Chapter Text
“The memories are a little shot. Maybe I was a firefighter! Or a kung fu master. Or an ice cream man.”
Hannibal King was the most restless vampire – or human – that Drake had ever met. Be it in battle or bed; he exuded a sense of tightly wound energy that kept him in a constant state of motion, physical or (usually) verbal. Simple questions, such as his current expressed idle curiosity about who King had been before being turned, came back with rambling and often unrelated answers.
Lounging on a low divan next to the Esperanto skyline, Drake noted Danica’s scowl from his peripheral vision, from the armchair closest to the exit, and Asher’s smile in the chair beside her seemed forced. It was evident that the two of them disliked the liberties that Drake allowed King, even if he hadn’t shown any outright favour to date.
King’s endless energy was… intriguing. And, if Drake had to admit it, addictive. Vampires grew sluggish with time, but snide comments from Danica indicated that King had remained unchanged.
“He was a private detective, Lord Drake,” Danica said coldly. “Investigating a drug ring that happened to be run by Talos. It didn’t turn out well.”
King’s smile was sharp and tight. “For me, or you?”
“Don’t be insolent, King,” Danica snarled, already on the edge of her patience. Had King not been useful to her with his skills and reputation, Drake supposed with some amusement that she would have long tried to have King killed permanently. “You were just one of the toys at Blue Velvet until we promoted you. We can just as easily put you back there.”
“Pretty sure that I was ‘promoted’ due to an incident which ended up with several patrons decorating the walls,” King said, feigning an expression of deep thought. “Made by whiskey bottles. That was some good whiskey, though. A pair of Macallans. If I could've done that again, I would have used the cheap cleanskins you guys water down and sell as the house red.”
“You-”
“And what incident was that?” Drake asked idly, cutting through Danica’s fury. He didn’t bother to stare the female vampire down, but the aggression scent faded as he shifted in his seat.
“Some table had brought over a pair of human girls that they were going to gang rape and then drain dry. One of them used to be a client of mine.” King wrinkled his nose. “I think I helped her find her Chihuahua or something. You can’t say that Hannibal King doesn’t provide complimentary follow-on service.”
“I thought you said you didn’t remember who you were.”
“Did I say that?” King asked innocently, always toeing the line of outright insubordination, but even as Danica hissed and Asher muttered anxiously to himself, Drake snorted, untroubled and amused. A vampire from his bloodline with spine was a rare find, even before he had slept.
“A-anyway, about our proposal, Lord Drake,” Asher said quickly, clearly trying to change the subject.
“It has its merits,” Drake said idly. The Talos clan had long harboured plans to take over Esperanto outright, by turning humans into mere blood banks, coming out of the shadows. Powerful foes hindered them – someone called the Daywalker, and his allies. The situation was not new to Drake by any measure, and as before, he could guess at its ending. “But it is flawed.”
“Lord Drake-”
“My bloodline has existed for this long not because we are powerful, but because we are a small enough species that the humans can afford to disbelieve in us,” Drake said flatly. “Were they to band together, there are far more humans than vampires, and I wish to keep it that way. As I once instructed the House of Erebus.”
Eyes wide, Danica sank back into her chair at Drake’s steely stare. The Talos clan was an old clan, and Drake had known its progenitor, a surly, unforgiving brute of a vampire that had taken no nonsense from any creature walking the earth, even his own Lord. It was a pity to see what Talos’ line had fallen to, that Danica bit down on her lip and did not retort.
Talos had died festooned by silver spears, in a disastrous battle against an uprising in Transylvania. That, along with a few other factors, had convinced Drake that outright rule was not worth the effort. Humans were too many, and they were canny; their short lives gave them the energy to invent weapons to battle his kind, and worse, some of them were arcane-capable.
“Think of it this way,” Drake said dryly, “How long is the lifespan of a blood bank human? According to your research.”
“We… we can keep one alive for years. Perhaps half a decade.” Asher had even less of Talos’ steel than Danica if that was possible.
“And in the meantime, the vampires grow in number. Eventually, perhaps, we will outnumber our constantly dwindling food source. And then we starve and die out.” Drake drummed his fingers impatiently on the mahogany armrest of the divan.
“That… that aside,” Asher murmured, “The vampire hunters are still a problem.”
“Vampire hunters have always been a problem. They grow to become a large problem only when we pose enough of an outright risk to be feared. As your ancestor Talos found to his regret.” Drake turned his gaze back to the city. “If any vampire of yours dies to a hunter, then I deem him too weak to carry my bloodline.”
“So much for crying to Daddy?” King quipped, and Danica hissed.
“You couldn’t defeat Blade, King.”
“Well, about that,” King said breezily, “He had these awesome Air Jordans, while I have these tired old Reeboks, and when he dunks, he really slam dunks.”
Sometimes, Drake was sure that King’s incomprehensible slang was a mere tool to frustrate his sire. “Blade?”
“The Daywalker, Lord Drake,” Asher said in his servile tone. “He is a threat to all vampires. We have sent King against him a few times, all to no avail.”
“One would almost think that the Enforcer has not been… trying his best,” Danica continued, venomous, and even as King smiled thinly, Drake noted his fingers twitching briefly towards his holsters.
Aggression-scents and caution-scents spiked from King, where Drake had sensed nothing of the sort before in any of their sparring, or even in the incident two nights back when Danica had ordered a hit on a vampire that had overstepped its trading bounds, and Drake had followed to watch out of boredom. King was concerned. Wary.
Surprising.
“Hold,” Drake said sharply. “I would like to meet this Blade. Arrange it.”
“It will be done,” Danica said smugly. “My Lord.”
“And leave us. I have a private matter to discuss with King.”
Danica’s sour expression when Asher and herself left the room wasn’t lost on King, who rocked back on his heels once the heavy wooden door closed, snickering. “Did you see that? It was like she bit into a fermented lemon.”
“Why haven’t you killed Blade?”
“About the Air Jordans-”
“You didn’t want to kill him,” Drake observed. “And he didn’t want to kill you.”
Wariness-aggression but still no fear, strangely enough. King had his feet flat on the thick carpet, and even if his hands were loose by his side, Drake instinctively prepared himself for a fight. “I like to kill vampires. It’s fun. They last longer when you bat them around.”
“Three days ago you met Blade at a warehouse in the docks district. You told him about me,” Drake said mildly. “You warned him.”
“Is this the part where I have to run away via a dramatic dive out of a thirty-fourth storey window?”
“You don’t drink fresh blood, only from those packs, which I’ve been told you purchase yourself from the human hospitals,” Drake continued, rolling to his feet. King took a step back, crouching, though he didn’t make a reach for his guns. “You kill your kind, and you’re assisting another one who does the same. There’s no love lost between yourself and your sire. Yet you’ve stayed with the Talos clan. Why?”
There was still enough of a thread – however watered down, however bastardized – of his blood left even now that he could exert some influence; enough that King didn’t even realize that he had been backed up against a wall until Drake planted his palms to either side of his head. King bared his teeth, but out of perhaps a sense of self-preservation he had yet to draw his guns. Instead of fear, there was the heady scent of growing arousal, and King licked at his lips as he tried to drag his eyes up from Drake’s neck.
“Danica’s my sire. I can’t disobey her will.” King shuddered as Drake nuzzled him, over the bite scar on his neck. “I’ve tried.”
“You’re trying to use Blade to kill her.”
King clenched his teeth, fighting the ancient link, and mutely, Drake watched him struggle for a heartbeat longer before loosening his hold. King sagged against the wall, gasping for unnecessary air, wild-eyed, flinching when Drake dug a nail into the bite scar, drawing blood.
“What do you know about our rituals, King?”
“R-rituals?” King stared, hypnotized, as Drake popped his finger back in his mouth. King’s blood was cool and dead, without the sharp life-force of a human’s, but Drake bent down to press his tongue against the scar. King’s voice pitched higher. “Lord Drake.”
“So much has been lost. Our rules. Our customs. La Magra’s edicts.” Drake murmured. “A sire’s link is broken in two ways, King. The death of the sire is but one, and I have an old compact with the Talos house, forged with their ancestor. I will protect them. As undeserving as they are now, I keep my word.”
“Let me guess. The second way is my permanent demise?”
“The second way,” Drake added, ignoring the breathless sarcasm, “Is for another vampire to bind you to him, or her, as a mate.” The primal rituals of blood and coupling were too old to even be termed magic.
“Funny how I’ve never met any vampire that I wanted to do more with than stake,” King said mournfully. “I mean, this even includes the Daywalker, and compared to the trash I live with usually, he’s quite a decent sort of guy. If you ignore the complete lack of a sense of humour and his short patience.”
“Even me?”
King’s stare narrowed as he held Drake’s eyes, then he bared his teeth. “I’m pretty sure that if I look this gift horse in the mouth, it’d bite my head off. You’re Vlad Dracula. I’m not even a pureblood, let alone from your elite vampire special treehouse club.”
Drake took the fact that King had avoided answering the question as a good sign. “Have you tried fighting a pureblood?”
“Honey,” King drawled, “The only vampire I could never kill that I’ve gone up against – other than Danica, who is cheating, and Blade, who I freely admit kicked my ass something good a couple of times – is you. Happy?”
“Good.”
“If this is some sort of fucked up interview to be your exclusive concubine or catamite or whatever, I’m not sure I want to be in the running. I mean, we’ve had a bit of fun and you are the vampire’s version of the cat’s pajamas, the High King, the Pope and the vampire Dalai Lama all rolled into one seriously hot package, even if I’m going to regret mentioning the words ‘Dalai Lama’ and ‘seriously hot’ in the same sentence, but I’m not really into the long-term commitment thing. Besides,” and here King’s scent, all rich desire, betrayed him where his tone did not, “I’m sure you’ve met a hell lot of vampires who were stronger than me. Hell, there’s Blade. Did I mention he kicked my ass? He’s not very cute, though.”
“The original House of Erebus – my Council – were a coven of the strongest vampires whose bloodlines had sworn fealty to me,” Drake said mildly. “None of them were suitable.”
“And you think I am?”
“You interest me. I do not say that lightly.” Drake gave the sealing wound a final lick, then pushed away from the wall.
“By the way, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with the local news,” King said uncomfortably, “But the House of Erebus is kinda gone.”
“I plan to remake it. One of my old holdings in Transylvania is still intact. I will call a blood-meet there, in time.” Drake settled back into the divan, staring back over the skyline. Esperanto was such a dreary, architecturally vulgar city. He hoped that Transylvania had not much changed. “If I could also announce my claim on a chosen mate at the same time, that would be convenient.”
King’s fingers were curling and uncurling, and he rocked back, then forward, on his heels, looking away, up at the ceiling, then at the door. “I’m very flattered and all, but I think I’ll stick to Option A, thanks. The point to this entire painful exercise was to free myself, not to change leashes, Lord Drake.”
“That is not what the ritual entails,” Drake curled a finger over the collar of his white shirt, tugging it briefly out to expose his own, unmarred neck. “You will also bite me. The claim works both ways.”
King’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to Drake’s throat, then he backpedalled towards the door, flustered. “I, ah, I think, I must have left the oven on, which I just recalled, so, I have to go, sir.”
“Do keep my offer in mind,” Drake said idly, carefully exerting just enough of his influence to ensure that King would do so.
He was a little gratified when instead of giving in, as instinct and the blood link had to be calling for, King merely fumbled with the doorknob, his fingers jerky, as though in panic. “I’ll think about it. Sir.”
A most curious vampire, Drake thought, as King fled the room, allowing himself a brief smirk. Captivating.
II
Hannibal was still high on adrenaline when Blade finally showed up, sliding onto the greasy bench in the beat-up diner and looking as out of place as a sore thumb in his black S&M leather get up. “Talk.”
“No, ‘Hello, King, it’s nice to see that you’re still around’, or some token weather commentary?”
“You said it was urgent.”
“Coffee?”
“Just talk, King.”
This was why Blade was totally crossed off his Potential Buddies list. Hannibal sipped at the bitter, godawful coffee and tried not to look as furtive as he felt. “Drake’s been following me around. He knows we’ve met.”
Blade arched an eyebrow. “Then, the Talos?”
“I don’t think they know. I’ve been careful. Just not careful enough for the bossman, I guess. He’s asked Danica to arrange a meeting with you. I’m not sure whether this is meant to be non-lethal.”
“I’m ready,” Blade said simply, waving away the waitress who trudged over to take his order. “When?”
“You’re going to end up killed.”
“Like that’s ever been a concern for you.”
“If you end up dead, who’s going to get rid of my sire?”
“You’re nervous,” Blade said quietly. “Something happened?”
“Bossman just told me that he has some sort of ancient pinky promise with the great-great-great-great-etcetera grandpa of Danica which obliges him to protect her ass,” Hannibal said sharply. Blade didn’t need to know the real reason why he was on edge.
Fucking Drake. He had done that collar thing on purpose. It was winding in a constant loop in Hannibal’s mind, and even the bitter coffee couldn’t stop his mouth from watering. It had taken every shred of self-respect and willpower not to jump the High King’s bones when he had done that and/or fawn on him like a fanboy, and even now, there was a small voice in Hannibal’s head that was loudly exclaiming that he was a complete idiot. Most vampires, meaning all vampires except (possibly) Blade, would have killed for the chance to be Drake’s mate.
Drake’s mate.
Hannibal’s brain tried reflexively to come up with a joke regarding the innate silliness of the word ‘mate’, particularly with regards to the Australian vernacular and failed under a new loop of a finger pulling back a starched collar.
“King?”
“Uhh, yeah. Sorry. A bit stressed.”
“I’m saying,” Blade said impatiently, “That either way, it looks like I have to fight Drake. If I beat him, I’ll kill Danica afterwards. All right? I gave you my word, King.”
“Either way you have to fight Drake?”
“He’s protecting Danica, isn’t he?”
“He can be distracted.” Easily.
Sometimes, Hannibal’s ego liked to pat itself on the back.
“Either way, he’s looking for me,” Blade said dismissively. “I don’t think it’d be for a cup of fucking coffee.”
“So I can’t convince you to try and make the hit on Danica first?” Hannibal was sure that he was whining, but what the hell.
“You’re that certain that I’ll lose to Drake.”
“I’m not a betting man. Or vamp, as it were. And no offence, but I wouldn’t put money on you. I’ve fought you before, and okay, you’ve beaten me both of the times we fought legit, but you’d agree that it wasn’t a walk in the fucking park, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Blade nodded slowly.
“And I’ve fought Drake before. It was over very, very quickly.” After which Drake had proceeded to fuck him into the tiled balcony floor, but Blade didn’t need to know that part. “And, before you say anything, I was trying.”
“I won’t go unprepared.” Blade said dryly. “All right? And then after it’s all over and done with, I’ll make the hit on Danica. Then we’re even.”
“What do you mean, prepared?” Hannibal’s stomach did an ugly flip.
“You know why I can’t tell you, King.” Blade said flatly. “The only reason why we’re talking is because you need me to kill Danica, and I need you for information. I know that save where offing Danica is concerned, you probably would sell me out to Drake if it earned you an extra pat on the fucking head.”
“Yeah.” Hannibal choked down the coffee. “Okay, maybe I deserved that.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you haven’t smelled like yourself for a while.” Blade rose from the table, somehow managing not to make a sound despite the hardware he was packing. “Our bargain was for me to get Danica. I will. But don’t expect me to trust you.”
“Wow, way to break a guy’s heart.”
Blade snorted. “Be seeing you, King.”