by Willa Okati
He jerked himself back to attention. “…cannot emphasize this enough,” she said. “Do not use lethal measures, no matter what. This vampire is a special case.”
Darien knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help it and did anyway. “Commander?”
The look on her face was one of unutterable weariness. “This vampire? He’s my brother.”
Chapter Two
He hadn’t expected the assignment, but there was no way in the seven hells he was going to turn down the offer of a lifetime. The thought crossed his mind that playing guard over a vampire might be offering up his life. He refused to dwell on such an idea. How bad could the guy be? He was Yanof’s brother!
Jogging home from the shuttle stop near his circle of dwellings, Darien ran over what little he’d been briefed on. The vampire’s name was Aydn. He’d been turned when Yanof and he were about Darien’s age, maybe a couple of years younger. Yanof hadn’t specified how old she was now, but he could guesstimate, do some rough math, and come up with the answer. Maybe thirty years ago.
Huh. Darien paused as he realized that although Yanof was approaching retirement age, and looked it, Aydn would still look like a young man. Vampires didn’t age from the moment they were turned. He wondered if he’d be able to see any of his commander in the vampire’s face.
He slowed still more, troubled. Yanof was one of the few women that -- well, he could have pictured her as a real beauty back in her day. If he wanted to be crude, he’d have to admit she probably fucked her way a few rungs up the ladder. No way else for a woman to make it in the mostly-male City Guard. And if Aydn looked like her…
Darien’s cock gave a twitch. “Oh, no,” he muttered at the organ, not moving his lips so no one would see him talking to himself. He’d developed the habit when he was alone, just because a man got lonely for the sound of friendly voices. “None of that. I don’t care how long it’s been since you tasted any. This is a vampire. He’s so far beyond off limits you can’t see him from here. So stop.”
His cock didn’t listen. His mind flashed pictures of someone young, slim and athletic, possibly with tumbling hair the color of dark honey and slate gray eyes that weren’t cold and tired like Yanof’s but glowed with an inner warmth like the gunpowder tea he liked to drink, and -- “No!” he ordered.
Again, his swelling erection ignored him. Rolling his eyes, Darien decided to ignore it in return until it gave up and went limp, as if it were sulking. This job definitely wasn’t about sex. Even if Yanof’s brother ended up being a true knockout, he wasn’t letting himself within a mile of a vampire. Talk about putting your head below the sword! No, no way. He had a better sense of self-preservation than that.
But speaking of self-preservation… he glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky, and ran on. He’d had to give his reports after leaving Yanof’s office, and she had ordered him to be at her house by noon. Her brother didn’t sleep all day, like young vampires. They were easy to catch snoozing. The day shift had it lucky.
“He’s grown past the need for many things,” Yanof had said. Darien had watched her finger her neck, and realized for the first time that she always wore the variant of uniform that had a high collar. “But not all things.”
Thinking about that made Darien uncomfortable. It was as well he didn’t have long to dwell on things. He saw his home just ahead and calculated that a quick burst of speed should take him in and out in a flash. He wouldn’t stay in that empty place for long. He just needed to throw some clothes into a duffel bag, and then he’d be back out the door again.
With one hand on the latch and a key in the other, he remembered that Rohan had taken the good travel bags with him when he left. The ones without holes in them, anyway. Mostly whole, unlike the aching gap Darien still felt in his chest. The chunk torn from his heart, with him left bleeding. He shivered at the thought and the graphic visual, then shook it off and went inside.
He couldn’t cast off the memory of Rohan as easily though. Sweet-as-sugar, molasses-voiced Rohan.
Mmm. There was nothing better in the world than waking up locked into a pair of warm, strong arms. Not a pat on the back from a drill instructor, playing hoop ball with the men of his squad, or heartfelt thanks from victims he’d help save. Nothing beat waking up to some spooning.
Gazing at the empty bed, he remembered one particular dawn, before he’d been moved to night watch. The sun creeping in over the horizon had woken him and Rohan. They’d watched it together, drowsily leaning against each other and playing with fingers against fingers.
“Beautiful,” Rohan had murmured.
Darien had grinned and squeezed a bit closer around Rohan, curling one leg over the top of his lover’s. He heard a sleepy chuckle, telling him Rohan knew exactly what he was doing.
One warm hand, the fingertips callused from picking mandolin strings -- Rohan busked for his coins -- covered Darien’s and squeezed hard, good and rough, man to man.
“Morning,” he said in his honey-sweet drawl. Mornin’.
“You too.” Darien brushed a kiss along Rohan’s hairline. He loved the way the seal-dark pelt would spring back when he pressed his lips into it, roughed it up with a hand, or smoothed it down in a caress.
The neighbor’s rooster hadn’t crowed yet, but from the sound in the small huts around them, folk were beginning to wake up. Darien began to think longingly of the one luxury he and Rohan allowed themselves. Coffee. Real coffee, just about worth its weight in silver but worth every drop. They let themselves have a pot every morning to wake up with.
He had nudged Rohan under the quilt that they shared. “Go start the brew, would you?” he’d asked, his own voice slurred by sleep.
Rohan stroked Darien’s arm, then shimmied his ass back against Darien’s groin. “You really want to get up?” he’d teased. “I mean, awake. You’re plenty up. You want to give this up just for me to get us a drink?”
“Coffee or sex, coffee or sex…” Darien had pretended to weigh the matter seriously, or at least until Rohan elbowed him. He’d laughed, grabbing his lover with one hand hard across the chest and one, still firm, down at his cock, pretty much rising to shine itself. “Nope,” he’d said. “I don’t want to leave this bed.”
“Good.” Rohan began to rock in his grasp. “You just keep on doin’ that. Coffee will wait. I wanna stay here as long as I can.”
Darien had buried his face in Rohan’s soft hair and breathed deep. Prayed they’d keep on having mornings like that one -- no arguments, no rushing. “Me too, baby,” he’d said. “Me too.”
If wishes were horses. Darien staggered by the doorway as memories threatened to overwhelm him. All their good times had changed to…
“This can’t go on.”
Rohan had stood by the doorway, his hands pulling through locks of his hair. He’d been pacing, his long legs about to wear a rut in their dirt floor. “I know I’m just a music maker. But I swear, Darien, at least I’m home sometimes. Here, where you never are anymore. Too busy sniffing up your commanders’ asses for a promotion you’re never gonna get, baby, never, because you’re an ignorant grunt like the rest of us without a drop of high-born blood in you.”
He’d stopped. The look in his eyes had been heartbreaking. “I see you maybe once, twice a week. I can’t do this anymore. I need someone who’ll be by my side, like they promised. I used to believe you meant the words you said once upon a time. Not any more.”
He’d picked up his honey-colored mandolin, the one he plied on the streets, and that he’d often used to play Darien to sleep. Back in simpler times. There had been other words boiling in the air between them, but he’d said all he was going to. The only thing left was a simple, “You’re not in my life anymore. So I figure I should take myself out of yours.”
And just like that, he’d been gone. Darien hadn’t been able to find the words in time to stop him. Except for that one time in a tavern, with a doe-eyed man Darien would happily kill, he hadn’t seen Rohan since.
But by the Gods, he missed him like hell.
Back in the present moment, Darien slumped against his door, lost in the sorrow of his lifetime partner deserting him. After Rohan took his leave, the small shack had started to feel like a tomb, not a home.
No laughing drawl mocking him for walking around in a post-shift daze, or scolding him for his habit of trailing clothes in his wake whenever he got undressed. No one plucking out strands of melody on well cared-for strings, having his feet up on their low table (gone now), and no one to enjoy a cup with while they both woke, slow and lazy, loving one another.
He’d put in a full night and would have needed sleep anyway, but the thought of facing life without any love in it made Darien feel even more tired than before. He was worn out -- bone-exhausted with work and worry and loneliness. It’d be so good just to rest for a minute…
Screw it. Darien dry-washed his hands over his face and assessed himself for the hundredth time that day. Alone. Nothing but the hope of that high-rank ivory tower to push him on. Twenty-nine years old and he felt like he was fifty.
Maybe he should start looking for someone else again. The half-entertained notion of picking up someone at a tavern late at night, the one that had almost distracted him from Yanof’s speech, sprang to mind again.
Yeah. He needed some company at the very least. At best, maybe he’d even find another partner. Surely there would be someone around his age, decent-looking, unattached, and if they were any kind of tiger in the sack he’d sacrifice anything the Gods wanted from him in return.
Three days, and he could come back a hero. Fuck! Suddenly, he couldn’t wait.
But sad? Why the hell should he be sad? He’d been showered with honors. Commander Yanof was trusting him with her home while she was away for a long weekend. She’d chosen him, him, Darien, out of dozens who’d probably kill, or at least maim, for a chance like the one he’d been given.
“I’ll look like a poor relation, walking those halls,” he scoffed to himself. “Doesn’t matter though. Three days and a hero. I like that idea.” Getting away from the night-in-night-out of the beat, plus taking a break away from this place with its memories of Rohan? Oh, yeah. He needed the vacation. Wanted it about as much as he did the promotion he lusted after.
Special Agent. No sir, he wouldn’t let Yanof down.
He had no vehicle to call his own and no more shuttle fare, even if the transit had run all the way out to where Yanof lived. Darien would have to have to walk it, which suited him just fine. He was used to wearing his shoes out getting where he needed to go.
His shoulders had long since grown broad and strong from carrying heavy bags full of stakes and guns, and he barely noticed the weight of a weekend’s worth of clothes slung over one as he locked his forlorn little hut behind him. He didn’t see the need to leave anyone a note or let them know he’d be gone. His neighbors were all too red-eyed and desperate themselves to care if they didn’t see him.
Hell of a life. But I chose it, I do love it, and I’m tied to it. That’s good enough for me. It has to be.
Darien considered the walk ahead of him against how much time he had left, and decided he didn’t have to hurry quite so much. As the crow flew, it would be about ten miles or close to that distance. He could make it. Thinking about what was waiting for him, he’d do it gladly. A weekend of peace, of quiet, uninterrupted nights, and the sly little bonus Yanof had thrown his way: free access to a larder that he knew from experience would be stocked with decent food.
Oh, yeah, he’d jumped on this offer, no matter what it called for him to do. Even if it involved taking care of a tame vampire while its keeper was away.
As he walked, he only had to check every now and again to make sure he was headed in the right direction, as he had his path memorized. No one ever had to tell him anything twice. Darien prided himself on that. Tell him once and he’d remember forever.
Yanof was on his mind as he walked. He’d heard tell from a lower officer, when the man was in his cups and experiencing a moment of rare honesty, that Yanof had never married because she knew she didn’t have the time or patience to give the time and attention needed to any family ties. Why hadn’t he, or anyone -- not a single guard -- ever mentioned a brother? Up until a couple of hours before, he’d figured her to have lived through to her late fifties alone and pretty damned content with it, developing her strict and spare ways without any hindrance.
Living with a ‘tame’ vampire… what had he been like, before he settled down? That would have been back in the days of Morgan and Creed, when they still held dominion over the streets. Vampires were freer then, but there was always the danger that they would go on the hunt. They might have killed. Turned people. Even with the City Guard in place to stamp out criminals, some rogues still did that, but not if his crew could stop them in time. Butchers had a fine business selling blood, and well, it was just in everyone’s best interest to stop the vampires.
Although, they didn’t stop the vampires from doing business. He’d heard about a Robhain and his store of magical antiquities, though he’d never visited there. Some things were only safe for a vampire to touch, and the old young man turned a pretty penny going through loads of cargo brought in from out of city and off-world.
Word had it he’d taken a human lover before the restrictions came down. That man was said to run -- of all things -- a tailor shop catering to vampires. Darien had seen someone who fit the description once, taking on a load of black leather hides. Figured. Vampires did like their leather.
Darien shivered. What would it feel like, to fuck a blood drinker? He’d only ever laid rough hands on one, mostly grabbing them by the cool wrists and arms as he wrestled them down to earth. Would they be just as chilly deep inside, where a man liked to fuck another man? Would their cocks be cold?
His own member woke up at the thought. Disturbed, Darien tried to ignore it. He’d never thought about vampires as sexual beings before, and now he couldn’t stop. It’d just been too long for him to do without if he was looking to scrape the bottom of the barrel like that. As if he’d jeopardize his standing with Yanof by doing anything of the sort anyway.
He did wonder, though, if keeping her brother under control had been the reason behind Yanof’s legendary “bad mornings,” where no guardsman could do a single thing right. He’d seen her look pale and rattled on occasion, her eyes red and her mouth pinched into tight lines.
A rumble of worry troubled him. Was he about to step into a hornet’s nest? Had he been chosen not because he was good, but because he was expendable?
He stuffed the worry down and tamped it as a man would a good pipe full of quality tobacco. Maybe that was the reason, maybe not.
But he guessed he was about to find out.
Chapter Three
Commander Yanof had already left by the time Darien reached her house. Big, square, and made of cut stones, it spoke of the money she had and the rank she had achieved. No mud hut for someone with stripes on her uniform. Still, though Darien could tell the place was meant to be beautiful, he couldn’t help feeling it looked like a jail. There were even gates, locked, and a solid rock wall surrounding the estate.
Darien rubbed at a squiggly feeling on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and keyed in the sequence Yanof had trusted him with, opening her home to him. He didn’t doubt she’d change the numbers again the instant she got back from her weekend away -- funny, how she hadn’t said where she was going -- but for then, it was enough. Yanof had put that much faith in him.
He’d do right by her. No matter what.
Quiet reigned inside. Darien walked forward, feeling like a country cousin or a bumpkin as he trod over Yanof’s perfectly manicured lawn and a driveway of unstained, perfectly graded pale gray pebbles. A mosaic-stone path led to the front door. The door he had a key for.
He took a deep breath before he slid the key into the lock, jingling the chain it swung on. Darien knew he was hot, tired and sweaty. He
probably stank again after that walk. Everything about the place was built on such fresh, clean lines that he halfway wanted to go around back and find a kitchen door to knock on.
But he didn’t get where he was in life -- wherever the hell he might be, on his special assignment, neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring -- by not sticking his neck forward and taking what he wanted.
He wanted in. Wanted to breathe the cool, climate-controlled air only rich folks could afford, and kick off his boots to pad through carpets softer than fur on his toes. His stomach, unfed since a midnight snack, growled for a chance to get at the food the Commander had so casually mentioned she’d stock for him. His fingers itched to make a real dinner for once.
And a shower… he’d gotten used to only using the public stalls or the ones at the guardhouse, and while he did have his own cheap toiletries to use, he couldn’t help thinking how rich and fine they’d smell in that tiled stall underneath all the hot water he could ask for.
Besides, Yanof had asked him to do this. He must be deserving of all the luxuries and perks she’d know a grown man would want, all she’d mentioned and no doubt countless other little things besides. Gods, how he longed, just once, for the sensual feel of soft bed linens and a full feather pillow. Not the hard, flat things he was used to as a City Guard.
Darien had begun feeling considerably more cheerful. This was the beginning of a brand new life for him. As for his job, for the vampire, Aydn? Nothing to be scared of. Darien handled his kind for a living. Even if he did roam free around the grounds -- and come to think of it, Yanof hadn’t said he didn’t -- they’d find a common ground of respect for one another.
With all that in mind, he reached for the doorknob and began to twist at it.
Before he could turn the tumblers, the door clicked open and swung wide. Standing there, carefully back from the line of sun that fell through the doorway and silhouetted by the trailing light, was one of the Gods themselves, tumbled straight from heaven. Darien couldn’t help but let his lips part as he stared, drinking in the sight of the man.