping off his fake-student clothes as he went. He left the jeans and sweater draped over the back of the sofa and stopped at the bedroom door, dressed in only his briefs. He smiled fondly at the sight of Vic, curled up like a little baby, one hand under his cheek. He stripped his briefs off and slid under the covers. He spooned up behind Vic and wrapped his arms around the sleeping man, sighing happily at how perfectly they fit together. Vic's body was cool to the touch and there was no breath to make his chest rise and fall, but if Mac listened hard, he could hear the unnaturally slow —but still steady—sound of the man's heartbeat. Counting the beats, he quickly drifted into slumber. Mac woke well before sunset. He hadn't slept well, troubled by disturbing dreams that he already couldn't remember. Reluctantly, he slipped out of the bed with its still sleeping occupant and headed for the living room. He pulled his clothes back on, collected his stuff and headed out the door. Now that he was a little more alert, he felt a little embarrassed over having just walked in and crawling into bed with his partner. He doubted that Vic would be bothered by it, but then Vic would take it as a sign that he was weakening over the whole 'couple' thing. And maybe he was. Still, Mac wasn't about to let him know that yet. While he might be weakening, he wasn't ready to give up his freedom. Besides, it might be fun to let Vic convince him. Mac paused and shook his head. The part that still seemed strange to him, though, was that while he was worried about commitment and sleeping with a partner, the one thing that didn't bother him was the fact that his partner was now a vampire. You would think that that would have had him running for the hills, but he'd accepted it easily. He even enjoyed being literally a 'dinner' date. Okay, sure he'd seen plenty of really weird stuff since being drafted by the Agency, but vampires were definitely weirder than the norm. On the other hand, he'd always thought of the Director as a blood-sucker— although not quite so literally. And as for Vic, maybe the fact that they'd worked together for so long made accepting the change easier, just like he'd have no problem accepting LiAnn, no matter what she became. And Jackie was so flaky, he'd buy her as just about anything. Of course, there were limits. He just hadn't figured out what those limits were yet. And that might be the most disturbing thing of all. Chapter Seven Vic headed for his apartment again, earlier than he had planned. He was carrying a pile of folders and had a couple zip disks in his jacket pocket that held everything that he and Nathan had been able to find on Ramirez, as well as anyone associated with him. Hopefully, going through the information would give them a handle on the man and his mysterious boss, Guylaine. Normally he wouldn't have been allowed to bring any of this stuff home to review, especially the paper files, since the Agency preferred to keep their records on-site. Unfortunately, doing the review in the records department had proved to be completely impossible. The problem, amazingly enough, had been Nathan. For years, the nervous little researcher had fallen all over himself trying to please Vic, who he had decided was a prince of the Illuminati. It had been useful, but annoying as hell. This time, though, he'd taken one look at Vic and he'd almost fallen over himself running in the opposite direction. Somehow, he had recognized the change in Vic. It had taken him nearly half an hour to coax the cowering man out of the cubby-hole he'd hidden himself in and to convince him that Vic wasn't a danger to him, although he wasn't sure that Nathan had believed him. Even though Vic had long complained about the man's fawning, he found himself perversely disappointed by the change. The other big surprise was the realization that Nathan was a ghoul, which explained just how he had known that Vic was now Kindred. And even more surprising was just whose ghoul. He wouldn't have thought that Nathan was Dobrinsky's type. The way it had been explained to him, a ghoul was a human who'd been fed Kindred blood without being Embraced. It was done with humans who were valuable, either as servants or daytime representatives. The taste of blood fixated them on the Kindred individual, making them almost painfully eager to please. Moira had suggested that he make a few ghouls of his own, since they were also a useful source of blood, but Vic still found the whole concept more than a little disgusting. Still, he could understand why the paranoid little researcher would be considered useful. Anyway, he had finally decided to take pity on Nathan, who was growing more and more agitated by the moment. Collecting together what they'd found so far, he'd told the man to keep hunting while he went home to read over what they already had. His last sight of Nathan had been of the young man's back as he scurried down the hall in the direction of Dobrinsky's office. Vic shook his head, trying to clear the image of Dobrinsky and Nathan from his mind. The Kindred-ghoul relationship didn't have to be sexual, but the slavish devotion of a ghoul mean that it was usually was, and the idea of Nathan having sex was... To distract himself, Vic went back to the files. Ramirez, Jonathon. No known birth date. No known family. All of these things seemed to suggest Kindred. After all, as you got older, you couldn't exactly admit to who you really were, since it wouldn't match with your appearance. It also suggested that he wasn't very highly placed, since a Prince could afford to set up better fake identities for their favored subordinates. Of course, if this was an attempt by a rival Prince to move in on the Director's territory, that Prince wasn't going to send anyone too valuable or easily traced back to them. There would be no overt moves until they were sure of victory. God, he hated politics. This was even worse than back on the police force. So, if it was a move on Toronto and its Prince, then Guylaine could be the name of the rival Prince, which would explain the Director's cryptic warnings. It didn't, however, explain her refusal to provide information that they could use. Vic searched his memories of the party at the end of their stay in San Francisco, but came up blank. He couldn't remember meeting anyone named Guylaine. He glanced at the computer screen where the details of Ramirez's arrival in Toronto glowed in the dim light. He'd flown to Toronto from New Orleans, and Vic couldn't remember having met anyone from that city either. Come to think of it, he'd commented on how several large, important cities hadn't been represented at the party. The Director had cut him off, promising to explain later. Well, later had just arrived, it seemed. He had the feeling that what ever it was she hadn't told him, it was about to be very important. The first traces of the man known as Ramirez had appeared in New Orleans, nearly twenty years earlier when he was apparently in his twenties. He had a string of arrests for petty crimes, gradually working his way up to drug-related charges. He'd spent a total of nearly six years in jail in the first decade. Obviously, if he was Kindred, it had happened after that, since he obviously wasn't in his twenties anymore, and a Kindred certainly wouldn't have survived prison. He wouldn't have been able to avoid sunlight. And yet, if he wasn't Kindred, there should have been more of a paper trail for him. It was the sort of puzzle that Vic didn't like. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of a headache forming. He was missing something, but he wasn't sure what. Anyway, somewhere along the line, Ramirez had started showing up with lawyers who managed to get him off on technicalities, and when that didn't work, witnesses recanted, or evidence disappeared from police lockups. All of this added up to new, more powerful friends. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything to identify those friends. Except... Vic flipped through pages of information, wondering just where the hand-written surveillance reports had come from. Especially the one splattered with brown specks that his nose told him was old blood. He really needed to have a long talk with his boss. Anyway, there was one note of interest in them. Soon after his arrival in New Orleans, Ramirez had started to frequent a punk club called—rather unimaginatively—The Rusty Nail. He'd even spent five years as its manager more than a decade earlier, after gaining those powerful friends. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Ramirez certainly didn't look like the punk type. For one thing, he was much too old. Vic snorted, thinking of the middle-aged, heavy-set man whose picture the Director had shown them. He didn't even look like an aging punk fan. Vic sent a quick e-mail to Nathan, telling him to check his archives for any reference to the club. Then he sent a second e-mail to the Director, telling her what he'd found so far and suggesting that they should talk. He didn't like being kept in the dark. And if she wasn't willing to answer his questions, he would make a long distance call to San Francisco. If she wouldn't, then maybe Cash would. At least he wouldn't jerk Vic around. He hoped. The sound of a key in the lock caught him off-guard. He automatically reached for the gun sitting on the coffee table, half-covered by the spread of papers, but he relaxed even before Mac even stepped into view. Mac was almost vibrating. His eyes sparkled with excitement and his natural scent was tinged with sweat and something else that made Vic's nose twitch. A grin quirked the corners of his mouth up into an almost predatory expression. He was dressed all in black and had a bag slung over his shoulder. Obviously, he had been 'working' that night. "Already?" Vic asked, almost in disbelief. He found it hard to believe that Mac could have already made his move. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to try without proper preparation if he didn't have to. On the other hand, he definitely was skilled enough to do it, Vic knew. "Nah," Mac said, dropping his bag on the armchair, then throwing himself on the sofa next to Vic. Vic bounced a little as the younger man landed, then shifted around so that he was lying on his back with his head in Vic's lap, looking up at him. "That's tomorrow. Tonight I broke into the security company the museum uses to get the plans of their setup." Vic was finding it hard to concentrate on what his partner was saying. Mac's eyes were dilated until they were almost black and he could smell the musk of the younger man's arousal easily. His black cotton pants did nothing to disguise the bulge of a half-erect cock. Adrenaline obviously had Mac worked up to a fever pitch, and that, combined with the head pressing down against his groin, was quickly driving Vic to a similar state. "You broke into a security company's office?" he finally managed to croak through a throat gone dry. "Are you nuts?" Mac rolled over and pushed up onto all fours so that he was almost nose to nose with Vic. "Nope," he said with a lazy smile, eyelids dropping to half-mast. "You'd be surprised at just how bad their own security is. On the other hand, they probably count on their reputation to scare off crooks. After all, who would break into the offices of a firm that specializes in security systems? Kinda like those stupid little lights that are supposed to make thieves think that you have an alarm system in your car." "If you say so," Vic said, although he was no longer sure just what he was agreeing with. And his distraction hadn't escaped Mac's notice either. The world tilted suddenly and Vic found himself hitting the floor next to the sofa with Mac on top of him, fully stretched out. He ignored the sound of his coffee table being pushed out of the way, all his attention taken by the young man whose tongue was already half-way down his throat. Growling deep in his throat, Vic started pulling at Mac's clothes. The turtleneck was yanked out from the waistband of Mac's pants and Vic broke the kiss only long enough to pull the fabric up over the other man's head. A voice in the back of his head suggested that this really wasn't the best place to be doing this, but he ignored it. He was too far gone to stop long enough to shift to someplace more comfortable, like the bed. Instead, he rolled over on top of Mac, not noticing as the coffee table actually went flying this time. Instead, he sat back on his heels and pulled his own shirt off, tearing at it hard enough that buttons went flying, then undid his jeans. Getting rid of them, as well as boxers and socks, took a little more doing, but he managed to do it without giving Mac the chance to get away. Not that Mac was trying. Instead, the younger man was disposing of his own clothes just as quickly, which couldn't be easy with someone sitting on your legs. Vic didn't really notice. His attention was grabbed more by the fact that his partner wasn't wearing any underwear. Vic growled and leaned forward over Mac, grinding his groin against the younger man's. He buried his nose in the crook of Mac's neck, inhaling deeply. Mac smelled of sweat and soap, and beneath all that he still smelled of the rival, even stronger than before. Not a rival, the voice tried to tell him, but he wasn't listening. But that problem was easily taken care of. By the time he was done with Mac, the only thing the man would smell of was him. Unfortunately, he didn't keep lube in the living room—an error he wouldn't make again—but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Dropping back down onto him full length, he started rubbing himself all over Mac. Bit by bit, that annoying scent was overwhelmed by the smell of their combined arousal. "Vic..." Mac groaned. With a little wiggling that inspired moans from both of them, Vic managed to work a hand between them to grasp both their erections. Enough pre-cum had flowed to lubricate everything, letting him pump them both together easily. Mac was panting heavily, thrusting upwards against Vic. His head was tossed back, exposing his throat. The beast rose up in Vic, growling with hunger, both physical and mental. His fangs were already fully extended and the need was becoming too strong to resist. With a growl, he sank his fangs into Mac's neck, not even thinking of using his saliva to anesthetize the area first. Mac's first shout was one more of pain than anything else. That pain brought Vic back to his senses. Doing his best to push the Beast back into its cage, he pulled back and licked the sluggishly bleeding area, stopping the flow. At the same time, he slowed his movements, gentling them until Mac started moving in concert with him again. Then he dropped his face to the other side of Mac's neck. "Mac?" he asked, feeling guilty for having just taken when he should have asked first. There was silence for a moment. Vic looked up to find Mac looking at him with a serious expression. Vic pleaded with his eyes, but stayed silent, not moving other than the gentle rocking that was keeping them both on edge. After a moment, Mac seemed to find what he was looking for and he smiled slightly. Then he tilted his head to the side, giving Vic full access. This time, Vic took time and care in preparing the way. By the time he felt his lover was ready, Mac was making pleading noises in the back of his throat. When he bit down, the only thing in Mac's cry was pleasure. He'd already fed once that night, visiting the Agency infirmary for a baggie of blood. But as he'd noticed before, chilled blood didn't have anywhere near the life of blood taken straight from the vein. Even more to the point, blood from Mac's vein. It exploded across his tongue, burnt down his throat and spread through his body like lightning. He pulled back again, this time howling as his orgasm flashed through him, following that lightning, pumping out all over Mac's stomach and chest, while he continued to pull on Mac's erection. He heard a matching howl from his lover as he collapsed on top of him. Then everything grayed out. "Damnit, Vic, move! You aren't exactly a lightweight, you know." Vic groaned, grasping for the dim comfort of the realm he'd been floating in. Then he realized that Mac was pushing at him, trying to roll him off so that he could breathe. "Sorry," he said, shifting to the side. Mac took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh of relief. "About bloody time," he said. Vic propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Mac. "I mean it, I'm sorry." He reached out and brushed a gentle finger against the side of Mac's throat where a large bruise was starting to form, evidence of just how badly he'd lost it. "Hmm? Oh, that. Want to explain it?" At least Mac didn't sound overly upset. Taking that as a promising sign, Vic relaxed a little, dabbling his fingers in the mixture of fluids coating Mac's stomach, spreading it around, rubbing it into his skin. On one level, he felt very satisfied with himself. Mac smelt right. "Hey, watch it," Mac said, batting Vic's hand away. "It's going to be enough trouble washing that stuff out of my chest hair as it is. Now talk." Vic pulled back. "I'm not sure. It was a lot of things. That woman's scent. Your arousal. My want. Hunger. A lot of things. I'm sorry, Mac. I nearly lost control of the Beast." Vic wasn't really sure that he accepted that as an excuse, but Mac seemed to think it was adequate. "So this was..." "You'd showered, but under it, you still smelt of her. Now you don't." Mac snorted. "With this all over me," he said, gesturing at the sticky fluids, "I should think not. If I smell of anyone, it's you." That comment made Vic's cock twitch, but it was far too soon for anything to happen. Then Mac paused, then frowned at Vic. "That's it, isn't? Shit, what's next, you start piddling on me like you're the biggest, baddest dog on the block?" Uh-oh, Vic thought to himself. This is not good. "No! Of course not! At least, I don't think so..." Mac was still glaring. "Listen, I can't explain it. I'm not trying to mark you." Mac had sat up and now had his arms crossed over his chest. "You sure about that?" Vic dropped back down onto the carpet and covered his eyes. "No," he finally said. "I'm not. All I know is that there is something about her scent that bothers me. I can't explain it, it just is. Anyone else, I don't think it would be as bad." "It's not that she's a woman is it?" Vic considered that suggestion, then shook his head. "No. I didn't react that way to the scent of the girl you were dancing with, and if anything, her perfume was even stronger on you than this Kata's scent last night." "So there was something specific about her. I wonder what." About this time, Vic was starting to feel like they were playing a scene from a TV show he had watched a couple of times. "Who the hell knows," he snapped. "Maybe I'm allergic to her. Does it matter?" "Well it does if you're going to react this way after every time I meet up with her for this case," was the exasperated reply. Vic opened his mouth, but Mac beat him to it. "And no, I am not going to back out of that part of the plan, so forget it." Vic sighed. "I know. I'm not sure what to do, then." He opened his eyes and looked up at Mac, who looked about as frustrated as he felt. At the moment, it seemed like the drawbacks to this Kindred business were heavily outnumbering the advantages. "Well, we could always ask the Director for advice. Or maybe Jackie or Dobrinsky." Their eyes met and they simultaneously said "Naaaaah." "Okay, scratch that idea," Mac said. "Well then, I just make sure I shower and scrub so that if there's any scent left, it's faint enough so that you can control yourself." The look he shot at Vic told him that he was on thin ice and that he damn well better control himself. "And I promise not to tease you like I was earlier." This time Mac looked a little sheepish. "Right," Vic said. "Clean, then slow and easy." "Hey, I'm not that easy," Mac said in mock outrage. Vic snorted. That's not what Vivian Vixen says," he shot back. "Oh really? And when have you been talking to her? Taken to visiting the Booty Call?" "Please," Vic shot back. "I don't go to those places." "Right," Mac drawled. "This from the guy who took LiAnn to a peep show." "It was to talk to an informant." "Uh-huh. According to her, you were so distracted that she had to do the questioning before you bankrupted the Agency feeding bills to the peep-booth controls." "Oh, and you would do any better?" "Yeah." "Yeah, right." They glared at each other for a long minute. Vic clenched his jaw, determined not to give anything away. Damnit, he wasn't going to... There was a small sound. Almost nothing, easily passed off as someone clearing his throat. Then it happened again. Exercising iron control, Vic watched as Mac's lips started to quiver. The younger man was fighting it, but he finally broke. When the first laugh passed Mac's lips, Vic let his own control go, and they both rolled on the ground laughing. The laughter came more from the recent adrenaline rush than the childish game of verbal one-upmanship, but it felt wonderful to release the tension. Finally, they sat up, wiping the tears away. By that point, the semen on Mac's chest hair had completely died, matting the hair down in an unappealing way. The smell of sex was already starting to turn unpleasantly stale. "So, what have you come up with?" Mac asked, suddenly all business despite the fact that he was sitting bare-assed on the floor of Vic's living room with a hickey on his neck and looking completely debauched. All in all, he was far too distracting for serious conversation. Besides, Vic could hear Mac's stomach growling. "Why don't you go shower while I put something together for you to eat," he suggested instead. "I'll shower while you eat, then we can talk about plans. I'll even lend you some sweats." Mac looked down, then grinned wryly at Vic. "Good idea," he said, pushing to his feet. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to shave my chest to get this stuff off. And maybe tomorrow I should bring some clothes over to store here, just in case?" Vic cheered inwardly at the slightly hesitant question, but carefully gave no sign of it. "Good idea," he said mildly. He watched silently Mac's ass flex as he headed for the bathroom, reddened by rug burn. Then he got to his feet and headed over to the large picture windows. The Toronto skyscape was a blaze of light, even though all the clubs and bars would have closed by now. At three, nearly four in the morning, Toronto was as quiet as it ever got. A shiver ran up and down his spine, shocking him out of his post-coital haze. Vic stood up a little straighter, staring out into the night. Then the feeling disappeared. Vic shook his head and pulled the drapes carefully shut before heading to the bedroom to pull on some clothes and to put out some sweats for Mac. In the bathroom, he could hear the sound of water running and Mac singing something unrecognizable, and he had to resist the urge to join the younger man. But while the feeling might be gone, but it had left unease in its wake. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He just wasn't sure who. Kata, like at the farm? Someone else working for Ramirez? Someone working for the Director? Then again, did it matter? Whoever it was, he was going to find them and teach them not to poke their noses where they weren't wanted. Back in the living room, he put the furniture back in place and collected the scattered papers from the floor and piled them neatly so he and Mac could go through them. Then he headed for his kitchen himself to see if the grocery fairies had come by while he was asleep. Book II: Dancing on Wire continued lburwell@adan.kingston.net

Series Summary: After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention. My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: https://www.squidge.org/~lianne All Around You, a Kindred: The Embraced slash list information and archive can be found at: http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament back to top

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