Carlos

With the threat of burglars assuaged, John and I enter the house and join the mysterious David in the living room. My main concern was that the dogs might have escaped through the open door, but this, too, proves to be a needless worry. They flank David like a pair of backup dancers, attuned to his every move, and obey John reluctantly when he tells them to go lie down on their beds. Even then, they keep their eyes trained on our visitor, ears pricked forward, as if ready to leap up at the slightest hint of a command.

"Some guard dogs you two are," John mutters, casting them a disapproving glance.

"Don't be hard on them, John," David says. "You know they can't help it. Just like it seems you cannot help yourself." He turns his gaze on me, his gray eyes flashing silver as they catch the light. "It appears the bond is quite strong already, and growing fast. And you told me there was no effect."

He shifts his attention back to John, and I remember to breathe. The guy has a presence I can hardly describe and, like the dogs, I'm having a hard time taking my eyes off him.

He's taller than John, and though not as muscular, carries himself with a confidence that speaks of great strength. His hair is a light ash blond, almost silver, and cut short in the back and longer in the front. I get the sense he's old, though how old I can't guess, but his skin is flawless and stretches smoothly over high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. His tastes run expensive, and while I don't know enough about clothes to guess what he's wearing, I'd wager his shirt and slacks are custom-tailored by some Italian name.

"I didn't lie," John says, glaring at David. "He's not infected."

"Clearly." David smiles. "But that is not the effect of which I speak. What symptoms have you experienced?"

John rubs his jaw, and I sense a struggle taking place behind the stoic mask of his expression. "Some synchrony of thought and feeling," he says at last. "And... maybe a little possessiveness."

David nods. "Entirely natural. And you?"

He turns to me, and I find myself transfixed by his silvery gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"No?"

His smile sends a chill up my spine. He'd taken one of the low, cubelike reading chairs, representative of the house's modern style, ensconcing himself like a lord upon a throne. John perches tensely on the edge of its mate, while I remain standing, resting my butt on the sofa's arm. As David rises and comes towards me, I straighten instinctively, not wanting to appear shorter than I am.

Five-nine is a perfectly respectable height — plenty of famous actors are five-nine — but next to six-six, or whatever David is, it feels small.

"John has a very distinctive scent, wouldn't you agree?" he asks.

"Uh... Weird question, but sure, I guess he smells alright."

"And you are drawn to him, are you not? You feel... aroused in his presence?"

I glance past him to John, who looks as uncomfortable as I feel. "Yeah, that's not really any of your business, is it?"

"It is my business, actually. John is very dear to me. He is the son of my blood. When he told me of the threat you pose to him, I came immediately to help him manage it, or to neutralize it, if needed."

"David, please..." John rises as well and approaches cautiously. "There's no need. I have it under control."

"So it appears," David murmurs. "But do you, really?"

John answers with an audibly strained, "Yes. Perfectly."

"Good. "Then you won't mind if I have a closer look."

Before I know what's happening, David steps forward, invading my personal space so that we stand toe-to-toe. Instantly stripped of power, I can't move or speak, or offer any protest as he pulls the band from my long hair, letting it fall free around my face, and inhales through his nose.

"Ah, I see the appeal," he says softly, eyes glinting silver. "You've found something special here. A rare vintage. Of course, what appeals to you will appeal to me; we are the same, after all."

"David..." John's voice is strained to breaking, and past David's shoulder (which I'm barely tall enough to see over) he radiates tension. "Please, stop."

"But, why? If what you say is true, this won't bother you one bit," David says easily, caressing the side of my neck. He pulls the collar of my shirt aside and lowers his head, nuzzling my skin with his nose and lips. I shudder with a horrible mix of revulsion and arousal as a low purr rumbles in his chest. "Mmm, delightful. Perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing, John? We could take turns with him, or even... both at once."

I feel his hot breath, the brush of his lips, and then — with the startling suddenness of a lightning flash — he's gone. A second later, the matching thunderclap arrives as he crashes into the wall on the opposite side of the room. John stands between us, shoulders heaving, eyes blazing, and a pair of fangs glinting as he speaks.

"Hands off," he growls. "He's mine."

He turns towards me and approaches, and I shrink away, terrified by the look of pure hunger on his face. Then he's yanked backwards and thrown across the room in turn, crashing into the television and knocking it off the wall. David dusts off his hands and shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Now, John; if only you'd been honest, we might have avoided this unpleasantness. Clearly your bond is—"

John launches himself at David like a tiger leaping on prey. The pair crash over the back of the sofa, and I skittle away and take shelter in a corner. As much as I want to help John, it's clear I'd just be getting in the way, and possibly getting myself killed if I try to intervene. Besides, this is obviously a vampire thing, and I have no choice but to let them work it out in their own way.

The ensuing battle is difficult to follow. There are blurs of motion, grunts of pain, crashes and bangs and sounds of things breaking, and finally, John on his back with David standing over him amid the wreckage of the living room.

Both of them have cuts on their faces and arms, torn clothing, and mussed hair, but John is definitely the worse for wear. There's a deep gash on his cheek, a bruise darkening one eye, and bite marks on his shoulder, bleeding through his shirt, though his more visible injuries seem to heal before my eyes.

"Excellent," David says, smoothing his hair back into place. "Now that we've established dominance like the animals we are, we can deal with this like civilized people." He extends his hand and, somewhat to my surprise, John accepts it and lets himself be helped to his feet. "Forgive me for provoking you, John, but you understand why I did. What just happened would have happened inevitably; far better that it happened while I was here to intervene. I doubt it would reflect well on your career if you ripped the head off some unsuspecting fellow who happened to flirt with your man and caught you in the wrong mood."

"He's not... my anything," John huffs, nursing his ribs and leaning on a chair for support.

"Still in denial, hm?" David sighs. "John, there's no breaking a bond once it's formed, and you've formed one with this lovely creature here. You can't fight it, and it will only get worse. Sooner or later, you'll give in and bite him, and in all likelihood you'll kill him, and then you'll turn — and whether you'll survive or not is anyone's guess. Now, there are several ways we can deal with this. I'm developing a new antibody — not a cure, but a suppressant. If you're willing, we can test it; perhaps it will help keep your symptoms in check. Alternately, and in the meantime, the best treatment is distance. Clearly, he's in danger here — both from this case you've told me of, and from yourself. I'll take him back to San Francisco with me. Keep him safe until you're ready."

"Uh... does the 'lovely creature' get a say in any of this?" I ask. I'd been frozen in place, like a deer in headlights, but indignation finally outweighs my alarm. It's my life he's talking about.

"Of course you do, my dear," David says with another spine tingling smile. "You have two choices: live, or die. Which would you prefer to do?"

Quailed again, I whisper, "The first one, please."

He nods. "Then you'll do as I say."

I scowl and open my mouth, but John intervenes before I can say anything to piss off his dangerous, weird, creepily sexy, potentially murderous vampire-dad.

"Carlos... can you give us a minute? Uh... alone?"

Frowning, I almost refuse. This involves me as much as John, and I want to understand. Then the image of John coming at me like a predator at prey flashes in my mind, and I decide that maybe I don't want this to involve me, after all.

"You know what? Sure. You guys obviously have a lot to talk about. I need a shower anyway," I say, shooting David a glare. "I think I got some creep on me."

Ignoring John's wince of apology, I go upstairs and shut myself in my room. Rather than take a shower, though, I just sit on the bed, trying to process what just happened.

David scared me, I conclude, but John scared me, too. It's not like he hadn't told me he was dangerous, but seeing it — that look — was something else. David had the power in the room, too, and if he wanted to take me to San Francisco with him, I suspected that's what he'd do. I also suspected that I would go with him, willingly or not.

As I contemplate this, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see an unfamiliar number, but it's local, so I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Martinez. This is Latoya McKenzie."

"Oh. Uh, hi."

"I couldn't get hold 'a John, so I tried you. He there?"

"He's... busy." I switch the phone from one hand to the other and lean forward. "Is there something I can pass along?"

"Yeah. I didn't wanna put this in a text, just in case in changes down the line. Once shit gets to court, anything's fair game."

"Uh, okay. What's up?"

"Alejo Sandoval has an alibi for the night of Daryl Spark's murder. He was at his father's bar, working until 1:00 a.m. Then he was with someone until late the next morning. Multiple witness have backed him up. Looks like he's off the hook."

"Shit."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Our one good lead, and now it's dead. Fortunately, I got another one. I was digging into those old cases John brought up — the one that looks similar to the Peters murder — and I might'a found another connection. Apparently, Richard Peters was Lucille's second husband, and Kyle was the son of Richard's brother, not Lucille's. Now, maybe they were close and she just said 'brother' and dropped the 'in-law,' but the point is she wasn't even related to Kyle. More 'n that, guess where she lived with her first husband?"

"Where?"

"One town over from where those other murders happened, twenty years ago."

"Fuck. What happened to her first husband?"

"They divorced. He passed away of natural causes a few years ago. Apparently, back then, around the same time as the murders, they had a son who died of some unknown illness. Guess that's why Lucille didn't want any more kids."

"That's... suspicious."

"No shit. And now Turner has me looking into your side of things. That's a conflict of interest right there."

"My side? What do you mean?"

"You don't know?"

"Know what?

"Uh... Maybe I said too much."

"McKenzie! Just tell me already."

I hear her take a breath and can imagine her chewing a plump, glossy bottom lip as she debates the wisdom of spilling the beans.

"Please."

"Alright, fine. Apparently, Lucille blamed her son's death on a botched exorcism, performed by a pair of women. A pair of sisters. Sonia and Antonia Martinez."

I reel and catch myself against the wall as my head spins.

"What? Wait, you're saying my mom and aunt did an exorcism on Lucille's son?"

"That's what the record of her statement says. No charges were ever brought, but... then your mom disappeared. Technically, the case was never closed."

"Fuck. Wait, does John know all this?"

"Not yet. That's why I didn't wanna put this in writing or a voicemail. I wanted to give him the chance to, uh, wipe the slate before it became widely known. Good thing he had me look into your mom."

"Yeah. Good thing. Listen, I gotta go. I'll, uh... tell John you called."

"Gotcha. Over and out."

She ends the call. I stare into space until I see spots and have to remind myself to breathe.

I feel like a fly caught in the center of a spider's web, terrified to move for fear of alerting the monster to my presence. The problem is, I don't know who the monster is. Once John learns about this, though, he'll definitely want me as far from harm's way as possible, which probably means sending me away with David.

Now, did a threesome with two incredibly hot vampire guys sound like fun? I mean, sure. Getting eaten and killed — in that order — not so much.

I need to clear my head; I need some space to think, and I need to be sure that my thoughts and will are my own. Reluctantly, I lift my phone again and call a different number.

"Hey, Carlos. What's cookin', amigo?" Ian Foley's gruff voice comes through my phone's speakers, and I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling more grounded just by the sound of it.

"Ian, hey. Uh... I think I might be in some trouble. Um... Could you come pick me up?"

Instantly shifting from banter to business, Ian's tone loses its playfulness. "Sure. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just... kinda stranded."

"Where you at?"

I describe how to get to the gate at the entrance of the upscale residential community, and hear Ian whistle through his teeth.

"What you doin' in high-end digs?"

"Nevermind. Just... come get me. Please. I need your help. You, and Sam."

"Sure, sure. We'll be there ASAP. Hang tight."

He disconnects, and I take a moment to catch my breath. Then, as quickly as I can with one hand, I gather my things, sneak down the hall, and slip through the sliding glass door onto the second-story porch. From there, I climb over the wooden railing and jump the eight feet to the ground, which is fortunately covered in a good six inches of soft pine duff — a fact I know from walking the dogs.

Landing clumsily, but thankfully without hurting myself or landing in dog shit, I scramble to my feet and slip away through the dense trees.