I spent the day with my mom, taking care of a list of mundane tasks my dad had apparently been avoiding for several months: a leaky faucet, a broken window screen, a door that didn't close quite right.

By the end of the day, I felt I'd earned my mom's roast chicken, and she didn't disappoint.

My dad did though, calling to tell my mom he'd be home late because of some faculty meeting he'd forgotten about.

"He's almost seventy," I said as my mom and I sat down to our meal. If I hadn't been there, she'd have been dining alone. "Why doesn't he retire? Wouldn't he get full benefits and all that?"

My mom just laughed. "Your father will never retire, Benji. He'll keep scratching out equations for bored students to copy down until the day he dies—probably in the middle of a lecture on Hume's principle, or something equally riveting."

My mom isn't the sort of woman who rolls her eyes, but there was definitely an eye-roll in her tone.

"Why are you still with him?" I asked, the words leaving my mouth before I had a chance to consider whether this was the sort of question one ought to ask one's mother over a roast chicken.

She just smiled, though it wasn't a happy expression. "Because I still love him," she said. "Or...maybe I love the way I remember him to be. We used to have a lot of fun together, believe it or not—like you and Matt do now."

I sighed. We did have fun but—I realized with a little shock of unhappiness—we hadn't in a long time. That was going to change though, I promised myself. I wouldn't let Matt end up loving the memory of a man who'd long since ceased to exist.

"What did you two fight about, anyway?" my mom asked. "Matt doesn't seem like the fighting type."

She poured me another drink and I swirled it around in the glass. If I drank it, I wouldn't be able to drive for at least another hour.

"He's not," I said, and sighed again.

The cupcake had long since worn off (I knew because my mom had asked if I liked the color of the new rug she'd bought for her bedroom, and I'd said yes. It was maroon.) but I supposed I'd gotten used to the sort of candor it had forced me to adopt. It was refreshing, in fact.

"I lost my job, Mom," I said. "I got fired. This morning."

My mom gasped, hand fluttering to her throat. "Oh my goodness, no! Benji, why?"

"Because I told the truth," I said.

"Oh my... Like one of those whistleblower types?" Her eyes were huge, and she leaned across the table to grasp my arm. "Benji, you're so brave!"

I laughed. "No, Mom, nothing like that. I just told my boss exactly what I thought of him, and...well, let's just say he didn't appreciate my opinion."

My mom stared at me. "Why on earth...you must have known what would happen. Did you want him to fire you?"

"Of course not," I said, slumping in my chair. "I...I didn't mean to say any of it. That's what Matt and I fought about. He gave me something that...loosened my tongue."

"Oh heavens—you boys aren't doing drugs are you?"

My mom is the sort of person who thinks if you eat a weed brownie one day, you'll be a crack addict the next.

"No Mom, we're not 'doing drugs,'" I sighed. "I can't really explain it. Let's just say he baked something with a special ingredient, and it had an unintended effect."

My mom remained silent for several long beats. "Well, you didn't much like that job anyway," she said at last, leaning back in her chair. "Maybe it's for the best. Now you can take some time and figure out what you want to do—set a new course. It could be exciting."

She smiled, and for a moment she reminded me of Matt, always seeing the good in a situation.

"Yeah," I agreed with a smile. "I guess it could."

I ended up staying until well after dark. When I finally looked at my phone, I found nearly a hundred texts from Matt and felt awful for not even letting him know I was okay or where I'd gone. I imagined him sitting alone, maybe curled up with a blanket on the couch, and felt a pang of guilt at the thought. Quickly, I typed out what I hoped was a reassuring note.

I've never been good at expressing myself through texts, so I kept it simple, just letting him know where I was and that I'd be home late. I expected my message to trigger a fresh barrage of texts, so I was surprised when all I got was a suggestion that I stay with my parents overnight.

Matt must've been more hurt than I realized.

The thought kept me up, and I didn't sleep well, finally deciding around four in the morning that I'd had enough.

I left my mom a note explaining I'd decided to get an early start, and set off on the drive home.

Two and a half hours later, I pulled up to my spot on our street and found it already occupied by a large, shiny black sedan of a kind that didn't retail for less than six figures. There was only one person we knew who drove such a car.

I loved that Matt could make friends with just about anyone, but did he have to make friends with vampires? And what was that bloodsucker doing here so early?

It wasn't until I went up to the living room that I understood.

He wasn't here early.

He'd been here all night.

And he was lying on my couch, apparently asleep.

Worse yet, he was not alone.

Matt lay tucked up beside him, like an over-grown child, one leg and one arm draped across Volkir.

On his neck were two small wounds, standing out red against his pale skin, and Volkir's arm was wrapped protectively—or maybe possessively—around his back.

Matt looked beautiful—more beautiful than I remembered—his sandy hair in tousled disarray, the sharp line of his jaw accentuating the softness of his face and the shadowed skin of his throat. He wore a thin, sleeveless shirt, and his shoulders and chest looked smooth and touchable. His features were relaxed in sleep, and a hint of a smile touched his lips.

Matt thought he wasn't very handsome, but he was wrong. He could easily have been a model if he'd wished. He was out of my league, if I was honest, but that had never really struck me as it did now. 

He looked good next to Volkir's ageless grace—his innocent charm in contrast with the vampire's deadly elegance. It made me sick with a kind of despair that had no name.

I must have made a sound, because Volkir's eyes flicked open and landed on mine, and then I realized I had not taken a breath in quite some time.

Reeling, I almost fell, catching myself against the side of a chair, and gasped as Volkir's hand touched my back. I jerked away from him, opening my mouth to shout whatever obscenities might come to mind, but he clamped his hand over it, his grip hardening on my arm.

I don't know how he'd moved so fast, but somehow, in the space of a second, he'd risen from the couch (without disturbing Matt) and crossed the room.

"Shh. Let him rest," he said, his voice quiet and deep. "Things are not as they appear. Let us speak outside."

He let me go and swept down the stairs, and then I heard the front door open and shut. I stood for a moment, caught between the desire to make sure Matt was okay and the desire to channel my inner Buffy.

We must have something like a stake around here somewhere.

The decision was made for me when I took a step towards the couch and a shadow near Matt's feet moved and then looked at me. Then it hissed.

That did it. I'd been gone less than twenty-four hours and that blonde vulture had swept in, seduced my sweet Matt, led him astray, and—perhaps worst of all—got him a cat. If I'd stayed away a few more hours they'd probably be on their way to Europe by now, to buy a castle or something.

If anyone was going to give Matt a cat and buy him a castle, I thought as I stormed down the stairs after Volkir, it was going to be me.

Then a new thought struck me and I almost fell again.

What if Matt preferred Volkir?

He was taller, and handsomer, and richer, and more sophisticated, and he could cook, and he had fangs for fuck's sake.

I didn't stand a chance.

I'd already worked myself into something of a state by the time I got outside, and it didn't help that Volkir looked as suave and gentlemanly as ever, standing on my lawn as though he hadn't spent the night on another man's couch, with another man's husband in his arms.

His pale face had a solemn, coldly resigned expression, as though he were the victim of some tragic misunderstanding, and I was a jealous lover who'd challenged him to pistols at dawn.

"Benjamin, it is not as it seems," he said again, his voice smooth and cool as the morning mist blanketing the street.

"Oh really?" I scoffed. "Because it seems like you made a meal out of my man."

"Well," he lifted one shoulder with insouciant grace, "only in the literal sense."

"You demon—" I started towards him, but he held up a hand, and I found myself unable to move.

So much for my inner Buffy. Somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten he was among the most powerful vampires in the world.

"You will listen, and listen well, Benjamin. Matt and I did nothing of which to be ashamed. Believe me—I have no desire to come between you."

"You bit him!" I yelled, probably much too loudly for six-thirty in the morning.

"He was curious."

"Curious? Fuck curious! You should have shown some goddamn restraint!"

He released whatever hold he had on me abruptly, and I collapsed to the wet grass, landing on my hands and knees.

"Tell me, Ben, has Matt's curiosity ever caused him real harm, or truly led him astray? Has he experimented with dangerous substances? Has he broken the law? Has he injured himself or anyone else?"

"No, he hasn't" I said, grinding out the words through clenched teeth. "But that doesn't mean—"

"You should trust him. Give him room to explore. His instincts are sound; his curiosity, a gift. It should be nurtured, not suppressed."

"What gives you any right to say that?" I snarled. "You self-righteous son-of-a-bitch. You just want—"

"Yes, I want him," he admitted, fixing me with his unnatural gaze, "but my love for him is...purely Platonic."

"Your love?" I gasped, my voice failing me.

I was still kneeling in the grass, and now I realized I was shaking too badly to stand. Volkir had shown me only the tiniest hint of his power, and it dawned on me that I had none. He could destroy me. He could take Matt, enthrall him against his will, steal him away from me. He could—

Volkir sighed. "Whatever you are thinking, please stop. I did not intend to distress you with my presence. In fact, I meant to be gone long before your return, but my intentions were...diverted. Not since my Marianna—my beloved wife—have I tasted blood with such a sweetly soporific effect. I have not slept so well in...decades."

As his words sank in, my rage re-ignited, and I managed to gain my feet. "You fucking bastard, I'll—"

"What's going on out here? Ben?"

I turned and saw Matt above me on the porch, the door open at his back and a blanket around his shoulders.

His eyes traveled between me and the vampire and then widened with dismay. "Oh no, Ben—it's not what you think. He just bit me, that's all."

"That's all?" I shrieked. Fortunately, most of our neighbors were getting on in years and had poor hearing.

"Yes, and only because I asked him to," he said, taking a step towards me with a hand outstretched. "Please, Ben, don't be mad at Volkir."

"Don't be mad at—" I was having a hard time getting enough breath to finish a sentence. "And did you ask him to bite you before or after he gave you the cat?"

"The cat? Oh! He didn't give me the cat. He gave me a ring. The cat came in the mail."

"What?"

Reality was obviously collapsing in on itself. It was like the matrix had a serious virus or something.

"What do you mean it 'came in the mail?'" I asked, my voice distressingly shrill in my own ears. "And what the hell is that?"

I pointed. Behind Matt, in the shadows of the doorway, something was taking shape. At first it looked like a swirl of black smoke, wispy and thin, and then it quickly thickened into a tall column and took the general shape of an enormous man.

I wondered if I was hallucinating now on top of everything else, except that Volkir clearly saw it too.

"Matthew, behind you!" he called, and rushed forward with inhuman speed.

Whatever the smoky man-thing was it was faster than Volkir. It shot from the doorway, wrapped massive half-solid arms around Matt's chest, and yanked him backwards into the house.

The door slammed shut in Volkir's face. He grasped the doorknob, but it didn't budge. Then he ripped the door off its frame.

Behind it was a brick wall. Yep, the matrix was fucked.

"Oh dear," Volkir said, pressing a hand against the solid barrier. "I'm afraid this may not be good."

"What do you mean? What the fuck just happened?"

I'd managed to climb the stairs, anger replaced by renewed alarm, and stood at his side, staring at the impossible wall now blocking my door.

"You remember what I said about Matt's curiosity not doing him any harm?" he asked with deceptive mildness.

"Yeah, that was literally two minutes ago," I snapped.

He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to expose elegant wrists and solidly muscled forearms.

"Well...it is possible that I was wrong."