Liza leapt to her feet with a yelp of horror. A man and a woman stood at the door, their black cargo pants, black tunics and armoured waistcoats that added substantial bulk to their torsos revealing them as West Coat Police officers.

"You asked us here to explain what happened the other day in the village?" the woman said, the stripes on her shoulders marking her as the one with senior status. "Do you want us to come back in five minutes when you're decent?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.

Thankfully, Liza and Gregor's little encounter hadn't involved the removal of much clothing. Liza hastily brushed crumbs from her front.

"Er, no! No need. Sorry, um..."

To her irritation, Gregor didn't look in the least bit disconcerted. He'd placed a hand over his open flies, but the other signalled a cheery wave. The male officer couldn't tear his eyes from Gregor's crotch.

He was in no hurry to get to his feet either, rolling onto his side and standing up slowly. The smear of cream left on his throat and the dark-brown smudge on his cheek, for some reason, didn't make him look stupid or messy...just adorable.

Liza cursed herself. Bloody, bloody Gregor. Just a week ago, when Mrs Wang had approached her about joining The Academy full-time—she'd displayed some impressive instinctive skills around the undead—the invite included a warning.

"I know he's difficult to resist," The Academy's highest-ranking official said, "but try. Emotions are messy, aren't they? And they get in the way of work. You're talented, Liza but if you end up like Ellie, my London agent, that would be a waste."

Ellie, silly Ellie, mistook Gregor's inexhaustible sex drive for affection. Liza vowed never to make that mistake.

Gregor had started a steady stream of small talk. Were the officers local? Nice part of the world, this. He didnae get down here often enough, but always thought it a bonny place when he did.

The woman introduced herself as Inspector Jane Grayson, here with her colleague Sergeant Ryan Russell—the man still dropped jawed as he stared at Gregor. Liza held out a hand to shake hers then dropped it hurriedly. Her palms still had traces of chocolate icing on them.

"Can I get you teas? Coffees? Anything to eat?" Liza asked, determined that Gregor shouldn't take over the meeting.

The Inspector nodded 'yes' to the offer of coffee, then tipped her head at the chocolate cake on the table, the middle gouged out and its sides marked with finger prints.

"No offence, but I'll skip the food offer."

"Gregor's been sent from our headquarters," Liza said when she returned with drinks. "I hope this demonstrates how seriously we take this latest attack."

As Mrs Wang had warned, the incident at the village food festival had attracted a re-ignition of the old argument: why do we pay for you if vampire attacks on this scale still happen? The Academy had been in existence for hundreds of years. It was a shadowy, unacknowledged existence, but tax-payers' money funded it nonetheless. And it was a lot of money.

The shadowy existence and what agents did post-vampire attacks kept the public in ignorance of vampires for the most part, but if you were in the police you signed the Official Secrets Act. That meant you knew about The Academy. You also knew that large sums of money were siphoned off the police budget to pay for The Academy's work. As budgets dwindled every year, that stung.

Gregor decided to use his biggest weapon—charm. He looked at Inspector Grayson directly.

"That's true," he held her eyes. "Mrs Wang sent me down here as soon as she could spare me. Liza and I have a lot of history," ouch, that wasn't the right word to use. Liza glared at him, "dealing with vampires and we've kept this area free of them for years."

An exaggeration, or even a white lie.

"Two." Sergeant Russell piped up. "Just two years since the last attack. Same bloody vampire there too; a skinny, marble-faced red-head."

His inspector raised her eyebrows, exchanging a small smile with Gregor. Bloody vampire had to be a Freudian slip.

He spread his arms. "This time, we'll get rid of her for good," He let his voice deepen and the Scottish accent broaden. Forceful and firm, reassuring. "We—ah—underestimated her. That willnae happen again."

He moved then, picking up the plate of cake and heading toward the kitchen. "I'll help!" the sergeant piped up, following him with dirty coffee cups. The murmur of conversation continued behind them, as Liza and the inspector discussed what had happened.

Ryan put the coffee cups down. "Um... I'm..."

Longing radiated from every pore. Gregor saw his sexuality as fluid. Everything offered its own attraction, and Sergeant Russell, the innocent wee guy stood in front of him, shimmered with possibility.

They had, Gregor reckoned, about two minutes before Liza and the inspector might get suspicious.

He put down the cake and ran his tongue over his top lip. Before him stood a man who was yet to come out of the closet, or too afraid that what he did next defined him forever. Rubbish! The wary needed help. Gregor pushed himself up against the sergeant and unzipped his cargo pants. The man trembled but didn't stop him. They locked eyes—keep going, keep going! Message received and understood.

In the other room, the conversation continued. Gregor heard heat—the exchange of opposite opinions. The inspector telling Sasha she thought The Academy's service so far shit, and what were they going to do about it. He estimated he had another five minutes with the sergeant.

Just as well Gregor was a genius when it came to making people orgasm in record time, male or female.

There was nothing like a hard cock in your hand: the power it gave you. Ryan, he noted, was circumcised, all the better for sensitivity. All he needed to do was move his hand up and down, altering the pressure on different fingers, and the man gasped.

"Would you..."

It didn't take a genius to work out the last of that sentence. Gregor sank to his knees and took the sergeant's cock in his mouth. He'd had tonnes of blow-jobs over the years, a lot of them bad, so he knew the expert way to do it. You used your hand, and you flicked your tongue, darting it over the top, and sucking rather than blowing. The genius blow job concentrated on the tip—it flicked, it licked and at some point your soul exited your body through your dick.

"I'm going to come!"

No shit Sherlock.

Ryan's engorgement and how his balls moved told him that anyway. Gregor let his teeth graze Ryan's erection. It did the job—two seconds later, he groaned and ejaculated into Gregor's mouth, cum hitting the back of his throat in super-quick time.

"Oh my Christ!"

Fingers crossed, Liza and the Inspector hadn't heard.