Chapter Text
“Fine,” King’s temper was easier to deal with, in an odd way, even with dark eyes flashing fire and lips curling back to bare fangs. It was predictable. “Maybe it’s because we all have a little of your goddamn blood inside us, but I fucking wanted it. Happy?”
“Do you still want it?”
This time, King didn’t hesitate, though his eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Is there a point to this, or do you just like having your ego stroked?”
“I asked you a question,” Drake clamped down on his own temper, “Which you have not answered.”
“Okay!” King snarled. “I like humans, I hate vampires. I sure as hell wish I had never been turned. That’s the fucking gist.”
“You like humans,” Drake said thoughtfully, “Yet vampires have little to do with most of this world’s evils. The father who rapes his daughter. The woman stoned to death in Tehran for adultery. The children starving in the Dark Continent when the rest of the ‘free world’ grows fatter from destroying their lands, or sold to slavery in distant countries.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Africa called the Dark Continent outside of bad movies,” King sad flatly, but his defiance seemed to be ebbing. “I see your point, all right? And if I ever did meet some fuckhead who rapes his daughter, I won’t treat him any different from a fanghead on the business end of my gun. Though most vampires do seem to take it as their prerogative to be total assholes. Including you. And if you lot ever took over the world, I think the current world’s problems would be the least of it.”
“I do not intend to.” Drake pointed out. “That was my original mandate to the House of Erebus, and it has not changed. Co-existence. Secrecy. There are too many humans, and some can use powerful sorcery; they can fly, burn things with their eyes, read minds. A war is not what I want. The ones I choose to form my House of Erebus will not be the most powerful vampires, or the richest, or those that can make vampires turn into demons or walk in the sun. They will be the Clans who understand and respect my mandate.”
“I don’t think ‘sorcery’ is what they call it anymore.” King said, nibbling on his own lower lip, his gaze wavering under Drake’s, and Drake leaned in, slowly, to take his kiss and King’s defiance-
There was a clatter as the flight attendant placed a white laptop and a jumble of wires on the opposite divan, smiling nervously. “Your laptop, sir.”
Drake bit down on a frustrated groan, even as his mate laughed. “Thanks, lady. Leave it there. And if I were you, I’ll leave us alone for the rest of the flight. Now, please.”
The attendant scurried away, even as Drake shot her retreating back a murderous stare. The ground began to rumble as the plane started to taxi into the runway, and Drake glanced down as King touched his arm.
“I think we’re meant to strap down.” King looked around at the rest of the cabin with some irritation. “Somehow. Maybe with the drapes or whatever.” At Drake’s puzzled frown, King rolled his eyes. “Okay. I do seem to recall now that your own jet didn’t have basic safety features, though admittedly we didn’t come out of the cabin with the bed for the whole trip to Transylvania.” He shifted up against the drapes. “Lie down or something.”
Drake did so, scooping King up against him. The other vampire rested his chin on Drake’s chest, then sighed and rubbed his cheek briefly over the patch of skin bared by the shirt. Drake purred, his eyes half-closed, though he wasn’t entirely soothed. King’s mood when meeting the Talos captive had disturbed him. “If she had a cure, would you have taken it?”
King froze, then shifted up onto his elbows, watching him silently. Irritated and a little unnerved, Drake rubbed the back of his fingers carefully under King’s chin. “I want to know, Hannibal.”
“If she had a cure and had I taken it,” King nuzzled the ridges between his fingers, chapped lips ticklish over his skin, “Would I still be your mate if I were human?”
The instinctive ‘no’ choked down in his throat at King’s solemn stare, replaced with a quiet, “La Magra’s law is between vampires.”
“I thought you made the law.”
“No.” Drake said, and thankfully King seemed content to leave it at that, making as to sit up, but staying put as Drake’s fingers curled over the back of his neck. “Were you human again, you would never be safe. All other vampires-”
“For what it’s worth,” King interrupted, “I’m not interested in a cure right now. No more than Blade would be, I think.”
“Very well,” Drake said, a little annoyed at the mention of Blade, and King smirked.
“Someone’s jealous.”
Drake snorted. “Had I smelled Blade on you I would have killed him.”
“You know, there’s probably a ‘Caveman’s Anger Management Anonymous’ that you could join out there.” King poked him in the shoulder, then settled down again at his flank, and was silent until the plane had taken off and Drake was dozing, trying to still his instinctive irritation at the constant, annoying drone of the engines and the rumbling hull to his sensitive ears.
“So, about this ‘equality’ thing.”
“I’m trying.” Drake nipped King sharply on the ear, in rebuke, making the other vampire yelp. “You make it difficult. My Court-”
“I don’t want to have anything to do with your Court. You can play house by yourself with all the other vampires for all I care.” King interjected, his eyes narrowed. “I meant between us.”
“I said I was trying.” He had been High King for a long time, Drake wanted to say, dredging his soldier’s vocabulary for a way to dress up the words in a less petulant way.
King, however, surprised him. “Yeah.” The vampire sighed, low and soft. “I guess you have been.”
“I want you to believe that it will not change,” Drake pressed, sensing an advantage. “Should anything upset you again, speak with me first.”
“And that would fix things how? You said it yourself, in the Talos tower. You have a totally different way of looking at humans.”
“Convince me otherwise, and we shall see.”
“Doesn’t sound promising.” King shot back flatly.
“You haven’t done anything but run from me.” Drake pointed out. “I do not… respond well to what seems inevitable.”
“Yeah. I guess we have that much in common,” King said wryly, slowly. “Though, were I human and stuck in some dungeon while losing a war, it would not have occurred to me to sacrifice my soul or whatever to a blood god.”
Drake shrugged. “It worked.” He rolled over on top of King, planting his hands on either side of the other vampire’s head. “And so?”
“So what?”
“I am no courtier; when I speak I prefer to be blunt and receive a blunt reply in turn,” Drake said irritably. “I want you by my side. Willingly. I ask again, what must I do?”
King shifted experimentally, but Drake refused to budge. Finally, his mate muttered something under his breath and growled. “All right. I want you to work harder at the concept of ‘equality’. That means I’m not your pet, fucktoy or some accessory to be worn on your arm. If I speak my mind, I want you to listen – at the least. If you don’t agree with me, I want you to talk to me before overriding me. And if I want to leave for a while, you’re going to have to trust me to come back.” Drake bared his teeth, and King allowed, “But I’ll tell you where I’m going, and I’ll keep my phone on. Happy?”
Drake didn’t like it at all, but he had asked for King’s answer; had all but forced it. As resourceful and willful as his mate was, if he flat out refused and kept him confined, Drake knew that it would only be a matter of time before King escaped again. With the whole world to hide in, it could be years before King resurfaced – if ever. No doubt he would already have learned from his mistakes this time. And as much as it hurt Drake’s pride and his instinctive urge to keep his mate always beside him, Drake knew that he had only this one chance. He had met no other vampire like King in all of his centuries since the curse, and he doubted that he would in the future.
“You can think about it,” King said, more gently, then blinked rapidly as Drake leant down to claim his mouth, the kiss first roughly possessive, then slowing as King hooked fingers in Drake’s collar and purred.
“I do not need to,” Drake said, in the air between them. “If that is what it must take. But,” he added, as King gaped at him in surprise, “Do not expect me to get used to it anytime soon.”
“Okay,” King said warily, clearly wondering whether to push the point or take what he could for now, and to Drake’s relief, the other vampire relaxed, if grudgingly. “The leopard can change its spots?”
“What leopard?”
“Nevermind.” King’s hands tucked up under his ribs, pushing lightly. “Move.” Drake rolled onto his back, and King lost no time in straddling him, grinning impishly when Drake growled and rolled his hips roughly against his rump. “It doesn’t look like this plane has any in-flight entertainment. So-”
Drake curled his right hand into a fistful of shirt and dragged King down to taste him; fingers dug into his shoulders as King growled, fangs bared as their mouths crushed together, and Drake muffled a snarl as wayward edges sliced up their lower lips and the tip of King's tongue, their blood mingling into a potent cocktail that made him buck forcefully up between his mate's thighs as arousal flared white-hot in his veins. King moaned, lapping into his mouth, refusing to give as their tongues duelled, mouths locked together as they ripped at each other's clothes, forcefully enough that nails scored welting lines on their flesh.
Drake couldn't remember the last vampire - or human - whom he had desired so much. Occasionally he wondered if King felt the same, or if someone else had seen King so undone, writhing and panting unnecessarily as he licked his own bloody lips and crushed their mouths together again with a low, throaty whine that drew an answering, hungry growl from himself. The very thought was twisted tight with angry violence. Drake wanted to kill anyone who had had King so, anyone who King desired in turn. The predator within him relished the prospect of bloodshed but not the mile-wide vulnerability it sensed where King was concerned, didn't like how far Drake was willing to go to keep King beside him. Even in life, Drake had never been one for half measures.
“Fucking... fuck antique fucking buckles,” King snarled, fumbling Drake's belt and the ornate bronze and gold buckle open and then the button on his pants. “Like fucking finally. God.”
Drake opened his mouth to make some comment about patience and ended up choking as King shifted back off his hips and bent down, swallowing his arousal in a single smooth, practised movement that never failed to turn all remaining rational thought in Drake's mind into pure static. He twisted fingers into King's hair - it was good that it was this long - pushed his mate down further and shoved up into his mouth with a harsh growl that hitched into a moan when King purred, taking him greedily.
His throat clenched tight over Drake's swollen prick even as hands curled hard enough over hips to bruise, and King drew back, slowly, so teasingly slow with those wicked lips stretched tight around him and a smirk clear in the mischievous gleam in King's eyes. When King sank down again to the hilt, kissing the root of his prick with a teasing brush of chapped lips, Drake's head snapped back against the divan as his hips jerked in King's grasp; he forced his own hands to the couch and away from King's skull to avoid accidents of strength and control. It was always so good.
King took his time, evidently enjoying his advantage. Drake hissed as King's throat squeezed tight around the sensitive, thickened head, and then groaned again in a shallow breath as he drew back, tongue curling until it was swirling around the reddened cap and over the folds of skin surrounding it. When King's tongue dragged over the tip, Drake had to grit his teeth hard to forestall his release, as the ache in his flesh worsened into a painful throb, desire winding tight low in his belly, digging fingers into the cushioned divan hard enough to puncture the fabric. Drake wanted to draw this out; he always did - but just as always, King would always make it a supreme test of Drake's own self-control.
King finally grinned impishly and pulled back with a wet, obscene sound framed by the instinctive, unhappy growl from Drake's throat. His next command stifled itself as King shrugged impatiently out of the rest of his clothes and straddled his hips again, spreading his legs and angling back, one hand on Drake's knee and the other around Drake's cock, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Gods, he was so beautiful.
“Wait,” Drake said hoarsely, then arched with another choked moan as King ignored him, impaling himself on aching flesh and shuddering as he forced himself down until he was fully seated, his spine snapping straight and the edges of his eyes tightening in pain. King was still stretched from this morning and wet but it couldn't be comfortable; he was so tight that Drake was reminded of the first time, drugged on violence and frustration and lust feeding off the thrill of the first enjoyable sparring since he had last been human. His first taste of King that he had yet to sate, even now.
“Fucking Christ this always fucking hurts,” King muttered breathlessly, his eyes squeezed shut, wincing as Drake sat up to mouth over his shoulders, shivering when lips closed briefly over the bite scar. Drake stroked big hands up the smooth curve of his back and the corded muscles of his arms to the fingers digging into Drake's thighs, to the long legs splayed to either side of his hips until the tension began to fade and King nipped him on his ear, lapping down to his jaw.
“I told you to wait.”
“Yeah, and if I ever stop liking it this way I'll let you know,” King drawled, with that sultry smirk that was part mischief and part pure sex and Drake kissed him roughly, hands clasped tight over his cheeks and over his ears. King was squirming in his lap when Drake allowed them to part, eyes glazed with lust and lips swelling; at Drake's smug expression he rolled his eyes, teeth bared, about to bite out something caustic that turned into a yelp as Drake dragged hips up until only the tip of his prick was within him, then forced him back down even as he bucked up in a sharp snap of his hips.
“Jesus wept!” Fingers curled tightly over his shoulders as King drew his knees up beside Drake's hips, garbled invective muttered between them as King shifted in his lap. When he rocked hard against Drake's hips, King visibly shivered. “Fuck. So fucking good...”
“Show me,” Drake commanded, palming up supple muscle to King's ribs to flick callused thumbs over his nipples, and his mate grinned sharply in response, raking nails down his chest hard enough to leave reddened lines, bending to lap up the seeping blood. Drake growled, rumbling lower as King didn't move, sliding his hands back down to his mate's hips, then frowning as King grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed.
“My show, darlin’,” King purred, his eyes narrowed and dark with challenge. “All right?”
“Move, Hannibal.” Drake rocked up roughly and King gasped, then bit him sharply on his jaw in rebuke.
“Patience, Lord Drake.” King smirked as Drake scowled at him. He didn't like King's games, not always, even if the lips and teeth working their way down his neck to the scar felt so enticingly wicked. King talked his way through it all the while, in a husky purr of absolute filth that felt like desire's creature, the way it made Drake's lust build into an insistent mandate that was just about to crack his self-control. “...you feel so goddamned good like this, so deep inside me with your fucking great big cock stretching me wide open-”
“Move, Hannibal!” Drake's snarl hitched as King nipped him lightly over the bite scar, working his teeth just hard enough to sting but not hard enough to break the skin. “Hells...!”
“You know, mice that get a pellet every time they push a button appreciate it less,” King said, with a mock pout, smirking as Drake bared his teeth. “Just a thought. There's a magic word,” King prompted, then snickered when Drake shot him a blank stare. “Hint: in your favourite language it's ‘vă rog’ Or maybe ‘te rog’. I’ve never gotten the hang of formal-informal inflections... shit.” King was frowning at him. “By the way, I am so not into your demon half. And I had no idea you could do that with your face.”
Drake controlled himself with an effort, bowing his head. That had been an... unexpected reaction to King's surprisingly perfect pronunciation. “Where... where did you learn that?” His patience had thinned to a hair's breadth. Drake was fighting the urge to ignore King's challenge and shove his mate down on the divan.
“What else did you think I was doing in a fucking castle with no Internet access?” King tilted his head, then his grin was all mischief and mayhem. “The things that push your buttons, darlin’. Or should I say, ‘dragă’...”
“If you do not move right now,” Drake said carefully, slowly, fingers flexing in the sheets, “I will not be responsible for what I do next.” At King's lazy, defiant smirk and an arched eyebrow, he muttered, “Please.”
“Mother of God but that sounds so fucked up coming from you,” King said gleefully, but he obliged, lifting himself up teasingly slowly, then rolling his hips as he impaled himself back down on Drake's prick, chuckling at Drake's rumbling growl of pleasure as he clenched sweetly tight.
“Faster,” Drake said impatiently, digging nails into King's hips, but King shook his head, keeping it maddeningly deliberate, each snap of his hips hard enough to drag a groan from Drake's lips but far too slow for satiation. The annoying thrum of the plane's engines had long faded into a background buzz over the numbing roar of blood in his ears. He wanted more... he needed more. “Hannibal."”
He didn't realize he had slurred the word until Drake noticed that King was watching him carefully, but even as he tried to clear his throat King abruptly picked up the pace, until he was riding Drake as roughly as he could, meeting every brutal thrust with moans and stuttered curses. The divan creaked ominously under them both but they ignored it, drunk on their feral, unholy lusts. “I should have you like this,” Drake growled, as another thrust had King gasp and arch. “In front of my Court.”
“Kinky bastard,” King retorted, if shallowly, “Remember what I said about.... fuck, fuck...” He yelped as Drake's patience finally gave, forcing King down onto the couch and shoving hard into him when King opened his mouth to protest. Legs wrapped around his waist, and then King was bucking eagerly up against him as an adjustment found the core of pleasure within the other vampire; pretty features slack with ecstasy, eyes wide and dazed.
Drake slammed into King's willing body again and again, unable to dredge up any sort of control to keep an even rhythm, savage and brutal; the divan made a creaking, cracking sound of protest at each violent thrust. King was snarling, rolling his hips up to meet Drake each moment, fingers clenched on the edges of the divan and his eyes dark and wild. He all but howled when Drake ground as deep as he could go and sank fangs into King's neck, his body snapping taut under Drake's hands as he came, all unaided.
Drake waited until the trembling eased before attempting to rear back, but King dragged him back down, kissing him until Drake growled insistently, rocking hard between thighs that wrapped tight around his waist. King offered him a wicked grin before leaning up to whisper roughly into his ear; his growl ceded to a groan as the last of his control broke, into a wordless, primal roar and the most intense completion of his existence.
He woke up curled around King on the hideous bed, the dress pants loose over his hips. Someone had cleaned him up, and King was sitting cross-legged beside him, reading a thick black book. He didn't turn around when Drake yawned and stretched. “It's weird, but I can't stop reading trashy vampire novels. Character flaw, maybe.”
“You should have woken me." Drake was a little surprised - and not a little disturbed - to realize he had somehow been shifted from the divan to the bed without waking up.
“You're Mister Grumpy when you get woken up. Also, you weigh a fucking ton.” King turned a page. “And you broke the wrist of one of the Dragonetti thralls who tried to help me. In your sleep. Pretty cool.”
So it hadn't been that his senses had failed him, save where King was concerned. The predator wasn't sure if it could accept that. Drake told the predator to shut up, as he dragged himself up onto his elbows and kissed up King's back, over the tight black cotton stretched over lean muscle and up to his neck.
“Say,” King murmured, as Drake nuzzled up the nape of his neck to his jaw, “You're a shapeshifter. So can you wear other faces? What about a full body change, like genders? Or is it one mold per species?”
“This is what I was before I was turned,” Drake said, able to guess where the conversation was going after all this time spent in King's company and not liking it one bit.
“That's not what I meant.” King scratched thoughtfully at his chin. “Next time when we do the nasty, is it possible to, you know, look like-”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
XII
Abby looked up nervously when Hannibal plopped himself down at the table. The restaurant Butoiul de Aur in Sibiu’s interior was solid brick, and it looked like either a heavy duty wine cellar or a large cell, depending on the reviewer’s mood. Hannibal couldn’t eat any longer, but he did remember liking this place when he had been here once, a long time ago when he had still been human.
“Drake was a little weirded out by the menu when I described it to him,” Hannibal said, pointing at the Piept de pui “Dracula” section of the menu involving chicken. “But I recommend it. Just for the extra touristy tackiness.”
“No thanks,” Abby said dryly, ordering something forgettable involving fish and a glass of wine. “You don’t drink either, do you?”
“I don’t think I can. But I’m not hungry. Or thirsty. How have you been?”
“Living with my dad is difficult,” Abby said mildly, as though covering a world of understatement. “But it’s not bad. Blade’s a good sort once you get to know him.”
“Won’t talk to save his life but will jump into a mincer to save yours, huh.”
“Zoe and Sommerfield are with us now.” Abby took a familiar-looking phone and battery out of her purse, pushing it across the table. “It’s been a year. You never did come back for this.”
“I told her I’ll come back for it when I’m free.” Hannibal made no move to touch it. “And I will.”
Abby stared at him sharply. “Hannibal…”
“Hey, no heroics. I’m here to have dinner with you, and it’s been made clear that you’re a friend.” Hannibal raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “But if you’re wondering, yes, I’m not a free agent, and no, it’s not as bad as it was.”
“But still bad.” Abby was perceptive.
“Bad, but getting better. It’s a castle full of vampires who think they’re hotshots. Still pretty much living off a village of people who don’t know any fucking better. But Drake and I have an understanding. Kind of.” Hannibal said, as Abby retrieved battery and Blackberry. “Though if you see Drake hiding behind one of the fake plants in this place, let me know.”
“Your info’s been good. Surely the rest must have been suspicious.”
“It’s no secret, and there have been complaints,” Hannibal shrugged. “But it seems Drake’s policy has always been that vampire hunters are Clan problems and not his. Heard about the Somalia thing. Must have been quite hairy.”
“Yeah. Picked up some fresh scars from that one.” Abby said soberly. “You should be careful. I don’t think you’re untouchable.”
“I’ve always been careful,” Hannibal said blithely. There had been a handful of close calls, usually on his private jaunts around the countryside or short trips deeper into Eastern Europe. Drake had even found out about a couple of them. Hannibal had been effectively grounded for months after the Serbian train incident, and he hadn’t even suffered any serious injuries. “Makes life more interesting.”
They managed not to talk shop during the rest of dinner, mostly discussing Abby’s constant inability to find a steady boyfriend when shuttling among a set of hidden quarters around the city while living with a paranoid father and a murderous dhampir. After dessert and coffee and the bill, Hannibal walked her towards a waiting car.
“Need me to go with you to the airport?”
“We can take care of ourselves.” Abby’s demeanour had changed, Hannibal noted, with some approval. She was more confident, more self-assured. She offered him a quick, tight hug, then patted him on the elbow. “Stay safe, King.”
“You only say that because you like free gossip and grub.” Hannibal grinned, as Abby slipped into the car with a backward wave. Watching until it sped out of sight, he pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels. Within his right coat pocket was a corked syringe in a velvet packet that Abby had slipped him over dinner.
The Cure.
Hannibal briefly closed his fingers over it, then glanced up at the sliver of the moon still left in the clouding sky. “It’s been a year. You really should stop stalking me when I go out.”
There was a moment of silence, then Drake’s big palm splayed over his back, stroking down to his hip. The High King sniffed disapprovingly, probably at the lingering scents of Abby’s perfume, before nuzzling Hannibal’s left ear. The hint of a fang slid up against the shell of his ear, and Hannibal shuddered, biting down on a purr.
“I thought she might try to talk you into going back with her.” A year had improved Drake a little – the High King’s tone was carefully neutral.
Hannibal swallowed his instinctive retort, as lips shifted down to his neck, grazing the scar. He too, was learning. Hannibal turned to slant his mouth up into a hard kiss, uncaring of startled tourists or muttering natives; Drake growled, deep in his throat, and crushed him closer.
When they parted, Drake stared at him searchingly until Hannibal leaned up to brush a kiss, first against the edge of Drake’s lips, then against his scar, until the tension bled out of broad shoulders and the High King rumbled with pleasure. Letting go of the syringe in its packet, Hannibal pulled back. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”