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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Five
by Lianne Burwell
August 2001
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Khalil woke late the next day. In fact, he woke so late that he 
realized that he had missed all his classes for the day. For a 
moment he felt a wave of guilt over that. Despite the fact that 
his main goal at the moment was to live life like he hadn't been 
allowed to while living under his parent's thumbs, this was the 
first time he'd actually missed a class. Getting a degree so that 
he could get a good job was important to staying *out* of his 
parent's control.

But he quickly shook off the guilt, pointing out to himself that 
he could easily catch up on any class work. Besides, exams were 
just around the corner, so most of his summer courses were just 
recapping anyway. And really, what had happened the night before 
had been far more important.

He stretched out on the stained sheets, reliving the night in his 
mind. His cock twitched a little, but refused to get hard. He'd 
been completely drained.

She'd been incredible. She had done things to him that he hadn't 
even thought humanly possible. The things she'd shown him would 
haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, he was sure.

And then, sometime just before dawn, she'd left. He'd been 
completely limp, but she'd been bursting with energy, humming 
under her breath as she dressed. Then she'd kissed him one last 
time before leaving, setting the apartment door to lock behind 
herself.

Khalil pulled himself out of bed and staggered down the short 
hallway to the bathroom. His reflection spoke eloquently of how 
exhausting the previous night had been. His face was pale under 
the beard stubble and his eyes were bloodshot. The skin 
surrounding them looked almost bruised. Real bruises ringed his 
throat and dotted what he could see of his chest in the mirror, 
marking all the places she'd sucked and bitten.

He looked like hell. He felt fantastic. Completely devoid of 
energy, but fantastic.

He grinned at his reflection. No longer would the stigma of 
virginity be attached to him. He was now a *man*.

His only regret was that she'd refused to tell him her name. How 
could he properly immortalize her? And more importantly, how 
could he find her again?

A hot shower and a meal later, he was feeling human again. He 
also had a plan of action. As soon as the clubs opened, he would 
go back to the club that evening; the club where he'd met his 
exotic temptress. Maybe she would be there again. Maybe she would 
do all those wonderful things to him again.

Until then, he might not know her name, but her image still 
glowed brightly in his mind. He pulled out the leather-bound 
journal his mother had given him for his poetry and opened it to 
the first blank page, then picked up his pen and began to write.

>>>~~~<<<

Sunset found Jackie preparing for the night, getting ready to 
prowl. A pair of tight, black leather shorts and a black tank top 
two sizes too small, with a loose silver mesh shirt over them, 
and spike-heeled boots built the look of a typical young woman on 
the make. She wouldn't go unnoticed, not with *her* assets, but 
she wouldn't stand out in the clubs.

She was hunting. She grinned and let a hint of her true nature 
show through. A gleam of silver to the eyes and teeth slightly 
sharper than the norm. It was just enough to make a human nervous 
without being sure *why* they were nervous.

She giggled, then dampened it down. Playing with humans was fun -
- LiAnn had been a blast before she'd found out about the 
Kindred, so easy to make all antsy -- but she didn't want to 
scare them away tonight. Kind of difficult to pump them for info 
if they didn't want to be anywhere near you.

After one last check in the mirror to make sure that running 
*away* was the last thing anyone was going to be doing, Jackie 
grabbed her tiny purse, barely large enough to hold LiAnn's photo 
and some money, and headed for the door.

The cab driver gave her an appreciative look as she slid into the 
back seat and directed him to the club that Jack Murphy had been 
seen at his last night. She grinned: Maybe she'd get to do some 
hunting of a *different* sort that night as well.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke in gradual stages, buoyed by a bone-deep feeling of 
satisfaction. He felt so good that he didn't even *want* to wake 
up. He rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head.

Unfortunately, his lover had different ideas. The blankets were 
torn off the bed, exposing him to a cold, cruel and way too 
bright world. This was made up for by a mug of warm, fragrant 
blood held out to him as he reluctantly sat up, though. He 
snatched it out of the man's hands, unable to restrain a growl. 
He was starving for some reason, and the beast was rattling its 
chains.

He finished the mug in about three gulps, calming the beast 
slightly, but not satiating it completely. A second mug was 
handed to him, and this time he took his time to savor the 
flavor. In a way, he still missed the pleasure of drinking his 
favorite Chinese beer, as well as the taste of proper Hong Kong 
cuisine, but he couldn't remember them ever tasting as satisfying 
as this, sick as that might sound.

He set the second mug down on the bedside table, next to the 
first, with a satisfied sigh. The beast was purring deep inside. 
The he stiffened. Now that the hunger was out of the way, he 
remembered just *why* he'd been so ravenous. He hadn't eaten 
before sleeping because he'd...

He looked up at Vic. The man was standing in the bedroom doorway, 
leaning against the frame wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old 
jeans. His bare chest still showed the marks of frenzied -- and 
violent -- sex, especially the deep bite marks on his shoulder, 
and considering how fast the Kindred healed, that said a lot.

"Oh, boy."

Vic's lips twitched, but his expression didn't change.

"About this morning..." Mac tried again, then floundered. His 
stomach clenched, and for a moment he was sure that his meal was 
going to come right back up again. "Are you mad?" he finally 
asked.

Silence. Mac shut his eyes with a groan, wondering if he'd 
managed to screw things up so badly that Vic might reconsider 
Cash's offer.

The moment he wasn't looking at Vic anymore, he was tackled. The 
only warning he had was a slight breeze as the man moved.

In a flash, he was pinned to the mattress. Vic was staring down 
at him through eyes that were completely inhuman now. There was 
no trace of the original green color left. Instead, his eyes were 
silver, with pupils that had narrowed to thin cat-like slits. His 
lips pulled back in a feral expression that exposed fully 
extended fangs. Mac froze, afraid of his partner for the first 
time he could remember.

Then Vic's fangs were sinking into his completely unprepared 
neck. Mac gasped at the flash of pain, then was distracted by 
Vic's hips grinding against his groin. The feel of the denim 
covered zipper rubbing against his cock was painful, but he was 
also getting hard. With a bit of struggle, he was able to get his 
arms free, but instead of pushing Vic away, he found himself 
pulling the man even closer.

It was all too intense to last. Mac's back arched so hard that he 
felt like it was going to snap and came all over the front of 
Vic's jeans. He collapsed back onto the mattress, a limp, sticky 
mess. Vic was licking at the sluggishly bleeding gash in his 
neck.

Then Vic lifted his head. The fangs were hidden and his eyes were 
green again. The only hints of his other nature were the still 
slightly narrow pupils and the smear of blood at the corner of 
his now smiling mouth.

"Are *you* mad?" Vic asked, speaking for the first time since Mac 
had woken up.

"Huh?"

"For this." Vic gestured down at their post-sex state.

Mac stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding? It was... 
incredible! I've never been into the rough stuff, but this..." 
His paused, trying to find the words.

"Then that should answer *your* question. Just don't do it *too* 
often." It took Mac a moment to figure out what he meant.

Vic rolled off of him and stood up, scratching at the crotch of 
his jeans. The fabric looked to be soaked from both sides. 
Obviously, he wasn't the only one who had gotten off -- literally 
-- on Vic's idea of an explanation.

"Come on," the man said, swatting Mac's leg. "We've got a ton of 
work to do, and the night won't last forever." He stripped the 
jeans off, showing that he wasn't wearing anything underneath and 
confirming that he *had* come in them. He headed for the door to 
the bathroom, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Mac 
who was fascinated by the movement of his ass. "Wash my back?" he 
suggested.

A minute earlier, Mac would have said that he couldn't move to 
save his own life. Now he couldn't move fast enough to suit 
himself.

>>>~~~<<<

The shower ended up being very long, leaving Mac feeling 
completely refreshed. He'd ended up washing Vic's back, as well 
as every other part of his body, and had the favor returned. 
Neither one of them was up to a second round so soon, but he 
could feel Vic's blood humming through his veins, and knew that 
the other man felt the same. The sense of connection was almost 
as good as sex. Then they dressed quickly, had a second meal, and 
got on their way.

Unfortunately, his high spirits didn't last. Vic was whistling 
along with the radio as he drove, one of those old-fashioned 
blues songs he loved to listen to, while Mac tried to hold off 
the doubts he'd been having earlier. It wasn't easy, though, and 
Mac hated it. He'd never thought himself this... needy.

After several minutes of this, Vic suddenly swerved out of 
traffic, ignoring a few irritated honks, and stopped on the side 
of the road, only five minutes away from the Agency. "All right, 
enough already," he snapped. "What is your problem?"

Mac stared at him in shock, completely thrown off guard by the 
sudden stop. "Huh?"

"You've been brooding ever since you saw Cash last night, and I 
want to know what's wrong. Talk."

"Or what?" Mac shot back.

Vic shrugged. "Or don't." He sighed. "I can't force you to tell 
me what's wrong, but can't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you!" Vic just stared at him. Mac slumped back 
against the headrest. "It's stupid," he muttered to himself.

"So what else is new?" The obvious humor and concern took the 
sting out of the words. "Is it LiAnn?"

Mac almost took the convenient excuse, but couldn't bring himself 
to do it. "No, you were right. She can take care of herself. And 
she knows the country. It's not like she'd stand out like we 
would."

"So what then? Mac..." Vic's voice trailed off as he gave Mac his 
best 'I'm worried' look. It was pretty obvious what Vic was 
doing: He was trying to guilt Mac into telling him what was 
wrong. Even worse, it was working.

"Cash left Julian," he finally said.

"So?" Mac fidgeted, feeling a little foolish. He knew his 
feelings were silly, and he didn't want to have to put them into 
words. Thankfully, Vic quickly put two and two together. He 
bounced his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. 
Then he sat up straight, in perfect control.

"Mac, I wish I could say that I'll never leave you, but we both 
know how foolish those sorts of promises can be. But I have no 
intention of going anywhere, not if I have any say in it."

"Yeah, but Cash talked like getting the urge to pull up stakes 
and leave was normal for Gangrels."

"Well, yeah. At least that's what Moira said. But are you saying 
that you wouldn't come with me when it happens?"

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Mac's eyes went wide as 
he realized that there was a possibility that he hadn't 
considered. "Do you think *she'd* agree?" he asked.

"Who the fuck cares?" Vic shot back with a snarl. Then he sighed. 
"I let her stop me from leaving this time by hanging onto you, 
but I didn't really *want* to go, at least not yet," he said a 
little more calmly. "Listen, there's no guarantees for either of 
us. Either one of us could end up permanently dead, tomorrow or 
next year. Or you could decide that you don't want to be with me 
anymore. But I promise you this: If I ever *need* to leave, and 
we're still together, you're coming with me."

Then his expression turned impish. "Even if I have to bash you 
over the head and pack you in my luggage. Got it?"

Mac laughed at the mental image. "Got it," he agreed, feeling 
relieved.

"Good." Vic released the brake and pulled the car back into 
traffic. "Of course, if we don't do our job we won't have to 
worry about it, because the Director will kill us herself."

>>>~~~<<<

The Karnak was the latest in a long stream of themed dance clubs 
to occupy the old brick building at the center of the nightlife 
district of downtown Toronto. It had originally been built as a 
warehouse, but back in the days when even warehouses were 
designed to have appealing exteriors. Old-fashioned but nice was 
Jackie's verdict as she paid the cabbie. She resisted the urge to 
slap the old letch when he openly looked down her front as she 
leaned over.

Yep, old-fashioned. If you ignored the neon pyramid on the roof 
and the patching neon sign -- complete with palm trees -- on the 
front of the building, of course. Inside, the theme was carried 
over in everything. The floor was a glittery gold, obviously 
intended to look like sand. There were a couple really fake 
looking sarcophagi in the corners to add ambiance and the wall 
behind the bar was painted with a huge mural of camels and sand 
dunes and pyramids. It, at least, wasn't half-bad.

Jackie squeezed in close to the bar. The shooters all had cheesy 
names, so she settled with asking for a glass of white wine. It 
wasn't cheap, and she tipped heavily to soften the bartender up 
before pulling out LiAnn's picture and asking if he'd seen her.

He looked at the picture for a moment, then handed it back, 
shaking his head. "Nope. Haven't seen her around," he said, quite 
definitively.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said sarcastically. "Look, in this line of 
work, you learn to recognize faces. Trust me, I'd remember *that* 
face." He frowned suddenly. "But there was a kid, maybe a week 
ago. Had a piece of paper with a painting, of all things, on it. 
Looked like her. He was asking the same question. Said he'd met 
her here. Couldn't help him either."

"Do you remember his name?" Jackie asked, although she was pretty 
sure who it had been.

"Nah. He drank Molson Extra. I remember the faces and the drinks. 
It's all I need to know about them."

"Well then, what did he look like?"

"Maybe twenty, freckled. Five foot nine. Skinny. Purple hair with 
glitter on the ends. Haven't seen him in a while. 'Scuse me, 
gotta get back to work."

He was at the other end of the bar mixing drinks for impatient 
customers before Jackie could point out that Jack Murphy wasn't 
going to be back ever. It was a little strange that he didn't 
know about it, since the police would have talked to everyone in 
the place after Murphy died. Maybe he hadn't been working that 
night. Still, it was strange.

Jackie tucked the picture back in her purse, then picked up her 
wineglass and moved away from the bar, trying to avoid having it 
spilled down her front by a stray elbow. Almost as if by magic, a 
path opened up, leading to one of those tiny bar tables that you 
had to stand up at. It was miraculously empty, so she grabbed it 
before anyone else could.

She leaned against the table and sipped her wine. The bar was 
elevated above the dance floor, so she had a good view looking 
out over the sea of gyrating bodies as she considered her next 
move. Did she go looking for friends of Jack Murphy, looking for 
the story of the woman he had been hunting for, or did she keep 
asking about LiAnn? And for that matter, what did she tell her 
boss? She now had one person who had seen vic #5 with her before 
his death, and another who said that the vic had been looking for 
her after that. It was a little strange that the kid had had a 
painting instead of a photo, though.

"Hello. All alone?"

Jackie looked up, ready with the brush-off, then stopped in 
surprise. It was Mister 'Tall, Dark and Handsome' from the other 
night and another club.

He grinned at her expression, his teeth a brilliant white against 
dusky skin. "I told you I'd see you again," he said. "I'm usually 
right. So, interested in that rain check yet?"

Alarm bells were going off in her head: How had he known where to 
find her? Stalker, coincidence or one of those damned Vampire 
Hunters were possibilities that quickly occurred to her. And yet 
there was something about his eyes...

All of a sudden, she decided to throw caution to the winds and 
just enjoy herself. She tossed back the last of her wine, then 
stepped away from the table. "Why not? But first, I'm in the mood 
to dance."

She held out her hand and he took it, bowing slightly at the 
waist, his eyes never leaving hers. They were very expressive 
eyes, almost seeming to be laughing. "If you wish to dance, then 
so be it."

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was seeming more like his old cheerful self by the time they 
got out of the car, but Vic still watched him carefully. Even 
after several years of working together, he'd never really seen 
just how deep Mac's insecurities went; the younger man did too 
good a job covering them up with juvenile humor and brash 
behavior.

Part of him was angry that his partner had been so willing to 
believe that he would just walk away from him like that, without 
a second thought. Luckily, he'd been able to hang onto his temper 
long enough for logic to kick in. After all, hadn't Mac's father 
done just that? And in a way, so had LiAnn. As for the Tangs, 
they had pushed him to the breaking point, then turned their 
backs on him.

When put that way, Vic's jealousy of seeing Mac hugging a man 
he'd spent just one night with seemed pretty petty. It wasn't as 
if Cash was going to take Mac away from him or anything.

The Director was nowhere to be found. Neither was Dobrinsky, much 
to Mac's relief and Vic's suspicion. It was like they were being 
avoided for some reason. However, there *was* a packet on the 
boardroom table addressed to the two of them. Inside was all the 
documentation they needed for their nonexistent detective agency. 
Licenses to investigate, licenses to carry weapons, even a 
history. Vic would bet money that if he opened up a phonebook, he 
would find Mansfield and Ramsey Investigations listed. Hell, they 
probably even had a web-site.

Never let it be said that the Agency did a sloppy job.

That taken care of, they continued on to the next item on their 
list of things not done the night before; checking to see if 
forensics got anything useful off of Corinne Hamilton's computer.

"Sorry guys," the man said. "Nothing even slightly interesting 
for you in the girl's files. A lot of homework assignments, 
personal email, that sort of stuff. No diary, and the email 
doesn't mention her meeting anyone new. Gotta say, though, this 
girl was seriously kinky. You should see some of the mailing 
lists she's on."

Before Vic could ask, he was handed a several page printout 
listing those mailing lists and their members. Maybe the other 
victims were on the same lists, although he doubted it. Still, it 
was worth a try.

"We also found a web-site in her name. Nothing there. Some scans 
of her artwork, the usual junk about her favorite bands and what 
she's reading. No hidden files, and it hadn't been updated since 
March."

In other words, a dead end. "Thanks, Kyle," Vic said. He hadn't 
expected much, so he wasn't too disappointed. The police experts 
would have gone over the machine with a fine-toothed comb 
already. On the other hand, they had missed the portraits, so it 
had been worth a try.

Next stop was records. The place was dead silent. "Nathan!" Vic 
hollered when the nervous little man didn't appear immediately.

"Nathan's not here. Dobrinsky said he needed him for something."

"I'll bet," Mac said with a smirk. Vic was just trying not to 
picture what that something might involve. Then he took a closer 
look at the attractive blonde who had spoken.

"Careena?" he said in disbelief.

"Hey, Vic. Long time no see." She shifted the large pile of file 
folder she was holding and nearly lost the top half. Vic moved to 
help her, but Mac beat him to it. "Thanks," she said, directing 
him towards the table. "Who's your new friend, Vic?"

"Oh, sorry. You two never met, did you? Careena, this is my 
partner, Mac. Mac, Careena. She headed this department before 
Nathan."

"Pleased to meet you," Mac said, holding out his hand. They 
shook, each eyeing the other. Vic wasn't sure what they were 
looking for, but Careena, at least, seemed satisfied. Mac's 
expression was perfectly blank.

"Partner?" Careena said, turning back to Vic. "What happened to 
LiAnn?"

"Don't you know?" Vic teased. "I thought that the people in 
records knew everything."

"Well, considering I just got back from Tierra del Fuego, I'm a 
little behind in the gossip."

"Tierra del Fuego?" Mac said in disbelief. "What did you do to 
piss off the Director?"

She shrugged. "I haven't a clue, but it must have been big. 
Actually, it wasn't too bad. The place *was* beautiful, if a 
little cold in the winter. But boring as hell. So, what's the 
scoop?"

"Not much to say," Vic told her. "The Director recruited Mac and 
assigned him to work with me and LiAnn, since he'd worked with 
her back before they joined the Agency. LiAnn had a bad 
experience a few months ago and was sent home to China to 
recover, so it's just the two of us now."

"You and LiAnn still an item?"

"Uh, no, not for a couple years now. Why?"

"Great! I know this nice little restaurant, great music. How 
about dinner tomorrow night, my treat? I'll show you my vacation 
pictures," she added suggestively.

Vic froze. He and Careena had flirted, back before she'd been 
shipped off, but it had never really been serious since he'd been 
with LiAnn. Sure, she was attractive, but he'd never expected any 
real response. For a moment he could hear Nikki saying 'Forget 
it, she's not your type.'

"Forget it," Mac said, all ice, echoing Nikki. "He's not 
available."

"Oh, really?" Careena said, looking Mac up and down as he stepped 
closer to Vic.

"Really," Vic confirmed, breaking in before there was any 
bloodshed. "So, do you have anything related to our case?" he 
asked, trying to change the subject to something a little less 
dangerous. Mac was staring daggers at Careena, while she just 
looked amused.

"Actually, I do," she said, all business now. She started 
flipping open the file folders she'd placed on the table. "I took 
a walk through as many police databases, North American and 
Interpol, as I could get to, looking to see if there were any 
cases similar to yours. I hit paydirt.

Vic sat down and picked up the first folder, scanning the 
information quickly.

"Three deaths in Victoria," she continued. "Two in Vancouver, two 
more in Calgary. There was even one in Saskatoon, of all places. 
All with the same MO, all unsolved. I printed out everything 
about the cases that I could get at. I'm still searching, so 
there may be more. Have fun, guys." Ignoring Mac's growl, she 
brushed past Vic, unnecessarily close, as she left the room.

Mac picked up one of the other folders and started reading, 
pointedly not looking at Vic. He found it kind of amusing.

"Mac?" Vic said, looking up from the page in front of him. A soft 
grunt was the only reply he got. "She's not my type."

Mac still didn't say anything, but at least he was smiling. Vic 
turned his attention back to the file, still hearing Nikki's 
voice in his head.

'Strippers, unwed mothers, any girl in trouble. It's the old 
wounded bird syndrome.'

And, thank God, Mac.

END CHAPTER FIVE