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Carpe Noctem Book One

San Francisco Meetings
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Chapter One
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Once upon a time, nearly a lifetime ago, Mac Ramsey had had a normal
life. He had a mother and a father and lived in a small house in a
small town, he wasn't sure where. It didn't really matter. As far as
he was concerned, that town was the whole world.

His father did some sort of work that took him away from home
frequently, but that was all right. He always came back, usually
with exotic presents that were the envy of his friends, and kisses
for his wife, who just shook her head in exasperation and welcomed
him home.

Then one day, when he was six, his mother collapsed in the middle of
gardening, and an ambulance came and took her away to the hospital.
It never brought her back.

At the time, Mac didn't understand what had happened. All he knew
was that his mother was gone, and he had no one. It had taken nearly
two months for the authorities to find his father, and he'd only
come back long enough to collect Mac and leave again. It was the
last time Mac saw the house he'd lived in all his life.

It was the last time his life was normal.

After that, it could be described in many ways, but never normal.

Instead, for the next five years he'd traveled the world with his
father, discovering that his father was a con artist and learning
the art of the con. With his big eyes and adorable looks, Mac had
made the perfect cover for his father.

But when he was eleven his father had left him with a friend in Hong
Kong, then disappeared. Mac was too old to be a decoy in his
father's cons and too young to be of any other use. Despite the
occasional letter from his father, Mac had felt like he'd been
abandoned for a second time, the first time being by his mother.

Two years later, Mac had run away. He'd survived alone on the
streets of Hong Kong before being found and taken in by Tang, head
of the most powerful crime family on the island. Finally he'd had a
family again, a home. Even a brother and sister, which he'd never
had before. For nearly ten years he'd basked in the warmth of that
family's love.

And then he'd thrown it all away, for a love that didn't last.

And now he had a new family, assuming that you could call the Agency
a family. Victor Mansfield, LiAnn Tsei -- his sister from the Tang
family -- and even the Director. If he were in a generous mood, he
might even include Jackie and Dobrinsky in that family. Maybe.

But after losing two families, he couldn't bring himself to count on

this third one. No matter how much he yearned to believe that the
third time was the charm, he couldn't bring himself to trust them.
If he'd learned anything in his twenty-five years it was that
nothing stayed the same. Sooner or later he would lose everything.
Again. He was sure of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

>>>~~~<<<

Whistling the tune from a new song making the rounds of the dance
clubs, Mac Ramsey headed down the empty hallways of the Agency's
underground base. He was a little late, but didn't care. It was a
beautiful spring morning, and he'd been out dancing the night
before. He'd even found himself a little female company, though he'd
hadn't stayed at her place for the night, making his excuses as he
left. Going to her place gave him a reason not to let her stay the
night since he was the one who would have to leave. Besides, he
wasn't fool enough to bring someone home. He knew that the Director
had cameras in every Agency-owned apartment, and he wasn't into
performing for an audience.

His date for the night had given him her phone-number, but he didn't
think he'd call her. A second date led to an assumption of a
relationship, and that led to questions about what he actually did
for a living; questions that he couldn't answer. That was the
biggest drawback to his job. Maybe someday he'd meet someone who he
could tell everything without them running away scared. He wasn't
holding his breath. In the meantime, he contented himself as best he
could with a series of one-night stands. The one time he'd tried for
more, the woman had turned out to be an arms dealer who'd threatened
to blow them all up with a nuclear hand-grenade at what was supposed
to be their wedding. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out.
He'd learned his lesson. No more dating the suspects.

He reached the conference room and was a little surprised that Vic
and LiAnn were the only ones there. He'd expected the Director to be
waiting with a biting comment about tardiness for which he'd come up
with a quick excuse that would make the others smile if he were
lucky.

Almost disappointed, he slipped into the empty seat. As usual, LiAnn

had taken the middle seat, firmly planting herself between the two
men who were her partners and were also both her ex-fiancées. It was
almost like she still expected them to come to blows over her, even
more than two years working together. She didn't seem to have
noticed that they'd become friends over that time, especially since
they'd nearly been killed by Michael Tang. She hadn't been badly
injured, but they'd both spent time in physical therapy, rebuilding
their strength, and their friendship had strengthened from the
shared experience. Besides, the only thing they'd ever really fought
over was her, and they'd both gotten over her long ago, but Mac
wasn't sure she'd noticed. Maybe she thought that they were both
still hovering around her, waiting for her to make a choice. LiAnn
could be very self-absorbed.

"Good morning boys and girls," the Director said coming down the
mysterious set of stairs at the back of the conference room. Mac
*still* didn't know where they led, and he'd been wondering since
almost day one. He wasn't foolish enough to try sneaking up them to
find out, though. "I must say, you did good work on the Lemmerling
case. Don't let it go to your head," she quickly added, and Mac had
to hide a smile. The woman was hard as nails and not afraid to get
her hands dirty, but despite her attempts to hide it, she obviously
had a soft spot for their team.

She gracefully settled into her chair opposite them and propped her
feet up on the desk surface. Considering the brevity of her skirt,
only the fact that her legs were crossed at the ankles kept them
from seeing what color underwear she was wearing. Assuming she was
wearing any, Mac thought with a small shudder. At times the
Director's behavior around Vic and him -- especially him -- seemed
to swing between maternal and predatory. It was a scary combination.

"However," she continued, "you did well enough that I've decided to
give you all a small reward."

The three of them exchanged glances, wondering what was going on.
The Director *never* rewarded them for doing their job. She ignored
the non-verbal exchange.

"I'm leaving tomorrow for a week of meetings in San Francisco. Since

I'm allowed to bring an entourage, I've decided that the three of
you will accompany me. I will need you for a few hours a day, but
the rest of the time will be yours to do as you like."

"Great!" Mac said, delighted. "I've never been to San Francisco. I

think," he added softly. During the five years he'd traveled with
his father he'd seen a lot of the world, and he wasn't sure of all
the cities he'd seen. After a while they'd sort of blended together.

The Director favored him with a small, amused smile. "Our flight
leaves at seven tomorrow evening. Don't be late."

They sat staring at her, all of them wondering if that was a

dismissal or not. The Director was heading for the stairs again when
she paused and turned around. "Well? Shouldn't you be packing or
something? Shoo!"

They shooed. A free day was almost as rare as praise or other

rewards, and Mac didn't want to risk losing it.

"I wonder what sort of meetings she's going to?" LiAnn asked as they
headed for the exit. It seemed natural that they would stay together.

"Who cares?" Mac said with a wide grin. "We're going to San
Francisco for a vacation."

Vic didn't look quite as happy about it. "Yeah, but if the Director
has to go, it's probably Agency business, which means we're diving
blind into a shark tank. Doesn't that bother you?"

Mac's grin dissolved into a pout. "Do you have to be such a

pessimist?" he asked, his good mood already starting to fade
slightly. It didn't help that Vic was right; the trip probably was a
cover for something that they weren't being told about. That was
more like the Director.

"Well," he finally said. "If it is, then there isn't much we can do
about it. I still plan on packing to party, and I suggest that you
do to. No, wait, I forgot. You *don't* party, do you Vic?" His grin
started to grow again as he teased the older man. "Well, we'll just
have to do something about that."
Vic was eyeing him suspiciously, but Mac was already starting to
make plans. He was going to take his two partners clubbing, whether
they liked it or no. LiAnn hadn't been much fun since the whole
thing with Michael, and Vic would drag his feet. But Mac had made it
his mission to make his uptight partners loosen up, and this was the
perfect chance. People always acted differently when they traveled.

They separated at the door, each heading for their own car -- or
pickup truck in Vic's case. Mac shook his head in disgust over the
vehicle. Vic was a gorgeous man, and in a sports car -- green or
black, Mac thought with a smile -- he would be a sight to be seen.
Or he would if he would just *dress* better. Mac added a shopping
trip to his mental plans. If they were going clubbing, he would have
to get Vic some decent clothes.

Mac climbed into his Agency-owned Testarosa and headed back to his
apartment. Unlike Vic, he wasn't afraid to drive an ostentatious
car. The Agency had offered them each their choice of *any* car, and
he'd picked the one he wanted, in the color he wanted. Black, of
course. Was there any other color better suited to a Ferrari? Well,
maybe fire-engine red.

During the drive back to the Agency-owned apartment he lived in,

filled with Agency-owned furniture, he wondered how he'd ended up in
this life. The Agency owned everything he had, right down to his
underwear. True, they didn't stint, letting him accumulate an
expensive wardrobe and a large collection of CDs and movies, but
they still owned it all. All he got was a stipend that paid for his
food and his entertainment, and even that had to be accounted for,
right down to the penny. If he tried to walk away from the Agency,
it would be as a pauper. Yet another way that the Agency kept them
on short leashes.

Of course, if it weren't for the Agency, he'd still be in a Hong

Kong jail, assuming that the Tangs hadn't already arranged to have
him killed as punishment for trying to leave. Well, that and trying
to steal the proceeds from the gun-running operation to finance a
new life for him and LiAnn. Old man Tang had claimed to love them
like they were his own blood, but it didn't stop him from agreeing
to force LiAnn to marry his *real* son, Michael, or from trying to
force Mac to take over that gun-running operation, even though Mac
had made it clear how much he hated the idea. He never would have
let them just *leave*. He called them his children, but in truth
they were his property.

And now they were property of the Agency, so not a lot had changed.
Inside his apartment, he pushed away those depressing thoughts. What
was, was, and there was nothing he could do to change it right now.
Instead of dwelling on his life, or lack thereof, he started packing
for the trip. No matter what the Director was up to now, he intended
to enjoy the week in San Francisco. Like he'd said, as far as he
knew, he'd never been to the 'City by the Bay', but he'd heard a lot
about it. There were nightclubs he wanted to hit, restaurants he
wanted to try. There was no telling when he'd get another chance to
visit the city, so he planned to make the most of it.

His favorite party clothes went into a garment bag and his suitcase,
and by the time he was half-packed, his good mood had returned. A CD
filled the air with music that made him want to dance. He was
singing along with the lyrics -- such as they were -- and moving to
the beat when he heard the sound of applause. Pulling the gun that
had become the most essential part of his wardrobe, he turned to
find the Director standing in the doorway.

He holstered the gun with a sigh, and moved past her to turn off the
stereo. "What do you want?" he asked, not really trying to keep the
annoyance out of his voice. He knew she had the keys to his
apartment, but he wished she didn't use them *quite* so often.

She was still wearing the same clothes: a sheer white blouse with a
black camisole underneath, a *very* short black velvet skirt and
black silk stockings, with four inch spike heels to finish the
outfit off. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties shouldn't be
able to pull off an outfit like that, but she did, and very well.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your boss?" she said, pulling off
the mirrored sunglasses that she was wearing. "Really, Mac."

Mac sighed. It looked like she was in the mood to play, which rarely
boded well for him. "Sorry," he said, hoping to mollify her.

"No, that's all right. After all, I should have knocked." Then she
paused and tapped one long fingernail against her lower lip. "Then
again, we own this apartment, so why bother?"

Mac sighed, his good mood disappearing again. He was starting to

feel like he was on an emotional roller coaster. Of course, that was
nothing new.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked, barely

keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He hoped.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ready for the
trip."

She walked over to the bed and peaked in the garment bag, then
checked the closet. "Pack the blue silk shirt," she said with a
sultry smile, turning back to him. He backed up as she advanced on
him looking positively predatory. Unfortunately, a wall behind him
halted his retreat. The Director leaned against him, getting in a
little grope. "It looks good on you."

Mac gulped. The Director had never hidden the fact that she found
him attractive. Either that or she just liked teasing him. He'd
never even considered reciprocating, though. The woman was just too
darned scary, no matter how attractive she was. Besides, she was his
boss and almost old enough to be his mother. There was something
vaguely incestuous about even thinking about her being naked. And
having her show up in his apartment on a regular basis wearing next
to nothing didn't help.

"Whatever you say," he finally said.

"Good answer," she said, toying with the buttons of his shirt,
slipping the top few out of their buttonholes.

Finally, she stepped back, and Mac breathed a sigh of relief. It

looked like he was going to escape unmolested. Again. As she headed
for the bedroom door, he hastily buttoned his shirt back up to his
neck. Even worse was the mild hardon she'd left him with. Despite
his lack of interest, his body wasn't shy about responding to her.

"Oh, and Mac," she said, pausing in the doorway. "There's a new
outfit on the back of your sofa. Pack it as well."

Then she was gone.

Mac held still for a couple minutes, half expecting her to come back
and torment him some more. When she didn't, he started to relax. The
CD had ended, and the apartment almost echoed with the silence. Mac
leaned back against the wall, lightly tapping the back of his head
against the hard surface a couple times.

"If the job doesn't kill me, she will," he announced to the empty
air.

Then he grabbed the indicated shirt and stuffed it into his garment
bag, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds. It was one of his
favorites, but now he didn't think he'd be able to wear it without
remembering having the Director grope him. He lost more clothes that
way...

Then he headed for the living room.

As promised, there was clothing draped over the back of the sofa.
Mac picked up the top item and groaned. It was a pair of black
leather pants that looked to be so tight that he would need a
crowbar to get in or out of them. Beneath it was a white silk shirt
that shimmered like it was wet. Picking it up, he somehow wasn't
surprised to find that it was designed to be open almost to the
waist. It had full sleeves, ending in tight cuffs with lace ruffles
as trim.

He picked up the last item, a leather vest in the same glowing black
as the pants, and jumped when several objects dropped to the floor
with a jingle. He crouched down and fished them out from under the
sofa, standing up again before he took a look at what was in his
hand.

The first item made him cringe. It was a gold chain attached to
nipple clamps. He'd had a casual bed partner who liked to play with
those sorts of thing, but he wasn't crazy about them. At least these
weren't the type with alligator teeth. These were adjustable, and
looked pretty comfortable. Obviously they were intended for display,
not play. Next was an earring with a gold charm. The charm was of a
stylized 'T' with the upright made from a scepter. It was small and
delicate and definitely *not* his style in jewelry. The final item
was a heavy gold chain choker that looked very expensive. He held it
up to his neck, then shivered. Wearing it would be just too much
like wearing a collar, he thought to himself.

His phone ringing brought him out of his reverie. He dropped the
jewelry on a side table, then picked up the phone. "Ramsey."

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention," said that oh-so-familiar voice. "Be

wearing the earring tomorrow when you get to the airport. You will
be expected to be wearing it during the entire trip."

"Why?" Mac started to ask, but the only answer he got was a dial-
tone.

He stared at the receiver for a minute, but there were no answers to

be found there. He hung up the phone and shrugged. If she wanted him
to wear an earring, he would wear it. The clamps were a different
matter.

But he couldn't help wondering *why* it was so important that he

wear a piece of jewelry.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was running late, as usual, and he got to the airport just in
time to check his bags and get to the gate before boarding was
called. He'd ended up packing enough clothes for a stay of several
weeks, but that was okay. Better to have too many clothes than not
enough was his motto. LiAnn had probably packed just as much. Vic,
on the other hand, would probably fit everything into a duffel bag
that would do as a carryon.

When he got to the gate, the Director was off in the corner talking
with Dobrinsky, probably giving him last instructions. He was going
to be running things while they were gone, with Jackie helping. That
had surprised Mac, but it made sense. Even if the blonde was a total
nutcase, she'd been trained to run a mob family. That wasn't too
different from running the Agency, Mac figured.

Mac headed over to join his partners standing next to the windows.
The world outside was black, except for the airport lights, since it
was still early in the spring. The interior lights reflected off the
insides of the windows, turning them almost into mirrors, reflecting
their images back at them.

As he got closer, he noticed that something was off with Vic's

appearance. Same clothes, same posture, same expression...

Different earring, though. Vic normally wore a simple small gold

hoop. This earring had a charm hanging from it, and Mac could bet
that he knew what the charm was.

When he was close enough, he confirmed that the charm was identical
to the one dangling from his own ear.

"Let me guess," he said, reaching over to flick the earring hanging

from Vic's ear. "Black leather and white silk."

"You too, huh?" Vic said. Mac turned his head so that Vic could see
his earring.

They turned to LiAnn, who held up a matching charm hanging from a

delicate gold chain around her neck. Mac wondered idly what sort of
outfit the Director had supplied *her* with, and felt a reflexive
tightening in his groin. They might not be together any more, and he
was no longer unhappy about that, but he still found her attractive.

"And the... other jewelry?" Vic flinched, and Mac knew that in the
man's luggage would be a set of nipple clamps connected by a chain
and a choker, or something similar. Surprisingly, LiAnn just looked
confused.

"So I wonder what they mean," he said speculatively, indicating the

charms.

Vic grimaced. "Ownership."

Mac blinked, then frowned. "T for Toronto?" he speculated. "Just

what are we going *to* that she would need to mark us as hers?"

"Don't you two think you're getting just a *little* paranoid?" LiAnn
said in an irritated tone. Mac just snorted.

"LiAnn, I wouldn't be surprised if she had us *branded*."

"What an interesting idea," a voice purred from behind him, making

him jump. When he turned, the Director was right behind him.

"I'm glad you all know how to follow orders," she said, checking
them all out. "And I am quite serious. Don't remove those for *any*
reason until we return home."

"Why?" Vic demanded.

She stared at him until he backed down. "Because I say so." Then she
softened, just slightly. "The people I'm meeting with aren't
necessarily friends, but we do have a truce. Those mark you as under
my protection. Take them off, and you'll be fair game. I suggest
that you *don't* take them off."

The words sent a cold shiver down Mac's back, and he decided that
whatever was going on, he wasn't going to test that statement. That
earring was going to stay permanently attached to his ear, come hell
or high water, until he was safe and sound, back in his own
apartment.

At that moment, they called the boarding for first class. "That's my
call. I'll see you when we land. Ta-ta." She turned and headed for
the tunnel to the plane.

Mac glanced at the ticket that LiAnn had handed him and sighed.
"Coach? She flies first class and we go coach?"

Vic shrugged. "What else would you expect from her?" he said. LiAnn
just shook her head.

Finally, their boarding was called, and they headed for the plane.
It was going to be a long flight, Mac thought. He needed a lot of
leg room, and there was no way he was going to get that in coach.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac took the window seat and was a little surprised when LiAnn
didn't take the center seat, like she usually did. Then again, LiAnn
had never much liked flying, so it wasn't surprising that she wanted
to be as far from the window as possible. So, instead Vic was next
to him, and Mac was a little relieved. A tense LiAnn was *not* a
good travelling companion.

As they took off, Mac watched the bright lights of Toronto fade away
beneath them, and shivered. For a moment, he was convinced that he
wasn't going to see those lights again.

Then he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was tired
and once they got to San Francisco, who knew how much rest they'd
get.

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Chapter Two
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The plane landed in San Francisco not much before eleven o'clock and
Vic was exhausted. His body was telling him that it was two in the
morning, and he was not a night person. He would have preferred to
go on an earlier flight, but he knew better than to suggest it to
the Director. While the woman seemed perfectly reasonable most of
the time, you never knew what would set her off.

And setting her off was *not* a smart move. He'd learned that
quickly when he'd been recruited by the Agency, more than half a
decade before.

San Francisco wasn't impressive so far. Black and wet. It was

raining when they landed, raining when they got off the plane,
raining when they finally got their bags from the luggage claim and
raining when the Director herded them into a waiting limousine.
Rain, rain and more rain. God, he hated rain.

LiAnn was still doing the silent act. She'd read a book in Chinese
-- or at least he *assumed* it was Chinese -- the entire flight,
ignoring them both. It was something she did on a regular basis. Vic
was finding it harder and harder to remember the woman who'd been
his lover for nearly a year before she'd broken off their
relationship. Ever since the incident with her former foster
brother, Michael Tang -- when she'd had to kill him and the three of
them had been nearly killed in an explosion -- she'd withdrawn from
them and the rest of the world. She still did her job, and did it
well, but she rarely went out any more. She put on a good act, but a
lot of the light had gone out of her. Maybe this trip would bring
out the old LiAnn, the one he'd fallen in love with.

Mac, on the other hand, hadn't shut up the entire trip. He'd somehow
found the time to buy a handful of tourists guides to San Francisco
and read aloud from them descriptions of the various nightspots he
intended to hit, making it clear that he was *not* going to go
alone. Vic had growled at him to keep quiet, and growled at him
again that he had no intention of going clubbing, but secretly he
was grinning. In their months of recovery from the explosion, he and
Mac had grown closer. They'd already been friends, almost against
their wills, but now he would be happy to call Mac his brother. It
was the first time he'd considered applying that title to someone
since he'd been betrayed by the fellow cops who were *supposed* to
be his brothers.

So if Mac wanted to go exploring the San Francisco nightlife, Vic

would go with him. He'd grumble and complain, but he would go. And
knowing Mac, he would probably enjoy it too. Not that he'd ever
admit it to the younger man, of course.

The limousine dropped them off in front of what looked like an old-
style manor. The small, discreet sign hanging over the front door
quietly announced that they'd arrived at 'The Garden House.' Their
bags were unloaded and since he had the fewest Vic ended up carrying
the Director's luggage, as well his own.

Normally he would have just had a single duffel bag, not needing a
lot of clothing, but the Director had shown up at his apartment in
the middle of the night with a suitcase full of fancy clothes and
orders to bring it with him. All she would say was that she didn't
want to be embarrassed by her people. Most of the clothing, he
actually liked. Some of it, though, was stuff he wouldn't be caught
dead in. Unfortunately he didn't think that the Director was going
to give him a choice.

As he hefted one of the bags, the swinging of the earring hanging

from his left ear distracted him. Yet another mark of ownership,
like the collar that was tucked inside the suitcase he'd been
ordered to bring with him. Part of him had wanted to refuse to wear
it, but he knew better. Even after more than six years he had no
illusions. If he crossed the Director, he would end up back in
prison so fast that his head would spin. It wasn't a place he wanted
to see again, so he wore the earring and he brought the collar. God
help him.

The manager of the hotel obviously knew the Director already. He

nearly fell over himself, personally escorting them to their rooms.
There was a suite for the Director, with bedroom, bathroom, sitting
room and meeting room. LiAnn was installed in the room next to it,
and a room with two double beds was assigned to Mac and Vic. The
Director stared at them, obviously expecting some sort of protest,
but Vic just shrugged. It wasn't worth arguing about. They'd shared
before. At least Mac didn't snore. Besides, it wouldn't make a
difference and she'd enjoy forcing them too much.

"Well," she finally said. "I suggest you all get some rest. I won't
need you until tomorrow evening, so enjoy your day. Don't get in
trouble and whatever you do, don't remove my insignia. You might not
like the consequences," she added darkly. Vic had to suppress a
shiver, even though he was sure she was trying to fake them out;
like kids telling ghost stories around the campfire.

The door shut behind them, and he was alone in the room with Mac. At
least the green and brown décor was restful, and not overly feminine
like most hotel rooms. "So, which bed do you want?" Vic asked,
deciding that it wouldn't hurt to be magnanimous. Mac stared at
them, considering his options, then shrugged.

"Both of them are shorter than I like, but I'll take the one closer
to the window," he said.

"Okay," Vic said, then tossed his bags onto the other bed. It was
just as well. Given a preference, he preferred to be closer to the
door. Also, thanks to the short corridor past their bathroom, that
bed was also completely out of the view of the door. Another bonus.

Mac was already unpacking his bags, hanging his clothes in the
closet. Vic decided to follow his example. If the Director wanted
him in one of her outfits tomorrow night, it had better not be
wrinkled. He watched Mac finish, noting that the only thing that
didn't look to be his own was the one outfit. Black leather and
white silk, just like he'd said at the airport in Toronto.

Vic's bags were a different matter. He had his own blue jeans and
cotton shirts, as well as his favorite brown leather jacket. The
Director, however, obviously didn't approve of his choice of
clothing, so he now had two pairs of dress pants in charcoal gray
and navy blue, several new dress shirts in jewel-tone colors and two
pairs of dress shoes that he had been unsurprised to find a perfect
fit. And then there was the... other outfit. Tight black leather
pants to match the ones Mac had unpacked, a smooth, tight shirt of
white silk with a high collar and a black leather jacket that wasn't
too bad. Newer and shinier than the one he already owned.

Mac was watching him now, his eyebrows going up at the new clothing.
"Nice," he said to the dark green silk shirt. "Very nice," to the
black and white outfit. "And did you get the same accessories as I
did?"

"Accessories?" Vic asked, trying to playing dumb.

"Come on, Vic. She wants a matching set, so you got accessories too.
I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he added suggestively, a
grin plastered all over his face.

Vic gritted his teeth and pulled the velvet bag from his suitcase.
He tossed it over to Mac and turned his back. He already knew what
was in it.

A collar. A damned collar. Black leather with a gold design inlaid

on it. And hanging from the front of the collar was a gold chain
leash. The other end of the leash clipped to the matching leather
belt. He refused to turn to see the inevitable smirk on Mac's face.

"Well," Mac finally said. "It's about as bad as mine."

"Oh?" Vic asked as he turned, curious in spite of himself. Mac's

only answer was to toss him a similar velvet bag from his own
luggage. Inside, Vic found a set of nipple-clamps that made him
wince, joined by a gold chain, and a heavy gold necklace that looked
an awful lot like the sort of choke collar you'd buy for a dog. For
a moment, he flashed on an image of Mac in his Director-provided
outfit wearing them, and felt arousal coil in his gut, then forced
it away guiltily. He wasn't going to go there. The last time he'd
gone there, he'd ended up burnt. That wasn't going to happen again.
Or so he'd been telling himself for more than a year now.

"I'd say she plans to put us on display," Mac said, sliding Vic's
'accessories' back into their bag and tossing them onto his bed.
"What kind, I'm not sure I want to know."

"I can guess," Vic said darkly, remembering some of the things he'd
seen in his days in Vice. Mac looked at him sharply, but didn't
press for anything more... descriptive. Good thing, since Vic had no
intention of going *there* either.

Vic decided that bed was a good idea, so he grabbed his toiletries
bag and cotton pajamas and headed for the bathroom. He decided to
leave the shower until morning, settling for brushing, flossing,
then washing his face and changing into the pajamas.

When he came back out, Mac brushed past him, presumably to do the
same. Vic pulled out the jeans and shirt he intended to wear the
next day, turned off all the lights except the bedside lamps, then
pulled back the covers and slipped into bed. The mattress was a
little softer than he liked, but at least there were enough pillows.
So many hotels had those teeny, flat pillows that left him with a
sore neck. These were thick and fluffy, stuffed with down feathers
from the feel.

After a few minutes the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened
again. Vic opened his eyes as Mac came across the room and started
to strip. Vic's eyes went wide as clothes were draped over the back
of a handy chair. "Couldn't you have changed in the bathroom?" he
asked, his voice sounding almost strangled to even him.

Mac grinned. "I told you before, Vic. I don't wear anything to bed,"
he said teasingly, referring to the time he'd waited in Vic's bed to
ask for help with the Rivers case.

With that, he dropped his briefs on top of the pile of clothing with
a flourish and pulled back the covers of the other bed. As he did
so, he managed to turn enough that Vic got an eyeful of his package.
Mac definitely had nothing to be ashamed of there and wasn't shy of
showing it off.

Vic turned quickly to face the wall next to his bed, trying to
ignore Mac's chuckle at the move. The light clicked off. Vic
pretended that he didn't hear the sound of flesh sliding against
cool linen. Mac was obviously making a production of stretching out
and moaning softly at the comfort of the bed.

Mac was a tease. Vic knew that. The younger man had been teasing him
since the day they'd met. However, in the last few months that
teasing had been taking on an increasingly sexual tone. It was
frustrating and infuriating, but the kicker was that most of the
time Mac didn't even seem to be aware of it. Either that or Mac was
a *much* better actor than Vic was giving him credit for.

Still, even if he was aware, Vic had no intention of taking him up

on the implied offer. He'd never seen Mac date anyone not female and
he had no intention of being an experiment in walking the other side
of the street for him. Besides, Mac had never dated the same woman
more than twice. While the other man might be willing to dabble in
one-night stands, other than the brief attempt at marriage to
Claire, which hadn't even made it through the ceremony, Vic wanted
something more. He wanted permanence. He wanted stability

Unfortunately, the Agency made that pretty much impossible so his

usual date these days was his trusty right hand. His best bet for a
long-term relationship was someone inside the Agency, but that
wasn't too appealing. LiAnn had dumped him once and he wasn't enough
of a masochist to give her the chance to do it again, both Nathan
and Jackie were too crazy for his tastes, Dobrinsky was too straight
and the Director... he was *definitely* not going there. He wasn't
*that* desperate. At least, not yet.

And Mac? It would be fun, fast and probably end by destroying their
friendship, and Vic had few enough friends that he wasn't willing to
risk that.

Soft snores were coming from the other bed, and Vic finally started
to relax. In a way, the sound was soothing, and it was the last
thing he was aware of before drifting off to sleep.

The morning dawned bright and sunny and Vic wasn't very pleased to
see it. Unfortunately, despite how late he'd gotten to sleep, he was
awake to see the sun rise. He usually got up early, and six in the
morning in San Francisco was nine in Toronto, which was late for him.

Mac, on the other hand, didn't seem to have much trouble sleeping.
He didn't stir when Vic showered and shaved, and didn't move when
Vic got dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a comfortable flannel
shirt. For the time being, he left the Director's clothes in the
closet. Then he grabbed one of the room keys and went in search of
breakfast.

What he found was pleasantly surprising. The Garden House had a

dining room that served a hearty breakfast instead of the teeny
little gourmet fare he was expecting. They even had Canadian back
bacon. He ordered a meat-heavy omelet with a huge side of hash
browns, coffee and orange juice and settled down to fuel himself for
whatever was going to happen that day.

LiAnn wandered down about an hour later and ordered a plate of fresh
fruit and cottage cheese -- a food item that personally made Vic
shudder, both in look and taste -- and a cup of tea. They exchanged
greetings, then Vic went back to the mystery novel he'd brought down
with him.

Mac appeared an hour after that. By that point, LiAnn had headed out
the door to do who-knew-what without even bothering to ask Vic if he
wanted to come along.

"So, what shall we do today?" Mac asked cheerfully as he inhaled a

plate of something that Vic wasn't so sure that he wanted to examine
too closely. The kitchen staff seemed to be able to produce anything
you wanted, no matter how weird.

"Well," Vic said, considering the pile of brochures he'd collected

from the front desk. "I'd like to see the botanical gardens."

Mac sighed and shook his head. "Boring, Vic."

Vic glared at him. "You asked," he said defensively.

Mac expression softened. Finally he grinned. "All right, the

botanical gardens it is. And tomorrow *I* get to chose, okay?"

Vic shrugged. "Sounds fair to me. Of course, if it's *too* weird,

you'll be doing it alone."

"C'mon, Vic. Learn to live a little. It'll be *fun*."

Vic wasn't so sure of that, but he was willing to give the man the
benefit of the doubt. Besides, it would probably be something like a
trip to Chinatown or something like that. Mac would probably delight
in trying to get him to eat squid or something equally disgusting.
>>>~~~<<<

The botanical gardens had been as spectacular as the guidebooks and

brochures had promised. While Toronto was still brown and dingy as
the last of the winter snow melted, San Francisco was full of the
color of growing plants. Vic had ignored Mac's comments and had
pulled out his trusty old camera and had snapped two entire rolls of
film at the gardens. He knew that he looked like a tourist, but he
didn't care. He was enjoying himself. Besides, he *was* a tourist.

They found a sidewalk café for lunch, and while the prices made Vic
wince, the pastrami on rye was fantastic. For some strange reason,
Mac insisted on ordering the veggie special. Sourdough bread piled
high with a dozen types of vegetables and guacamole instead of mayo
or butter.

"So what did you think?" Vic asked, taking a deep gulp of his beer.
Okay, it wasn't as good as Canadian beer, but it went down nicely
with the sandwich and fries.

Mac shrugged. "Very... pretty," he said, but Vic could see the
twinkle in his eyes.

"And you don't do pretty, right?"

"Oh, I do pretty very well. Blonde and blue eyed, or raven haired
and green eyed. I like pretty a lot." He was distracted briefly, and
Vic turned his head slightly to see why. Naturally, it was a couple
of leggy California girls walking down the sidewalk. He snorted.

"What? Don't *you* do pretty any more?" Mac asked teasingly.

"I don't do *just* pretty," Vic shot back. "Personality and brains
are kind of important too."

"You mean like Ivy?" Mac asked, referring to a stripper who'd

pursued Vic.

"She was an informant, that's all."

"Oh, really? LiAnn said Ivy was so distracting that it took you
twice as long and twice as much money as it should have to get the
info on the Janczyk family."

"And what were you up to at the time? Playing kissy-face with Jackie
Janczyk?"
"Hey," Mac said defensively. "I was trying to keep myself in one
piece."

"Ever consider trying again?" Vic asked, only slightly teasing. He

grinned as Mac shuddered theatrically.

"Not if you *paid* me," he said. "Seriously, Jackie scares me. Hell,
sometimes she scares me even more than the Director does."

Vic lifted a quick hand to his left ear, checking the earring there,
then blushed at the reflexive motion. The only thing that saved him
from complete embarrassment was the fact that Mac had done the same
thing. They looked at each other and snickered.

"What about you?" Mac asked. "Ever consider Jackie as a *partner*

partner?"

"For maybe two seconds. I prefer someone a little more... stable."

"So Nathan, the Victor-worshiper, is out too," Mac said with a grin.

"I have this little rule," Vic shot back. "No dating anyone who
thinks I'm a prince of the Illuminati."

"Is that all?"

"Well, it's rule twenty-seven of a hundred and sixteen."

"Wow," Mac said, his eyes gone comically large. "No wonder you never
have a date."

Vic tossed a french fry at him, but Mac just managed to snap it out
of the air with his teeth and munched it nonchalantly.

"Pardon me," a soft voice said from beside their table and both men
jumped. It was just their waiter. "Mister Mansfield?"

"Yes?" Vic asked suspiciously.

"Telephone," the waiter said and handed over a cordless telephone

over before heading back to his rounds of the tables.

Vic raised an eyebrow, but Mac just shrugged. He lifted the phone to
his ear. "Mansfield."
"You know," a very familiar voice said, "if you had waited just a
little longer, I could have given you both cell phones. That way, I
wouldn't have had to track you down."

Mac was trying to get his attention, and Vic mouthed "The Director"
at him. Mac's eyes went wide.

"Sorry, we didn't know that you had planned that."

"Victor, I plan for *everything*. You should know that by now."

"Sorry," Vic said again, feeling like a complete dweeb. The Director
was very good at making him feel that way.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be heading for my
meeting at six thirty. Make sure that you give yourself plenty of
time to get back here and clean up."

"Do we have to wear the... umm..."

"No, you don't have to wear the 'um.' Those are for the party at the
end of the week. But dress do nicely. One of the other items I
supplied you with will do fine. Now, have a fun afternoon boys. And
don't do anything I wouldn't do."

There was a click, then the hum of the dial-tone. Vic snorted as he
handed the phone back to the waiter. "Is there *anything* you
wouldn't do?" he muttered to himself. "First meeting tonight. We
have to be back and ready for six-thirty."

"And the accessories?" Mac asked, all joking gone. Mac may be a bit
of an exhibitionist, but he obviously didn't like the Director's
toys any better than Vic did.

"No. Those, apparently, are for the big party at the end of the
week."

"Oh, joy," Mac drawled, putting down his sandwich.

Vic looked at his own lunch and decided that he wasn't hungry
anymore either. "So," he said, forcing good cheer. "What do you
suggest for the afternoon?"

>>>~~~<<<

Unfortunately, the interruption had spoiled the mood. They had

wandered around for a while, just taking in some of the sights
before heading back to the hotel well before the six-thirty
deadline. LiAnn had returned sometime before them and was parked in
the sun-room with her book. She'd asked if they'd enjoyed
themselves, but didn't seem too interested in the answer.

Vic had just shrugged and gone back to his mystery novel. He
finished it just before it was time to shower and change, having
already figured out whodunit several chapters before the end. He
dropped it on his bed, making a mental note to get to a bookstore
the next day to pick up a couple more books.

For the evening, he pulled out the gray pants and a russet-colored
shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that the
Director did have good taste. The color of the shirt brought out a
hint of red in his hair and with the gold earring it complimented
his skin tones. The pants hugged his hips without being confining
and when he turned he noted that his ass was definitely being
displayed to full advantage. They were clothes better suited to
someone on the prowl for company, not him.

"Very nice," Mac almost purred coming out of the bathroom where he'd
been doing something with his hair. It looked the same as always,
but it had taken him ten minutes to get it that way according to
Vic's watch.

Mac's clothing was equally flattering: Black slacks and a matching

jacket with wide lapels over a dark blue turtleneck of some material
that looked incredibly soft. The man looked good and he knew it. His
back was straight, his shoulders back and a small smile curving his
full lips. Once again, Vic forced himself to remember all the
reasons why he shouldn't make a pass at the young man.

"I don't think either of us will embarrass the Director tonight," he

said instead, covering his instinctive reaction to Mac's very
definite beauty. He and LiAnn must have made a gorgeous couple, back
when they lived in Hong Kong.

"I certainly hope not," Mac said, double checking his appearance in
the mirror. Then they headed down to the lobby where the two women
were waiting for them.

LiAnn was wearing a Chinese-style dress, red with golden dragons

embroidered on it, that came down to just above her knees. Matching
ballet slipper shoes made her look like she was ready to go dancing.
Vic was pleased to see a genuine smile curve her lips and light her
eyes when she saw the two of them coming down the stairs. It was
more like the old LiAnn than he'd seen in a while. The only
discordant note was the fact that the red of her dress clashed
horribly with the russet of his shirt.

The Director, on the other hand, was power dressing. She wore a
black pantsuit with an equally inky silk blouse that glistened wetly
in the lamp light. Her hair was pulled up in a complicated twist and
her only jewelry was a gold necklace with a charm that Vic was
willing to bet matched the ones the three operative were wearing,
although it sparked with the distinctive flare of diamonds.

The Director looked them both up and down, and Vic resisted the urge
to turn in place so that she could see him from all angles. Finally
she smiled and said, "Very nice, boys. This way."

It was starting to rain again, and the same limousine was waiting
for them. They climbed in and the Director tapped on the glass
partition separating the passenger seats from the driver. No
instructions were needed obviously. He just nodded and started the
car.

"So, where are we headed?" LiAnn asked curiously.

"My meetings are being held at a local club. I'm sure that you'll
find plenty to amuse yourselves while I'm busy."

Mac perked up at that. "Really? Which club?"

"The Haven."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Three
----------------------------------------

The Haven was not exactly what Mac had expected. In his mind he had
pictured a claustrophobic, smoke-filled room with a chanteuse
crooning softly in a corner while men in black suits with a more
than passing resemblance to de Niro clustered around round tables
talking in whispers. In other words, something out of a bad mobster
movie.

The only thing *this* place had in common with that image was the
round tables. However, it was large and well lit, with high ceilings
and a stage at one end of the room next to a spacious dance floor.
There was a singer belting out the blues on the stage, backed up by
a substantial band, and Mac could see Vic's expression brightening
up. Vic, he knew, was a big blues fan. It wasn't really *his* cup of
tea, but if it made his partner smile, Mac was willing to put up
with it.

Outside the club, signs had proclaimed that the club was closed for
private meetings for a week and Mac saw disappointed patrons of a
variety of ages being turned away. Mac glanced curiously at the
coming-attraction posters and was impressed by the eclectic mix of
ultra-modern and more traditional music. If the meetings weren't
being held at the Haven, he would have liked to have come for a
night out anyway.

They were met at the door by a dour-faced man who pointed the
Director towards a private room, then led the three agents to one of
the smaller tables along the edge of the room. "A waitress will come
for your order shortly," he said, then vanished into the crowd.
Obviously, being part of the Director's entourage meant they were
going to be sitting around doing nothing while the Director did
whatever it was she was here for.

It was definitely crowded, private meetings or not. Nearly every

table was filled to capacity with people who looked edgy and
dangerous. A lot of them were the type that Mac wouldn't want to
meet in a dark alley. An attractive few looked like the type he'd
*want* to meet in a dark alley or a car seat or a hotel room or
anyplace else that they might like to name. Like the red-haired
beauty behind the bar talking to the bartender. She was older than
he usually went for, but she had a classical beauty, like the screen
sirens of the forties and fifties.

"Would you like to order a drink?"

The strange voice pulled Mac out of his drool-fest, and he looked up
to find a harried-looking waitress standing next to him.

"Draft beer, whatever's best around here," Vic said, predictably.

The waitress gave him the once over. "Canadian." Either it was a
comment on Vic's obvious nationality or the type of beer she was
recommending, Mac wasn't sure which. He would guess the first,
though. They didn't usually serve Canadian beer to California.

"Club soda with a lime twist," LiAnn said. She'd been ordering that
since they were both teenager, sent out on their first job for the
Tangs. She never drank alcohol when she was 'on duty.'
"Sex on the beach," Mac said with a grin.

It didn't get a reaction from the young woman. She just scribbled
down the order and left. Several tables were waving for her
attention and she called out that she would be there in a moment.

Mac watched her go, then turned back to find his partners watching
him with identical frowns. "What?"

Vic shook his head. "That was such a cliché," he said.

Mac grinned. "So? I happen to *like* sex on the beach. Haven't you
ever tried it?" he added with a mock-leer. The uptight ex-cop was so
much fun to tease.

"Yes. And trust me, the sand gets into places you don't *want* it to
get into."

Mac's eyes went wide, then he laughed. "A hit, a palpable hit! Keep
it up and you might even convince us that you aren't a conservative
tight-ass." The older man just flashed him a small grin. Mac was
delighted. Vic rarely descended to sexual innuendo. The man could be
so much fun when he loosened up.

LiAnn just shook her head, then ignored them.

A few minutes later, the waitress was back with their drinks. Mac
just sipped his. He didn't have any intention of getting drunk, or
even slightly tipsy. He'd ordered the drink simply as a way of
yanking his partners' chains. It was his best form of amusement
these days. He did like the tang of the cranberry juice, though.

The chanteuse finished her set and the band swung into a old-
fashioned, big band piece. Mac found his feet tapping the tune, and
when he saw several people heading for the dance floor, he got to
his feet.

"Milady?" he said with a flourish and bow, holding his hand out to
LiAnn. Immediately, the oriental beauty's face went blank, and she
shook her head. Mac sighed, not really surprised. For a moment, the
imp of the perverse suggested that he invite Vic to dance, but he
decided that that might be pushing the man a little too far. It
might be fun, just to see the reaction, though.

Glancing around, he noticed the red-head standing next to the bar

still. Grinning, he weaved his way through the press of bodies until
he arrived in front of her.

"Hi," he said with his best ingratiating smile. "Care to dance?"

She stared up at him, a shocked expression on her face.

After a moment of silence, he started to feel edgy. His shifted his

weight from foot to foot, then tried again. "Um, you don't dance? Or
do I have something on my face?"

She shook her head, like someone coming out of a trance. "I'm sorry.
I'd love to dance. I'm Lillie, by the way."

He grinned. "Mac Ramsey," he told her, then held out a hand to guide
her towards the dance floor.

It was incredible. She stepped into his arms and they moved together
like they'd been dancing together all their lives. The only dance
partner he'd ever had who came even close to this almost telepathic
union was LiAnn, and they'd grown up together.

The one dance turned into two, then three. Finally, Mac had to call
a stop, already sweating from the exercise. Lillie, on the other
hand, still looked as fresh as when they started. Not even a faint
sheen of sweat marred her perfection. Mac invited her to join their
table for a drink.

As they headed for the table, though, Mac noted that they were being
watched by more than a few people in the room and many of them did
*not* look happy. He could understand that. As far as he was
concerned, Lillie was the best looking woman in the room, even
better looking than LiAnn, and she was on *his* arm, at least for
the time being.

"Lillie, meet Vic Mansfield and LiAnn Tsei," he said as he held a

chair for her. She sank into it gracefully and he dropped into his
own seat. A moment later, the waitress was placing a fresh drink in
front of him, and setting another in front of Lillie. LiAnn raised
an eyebrow, looking at the drink. The expression on her face was one
that he might have once called 'jealousy.' Now he just called it
possessiveness. It hadn't escaped his notice that while LiAnn might
have decided that she didn't want him or Vic, she also didn't want
anyone *else* to have them either.

Lillie lifted her drink to her lips with a small, secretive smile.
The smile grew as LiAnn's expression froze. Mac was starting to feel
like he was in the middle of a potential war-zone. Vic caught his
eye and gave a small, theatrical shiver, making Mac grin.

Finally, Lillie took pity on them. "Lillie Langtry," she said,

putting her glass down. "I own the Haven. Built it from the ground
up."

Mac's eyebrows went up at that. "Really? I wouldn't have thought you

old enough for that."

Lillie smiled. "Flatterer," she said in a fond tone. "Just like..."

Mac tilted his head quizzically, but she didn't finish the thought
and he wasn't about to push. "Well then, I really should thank you
for taking the time to dance with me. After all, this place must
take a lot of attention."

She nodded. "Indeed. But I love to dance, and you are an excellent
partner. Tell me, Mac, do you do anything else as well as you dance?"

Mac leaned forward, grinning. "I do a great many things very well.
Did you have anything particular in mind?" he asked, enjoying the
chance to flirt with a beautiful woman. Out of the corner of his
eye, he could see Vic rolling his eyes and LiAnn frowning as she
looked anywhere except at Mac or Lillie.

"Oh, I'm sure that you could think of a few things," Lillie purred.
Then she sighed. Turning in his seat, Mac saw a man at the bar
gesturing to her. "Unfortunately, business seems to interfere. Thank
you for the dance, Mac. I hope I'll see you later." Then she was
heading away. Mac sighed, watching the swing of her hips as she
moved gracefully, ignoring a few rude suggestions aimed her way. The
lady had class. She arrived at the bar and started talking intently
to the man waiting for her there. He wasn't bad either. The short,
spiky hair combined with the goatee was very hot, Mac thought.

Mac rested his chin on one hand and sighed theatrically. "I think
I'm in love."

Vic snorted. "Not exactly your type, is she?"

Mac straightened up. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in

mock indignation.

"Well, she's classy for one thing," Vic said with a grin, echoing
Mac's own thoughts about Lillie.

"This from the guy who runs around with hookers, crooks and bimbos,"
Mac shot back.

"Would you two stop bickering, just for once?" LiAnn snapped. Both
men turned to stare at her in disbelief.

Mac shook his head. Sometimes LiAnn seemed deliberately blind.

"Bickering? Are we bickering, Vic?"

"Us? Never," Vic said, playing along.

LiAnn glared at them, then turned back to her club soda.

"LiAnn," Mac said, sighing. "We aren't bickering. We haven't

bickered in a long time."

"Then what do you call it?"

Vic was the one to answer her. "Two friends teasing each other."

"Yeah, right. Since when have you two been friends?"

Mac and Vic exchanged identical expressions of disbelief. "Since

even before physiotherapy forced us to spend long periods of time
together," Mac said. "And if you'd paid any attention to us, you
would have known that."

For a moment, LiAnn's face crumpled. Then it was back to the blank,
unemotional mask she'd been wearing since Michael's death. Mac's
heart went out to her. He wanted to reach out, to bring her out of
her self-imposed emotional prison, but he knew he wouldn't succeed.
LiAnn didn't *want* to be helped. She never let anyone in anymore.
And Mac had a sneaking suspicion that if anyone would be able to
draw her out, it wouldn't be him or Vic. They were too close, too
sympathetic. Too tied into the problem.

Mac turned to watch the dance floor, his thoughts turned melancholy.
The old LiAnn would have been teasing them both now. Mac missed the
old LiAnn. Sometimes he wondered if losing LiAnn was the price for
his closer relationship to Vic.

And if it was, he found that he couldn't really regret it.

>>>~~~<<<
The evening was long and only slightly dull. Mac would have
preferred to hit some of the other San Fran night-spots, but he
didn't exactly have any choice in the matter. Until the Director
told them they could leave, here they stayed. Still, it could have
been a hell of a lot worse. Here, at least, the music was good, the
drinks were free and he had as many dance partners as he liked. His
turn around the floor with Lillie had caught the attention of others
and he had no shortage of dance or flirting partners. A couple even
managed to drag Vic out onto the dance floor where the older man
turned out to be a competent -- but not inspired -- dancer.

LiAnn had turned down all invitations to dance. Mac sighed at that.
LiAnn was an excellent dancer and she used to love to dance. Now, it
was another thing she'd left behind.

Finally, the exercise and drinks caught up with Mac, and a discreet
question to a waitress directed him to a small corridor with two
doors decorated with the ubiquitous silhouettes. Mac opened the door
to the little boy agents room.

Like the rest of the club, the room was classy. The floor was tile,
easy to clean, but examining it with a carefully trained eye said
that the materials were not cheap. The dark blue color almost glowed
under the elegant light fixtures -- real bulbs, not those
fluorescent crap bulbs that made you look dead. The mirrors hung on
the walls with gilt frames, and the walls of the stalls at the back
of the room were paneled with real wood. Solid, not laminated. Mac
gave a low whistle at the sight, then headed for the nearest urinal.
Even they were in fanciful shapes, dark blue to match the floors
instead of the usual institutional white.

The door opened behind him, and he turned to see the man Lillie had
been talking with earlier. He headed for another urinal, and Mac
watched him from the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious
about it.

The man looked to be a couple years older than him, but younger than
Vic. He was dressed casually in denim and leather, and Mac could
smell a slight scent of musk, very pleasant to his nose. The
equipment he pulled out of his pants was nicely proportioned too.

Mac tucked himself into his pants and headed over to the sinks. He
washed his hands while watching the man doing his business. Close
up, he was even hotter than he'd been from across the main room.
Mac dried his hands and headed for the door. For a moment he was
tempted to wait for the mystery hunk, maybe strike up a
conversation, but he decided against it. Maybe he was being a
coward. Then again, maybe he was just cautious. Mac didn't make a
habit of hitting on strange men -- it was a good way to end up in a
hospital if they took it bad. In fact, there'd only been two in the
years since Michael dumped him to go chasing after LiAnn. Not that
it had done his foster brother much good. Mac got there first,
partly out of love for LiAnn, partly in revenge for being dumped.

No. Maybe if they were back here tomorrow and hot stuff was too. Or
maybe he'd see if Lillie was interested in following through on her
suggestions.

The bathroom door was still swinging shut behind Mac when he was hit
with what felt like the proverbial two-by-four. He hit the floor
*hard*, stars dancing in front of his eyes.

"What the..." he started to say, but the rest was choked off by a
hand around his throat. He looked up to find that the hand belonged
to a very attractive, dark-haired woman with a very unattractive
snarl on her face.

"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve coming around here," she

hissed, hauling him to his feet as if he were made of tissue paper.
Then she slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from him.
Her eyes were almost glowing with anger. "I don't know who kept you
alive last time, but they aren't going to be able to do that now,
you son of a bitch."

"Rhiannon!"

Hot stuff was coming out of the bathroom. He grabbed the psycho
chick and pulled her off of Mac. Mac slumped against the wall,
rubbing his throat and trying to remember how to breathe.

"Stay out of this," the girl growled at Mac's rescuer.

"Zane's dead! This isn't him. He's from out of town."

"Right. Pull the other one," she said with a derisive snort.

"Look at him! Really look."

The man twisted her to face Mac, forcing her to look at him. The
disdain on her face would have been a real ego-killer if she hadn't
already been trying to kill him. Mac stared back, wondering what the
hell was going on.

The rage stayed there for long moments. Then, suddenly, her eyes
went wide, then narrowed. "You're not Zane," she said, almost
accusingly.

"No," Mac rasped.

"Who are you?"

"Mac Ramsey. My boss is in town for meetings, and she brought me

her."

The girl twisted to look at the man restraining her. They stared at
each other for a moment, then he released her.

"Sorry," she muttered, then took off.

"You okay?" Mac's rescuer asked, reaching out to help him stand
steady.

"Yeah," Mac said, accepting the aid. At the moment, he needed it. He
was going to have one hell of a set of bruises tomorrow. "Thanks of
the rescue. What the hell was *that* all about?"

The man sighed. "That was your face getting you into trouble."

"Huh?" Mac's face had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it
had never got him attacked.

"Zane. He was a singer here, several years ago. He wasn't exactly...

stable. Anyway, he was being investigated for several rapes, her
included," he said, pointing in the direction psycho chick had gone.
"He committed suicide. You... You look like you could be his twin
brother."

Mac had the feeling that there was more to the story than just that,
but it made a certain amount of sense, and he wasn't sure that he
wanted to press. "That why Lillie was looking at me like she'd seen
a ghost?" he asked.

"Yeah. Lillie was the one who 'discovered' Zane, you could say. He
was also her lover, off and on. She... she was the one who found
him."
"Shit," Mac said with feeling. "And you?"

"Zane was a... friend. A very *good* friend. Before."

"Before he went off the deep end," Mac finished for him. "Um...
What's your name?" he asked, kicking himself for the hesitant tone.
Real smooth, Ramsey.

The man grinned, making a good looking face gorgeous. "Cash. And you
are from Toronto."

"Huh? How?"

While Mac spluttered in surprise, Cash reached over and flicked his
earring. A scepter turned into a 'T'. 'T' for Toronto, it seemed.

"Any way, I'd be careful around here. Zane had more than a few
enemies, and like I said, your face will get you into trouble."

"Great, just great," Mac muttered to himself. "So much for seeing
some of the nightlife, I guess."

Cash cocked his head to the side, then smiled. "Not necessarily. You
just need to have someone to run interference, just in case someone
else makes the same mistake."

"Oh?" Mac asked, perking up. He plastered on his most ingratiating

smile. "Got anyone in mind?"

Cash leaned forward, his hand coming up to rest on the wall next to
Mac's head. His smile turned feral, and Mac shivered. He was being
flirted with and it was *good*. "I can think of several. Me, for
example."

"Know any good dance clubs?"

"The best in town."

"Tomorrow?"

"If I can convince my boss."

Mac bit off a curse. Of course. The Director. He sighed,

disappointed. "Ditto. Damn. I'll have to check."

Cash grinned. "Well, assuming they both say okay, we'll make a night
of it, then. The meeting will be here all week, so I'll meet you
here tomorrow night. With any luck we can head off to someplace a
little more... interesting."

Mac grinned. "Sounds good to me. This place is great, but I like a
little more action."

"Oh, when there aren't private meetings going on, this place is
*the* place to be. Hell, it isn't bad tonight, if a little old-
fashioned. Saw you out on the dance floor. You dance as well to
something a little more modern?"

"Just try me," Mac purred.

"Oh, I think I will," Cash growled softly, leaning forward.

Unfortunately, right at that moment someone came down the hall

looking for the bathroom, and the mood was broken. Mac sighed and
pushed away from the wall.

"Tomorrow, then," he said.

"Tomorrow," Cash said. It sounded like a promise. Then he turned and

head for the employees-only door at the end of the corridor.

"Tomorrow," Mac whispered to himself, then grinned. Tomorrow was

going to be *great*.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was so distracted by the thoughts of going clubbing with Cash

that he forgot what he must look like until he got back to the
table. The Director had reappeared from wherever it was she'd been
hiding and she frowned when she saw him. Vic and LiAnn were a little
more vocal in their reactions.

"What the hell happened to you?" LiAnn said, getting to her feet.

"Are you all right?" Vic asked at almost the same moment.

"Huh?" Mac said, staring at them. Then he remembered. "Oh, sorry. I

ran into someone in the back."

"You mean you ran into somebody's fist," Vic said, his expression
going dark. "Who?"
For a moment, Mac had the image of Vic running off to avenge his
honor or something equally ridiculous. Well, maybe not so
ridiculous. If anyone went after Vic, he'd be the first in line to
take *him* down. It was written into the Code of Partners: An attack
on one is an attack on all.

The Director was standing right in front of him now. She lifted a
surprisingly gentle hand to turn his chin this way and that so that
she could examine the damage. "Who did this?" she asked softly.
While Vic looked angry enough to thrash someone, the Director looked
more inclined to kill. Slowly, painfully, perhaps ripping a still-
beating heart from the chest of the person who dared to damage her
property. The woman was damned scary at times.

"Really, I'm fine. Apparently, though, I am a *dead*-ringer for a

guy who pissed off a lot of people before he killed himself. I just
ran into someone with an axe to grind with this Zane person."

"Damn," the woman muttered to herself. Then she straightened up.

"I'll arrange a flight back to Toronto for you tomorrow."

"Hey!" Mac said indignantly. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of
myself. Besides, I've got an invite for tomorrow night to go
clubbing. Assuming you're willing to let me have the night off,
that is," he added with his best pleading face on.

The Director raised one elegant eyebrow. "A date, Mac? My, you move
fast. Who with?"

Mac nodded towards the bar. When he noticed that he was the focus of
their attention, Cash grinned and raised his glass in salute. Mac
snickered as Vic's eyes almost bugged out. Obviously *he* hadn't
expected the 'date' to be male.

The Director tapped a long fingernail against her lip thoughtfully.

"All right," she finally said. "I won't send you back yet, and yes,
you can have tomorrow night off. Don't frown, Victor. It's
unattractive. You can have the next night off. But if there are
anymore problems due to your unfortunate appearance, you will be on
the next flight out. Is that understood?"

Mac nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a sigh.

"Good. Now, if you are ready to go?"

Obediently, they all followed her as she headed for the door. As
they passed the bar, Cash called out, "Mac!"

Mac paused, aware that the others had to. "Yes?" he said with a grin.

"Thought you might like to see this," the man said, tossing over a
framed photograph. A photograph of Zane, he assumed.

Mac could understand why people would think he was the same person.
The face in the photograph was his. The only differences were the
other details. For one thing, he'd never had his hair that long. The
man in the photograph had curls long enough to brush his shoulders.
He was wearing a white, poet's shirt, open to the navel, and tight
black pants. The photographer had caught him on stage, singing, just
as he looked right at the camera -- or whoever was behind it -- with
a soft, sultry grin. The man looked like sex personified.

Behind him, Vic let loose with a soft whistle. "Shit, Mac. He *does*
look like you. Any relation?"

Mac shook his head. "Haven't a clue. Dad's lifestyle didn't exactly
let me get to know any of my relatives. He could be, though. I mean,
I have *never* met anyone that looked that much like me. Hell, he
looks more like me than Dad does."

"Very interesting," the Director said, plucking the photo out of his
hands. LiAnn looked over her shoulder, obviously curious. "I'll do
some checking, if you like."

Mac shrugged. "Does it really matter? He's dead, I'm not. I've
gotten this far in life without relatives. Besides, they probably
wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway," he added softly. Vic
squeezed his shoulder, and Mac reached up to pat the comforting hand.

When he looked at Cash, the man was watching them with a smile.
"Well," he said. "Looks like I get the night off, so I'll see you
tomorrow."

The smile broadened into a grin. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Cash! Boss wants you."

Cash twisted and shouted over his shoulder, "On my way!" He turned
back to Mac. "See you tomorrow, then. Have your dancing shoes on.
We're going to paint the town red."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Four
----------------------------------------

Vic was proud of himself. He actually managed to restrain himself

through the trip back to The Garden House. He even managed to wait
until he and Mac were back in their room before opening his mouth.
He didn't trust himself to say anything before that.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?!" were the first words
out of his mouth, confirming his instinct to wait until they were
alone.

Mac shot him a wide-eyed parody of an innocent look. "Taking a

shower and then going to bed?" he suggested, tugging at his shirt
buttons.

Vic growled. He was not in the mood to play word games with the
younger man. "I mean," he said, deceptively quiet, "making a *date*
to go *out* with a *stranger*."

Mac grinned. "Aw, is Viccie jealous? I promise, Vic," he added,

patting Vic on the shoulder. "You and I will have a night out
together too. I'm sure that the Director won't object. And now I'll
know the best places for us to go."

Vic rolled his eyes. "That isn't the point! The point is, you don't
know this guy. He could be planning to... to..."

"Show me a good time?" Mac finished for him, waggling his eyebrows
suggestively.

"You know, Mac. He might be expecting a little more than just a

night of clubbing."

"I certainly hope so," Mac said in a low purr. Vic's eyes snapped
wide open.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Cash made it clear that he was... interested. I certainly

hope *I* did. What?"

Vic swallowed, his mouth gone suddenly dry. "You're straight," was
all he could think to say. Mac laughed.

"I don't discriminate. Okay, I haven't done *many* men. Three if you
really want to get picky. But it's not like I'm a complete babe in
the woods." He grinned. "Although I most definitely *am* a babe," he
said, preening a little.

"Who?" Somehow, the only thing that had stuck was the comment about
'three men.'

Mac blinked. "Well, Michael of course. Before he dumped me to go

after LiAnn. Joke was on him, though. I got there first." Vic glared
at him. "Don't look at me like that. I *did* love her. I just didn't
have a reason to pursue her while I was involved with Michael. When
I did go after her, it was partly because I was in love with her and
partly revenge, keeping her away from Michael."

"And the other two?" Vic asked, choosing to drop the no-doubt still
painful subject of Michael Tang.

Mac shrugged. "You wouldn't know them. I met Jack at a dance club a
couple months before the big boom. We got together a few times.
Nothing serious. Haven't seen him since I got back on my feet. Both
of us were horny, but we weren't really looking for anything like
commitment at the time. That's the nice thing about men. They don't
ask nosy questions about what you do for a living and they don't
consider sleeping with you to be proof of a *relationship*.

"And Mark... Well, you might have seen Mark. He slipped his card in
my back pocket when we were leaving the Caligula."

It was a good thing that Vic wasn't drinking then, otherwise he

would have sprayed the room. "What?! You... with someone from that
kinky sex club?" he almost shouted. The Caligula was a sex club
they'd gone to with the Director while investigating a case, since
they needed a woman to get in and LiAnn was taking the moral high
ground and refusing to go near the place. The Director, of course,
had turned out to be a founding member of the club.

"What can I say? I was curious. I got home and there was a business
card in my pocket, so I called him."

"But..."

Mac's eyes glazed over. "Man, did he know how to use a whip."

Vic choked. The image of Mac, bound, gagged and blindfolded with a
shadowy figure standing behind him flashed through his mind, both
arousing and repulsive at the same time. Mac laughed.
"You should *see* your face! Relax, Vic. I am *not* into pain. Mark
was into pretty vanilla stuff. He prefers to get the kinky stuff
from women. The Director, on the other hand, he would have had tie
him up and do a tap-dance on his back in spike heels while wearing
that outfit with the leather bustier."

Vic winced at the mental image. "Sounds like just your kind of guy
then," he said. "So what *did* you do with him?" he asked, his
curiosity getting the better of him.

"Vic, please," Mac said in an exaggerated patient tone. "I don't

kiss and tell."

"Aren't you doing just that right now?"

"Well, you don't count. You're my partner, so I can tell you. But I
draw the line at the intimate details."

Vic stared at Mac for a moment. That comment seem to imply a lot
of... trust. That surprised him.. "This is all nice and fine," he
finally said, "but that doesn't mean that *this* guy is safe."

"I'm a big boy, Vic," Mac said gently. "I can take care of myself.

"Now. If we're playing true confessions, how about you? Any walks on
the wild side of the street in your past?"

Vic glared at Mac, but had the sinking feeling that his face was
turning bright red. The crow of triumph from his partner told him he
was right.

"You have! C'mon, Vic, I told you all. Who is lurking in *your*
closet."

"Stan," Vic said, hoping that Mac would be satisfied with one name,
but not really expecting him to be.

"Your cop partner? I suppose that's not a big surprise. I had

Michael and you had him. Anyone else? Any prison stories to tell,"
he asked with a leer.

Vic shuddered. "No thanks. It took a few fights to convince some of

them to keep their hands to themselves, though. But there was one
guy... He was circling in. That's the main reason why I took the
Director's offer. What about you? Hong Kong prison and all?"
Mac waved it off. "They were hoping to get me to testify against the
Tangs, so they needed to keep me alive. My life expectancy in the
general population would have been measured in seconds. They kept me
in solitary the entire eighteen months. So. Anybody more recent?"

Vic sighed. He should have known that Mac wouldn't be satisfied.

"Moorcock," he finally said, looking anywhere but at his partner.

Mac was silent for a moment. "Moorcock? You mean the Shakespeare-
spouting Irish terrorist slash thief? That's a joke, right?"

Vic was sure his face was completely crimson by that point. "I ran
into him that evening. He was flying out in the morning. We drank a
bit, we ended up at his hotel. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

"Moorcock," Mac repeated, his voice full of amazed disbelief. "And

you think *I'm* nuts for agreeing to go out with Cash."

"Well, we knew that Moorcock had never *hurt* anyone," Vic said
defensively.

"Still, you don't seem like the type for a one-night stand."

"I'm not. I just..." Vic stopped. He wasn't going to admit anything

more. He'd just end up regretting it.

"Still fighting the adrenaline rush from nearly getting blown up?"
Mac suggested. "What about your neck? We were both in neck braces."

Vic grinned at the memory. "There are ways to get around that," was
all he said.

"I'll bet. Listen, it's late. Let's get some sleep. If you *really*
want to continue this discussion, it can wait until tomorrow. Later
today. Whatever. Just remember, it's my turn to pick the sightseeing
activities."

Vic blinked. "You still want to do that?" he asked, a little

surprised. He would have thought that Mac would want to sleep until
noon, then laze around until his... date.

"Of course!" Mac said indignantly. "You're my partner. And while you
sometimes have to be dragged out of your shell, you can be a lot of
fun to hang around with. So unless *you've* changed your mind, I
suggest you get some sleep. You're going to need it. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I want a hot shower to wash the smell of cigarette smoke
off of me."

Vic watched as Mac unselfconsciously stripped and headed for the

bathroom. Sometimes he envied how comfortable the younger man was
with his body. Vic knew he was attractive, but he didn't like
showing off his own body. It made him nervous. It made him feel like
everyone was staring at him.

He started undressing for bed, deciding again to put the shower off
until morning. As soon as Mac freed the bathroom, he'd brush his
teeth and leave it at that.

Blinking, Vic found that he'd been staring at the shoe he held in
his hands for a couple minutes now. He could hear the sound of the
shower, and Mac crooning something off-key to himself. He was still
trying to wrap his mind around this new facet of his partner. Now
that he thought about it, he shouldn't have been surprised that Mac
was bi. His tastes were pretty eclectic, so why not the occasional
man?

Vic sighed. No, that wasn't what was bothering him. What *was*
bothering him was this Cash person. He was worried that Mac was
going to get himself into trouble when *he* wasn't around to get him
out.

And, truth be told, he was jealous. Mac was young and attractive and
everything a person could want. Just as long as that person wasn't
looking for commitment, since that obviously was not in Mac's plans
for the time being. It was a pity. If Mac were a little more serious
about these things, Vic might be willing to try... well, something.

On the other hand, if Mac were more serious about *anything*, he

wouldn't be Mac.

Vic groaned, and flopped back onto the bed, his eyes already
shutting. A few minutes later, he was asleep. He didn't notice when
the shower turned off and Mac came out of the bathroom. He didn't
notice his partner's snort of amusement. And he didn't notice when
surprisingly gentle hands carefully tugged off the last of his
clothes and tucked him under the covers like a child.

>>>~~~<<<

Sunlight was streaming through the windows when Vic opened his eyes
again. He whimpered a little at the brightness and rolled away from
the windows.

"C'mon, Vic. Up and at 'em!"

This time Mac was up before him it seemed, and far too cheerful for
the early hour. Vic snarled and tossed a pillow in the man's
direction. He didn't bother to check, but it probably fell well
short of its intended target.

"Now, now. Is that any way to treat the man who has brought you
coffee?"

That got Vic's attention. His nostrils twitched as he confirmed the

aroma of that life-giving fluid, as well as other enticing scents.
He pushed up into a seated position and slowly opened his eyes.

This time, it was a little easier. His eyes adjust to the light and
he found himself staring blearily at his partner, who was holding a
tray.

"*Very* good," Mac said encouragingly. "Now, scoot over. I brought

breakfast too."

Vic scooted and Mac sat next to him on the bed. For the first time,
Vic noticed that while the other man was fully dressed -- a good
thing if he'd gone downstairs to collect breakfast -- he was himself
completely nude. Frowning, he realized that he couldn't remember
getting undressed the night before. Besides, unless it was *really*
hot, he didn't sleep in the nude either.

"You were dead to the world when I came out of the bathroom, so I
got you a little more comfortable," Mac said, picking up on the
question in Vic's gaze. He folded out the tray's legs and put it
down, straddling his left leg and Vic's right leg.

"I don't sleep naked," Vic pointed out.

"You should try it once in a while. Besides, it's easy to get an

unconscious man out of his clothes. *Into* clothes is a different
matter."

Vic groaned and picked up his fork. Pancakes and sausage links with
maple syrup: The Breakfast of Champions. Sometimes it amazed him how
well Mac knew him. He didn't try to identify Mac's breakfast.

"You could have at least left my shorts on," he said around a

delicious mouthful. The pancakes were buttermilk, and they almost
melted in his mouth. And they were blueberry too!

Mac shrugged. "I didn't think of that," he said. Somehow, Vic didn't
believe him, but he let the subject drop.

"So you get to choose the itinerary today," Vic said, mopping up the
last of the syrup with his last bit of pancake. "What's your
pleasure?"

Mac grinned at him for a long moment, and Vic waited. Finally, Mac
took pity on him. "Well, I want to hit a couple museums. Then lunch
and an afternoon of *shopping*!" He sounded as pleased at the idea
as a woman.

Vic sighed. Well, Mac had done what he wanted the day before. He
could survive a day of looking at paintings and clothes.

He hoped.

>>>~~~<<<

He should have known better. He'd been expecting some hoity-toity

art museum like the ones LiAnn had dragged him to back when they'd
first got together. Instead, their first stop was to the Blackhawk
Automotive Museum. Classic cars and paintings that included classic
cars. Vic could have spent the entire day admiring the historic cars
that covered a hundred years of automotive history.

Finally, though, Mac dragged him away and into a cab. Vic could tell
from the smirk on the other man's face that he was pleased with the
Vic's reactions so far.

The cab dropped them off at the Fisherman's Warf, an inevitable

destination for all visitors to San Francisco. They wandered around,
checking out all the little souvenir shops until rumbling stomachs
forced a stop for lunch.

Being on the Warf meant that there was only one real choice:
Seafood! Remembering the recent problems over salmon fishing in BC,
Vic passed that over. However, the Alaskan King Crab looked too good
to pass up, and he happily tore shells apart and dipped the
delicious meat in melted butter before savoring every bite. After
licking his fingers clean, he decided to really treat himself and go
for the cheesecake. Normally, he ate healthier, but since this trip
to San Francisco was supposed to the a treat, he didn't restrain
himself. However, once they got home, he would have to hit the gym
to trim off some of the extra pounds he was putting on with all the
rich food.

Mac, on the other hand, went for an appetizer of raw oysters (the
sight of which almost destroyed Vic's appetite), followed by
mahi-mahi in a creamy sauce with a mixture of vegetables on the
side. For desert he had a fruit and ice cream concoction that almost
made Vic regret his own choice.

But only almost. The cheesecake was fantastic.

They lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing.

Vic wasn't going to bring up their conversation from the night
before, and thankfully, Mac didn't seem inclined to press either.

Finally, they paid the bill and headed out again. Vic was expecting
the shopping to start immediately, probably involving fancy clothes
shops downtown. Instead, Mac dragged him to...

"The Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?" Vic asked in disbelief,

looking up at the building.

"Of course! C'mon, I want to see as much as possible. I still want

to do some shopping before we have to go back to the hotel."

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Vic followed Mac in. It
was times like this that he remembered just how young his partner
was. And right now, he was acting even ten years younger than *that*.

Hell, *he* was feeling young again. They wandered through the museum
looking at the strange, the odd and the downright *bizarre*. Things
that made them say 'neat!' Things that made them say 'what?' And
things that made them go 'ewwwww!' Time flew, 'cause they were
definitely having fun.

When they left the museum, carrying bags of souvenirs, Vic decided
that maybe he should forget about trying to anticipate his partner,
and the shopping confirmed that. Sure, they ended up buying clothes,
but not the kind he had expected.

"Vic, this is so *you*!" Mac told him, holding up the most garish
Hawaiian shirt that Vic had ever seen. It was an eye-shattering mix
of purple and orange and blue, and Vic shook his head.

"Not a hope in hell," he said. Mac pouted, but put it back on the
rack. He went rummaging through the selection while Vic looked at
objects claiming to be genuine South Seas native carvings but had
probably been mass-produced in Poughkeepsie. He was snickering at
one improbably-proportioned fertility figure that had both breasts
and an over-sized erection when Mac whistled softly.

"Vic, try this one on," he said, holding up a shirt.

Vic looked at it. It wasn't his usual style, but it was definitely
the only shirt in the shop that he would be willing to be seen in.
It was all in soft shades of blue, swirling together like water in
motion. The colors blended well together and it looked like it was
made from silk.

Vic let Mac hustle him into one of the curtained change rooms, and
he obediently pulled off his Henley and put on the short-sleeved
shit. Then he stepped out of the booth and turned in a circle. When
he had made a complete three-sixty, he waited for Mac's verdict.

"Perfect," the younger man said with a bright smile. "Absolutely

perfect."

Vic looked at himself in the mirror and had to agree. He didn't

usually wear blue, but this shirt went nicely with his coloring, and
it made his eyes looking even greener than they usually did. Vic
fingered the soft fabric and decided to buy the shirt.

Mac had other ideas, though. As soon as Vic had changed back to his
own clothes, he snatched the shirt out of Vic's hands. "My treat,"
he said, refusing to let Vic pull out his wallet.

He marched over to the counter and put down the shirt, then pointed
to the jewelry case. The woman smiled, and pulled out an earring
without having to ask first. The earring was fine silver with a
small blue stone dangling from it. Vic blinked.

"Hey, it goes great with the shirt," Mac said defensively.

Vic opened his mouth, then shut it again. Arguing was obviously
*not* going to work. Mac was already handing over the money, and
despite the quality of the items, they weren't outrageously priced.

Still, he resolved to make sure he bought something equally nice for

Mac. Maybe he could get up before Mac the next morning to do some
quick shopping alone. He brightened up at the thought of surprising
the younger man with a present.
They made a few more stops before heading back to The Garden House.
A jewelry store where Mac picked up a gold necklace for LiAnn, an
antique shop where he found an ornate dagger that he said was for
the Cleaners. He even stopped at a leather shop to find something
for the Director, although the shops wares made them both squirm and
blush. The appraising looks they got from the other patrons
especially made Vic uncomfortable.

By that point Vic had figured out that his partner loved to buy
gifts for other people and he resolved again to find the perfect
present for Mac before they headed back to Toronto.

In the end they barely made it back to the hotel in time to shower,
shave and change for the evening. Vic dressed basically the same as
the night before, since he wasn't going to be doing much except sit
around and wait for the Director. This time, he wisely decided to
stuff one of the books he'd picked up the day before in his jacket
pocket to hold off the mind-numbing boredom, since he wouldn't have
Mac to talk to.

Mac, on the other hand, took twice as long as he normally did. He

was wearing a pair of brown leather pants -- his own, not from the
Director -- and a cream-colored turtleneck, with a matching jacket.
He stopped in front of Vic and did a slow turn.

"So," he said when he was done. "How do I look?"

Vic made a show of considering the question and the outfit. "Okay,"
he finally said. Truth was, Mac looked good enough to eat. Cash
wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off of Mac, and that still
worried Vic. While he did know that Mac could take care of himself
-- as the younger man kept reminding him -- he still wasn't sure
that he trusted this Cash character. There was something about the
man that seemed... dangerous. Vic wasn't sure what it was, but it
bothered him.

"Okay? Okay!?" Mac said indignantly. "I think I look pretty damn
hot! Watch out San Francisco, Mac is on his way!"

Vic snorted. "Just watch your back for the Zane fan club," he said,
reaching out to press a finger against the vivid bruise on Mac's jaw.

Mac winced and nodded. "Point taken. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll be
careful."
"Don't call me that," Vic said, shuddering. Except for genuine
fathers, the only people that term applied to, as far as he was
concerned, were middle-aged men looking for a young lover to
convince the world that they still had it: a description that
*didn't* match him. He hoped.

"Well then, let's get this show on the road."

At that moment, the cell-phone in Vic's pocket rang. He fished it

out and brought it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Are you boys planning on joining us anytime soon?" the Director

drawled. Vic jumped.

"We're on our way down," he promised her, then closed the phone and
dropped the tiny tech toy back in his pocket with the book. "We
better get going," he told his partner.

"Great! 'Cause I am ready to *party*."

Vic shook his head in exasperation and followed Mac out the door.

The same limo and same driver were waiting for them downstairs, and
they were quickly delivered to the Haven. Cash was waiting out
front, next to an illegally parked motorcycle. Vic had to bite his
tongue to keep from saying anything.

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself, only slightly bitter

after all these years.

"Got your cell-phone?" he asked Mac quietly as they got out of the
car.

"Yes," Mac said with a sigh.

"If you run into any trouble..."

Mac waved him off. "If I run into any trouble that I can't handle on
my own, I will call you. I promise." He waved them off, then headed
to where Cash was waiting. The Director called out.

"Home by dawn, Mac."

"Aren't I a little old for a curfew?" he asked.

"No."

The blunt answer threw Mac off, but he rolled his eyes and nodded.
Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle -- taking the helmet
Cash offered him, Vic was pleased to note -- and they roared off
into the night.

"Relax, Victor," the Director said, tugging at his arm. "He'll be

perfectly fine with Cash."

"You know him?"

"Not personally," she said. "But his boss and I go... way back. And
I know *of* Cash. Trust me, he won't hurt Mac, and if anyone else
tries, Mac will be well protected."

"If you say so," Vic said reluctantly, letting himself be led into
the waiting club.

"I do."

Vic sighed again. Fine. If she trusted Cash, then he would try.
While his boss still made him nervous, he couldn't deny that she was
very protective of her people.

Still, it was going to be a long night.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Five
----------------------------------------

Mac whooped and hugged Cash a little tighter. It had been a while
since he'd been on a motorcycle and he'd forgotten how much fun it
could be. It would have been better without the helmet, with the
wind whipping through his hair, but he knew better than to try it.
Back at the Haven, safety-conscious Vic would have pulled him off
the bike in a second if he thought Mac was heading off without a
helmet. He knew the man.

And more importantly, riding through San Francisco without a helmet

would risk getting them pulled over by the police. That would *not*
make the Director happy. She'd told him to keep out of trouble and
he planned to try. Not just because he was nervous about what she
might do if he managed to get himself arrested. Truthfully, she
probably wouldn't do much to him. She might talk the talk, but when
it came down to it, she went pretty easy on them, even on those rare
occasions where they managed to royally fuck up.

No, he was more interested on staying on her *good* side. You get
perks that way. And right now he was thinking of a perk labeled
'motorcycle.' Mac was sure that with a little thought he could come
up with an excuse that would fly -- or that she might simply accept
because she was in a good mood.

Cash glanced back over his shoulder at Mac, flashing a crooked grin
at him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, no sarcasm in his voice, just
honest amusement.

"Damn right I am," Mac replied, angling his head so that he could
rest his chin of Cash's shoulder and slipped one of his hands lower
until it brushed against the man's belt. Taking a deep breath, he
took in the scent of the car exhaust around them, the rain
sprinkling down on them and the leather of the jacket Cash was
wearing. The combination was acting on him like a powerful
aphrodisiac.

Mac had barely been able to keep from drooling when he'd seen Cash
at the Haven. The shorter man would be gorgeous in sackcloth, but
wrapped in tight black denim pants, a dark green turtleneck and a
black leather jacket he looked positively edible. Mac had been
tempted to just wrap himself around the man and go for some tonsils,
but had managed to restrain himself. Anticipation would make it all
the sweeter when the time came.

But it might have been worth it just to see Vic and LiAnn's
expressions, Mac thought with a grin.

And Vic! Mister Straight-and-Narrow was turning out to have some

unexpected depths. It was one of the things that Mac liked about the
man. LiAnn, he knew everything worth knowing about. The fact that
they'd spent half their lives together meant that there was little
that they *didn't* know about each other. Vic, on the other hand,
was still something of a mystery, even after two years working
together. He liked the blues, he was an ex-cop and he had a younger
sister. However Mac still hadn't found out the reason what his
partner's beef was with his parents, other than it had been bad
enough that Vic had left home before he'd even finished high school,
preferring to make a go of it on his own. There was still so much to
learn about the man.

Certainly Mac *never* would have guessed that the man swung both
ways. He'd covered it well, he thought, but the revelation had
floored him. And the idea of Vic and *Moorcock* had been even more
shocking. And the most shocking of all had been his own reaction to
the news. For one brief moment, his vision had gone white with
anger. The idea of Moorcock touching Vic made him... jealous?

Mac gave himself a mental shake. He was *not* jealous. There was
nothing to be jealous of. Sure, he'd been teasing Vic off and on
over the last year -- although he'd never guessed that Vic might
clue in on it -- but it didn't mean he had any claim on the man, and
Vic certainly had no claim on him. They were just partners and
hopefully friends. That was all. He'd learned his lesson: Sleeping
with your partner was a bad thing. He'd been burnt once by Michael
and once by LiAnn. He wasn't going to risk it a third time. No
matter how fun a tumble Vic might be, they were safer not finding
out.

After nearly a half-hour of weaving through the streets of San

Francisco, Cash pulled into the parking lot outside what looked like
a warehouse in an industrial area. There was no sign on the outside
of the building, but Mac could hear the pulsing beat of some sort of
techno music that didn't sound familiar and the lot was filled,
mostly with motorcycles like the one they'd arrived on. A few knots
of people smoking, drinking or just talking were scattered here and
there, all ignoring the light rain that seemed so much a part of San
Francisco.

Mac pulled off his helmet and hesitated, not sure what to do with
it. "Just leave it here," Cash said, hanging his own helmet off one
of the handlebars. "No one is going to mess with it."

Mac shrugged. "Your gear," he said and sat the helmet on the bike's
seat, checking to make sure it wasn't going to slide off.

One of the loitering groups had broken up, and several men and women
were headed their way. Mac eyed them just a little warily, but they
didn't look like they were more members of the Zane fan club, as Vic
had put it. Cash grinned broadly and stepped forward to greet them.

He hugged and kissed each of them on the lips, male and female. It
didn't look overly sexual to Mac. Actually it made him think of
Italian families running around kissing each other. In fact, that
looked like just that: Family, Mac thought wistfully.

Finally, Cash finished greeting them, making sure that he didn't

miss anybody, and turned around. "Folks," he announced to the group
in general. "This is Mac. He's here as part of the Toronto group."
Mac blinked. He wondered what the group was going to make of the
comment. *He* still wasn't sure what to make of the comment.

One of the men stepped forward. He was black, with long dreadlocks
woven with brightly colored ribbons that matched the ribbons tied to
his vest and pants. He wasn't wearing a shirt and as he moved the
vest fell open, letting Mac catch a glimpse of silver rings through
his nipples with more ribbons attached to them. It didn't look very
safe in a fight, but since the man was more than half a foot taller
than him and at least fifty pounds heavier -- all solid muscle --
Mac wasn't about to comment on his fashion sense.

The man stopped right in front of Mac and stared at him for a
moment. Mac stood his ground, refusing to back up or flinch. He
stared into the big man's eyes, looking for some indication of where
the attack was going to come from. Mac was starting to feel like the
mouse being eyed by a hungry cat when the man's broad face split
into a blinding white grin. "Not bad," he said in a deep, rich voice
that held the trace of an island accent and swept Mac up into a hug
that threatened to break ribs. Mac wasn't sure if that was approval
of his appearance or his grace under pressure. He didn't much care.
He was too busy remembering how to breathe.

That broke the ice. Each member of the group came forward to hug
him. Cash introduced them all by names, some of them so improbable
that they had to be handles. Mac wondered briefly if Cash was his
date's real name or just one he'd picked for use. Then he gave a
mental shrug. Did it really matter?

The last person stepped in to hug him, then stopped and stepped back
with a gasp. Mac eyed the pretty blonde curiously. She was gorgeous
-- just the type he normally went for -- but her face was a picture
of shock. Mac sighed. Another Zane 'fan' he would guess.

"I warned you, Grace," Cash said softly, hugging the girl from
behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "But he isn't Zane. I
promise you."

Grace straightened up and stepped forward. She didn't hug Mac, but
she did hold her hand out for him to shake. He held it gently,
letting go as soon as she started to withdraw it. Cash had mentioned
that Zane had raped several girls and it didn't take a genius to
figure out that this was one of them. And while Rhiannon's reaction
had been anger, this one was fearful, although brave.
Grace headed for the doors to the club, followed by the big black
man, Jean-Paul. He was talking softly to her and she was slowly
relaxing. Mac watched them go, then turned back to Cash. "I take it
that you warned people about my face," he said in a deliberately
light tone. Cash grinned back at him.

"I told you that you needed someone to run interference. All part of
the service." Cash tucked an arm around Mac's waist -- being a
little too short to put it around his shoulders without stretching
-- and steered him towards the entrance.

The inside of the building matched the outside: a rough warehouse

space converted to a dance club. A glance at the bar and the stage
showed that they were temporary structures, obviously designed to be
dismantled and removed easily and quickly. Mac laughed. "I haven't
been to a rave in ages!" he shouted to Cash over the din of the
music. The band on stage wasn't playing anything he recognized, but
he didn't care. It wasn't designed to be listened to. It was for
dancing. Mac's feet were already moving to the beat.

Obviously recognizing the need, Cash pushed him out onto the dance
floor, following closely behind. That was all the encouragement Mac
needed and he let the music move him into a world of his own.

>>>~~~<<<

When Mac came up for air, several hours had passed and he was
plastered with sweat. He vaguely remembered dancing with a stream of
people, Cash showing up every few numbers. He'd danced with everyone
he'd met in the parking lot at least once, including the now more
relaxed Grace. He'd also received several offers for a different
sort of dancing, including a proposition during an almost
pornographic dance with Jean-Paul that had been accompanied by
several very obvious gropes that had left Mac hard and panting. Cash
had broken in with a snarl that was more amusement than anger and
Jean-Paul had given way with a grin. Mac had promptly draped himself
all over Cash, shouting in his ear, "Got any place a little more...
private?" He punctuated the suggestion with a slow grind against
Cash that told him the other man was as worked up as he was. Dancing
was one of the best aphrodisiacs as far as he was concerned.

Somewhere along the line, Cash had maneuvered them over to the side
of the gyrating mass of humanity. A hard shove had Mac plastered
against the wall, not too far from the stage. Mac could see the bass
player watching them with a leer on her face. Then Cash kissed him
and Mac stopped paying attention to anything except the man who
seemed determined to get him to make a mess of his nice leather
pants.

Finally, Cash pulled away, although his hips were doing a slow
undulation against Mac. "You sure you wouldn't like to stay and
dance a little more?" he asked with a laugh.

"Cock-tease," Mac replied with a grin. "The only kind of dancing I

want to do now is the horizontal kind."

He was a little surprised at how forward he was being. Mac wasn't

shy about sex, but he didn't usually jump into bed *this* fast. The
second date, sure, but not the first. But there was an edge to Cash
that got his pulse racing and all he wanted to do was fuck the
gorgeous man. Or have Cash fuck him. Right now he was easy. Damn, he
was easy.

Cash pressed another bruising kiss on him, then started pulling him
towards the exit. Cash's friends waved and shouted lewd suggestions
that left Mac torn between embarrassed blushes and laughter. Several
of the suggestions were improbable, if not downright impossible, but
others he filed away for future reference.

Just outside the door, Cash pressed him against a wall for another
kiss, this one as gentle as the last had been hard. Mac was about to
decide to just come in his pants and put up with the discomfort when
a sneering voice interrupted them.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Luna's lap-dog."

The change in Cash from playful soon-to-be-lover to snarling fighter

left Mac almost dizzy. Cash stepped away from him and dropped into a
fighter's stance so fast that Mac nearly lost his balance. Then he
got a good look at the four men standing there and smoothly moved
into a ready stance himself.

The men facing them all looked like they stepped off the pages of
GQ. Either that or out of a Mafia movie. Suspicious bulges under
jackets told Mac that the second was a little more likely. These
goons were packing and they looked like they were spoiling for a
fight. A fight that Cash was more than ready to give them, it seemed.

"What do you want, Marcus?" Cash snarled. No lap-dog, this man. He

was more like the junkyard dog that Leroy Brown was compared to in
the song. Marcus just laughed.
"Just looking for a night out, puppy. After all, Luna said truce for
the week. Good thing for you, otherwise we'd teach you a lesson."
The man in the lead was extremely good-looking with carefully styled
brown hair. His pants had pleats sharp enough to cut and his sports
jacket was over a collarless silk shirt that was perfectly white. He
didn't look like the type that belonged at this club. The Haven,
maybe, but not here. Mac hated him on sight and not just because
he'd interrupted at the wrong moment.

Cash snorted. "You and what army? That pitiful lot behind you?"

"Cash," Mac hissed softly. "What the hell is going on?"

A moment later he was regretting having said anything. The sound of

his voice drew Marcus's attention to him. "Stay out of this, little
boy," he said with a sneer. Then he frowned and stepped closer. He
stared hard at Mac, then laughed.

"So Luna's lap-dog is harboring a fugitive!" he said, his voice full

of a vicious delight. Then he frowned. "Or is he? Luna said he was
dead," he said, turning to Cash. His three friends were spreading
out in a way that did *not* bode well for Mac and Cash. "Luna said
he witnessed the execution. Does the Prince consider himself so
above us that he can *lie*?"

Mac was really confused now. Prince? Execution??

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, glancing over at Mac. "He

isn't Zane!"

"No, I'm no fool. Do you expect me to buy that?"

"He's here with Toronto. He's wearing her mark." Cash gestured to
Mac. It took him a moment to figure out what the other man was
asking for, then he turned his head so that the earring he was
wearing was easy to see. The Director was obviously Toronto,
whatever that was supposed to mean. The man reached out to touch the
charm, then flicked it hard with his fingernail. Mac winced.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Marcus, he isn't Kindred," Cash hissed, almost too low for Mac to
hear. Kindred? What the hell was that?

Marcus stared at him for a moment. All the hair on the back of Mac's
neck was standing on end. His eyes flickered to the others and he
set himself into his stance a little more solidly. "Well, then,"
Marcus said finally. "I guess there's not much point in keeping him
around, is there?"

"Except the fact that he belongs to Toronto and you'll be breaking

truce if you touch him."

Marcus smiled slowly. It wasn't a pleasant look. "Oh, I plan to do

more than touch him."

"You know what Julian will do to you if you do."

"He won't find out," Marcus said in a very reasonably tone.

"And just how d you figure that?" Cash said with a snort.

"Because there won't be anyone around to tell him."

That was the moment when the three silent goons made their move. Two
went for Cash while the third threw a punch at Mac. He almost
laughed as he ducked. It was a hard punch, but the man's aim was
pitiful. Mac didn't feel like laughing after blocking the second
blow, though. While the man wasn't much to look at, he had a punch
like a freight train. Mac made a mental note not to let any punches
land.

He caught a brief glance of Cash and Marcus between ducking blows

and landing his own. His didn't seem to have much affect, but he
kept looking for an opening that would let him go for the other
man's eyes or solar plexus. Even an ox would go down if you hit him
there. Cash was holding his own against attackers, showing a street-
fighting skill that let Mac stop worrying about him.

Marcus just stood to the side, watching.

Mac turned his attention back to his opponent, thanking his lucky
stars that none of the thugs seemed inclined to pull their guns.
They probably didn't want to attract the attention that gunfire
would bring, even out here. However, that didn't mean that one of
them might not have a knife handy. Mac was regretting that he hadn't
been able to bring any weapons with him. He was an excellent martial
artist, if he did say so himself, but this guy was like hitting a
brick wall. Then a glancing blow to the side of his head left him
seeing stars, but he managed to dodge the next few swings while he
cleared his head.
He finally got the break he'd been waiting for. The thug swung low,
leaving his head unprotected. Mac hardened his hand into a flat
blade shape and jabbed at the man's eye. He fell back, screaming in
pain. Then he straightened up with an almost animalistic snarl.

That's when things got really strange.

The face that lifted up was not the one he'd seen before. Blood
streamed from the one eye, which might be permanently damaged. But
now the other one was glowing with anger. Literally. Where it had
been dark before -- brown, maybe -- it now... silver? And while the
face was twisted with anger, there were now subtle differences to it.

And when his lips pulled back in an angry grimace, it was to reveal
teeth that came to points. Very *sharp* looking points. Very inhuman
points.

"Ack!" Mac shouted, backing up. The back of his foot hit something
and he landed on his rear-end in a puddle. His attacker was
advancing on him with a triumphant expression on his face. In the
distance he could hear Cash calling his name, but all he could see
was the impossible face of the man about to kill him.
"Cash!"

Mac's head turned towards the club's entrance, where a half-dozen of

Cash's friends were heading their way at a run and more were coming
out of the club. Mac felt all the breath woosh out of him. Four on
two was one thing. Four on a dozen was *definitely* something else.

"Later, lap-dog," Marcus said, heading for a car waiting with the
engine running and a driver behind the wheel. Mac hadn't noticed it
before, but he noticed it now as the four men climbed in and the car
pulled away quickly, wheels squealing on the wet pavement.

Their rescuers crowded around them, asking if they were all right,
asking why they'd been attacked, offering to go after their
attackers. Mac opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Besides, he
didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Mac, you okay?"

Mac looked up into the face of his date. For a moment, he thought he
saw a faint sheen of silver over the other man's expressive eyes.
Then it was gone. He gulped.

"What the hell is going on?" he finally asked. "Who -- and *what* --
were those guys?"

"What? I don't have a clue what you're talking about. Marcus is just
a lieutenant to a guy my boss doesn't get along with. He thought he
could jerk my chain."

"Bullshit!" Mac said as Cash pulled him to his feet. "Common thugs
don't have silver eyes and pointy teeth. I want to know what is
going on!"

"A trick of the light?" Cash suggested. Mac snorted.

"I'm not an idiot and I do have eyes. Very well-trained eyes, I

might add. I can look at a diamond and tell you it's market value
within a few percentage points in a minute. And I am a damned good
observer. Now stop jerking me around!"

By the end of that, Mac was almost shouting. His adrenaline was
still pumping from the fight and he was seriously pissed off.

"Not here," Cash said, shushing him. He stopped, and sighed.

"Listen, come back to my place and I'll explain everything. I
promise."

Mac glanced at their audience, most of which were doing a pretty

good impression of being deaf and blind. "Fine," he said. "But it
better be a damned good explanation."

>>>~~~<<<

Cash's apartment was in an older section of town, right above a

store. Looking out the front window, the bay was just barely visible
in the distance. It was simply furnished, but comfortable. Mac liked
it. He also thought it was also surprisingly clean for a bachelor
apartment, and said so.

"That's because I don't live here full-time. I'm bodyguard for a man
named Julian Luna, so I have rooms at his place. This is where I go
when I have free time and just want to get away from work and
everything to do with it. For one thing, it's a little awkward
taking a date to your boss's mansion," he added with the lopsided
grin that Mac was learning to love. He couldn't help grinning back.
It sounded like his reasons for not taking a date back to *his*
apartment where there were hidden surveillance cameras all over the
place.
Then his expression sobered up. "And is this Luna person the
'Prince' that Slick was referring to?"

"Slick? I like that. I'll have to use it on him the next time I see
him."

"You're dodging the question," Mac said sternly.

Cash sighed and dropped into an armchair near the window. "You're
right. I am.

"Normally, I wouldn't consider saying anything. I'd come up with

*something* to deflect you. But you're here for the meetings with
Toronto. That means sooner or later, you'd be finding out these
things. Actually, *she's* the one who should be having this
conversation with you." Cash looked up, a hopeful expression on his
face.

Mac shook his head. "But she's not here and you are. Talk." Mac
shoved one hand in his packet to grab the tiny cell-phone there. If
it came down to it, he could always call Vic for backup. But he
didn't think he would need to.

Cash stared at him for a moment. "All right. Let's start with the
'show,' then move on to the 'tell.'"

A moment later, he'd... changed. Cash's eyes were glowing silver,

his teeth were definitely fangs and when he held up one hand, the
fingers ended in what looked more like claws than fingernails. Mac
caught his breath, then forced himself to relax.

"Ooooookay," he said once he was in control of himself again.

"You're a vampire, I take it." Mac shook his head, wondering when
he'd fallen into the twilight zone.

Cash winced. "Please. Don't use that word. Vampires are a fictional
creature invented to deflect attention from the truth."

"Which is?"

Cash's face reverted to the one Mac was more familiar with. "We are
Kindred. Yes, we drink blood, though we usually avoid killing. It
would break the Masquerade."

"Masquerade?"
"The image we project to hide the truth. The illusion of being
normal humans. In the past it was essential. After all, it wasn't
too long ago that there were lynch squads and witch burnings. Today,
there are scientists who would love to dissect us to see what makes
us tick. The Masquerade is survival." Mac nodded. He'd seen a lot in
his short life that told him that humanity was not as far removed
from their savage past as they might like to pretend. They also tend
to react violently to things they didn't understand.

Still, this was sounding pretty crazy. Mac frowned, thinking about
it. "And that stuff about a Prince?"

Cash opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally he said, "The
Kindred work on a feudal-like basis. We are divided into clans, by
our Embrace. Different clans have different... talents, I guess you
could say, passed through the clan's blood. The Prince is the one
who holds us all together, keeps us from war."

"War?" Mac squeaked.

"War. My clan is Gangrel. We are often bodyguards to Princes. Our

loyalty is never in doubt. Marcus and his batch are Brujah. They are
the thugs, the mobsters of the Kindred. It's in our... nature to be
enemies. The Princes are usually Ventrue, the power-brokers. I am
Julian's main bodyguard, as well as clan leader for the Gangrel in
San Francisco." There was a softening to his expression as he spoke
than told Mac that the relationship was probably more than just
professional.

His head was spinning with all the information. "Any other clans?"
he asked.

"Lots. But only two others are present in San Francisco enough to
represented in the Prince's counsel: The Nosferatu and the Toreador.
Want a drink?"

Mac blinked at the non-sequitur. "Uh, sure. Coffee?" He needed a

clear head.

"Sure."

Mac watched while Cash puttered around in the apartment's tiny

kitchen. The apartment was mostly one big room with the kitchen
separated by a low counter. The bedroom was at the back of the room,
partially shielded by a folding screen. The only doors he saw
probably led to the bathroom and closets.
A thought occurred to him. "You eat!"

Cash snorted. "Of course. Cream? Sugar?"

"Black is fine."

Cash came back to the living room area and handed a mug to Mac, who
was now sitting on the sofa, and sat back down in the armchair.

Mac sipped the steaming hot liquid for a minute before asking his
next question.

"What about Zane? Marcus said he was executed."

A bleak expression passed over Cash's face. "Zane was Toreador.

They're the artists and musicians of the Kindred. And they tend to
be a little... unstable. I told you he'd been involved in a series
of rapes. That wasn't quite accurate. What he was doing was
Embracing girls who hadn't agreed to it. That means turning them
into Kindred," he added at Mac's questioning look. "And one of the
rules we live by is that the Prince must give permission for someone
to be Embraced. It's to help keep people from finding out about us.
According to the laws, he could have ordered the deaths of the girls
Zane had embraced as well, but Julian isn't that ruthless though."

"But he ordered Zane killed?" I thought you said he'd committed

suicide, Mac didn't say.

Cash shrugged. "He didn't have any choice. Zane had been warned.
He'd been told to leave town if he didn't want to follow the laws.
He stayed and kept doing what he'd been doing. There was no choice.
Hell, a human cop who knows about the Kindred handed Zane over to
us. He said that his world had no laws for what Zane had done, but
ours did. Zane broke the law and paid the price."

"And the Director? How does she fit in? And why are we *here*?"

Cash sighed. "I can't believe she brought the three of you into this
blind. Your boss is the Prince of Toronto. She's Kindred."

Somehow Mac wasn't surprised. In a way, Cash's advances on him had

reminded him of the Director's teasing, just less scary. "And these
meetings?"

"Well, I don't know much. They're pretty exclusive. But basically,

the Princes of all major Kindred-inhabited cities are discussing
future plans. It's the end of the millennium, after all. We can die,
but we don't really age. But we can't simply move to keep people
from noticing anymore. Identities have to be built. They're
discussing more cooperation in the future, so that Kindred can move
from city to city and have new identities waiting for them."

Mac looked down and realized that his mug was empty and he was now
coldly sober. His boss was a Vampire. He worked for a blood-sucking
fiend, to use the title of a book he'd once read. Somehow, he wasn't
surprised. "This is crazy," he said, putting down the mug.

Cash just looked resigned. "Maybe, but it's true. Listen, how about
I take you back to your hotel. You probably need to think about
this." He got to his feet.

"No," Mac said, surprising Cash. Hell, he surprised himself. "No."

Mac got to his feet and moved over to stand in front of Cash. "You
wouldn't hurt me?" he asked.

Cash reached up and cupped his cheek. "Of course not," he said
softly.

"Then I don't want to go back yet." This probably wasn't the

smartest thing that Mac had ever done. There was a sharp edge of
fear to the desire Mac was still feeling, mixed with the left-over
adrenaline from the fight earlier. Whatever the reason, he was about
ready to explode. If Cash took him back to the hotel he would
probably do something stupid, like jump Vic's bones. And while that
was a tempting idea, he'd already decided that it wasn't a smart
one. No sleeping with the partners, he reminded himself

When Cash didn't make any further move, Mac tilted his head and went
for a kiss. It was tentative at first, far more tentative than any
other kiss they'd shared in the twenty-four hours they'd known each
other. God, had it only been a day?

Then it ignited, setting both of them on fire. In a moment, they

were tightly wrapped around each other, each trying to devour the
other's mouth. Mac's erection was doing its best to stretch his
leather pants and he could feel an answering hardness in Cash's
jeans, rubbing against his hip. Mac groaned and deepened the kiss.

They'd already discarded their jackets, so Mac's hand scrabbled at

Cash's back, finally getting a grip on the tight turtleneck so that
he could pull it out from the waist of the man's pants and up. His
hands slipped underneath to caress flesh that felt a little cool to
his touch, but not alarmingly so. In fact, if it weren't for their
earlier conversation, he might not even have noticed.

Finally he broke away, pulling at the shirt, wanting more bare skin.
Cash was doing the same and they ended up in a tug-of-war as each
tried to strip the other without letting go. Laughing, they finally
had to so that they could drop the tangled fabric on the floor. Then
they were moving together again, this time bare chest against bare
chest.

Finally, need for air pulled them apart and Mac stood panting in
front of Cash, who didn't even have the common decency to look out
of breath. "Do you have to look so damned smug?" Mac asked between
gasps.

Cash laughed. "How 'bout we take this party someplace a little more
comfortable," he suggested, nodding towards the bed.

Mac grinned back at him. "Good idea. That way, if I faint from
oxygen deprivation, at least I'll already be lying down."

Cash laughed again and headed for the bed, fumbling with the fly of
his jeans. Mac followed, watching the dance of a man trying to strip
and walk at the same time. It would have been funny if he weren't
about ready to come in his pants.

Cash finally managed to kick his jeans off, revealing that he seemed
to have some sort of aversion to underwear, and reached for Mac's
belt. Mac growled and rubbed against him, making the man's attempts
to strip him more difficult than they needed to be. But Cash was
determined and he finally managed to push down the leather pants and
the briefs Mac was wearing underneath. Then, with Mac hobbled by the
material around his knees, he gave a hard shove.

Mac went down hard, bouncing on the bed's firm mattress. Before he
had his bearings back, he was completely naked and Cash was all over
him. Mac hooked one leg around Cash's waist, pulling the man down
hard against him, thrusting up at the same moment. The resulting
friction made him moan and thrust harder.

"Ma-c!" Cash groaned, then pressed down harder. He leaned down and
started nipping at Mac's lower lip. Mac returned the favor by
grabbing on to Cash's upper lip with his own teeth.
Then one slow undulation against him made him gasp and he released
the tasty bit of flesh. He tried to control himself -- he still
wanted to fuck Cash, or have Cash fuck him -- but it was useless.
With a load wail, he arched upwards and came. Above him he heard a
matching cry, and suddenly there was even more fluid squelching
between them. Then Cash collapsed down onto him, finally breathing a
little heavier than usual, and rolled to the side.

Cuddled up against Cash, enjoying the afterglow, Mac returned to the

earlier topic of conversation. "So Vampire legends are wrong."

"Right." Cash stretched, practically purring. Mac rubbed his hand in

lazy circles on the other man's stomach, smearing the semen there.
It was strangely pink-tinged, he noticed.

"Garlic?"

"Love it," Cash assured him with a grin. "I know this great Italian
restaurant near here, if there's time before you head home."

"Crosses?"

"Get real."

"Running water?"

"Nope."

"Wooden stakes?"

"Hey, we heal fast, but we *do* get injured. A stake through the
heart will hurt *anyone*." Mac winced.

"Point taken," he said, ignoring Cash's wince at the pun. "Sunlight."

"Sort of. We can take small doses if we've fed recently. If we're
hungry or injured, death come pretty fast. Cloudy days aren't really
a problem, though."

"Sex?"

Cash grinned. "You can ask that after what we just did? And believe
me, the Kiss is even better."

"The Kiss?" Mac asked. He could almost hear the capital letters.
"The Kiss is when a Kindred tastes your blood. Some say it's even
*better* than an orgasm."

"For the Kindred?" Mac asked curiously.

"For both. I think it's a defense mechanism. If they enjoy it, they
won't turn on you."

"I still find that hard to believe."

Cash grinned at him. "I could prove it to you, if you like."

Mac froze. Did Cash mean...? Was he going to agree? Then his
curiosity got the better of him. "How much would you take?"

Cash blinked in surprise. He obviously hadn't expected Mac to take

him up on the suggestion. "One mouthful, maybe two. Less than would
be taken for a blood test."

"And that wouldn't... change me?"

That made the man laugh. "No, it wouldn't. To change you would
require a lot more."

"How much more?" Mac asked, distracted from the original topic of
conversation.

"Basically," Cash said thoughtfully, "I would have to drain you dry,
to the point of death, then feed you my blood."

"Oh." Mac paused. "Do you want to... Kiss me?"

Cash nuzzled his neck, sending shivers through him. "Oh, yeah..."
the man sighed, blowing warm air across the skin, raising goosebumps
all over Mac. Amazingly, he felt his cock start to harden again.

Mac chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then relaxed. "Do it," he
whispered.

"Mac?"

"Please? I really want to know."

"Your boss..."

"Isn't here. Please?"

Cash rolled on top of him and pushed up onto his elbows. His eyes
had gone silver again and Mac shivered, partly from renewed arousal,
partly from nervousness. "Be very sure," Cash said earnestly.

Mac smiled. All his doubts were quickly fading. "Do it, Cash," he
said.

The other man nodded. Mac arched, exposing his neck as much as
possible. As a result, he was surprised when Cash rolled off him and
took a hold of his arm. He turned his head to frown at the man.

Cash grinned. "There's a lot of ways of feeding, Mac. In a way, it's

easier to control with the wrist." He lifted the wrist in question
to his mouth and delicately licked at the big vein there. Mac moaned
slightly at the sensual touch.

He almost missed the delicate prick of fangs breaking the skin. What
he didn't miss was the rush as his blood started racing. Suddenly,
he was even more aroused than he'd been earlier. His cock was hard
and leaking against his stomach.

For a long moment they held there, frozen, with just the sound of
Mac's panting to break the silence. Then Cash gave one long suck,
then a second.

Without even a touch, Mac climaxed, shooting harder and longer than
he could ever remember having done so before in his life. His eyes
rolled back in his head and he screamed at the waves of pleasure ran
through him before the world went black.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Six
----------------------------------------

The night was still young, but as expected, Vic was bored out of his
skull. LiAnn had never been much of one for idle chitchat back when
they'd been engaged and she was even less so now. As a result, their
corner table was probably the only silent one in the club. Around
them, everyone was alternating between chatting with their
companions and glaring at the other tables suspiciously. There was
very little cross-table conversation.

LiAnn spent most of her time watching the band while Vic read his
book. In a way it was nice. He was doing more reading that week than
he normally had time for in any three months put together. He didn't
feel ridiculous for reading in a nightclub. After all, it was better
than going numb with boredom. He'd offered one to LiAnn, but she'd
turned up her nose at the mystery novel. She only liked literary
classics and non-fiction, he remembered. Well, those and the stash
of romance novels she thought was safely hidden under her bed.

So no, that didn't bother him. What did were the glances LiAnn kept
sending his way: Like she was watching some strange beast in the zoo
and wasn't sure how it was going to react. Like she was trying to
solve some intricate puzzle.

Finally, he'd had enough. He shut his book with a snap and set it
down next to his still mostly-untouched drink. "What is it, LiAnn?"
he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, blinking in obviously fake confusion.

"Don't give me that," he said. "I know you too well. You've been
watching me all night. Something's bugging you, so give."

She opened her mouth, probably to protest, then shut it. "Just
paying attention," she said with a shrug.

"Huh?" Real swift, Vic, he thought to himself.

LiAnn glanced around the room, then turned back to him. "Last night
you and Mac said I didn't pay any attention to you. So, now I'm
paying attention. Do you have a problem with that?" She sounded very
defensive about it.

Vic stared back at her for a moment. This was the first crack in her
armor that he'd seen in nearly a year. "No," he said quietly.
"Paying attention is good. Learn anything interesting yet?"

She took a sip of her club soda before answering. "You never used to
read so much," she said. Vic shrugged.

"I never had time."

"No, that's not it. You always seem to have a book handy these days,
whether you read it or not. When we were engaged, your first choice
was to find a TV and see if a hockey game was on."

Vic thought about it and was a little surprised to find that she was
right. Now that he thought about it, he used to feel uncomfortable
reading when LiAnn was around. He could still remember the
occasional comment about his education, which was admittedly lacking
compared to hers. As a result, he'd felt like she was looking down
her nose if he read something as lowbrow as a detective novel. He
still felt that way, truth be told. The difference was, it didn't
bother him anymore. "Anything else?" he asked.

"You're worried about Mac."

"Of course I am. He's my partner -- *our* partner. Aren't you?"

She shrugged. "He's a big boy. He *does* know how to take care of
himself, you know."

"Yeah, but sometimes he acts like he's five years old," Vic muttered
to himself.

LiAnn laughed. It was short and strained, but it *was* a laugh.

"Sounds to me like you're feeling your age," she said.

"I am not," Vic protested.

"Really? I mean you are ten years older than him."

"Nine," Vic said defensively. "And a bit. And that has nothing to do
with anything."

LiAnn shook her head. "If you say so," she said. "But you seem a
little over-protective of him. Big brother instincts coming out?
Don't like to see little brother going out with new friends?" She
eyed him for a moment. "Or maybe you're just jealous."

"I am not jealous," Vic said, already regretting having started the
conversation. "I just think that he should have more sense than to
go running off with a complete stranger when he *knows* there are
people who are going to be after him because he looks like this Zane
person. Not to mention that this Cash obviously..."

"Obviously what? Wants in his pants? A lot of people do, Vic. Why,
do you? Is that what the problem is?" LiAnn's expression turned into
a small sneer.

"Of course not," Vic said with a snort, reminding himself of all the
reasons that he shouldn't. The list was well-rehearsed by now.

"Why not? He's good at it. Believe me, I know."

Vic eyed LiAnn, worried at the change in tone. At first, it had
sounded like she was coming out of her shell. Now she just sounded
bitter. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," was the automatic response.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before LiAnn pushed to her
feet. Vic started to get up too, but she shook her head and headed
for the back corridor where the washrooms were. Vic watched her go,
a sad expression on his face. She was still fighting a lot of pain.
He just wished he could help her. It hurt to see her in pain, like
this. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but he had been, and he
still had a place for her in his heart.

He sighed, and took a long sip of his beer before picking up his
book again. But this time he couldn't seem to lose himself in the
investigations of two British inspectors the way he had before.
Instead, he ran the conversation over in his mind.

She was right. He *was* jealous. Whether it was because Mac was with
someone else or because Mac could *go* with someone else without a
second thought, he wasn't sure. Vic had never been able to go for
casual sex the way that the younger man did.

And much as he hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth to her
comment on ages. He usually avoided thinking about it, but he *was*
significantly older than any of his partners. Mac was barely twenty-
six, while LiAnn and Jackie were both twenty-seven, although the
blonde seemed much younger in her mania.

And Vic? He closed his eyes and groaned silently. He was turning
thirty-six in a few months. He was getting old. All right, some
people might laugh at calling thirty-six 'old,' but they weren't
field operatives. In his line of work he was almost ancient. His
endurance wasn't what it had once been and it was only a matter of
time before his reflexes started to go. If he had to guess, Vic
would say that he only had two years, maybe three if he were lucky,
before he had to retire from field work.

And then what did he do? He had trouble seeing himself behind a desk
doing research or planning for the Agency. Would they cut him loose?
If so, he would have trouble finding work, since for the last seven
years he'd been doing work that couldn't go on a resume. Plus, there
was that pesky little detail of the drug conviction, frame-up or not.

Then again, maybe the Agency just shot over-the-hill agents, the way
that race-horses that lose too many races were put down. Vic
snorted. He had trouble seeing the Director doing *that*. She'd
probably find some way of getting more use out of him until he died.

And if he wasn't pulled from the field soon enough, that could
happen sooner rather than later.

"All by yourself tonight?"

Vic's eyes flew open at the unexpected voice emerging from the
background noise. Standing across the table from him was the Haven's
owner, Lillie Langtry. "No," he said, suddenly feeling a clumsy
country bumpkin. He had the feeling that Lillie had that affect on a
lot of people. "LiAnn just stepped out for a moment."

"And the delightful young man with the excellent dancing skills?"
she asked, raising one eyebrow delicately.

"Gone dancing. Cash took him clubbing tonight."

She sighed slightly. "Pity. I was hoping to... dance with him some
more."

Vic frowned at the obvious innuendo dripping from her voice. Looked
like Cash wasn't the only native who wanted into Mac's pants, as
LiAnn had so crudely put it. "Sorry to disappoint you," he told her,
his face as expressionless as he could make. He was pretty sure that
she saw right through him, though.

She waved off the comment. "Quite all right. It's just that he's a
very attractive man." She smiled seductively.

"Who happens to look a lot like Zane?"

That finally got an honest reaction from her. "You knew Zane?" she
asked in surprise.

"Nope. Just heard about him last night after someone who *really*
didn't like him took a swing at Mac."

"I hope he wasn't hurt," she said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Nah, just bruised. Cash stepped in. Um... Were Cash and Zane..."
His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out a delicate way to
ask his question.
"Lovers?" Lillie finally sat down and a waitress promptly appeared
with a drink for her. She ignored the service, taking it for
granted. "No. Just close friends since childhood. Besides, Zane's
tastes didn't lean that way."

"Let me guess. They leaned more your way."

A bright smile brought out dimples in her cheeks. "Oh, yes. We were
lovers for nearly a year before he died."

"Mac isn't Zane," Vic pointed out. There was something about the
woman that made him nervous. In a way she reminded him of the
Director, which made him want to protect his partner.

Her laugh chimed like bells. "Of course he isn't," she said. "For
one thing, while he was a wonderful singer, Zane couldn't dance at
all. But the resemblance is certainly intriguing, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Vic said, noncommittally. "Uh, oh," he said, noticing LiAnn

heading across the room towards them. A man sitting at one of the
other tables had reached out and grabbed her arm as she went by.
"Looks like trouble."

Lillie looked over and the smile faded from her face. Now, more than
ever, she reminded him of the Director. Her look was cold enough to
freeze and hot enough to fry. "I'll take care of this," she said,
holding out a hand to restrain Vic from going to his partner's aid.

Vic slowly settled back into his seat. His instinct was still to go
over and deck the man who obviously wasn't willing to take no as an
answer from LiAnn, but he found himself almost glued to his seat.
Well, he told himself, justifying his inaction. It *is* her club,
after all.

Her walk had none of the seductiveness that seemed so much a part of
her as she headed over to where the disturbance was spreading.
Others were speaking up now, both for the man and for LiAnn. But
they all fell quiet as Lillie came close.

She stopped right next to the two and reached over to touch the
man's wrist. Her fingers curved around it as far as they would go
and she squeezed. She didn't *look* that strong to Vic, but the
man's face went white with pain and his hand opened automatically.
LiAnn immediately stepped back out of his reach. Lillie turned
towards her and said something softly. LiAnn nodded, then headed for
Vic again.
"Are you all right?" he hissed as she sat down in her seat again. In
the background Lillie was speaking, low and intent, to the man who
now looked both cowed and terrified. Vic was curious, but dismissed
it since there didn't seem to be any further trouble coming from
that quarter.

"Of course," she replied. "He just didn't like it when I told him
that I was *not* interested in a party with him and his friends."
She snorted, then took a sip of her club soda. "Vic." She hesitated,
then reached over and laid a hand on his. "What I said before, I was
out of line. I'm sorry." And she did sound genuinely sorry, he was a
little surprised to note

"Hey, that's okay," he told her. "Things haven't been easy for the
last while." Since Michael, he thought to himself, although he
wasn't about to say that out loud. "Consider it forgotten."

She shook her head. "No, really. I mean, if you and Mac *were* to...
get together, I'd be happy for you."

Vic snorted. "That's not going to happen. He's even more commitment-
shy that *you* are."

"Maybe," was all she said before Lillie rejoined them.

"I am sorry about that," she said, not sitting down. "It won't
happen again," she added, looking over to where the man was sitting,
cradling his wrist to his chest. He caught the glance and paled even
further. Lillie turned back to them. "I do hope you won't hold it
against us."

"Of course not," LiAnn said with a frown of confusion. "Why would I
hold anything against anyone but him?"

"No reason at all," Lillie said smoothly. Then she turned to Vic and
her expression was one of frank appraisal. Her smile returned and
this time it was pure heat where before it had just been friendly
warmth. "Well, since your Mac isn't here, perhaps *you* would dance
with me."

Vic was on his feet before he realized that he'd moved. "He's not my
Mac," he said.

"Of course not," she replied, sending a conspiratorial glance

LiAnn's way. It wasn't returned, but that didn't deter her.
She led Vic out to the dance floor where several other pairs were
dancing. "I'm not as good a dancer," he warned her as he put his
arms around her delicately. It wasn't that he was afraid of hurting
her, after that demonstration of her strength. He was just being...
cautious.

"I think you underestimate yourself," she replied before she

smoothly maneuvered him into the pattern of a tango.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic stood under the spray of hot water, soothing muscles that were
aching. He'd surprised himself on the dance floor. He knew the
basics of all the dance styles Lillie had insisted he partner her
in, but he hadn't realized that he knew some of the moves he'd been
performing. His muscles hadn't realized it either, and they ached as
though he'd been tense all evening.

Still, it had been interesting. He'd also been delighted at the

signs of cracks in LiAnn's rock-hard facade. It looked like she was
finally starting to recover from her emotional pains. He just hoped
that she wouldn't revert once they got back to Toronto and their
normal lives.

The Director had looked tired but satisfied when she'd collected
them early in the morning. Whatever these meetings she was attending
were about, she was pleased with the way they were going. He just
wished he knew what they were about. All attempts to pry were
fondly, but firmly, rebuffed. Nothing he need worry about was all
she'd said.

Vic dried off and pulled on his pajamas before climbing into bed. It
was nearly four in the morning and there was no sign of Mac yet.
He'd promised to be 'home' before dawn, and while he still had a few
hours left before then, Vic couldn't help but be a little worried.
He closed his eyes and resigned himself to not getting any sleep
until his partner came through the door, safe and sound. It wasn't
that he didn't *trust* Mac. The younger man just seemed to attract
trouble as easily as he attracted admirers. And he still wasn't sure
he trusted Cash, even if the Director and Lillie both seemed to.
Ever since his betrayal at the hands of his fellow cops nearly a
decade earlier, he'd had a problem with trust. LiAnn had been the
first to overcome that, Mac the second. No one else had yet.

Less that half an hour after he'd turned out the lights, he heard a
soft "scrape, scrape" of someone working the door lock. He reached
for his gun on the bedside table, then cursed softly when he
realized that it wasn't there. It was back in Toronto.

He rolled towards the edge of the bed where he'd be out of sight of
the door and sat up. He knew that it was probably Mac, but he wasn't
about to take chances.

The door opened and he held his breath, waiting. Then a thump and a
muffled curse told him all he needed to know. "Just turn the light
on, Mac," he said, exasperated.

There was a moment of silence, then the lights came on. "Sorry," Mac
said sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Vic was already climbing back into bed. "I wasn't asleep yet," he
said. "Enjoy your evening out... Shit!" Vic sat up straight again as
Mac came around the corner. "What the *hell* happened to you?"

Mac looked both tired and relaxed at the same time, but what had
caught Vic's attention was his face. When Mac had left the Haven
with Cash he'd had a bruise on the left side of his jaw, already
starting to fade. Now he had a large, purpling bruise on his right
cheek, not much below his eye.

"Hmm?" Mac said, then lifted a hand to his cheek. "Oh, that. Just a
run-in with some unfriendlies. Cash and I handled it with no trouble
at all." Mac's eyes flicked to the side, and Vic wondered just how
much trouble "no trouble at all" was. Mac was a lousy liar. "I'd
already forgotten about it. And the night was great, thank you very
much."

"Damnit, Mac, can't you do anything without getting into trouble?"

Vic snapped as Mac started to undress. He knew the words were a
mistake before they left his mouth, but was powerless to stop them.

Mac's eyes snapped angrily. "Back off, Vic. You're not my father."

Vic winced. The comment hit a little too close to home after his
earlier worries about getting old. "Sorry," he said softly. "I was
just... worried."

The anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "That's all right.

Really, I can take care of myself. And it was an... informative
night." There was a strange note to Mac's voice, one that Vic wasn't
sure how to interpret. Then it was gone and the serious expression
was replaced with a typical Mac leer. "But how was *your* evening?
Meet any lovely ladies?"

Vic snorted. "It was... interesting. LiAnn nearly got into a fight
with a guy who tried to hit on her and I danced with Lillie. Turned
down an invitation to stay the day, though."

"What? Are you nuts?" Mac said, looking up in surprise. "She's

gorgeous!"

Vic just shrugged, not replying. He wasn't about to tell his partner
that the lovely Lillie Langtry had scared the bejeezus out of him
with the invitation. Her expression had been... predatory, like she
wanted to eat him whole, and not in a good way.

Instead, he yawned. The late nights combined with waking up before

mid-morning was catching up with him. Mac echoed the yawn before
climbing into bed, naked as usual.

"Hey, Vic," Mac said, out of the blue.

"Hmm?" Vic was already starting to sink into the sleep that had been
so elusive earlier.

"It's been a really long night. Any objections to just taking it

easy tomorrow? Sleep in and hang around here for the day?"

Vic's head felt like it was floating a foot above the pillow and he
moaned faintly. He was so tired. Then he realized Mac was waiting
for an answer. "Fine, whatever," he mumbled.

And then was gone.

>>>~~~<<<

When Vic woke, the sun was doing its best to find a way around the
heavy drapes that he had remembered to close the night before. No
bright flood *this* morning. Its only success was a thin line on the
wall where it had worked its way around the edge of the dark fabric.
Vic glanced at the clock and found that it was almost lunch-time. He
sat up and stretched, then glanced over at the other bed.

Mac was just a vague lump under the covers, dead to the world. He
didn't move at all as Vic got up, washed his face, shaved and
brushed his teeth. He didn't even stir when Vic turned on the lights
long enough to get dressed. Vic snorted in amusement as he headed
for the door.

His grumbling stomach led him to the small dining room where he
found that the hotel's kitchen provided as wide a variety of lunch
options as it did breakfast. He indulged himself in the best
pastrami sandwich he could ever remember having, along with homemade
potato chips and coleslaw with a pickle on the side and a beer from
a local micro-brewery. Simple, basic and mouth-watering good.

When he was done, Mac still was asleep and there was no sign of
LiAnn. He was going to go for a walk when a thought occurred to him:
This was the perfect time to go looking for that present he wanted
to find for Mac. Smiling at the thought, he slipped back into the
room long enough to leave a note for Mac, just in case the man woke
before he got back, and to grab his wallet and cell-phone. He asked
at the front desk for suggestions of where to go and ended off with
several suggestions.

They directed him to an area of town crowded with antique stores,

curio shops and other stores with not a tourist trap to be seen. Vic
walked along, peering in through front windows, wondering just what
would appeal to his sometimes frivolous, sometimes serious partner.
He found a flowing silk scarf that was perfect for LiAnn, but
nothing that said "Mac" to him.

After almost an hour of looking, Vic wandered into yet another

antique store. As well as finding something for Mac, he was also
looking for a gift to take home for his sister. She'd finally
returned from her volunteer work in India -- a job arranged for her
by the Director, much to his chagrin -- and had surprised him by
promptly heading off to university, something she'd sworn she'd
never do. It was 'caving in to the status quo,' she'd always said.

The Alice who'd come back from India was different from the self-
named Allegra who'd left a year earlier. Calmer, steadier, although
no less an idealist. But now she had more realistic goals, which was
why she was now planning on studying law. She was going to take on
the status quo and change it from within, she said. They'd had to
twist his arm to get him to agree with letting her go to Asia, and
now he was glad he'd given in.

He found a small wooden box, ornately decorated with carved

elephants and Indian figures and lined with sandalwood, at the back
of one shelf and decided that it would be perfect for his sister. He
was headed for the cash when a display case of jewelry caught his
eye as he walked past. He stopped and glanced over the contents,
just out of curiosity.

It was the usual mix of the nice and the tacky: Glass beads mixed
with cameos and gold, even an attractive amber pendant with a price
tag that made him wince. Just as well that neither LiAnn nor his
sister liked amber.

He was about to keep going when a flash of light drew his eye to a
cluster of pendants at the back of the case. He leaned in for a
closer look, but couldn't tell which one had made the flash.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Vic looked up to find the cashier watching him expectantly. "Could I

take a look at those?" he said, pointing to the chaotic jumble.

The woman pulled out a key attached to her belt by a chain and
unlocked the cabinet. She lifted out the tray of pendants, closed
the case and placed it on top. "Any one in particular?" she asked.

"Um..." Vic ran a finger over the pieces, trying to figure out just
why he was bothering. Then he jumped. For a moment it had felt like
he had touched a live wire. He reached down cautiously and drew out
a simple pendant hanging from a black leather thong.

It was like nothing he could remember having seen before. It was

bright silver in color, except for the crevices that were black
with... something. Tarnish or enamel, he wasn't quite sure which. It
looked more deliberate than not. He tried to follow the dips and
curves of the design, but quickly got lost in the complexity and
blinked, trying to clear his head. For a moment he was almost dizzy
from the effort.

His first instinct was to drop it back on the tray, buy the box and
keep going, but something stopped him. He cupped his hand around the
pendant as it swung in mid-air, staring at it. Then it brushed
against his palm and another shock went through him. He blinked, and
suddenly he was somewhere else.

He was deep in a forest, silent except for the rustle of leaves

above his head. The ground beneath his feet was covered in a thick
layer of dead leaves, slowly dissolving back into the ground. It was
quiet. It was eerie. It was beautiful.

"It is, isn't it?"

Vic turned, and was somehow unsurprised to find Mac there. The
younger man was leaning against an oak tree that had to be centuries
old, it was so large. He looked surprisingly at ease, city-boy that
he was, and his clothes reflected that. Jeans so old that they were
almost white hugged his legs and a faded red shirt hung open almost
to the waist, not tucked in.

And hanging around his neck, nestled into his dark chest hair, was
the pendant.

"What's going on, Mac?" Vic asked, looking around. He was confused,
but strangely unworried.

"You'll understand when the time comes," was the enigmatic reply.

Vic turned back to Mac, but the man was gone. In his place was a
black panther with glowing silver eyes. Vic stumbled backwards, his
heart suddenly pounding, but with... anticipation, not fear? The
oversized feline just watched him, somehow managing to convey
amusement without moving or making a sound.

There was a low cough, and a second feline stepped out from between
two trees and moved over to rub against the panther. But this one
was a mountain lion with bright green eyes, as out of place in this
ancient wood as the panther. They both stared him for a moment, then
turned and left, moving silently as they disappeared from sight.

"Sir, are you all right?"

Vic blinked and shook his head to clear it before turning to face
the concerned saleswoman. "I'm fine," he said, somehow managing to
keep his voice steady. Something had just happened, but he wasn't
sure what. All that was left was a confused jumble of images. The
only one that remained clear was the one of Mac wearing the pendant
and a feeling of rightness that went with it.

"How much for this one?" he asked, not really caring about the
answer. As far as he was concerned, the pendant was already sold.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Seven
----------------------------------------

By the time Mac woke up, it was after one and the previous night
felt like some sort of weird dream. He was alone in the room, so Vic
had obviously gone to find food, and the growling in Mac's stomach
suggested that it thought that was an excellent idea.

A glance in the bathroom mirror told Mac that at least *part* of

last night hadn't been a dream. The side of his face where the goon
-- Brujah, Cash had called them -- had landed a punch was black and
blue from the cheekbone all the way down to the curve of his jaw. He
prodded it gently with a fingertip and winced. It was a miracle that
nothing was broken and that he hadn't lost any teeth, although one
or two felt a little loose. It hadn't felt this bad the night
before, but he'd probably been riding a wave of adrenaline.

He showered and shaved, taking extra care around the bruised side of
his face, then dressed to head downstairs. Periodically his stomach
would growl to remind him that it had been almost a full day since
he'd last eaten and that in the meantime he'd been in a fight as
well as -- he glanced at his wrist and caught his breath at the
faint marks of two puncture wounds, almost completely gone now -- as
well as... donating blood.

For a moment, all the blood he still *had* rushed to his groin at
the memory of that bite and how it had felt. His eyes glazed over
and he moaned faintly before he pushed back the slow burn of arousal
using sheer willpower.

At last as fit to be seen by human eyes as he could make himself,

Mac went to collect his room key and finally noticed the piece of
paper next to it. He picked it up and scanned over Vic's untidy
scrawl.

"Shopping?" Mac pouted. Vic had gone shopping without him? He felt a
little disappointed that his partner hadn't woken him to go too.
Then he shrugged. It wasn't like they had to spend *all* their time
together. After all, he'd had an evening out to himself. But still,
he *liked* spending time with Vic, now that the older man had
loosened up a little. Not that he'd ever *say* so, Mac thought to
himself with a grin.

Mac locked the door and headed for the stairs. Even though it was
late for lunch, delicious smells wafted up from the kitchen and
dining room, making his stomach growl even louder than it had before.

Then he paused and turned his head to look at the door to the
Director's suite, memories of what Cash had told him flashing
through his mind. The door stared back mutely. No answers there.

But there were answers behind it, assuming that the Director was up
or willing to tell him anything. But a thin thread of fear held him
back from knocking on that door. He was comfortable with the
Director he knew; the flirtatious woman who was both fond of and
firm with her agents, alternating between controlling them with an
iron fist and being a teasing friend. She only ever told them as
much as she thought they needed to know. He wasn't sure how she'd
react to the fact that he now knew more about her and what she was
than she'd ever told them.

On the other hand, he wouldn't know unless he asked.

Steeling himself to confront both the familiar -- the Director --

and the unfamiliar -- the Prince of Toronto -- Mac walked up to the
suite door and knocked.

He regretted the impulse almost immediately, and he started praying

that either she wasn't there or that she hadn't heard the knock. Of
course, he prayed in vain. Within seconds, the door opened and the
Director stared up at him. For a moment she looked pissed at the
interruption, but only for a moment. Then she got a good look at his
face and the door swung wide open.

"Inside, Mr. Ramsey," she ordered. "I want details, and fast."

Mac moved past her into the suite's sitting room. It was a strong
and powerful room, decorated in jewel tones and with rich materials.
A laptop sat open humming on the antique wood desk in the corner,
which was also covered with papers, telling him that she'd been
working when he'd knocked. A small dining table sat opposite it, and
two sofas flanked a large fireplace with a marble mantle. A small
blaze crackled merrily in it. The overall effect was warm and
friendly. He hoped that it was a good omen.

"Sit down," she told him, waving him towards the sofas. "Have you
eaten yet?" Mac's stomach growled before he could answer her and she
smiled. "I'll take that as a no."

She picked up the phone and spoke softly into it before moving to
join him. "Lunch will be here shortly. Now, what happened? And don't
leave out any details."

Her expression went completely hard on the question and Mac

swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain it all. Finally, he
decided to include everything and hope for the best.

"Cash and I were jumped by four Brujah looking for a fight with a
Gangrel," he said, deliberately using the Kindred terms that Cash
had used. "Then they got a look at me and decided that the Prince of
San Francisco had lied about witnessing the execution of Zane, who
it seems was an out-of-control Toreador. So, they decided instead
just to kill us both. Some of Cash's friends came to our rescue and
the four took off. I went back to Cash's place with him where I got
a somewhat complete explanation about the Kindred, although he said
I should really get be getting that lecture from the Prince of
Toronto, that being you, it seems. Then, later on, he brought me
back to the hotel, well before my dawn curfew," Mac added with a
grin. "I figured it was too late to talk to you, so I went to bed."

Finished, Mac took a deep breath and sat back to wait for the
reaction.

"Were you wearing the earring?"

Mac stared at her blankly for a moment, then remembered her marker
and lifted a hand to touch it. "Yes. Cash pointed it out to them,
but they said they didn't care."

Her eyes narrowed. "Names?"

He shrugged. "Cash called the leader of the bunch Marcus. I didn't

get any other names, though. I was a little busy for introductions."

"I... see. I'll talk to Luna tonight, although I'm sure that Cash
has already reported the breach of Truce to him. Your four Brujah
will probably find themselves staked out for the sun, knowing him."
The pleasure in her voice at the thought made him shiver. Usually
she was easy to deal with, to trust, and then she would say
something like that and he'd end up terrified of her, however
briefly.

Mac was really confused now, though. The Director was taking it all
in stride. She was upset about the attack, but not the rest.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again several time before he

could force out anything coherent. "You don't seem upset about me
finding out about the... Kindred, Cash called your kind?" he finally
asked.

There was a knock at the door before she could answer him. She
opened the door, and a hotel employee came in, pushing a serving
tray. A plate with a club sandwich and fries, as well as a Tsingtao
beer, was placed in front of Mac, then the server left after
receiving a generous tip from the Director.

She turned back to find him staring at her, waiting. "Well?" she
said impatiently in an almost maternal tone. "Eat your lunch before
it gets cold."

Mac wasn't sure he *could* eat, he was so nervous, but he obediently

picked up a fry and stuck it in his mouth.

The moment it hit his tongue, his body promptly reminded him just
how hungry he was, and he started eating, barely pausing long enough
to chew the food before swallowing.

When the plate was bare, he sat back again, sipping the last of his
beer. Now that his stomach was full, he found he wasn't as anxious
about her reaction as he had been before.

She was watching him with a fond smile on her face. "Better?" He
nodded. "Good. And now, I'm not upset. In fact, I'm quite pleased."

*That* surprised Mac. "Pleased?" He thought about it for a moment.

Understanding wasn't long in coming. "You *wanted* us to find out
about the Kindred. That's why you brought us with you. You figured
that after a few nights sitting in a club full of... vampires, we'd
twig, sooner or later."

The smile was full of pride now. "Very good, Mr. Ramsey. In fact, I
rather expected that you would be the first to 'twig,' as you put
it. I'm glad to see that my faith in you is not misplaced."

Then her expression turned cold again. "But the method was *not*
what I had planned. As soon as we arrive at the Haven tonight, you
and I will go to lodge a formal complaint with Luna."

"Do we have to?" Mac asked nervously. "I mean if Cash has already
told him about what happened..." His voice trailed off. He really
didn't want to meet a man who could order the deaths of his own
people so casually. Of course, the Director had done it in the past
too, but he *knew* the Director. Luna was an unknown as far as he
was concerned.

The Director shook her head. "If I let this slide, then I'm saying
that I'm weak. I do *not* want to have challengers trying to take my
city away from me." Then her voice softened a little. "But we'll do
it privately, out of consideration for our host. You won't have to
face any of the others." She paused, then grinned. "At least not
yet."

Mac nodded reluctantly. He still didn't like the idea, but he did
understand the reasoning. In a way, it was a lot like the Hong Kong
crime families he'd been around growing up. You never showed
weakness, or you opened yourself up to attack, but if someone could
be a useful ally in the future, you gave him the chance to save
face. It was a little strange thinking of his new "Family" in the
terms as his old one, but the parallels were obvious.

Then a thought occurred to him. "What about Vic and LiAnn?" he

asked. "What do I tell them?"

The Director leaned back in her seat, tapping a thoughtful finger

against her lips for a moment before answering. "About the attack,
anything you like. About the Kindred, nothing for the time being. I
still want to see if they figure it out on their own." Mac nodded.

His plate was empty and the conversation seemed to have reached a
logical conclusion, so he got to his feet to leave.

Just before he opened the door, the Director called out. "Mac?"

He stopped and turned around. She nodded to him. "You did well. I'm
glad to see you didn't disappoint me."

Mac couldn't help grinning at the praise. Then he headed off to kill
time until they had to leave for the Haven.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac spent the rest of the afternoon out on the back patio,
overlooking the hotel's gardens, enjoying the somewhat weak
sunshine. While the clouds kept it from being sunbathing weather, it
was still a hell of a lot warmer than back in Toronto. Back there,
there was snow on the ground -- well, at least slush. Here, he could
sit out in short sleeves without getting a chill.

An hour before sunset, he finally went in to change for the evening.

When he got to the room, he found the shower in use. Vic was
obviously back from his little shopping trip.

Mac stopped in his tracks, looking at his bed. Sitting on his pillow
was a small white box, tied with a ribbon and decorated with a bow.
A slow grin spread over his face. Vic had bought him a present.
He sat down on the bed and picked up the box. He held it to his ear
and shook it, playing the old "try to figure out what it is before
opening the box" game. It rattled slightly, but that was the only
clue. Mac finally gave in to his curiosity and undid the ribbon.

The lid lifted away to reveal a pendant strung on a leather thong,

sitting on a bed of cotton. Mac snagged the thong and lifted it up,
fascinated by the way the light played across the intricate twists
and turns of the metal. He'd never seen anything like it before, and
yet it was strangely familiar.

He reached up with his other hand and lowered the pendant slowly
into the palm.

Mac gasped. It felt like every hair on his body -- and he had a lot
of hair -- was suddenly standing on end. He blinked, and the world
tilted on its axis.

He was home, in Toronto. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He was in

bed, and it was *his* bed, made with *his* sheets and covers, but
the room itself was completely unfamiliar. For one thing, there were
no windows in the room.

He was naked, which made sense since he was in bed. He'd never liked
sleep tied up in pajamas. However, he was also very, very aroused,
despite being completely alone in the bed.

Then there was a coughing noise, and he looked towards the bedroom
door. He caught his breath. Standing there was a very large mountain
lion with brilliant green eyes. Very *familiar* green eyes. Mac sat
very still as it stalked across the room towards him. Part of him
was screaming at him to move, and yet he was strangely unconcerned.

The oversized cat leapt up onto the bed and came closer, finally
stopping when it was straddling his body. Then, making a rumbling
noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, it settled its weight
down on him and *damn* it was heavy.

Just when he thought he was going to be crushed, the cat's shape did
a melty twist and was suddenly gone. Left in its place was a very
naked, very aroused Vic Mansfield, his eyes the exact same shade of
brilliant green as the cat's, with a slight silver shimmer. He
smiled a lazy smile at Mac and drew closer and closer, until their
lips...

"Well?"
Mac jumped and opened his eyes. Vic was standing leaning against the
wall, damp and with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Mac's
body reacted predictably to the sight of all that lean, beautiful,
naked male flesh.

"Well, what?" he asked stupidly, not able to figure out the

question, all of his blood having deserted his brain.

Vic shifted nervously. "Do you like it?"

"Huh? Oh!" He looked down at the pendant in his hand. Strange. For a
moment, it had felt like something had happened, but for the life of
him, he couldn't remember what. "I think it's great," he said
honestly and Vic relaxed.

And it *was* great, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't his usual
sort of jewelry, but there was something about it that drew him. He
picked it up again and carefully draped it around his neck. It fell
into place like it was meant to be there.

"Perfect," he whispered to himself.

Then he shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to more practical
matters. "The Director wants to head over early, right after
sunset," he told Vic, who was busily pulling clothes from the closet.

Vic frowned. "Why?" he asked. After all, it was a good hour earlier
than they'd gone over the last few nights.

Mac shrugged. "She wants to talk to the host of these meetings about
the attack last night. After all, Cash is one of his people, and
we're supposed to be protected by the Truce."

Vic nodded slowly. "Okay, that makes sense. Well, you better get
moving then. Sunset is less than a half-hour away."

Mac blinked in confusion. It *had* been nearly an hour away when

he'd come in. A glance at the clock confirmed that he had somehow
managed to lose a half-hour somewhere.

Weird, he thought, heading for the bathroom.

>>>~~~<<<

A quick shave and change of clothing later, Mac made it downstairs

just as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He'd moved fast,
but had still taken care with his appearance. After all, it wouldn't
do to make a bad impression on the Prince of the city, since keeping
with the Hong Kong model in his mind, it would reflect badly on the
Director. He'd gone with his favorite look, though; a black linen
suit and a smooth-front white shirt, high-necked and collarless.
Against it, the silver pendant and black leather thong looked
classy. He hadn't even considered not wearing it.

The Director looked him up and down, straightened his lapels and
tweaked the pendant before stepping back and nodding in satisfaction.

"Mac, are you all right?" LiAnn gasped. Mac touched his jaw, still
feeling the low-level ache from the bruising. He'd forgotten that he
hadn't seen LiAnn since leaving the Haven with Cash the night
before, so she didn't know about the attack.

"It looks worse than it feels," he assured her, secretly pleased at

the unexpected show of concern.

"It is also why we are heading over early, so let's go, children,"
the Director added, gesturing towards the waiting limo.

The drive seemed endless, but was over faster than Mac would have
liked. Before he was really ready for the upcoming confrontation,
they were pulling to a stop in front of the club.

"Come with me, Mac," the Director said, heading towards the stairs
that led up to the club's offices, Mac assumed. He could see the
large windows of a room overlooking the dance floor. He looked back
longingly as Vic and LiAnn headed through the mostly empty room to
claim their usual table. In the corner, the band was tuning up.

Then he sighed and obediently followed his employer up the stairs.

There was a small crowd waiting for them. Cash and Lillie, he
already knew, and he threw a relieved smile Cash's way. He was glad
to see the man there to back him up. The rest of the group was
unfamiliar, though.

The handsome man sitting behind the modern desk was presumably Luna.
He wore an aura of power like a cloak. The stylish suit he was
wearing spoke of a *lot* of money. Lillie was elegantly draped over
the back of his chair, and she smiled brightly at him, although her
eyes flashed when they flickered to the bruised side of his face.
The second man was just as handsome as Luna, but less appealing.
They looked about the same age, but this man *felt* younger. His
clothes were more trendy, and he felt... slimy to Mac. He was pacing
in front of the windows, pausing only long enough to glare at Mac,
who resisted the urge to take a step back.

Then he got a good look at the last person in the room and *did*
take a step back. The man was completely hairless and pale like a
corpse. His ears rose to sharp points, nearly higher than the top of
his head. Mac flinched from meeting his eyes, not sure that he
wanted to know what he might find there. Dressed all in black, he
resembled the vampires of the old silent films, back before they
were glamorized by Hollywood.

The Director moved forward to stand in front of the desk, drawing up

to her full height. Despite the fact that she was probably the
shortest person in the room, she had a presence that made her seem
at least a foot taller.

"I have come to file a grievance," she said quietly, although her
voice filled the room. "There has been a breach of Truce and an
attempt on the life of one of my retainers." Reacting to a cue he
hadn't even noticed, Mac moved to stand one step behind and to the
side of her. Luna glanced at him, pinning him in place with his
intense expression.

"Cash has made his statement," he said seriously. "I would like you
to tell us what happened now."

Mac took a deep breath before beginning. Deciding that they didn't
need *too* much personal detail, he started with their decision to
leave the club and continued until the moment they left the parking
lot after the attack. Luna broke in from time to time to ask
questions, drawing out details Mac hadn't even realized he'd noticed.

Finally he finished and there was silence for a minute.

"Thank you, Mr. Ramsey," Luna said, then turned to the pacing man.
"Cameron, I want Marcus and his friends brought to me before
morning."

Cameron stopped pacing and turned around. "You can't be taking

this... this *slander* seriously!"

That bought him glares from almost everyone in the room. "You've
heard the statements from both Cash and Mr. Ramsey and they agree in
every detail," Luna pointed out.

"Of course they do," the man said with a sneer. "They came up with
this fairytale together."

Cash growled, low in his throat, and moved towards Cameron. Luna
restrained him with a simple gesture. "And why would they do that?"
he asked mildly.

"Cash wants to undermine my position," Cameron said. "And you're

buying it just because he's a good fuck."

Lillie grimaced at the crudity, but Luna remained expressionless,

other than a narrowing of his eyes. "And Ramsey's reason for going
along with this?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "He's never met you
before tonight."

Seeming to not notice the warning in his boss's voice, Cameron waved
dismissively in Mac's direction. "For the same reason: Cash is a
good fuck."

This time it was Mac who growled angrily, while Cash muttered "Like
you'll ever find out first-hand," under his breath.

But it was the Director who responded directly. She moved to stand
toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. "Be very careful about
accusing my people of lying," she hissed at him. "Push me and you
won't like the response."

At least the man had the sense to back down. The Director in a cold
rage was enough to make the bravest -- or most foolish -- of men
want to wet his pants. Instead of responding, he looked to Luna.

"Bring them in," The Prince said firmly. "They will have the chance
to make their case before the council."

Cameron's jaw clenched, but he finally nodded and headed for the
exit. Luna turned his attention back to the Director. "This will be
dealt with," he assured her. "I swear."

She nodded regally. "Then I will leave it in your hands," she told
him. "But if the Brujah had succeeded in killing Mac, I would not be
so... polite."

"If they had succeeded, they would be yours to do with as you liked
and the Brujah of this city would be looking for a new Primogen."
With that finished, the atmosphere in the room lightened quite a
bit. Luna emerged from behind the desk, suddenly becoming less
intimidating, although no less charismatic. He brushed a hand down
Cash's arm possessively, then moved over to where Mac was standing.

"Amazing," he said, reaching up to brush fingers over his jaw. Mac

shivered lightly at the touch. "They told me, but I didn't really
believe it."

Mac swallowed, his mouth gone desert-dry. Was this intense sexuality
something all Princes had in common? His body was responding as
helplessly to Luna as it did to the Director's teasing. "I'm not
Zane," he said in a remarkably steady voice considering the
circumstances.

Luna grinned. "Obviously not," he said, then thankfully stepped

back. "But the resemblance is startling." He looked Mac up and down
speculatively.

A discrete cough brought the appraisal to an abrupt end. "Back off,

Julian," the Director said, amusement plain in her voice. "He's
mine."

While Mac bristled at the possessive tone, he was still relieved

when Luna moved away. Once there was some distance between them, he
was able to collect his thoughts

"However," Luna said, leaning back against the desk, his expression
serious again. "There is still the matter of the breaking of
Masquerade."

Mac glanced at Cash who had gone tense at the words. He remembered
what he'd been told the night before about the secrecy that was
paramount to the Kindred for protection from a fearful human
population and gulped. He hadn't meant to get Cash in trouble. "If
anyone broke it, it was Marcus's goon," he broke in. "I pushed Cash
to answer my questions, but that wouldn't have been necessary if it
weren't for the goon sprouting fangs and glowing silver eyes. Cash
tried to put me off, but I wouldn't leave without an explanation. He
did try."

Luna glanced at the Director who smiled. "I brought him with me to
see if he would figure it out. While this was not exactly what I
planned, I have no complaint."
Luna nodded, and both Mac and Cash relaxed. "Accepted. I will let
you know when Marcus and his cohorts have been delivered. In the
meantime, I need to prepare for the meetings. I will see you later."

He headed through a door at the back of the room and disappeared

from sight. Mac breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank into a
nearby chair. He tensed slightly when the hairless man moved towards
him, accompanied by a faint stench that made him think of sewers,
but he just patted Mac on the shoulder and said, "You did well,"
before following Luna.

Mac stared after him and Cash laughed. "High praise indeed from a
Nosferatu," he said, then left as well.

Lillie moved to take the seat behind the desk. The Director headed
for the door they'd come in through and Mac got to his feet to
follow her.

"Mac," Lillie said, then waited until he turned to face her. "I'll
see you later," she promised with a seductive smile.

Mac grinned. "I'll look forward to it."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Eight
----------------------------------------

The club was nearly full by the time Mac and the Director came back
down the stairs from their meeting with the guy who was supposed to
deal with the attack on Mac the night before. Vic wasn't sure how
the man was supposed to do that, but he supposed it wasn't his
problem.

Then again, an attack on one of his partners *was* his problem.

Mac looked a little shaky on his feet and Vic wondered if the
Director had been playing her little games again. He'd seen Mac face
down certain death without flinching, making jokes, then run scared
when the Director went into predator mode. Not that he really blamed
him; The Director didn't aim those attentions his way very often,
but when she did, Vic ended up shaking in his boots.

"Julian will deal with the matter," she said, sinking into one of
the seats at the small table. Mac more collapsed into his. Vic
examined the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if the man
should even be out of bed. Considering the size and color of the
bruise, he'd taking one hell of a shot.

More drinks were delivered; a soda for Mac, since he didn't look
like he could hold any liquor, and a deep red wine for the Director.
Meanwhile, the band had started to play something low and soothing.
LiAnn could probably tell him the title and composer, along with a
brief history of the piece, but Vic didn't care: It sounded nice and
that was enough for him.

"So," he finally said when no one else seemed interested in starting

a conversation and the silence got a little stilted. "How much
longer are these meetings going on, and what are they about anyway?"

"Haven't I said?" the Director said in mock surprise. "How

thoughtless of me." Both Mac and LiAnn had leaned forward at the
question, obviously curious, Vic noticed.
"Well, after tonight there are two more nights of meetings, with a
party the following night. We fly home, four nights from now. As for
the purpose." She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. "Call it a
discussion of inter-agency cooperation," she finally said.

Vic frowned. "What sort of agencies?" he asked suspiciously.

The Director leaned over and patted his cheek fondly. "So curious.
How sweet. However, you needn't worry yourself over that, Victor. It
doesn't affect you right now."

Vic wanted to protest that assumption, but before he could, she

stood and headed for the meeting rooms in back, taking her wineglass
with her.

"Anyone else have a clue what she meant by inter-agency cooperation?"

Vic asked, glancing at his partners.

LiAnn shrugged, already losing interest in the conversation. Mac

shrugged too, but his gaze slid to the side; something it did when
he was hiding something. "Mac?"

Mac shrugged again, but wouldn't meet his eyes. He knew something,
but Vic decided that it wasn't exactly the time or place to pry it
out of him. He did make a note of it for later, however.

"So," he said, changing the subject. "What is this Julian person

like?"

Mac shuddered theatrically. "Picture a male version of the

Director," he said conspiratorially to Vic, who shuddered as well.
LiAnn's lips twitched at the display and Vic exchanged satisfied
glances with Mac at that. Yep, the ice-queen façade was definitely
starting to erode.

"Did he sit on your lap?" Vic teased and Mac actually blushed.

"Nope, but he seemed to be considering it before the Director told

him to back off. Actually, if you met him you'd probably think he
was a Mafia Don or something. Handsome, cultured, well-dressed and
somehow scary as hell."

That worried Vic. "Maybe he *is* Mafia," he suggested, but Mac was
already shaking his head.

"No, he isn't," was all he would say.

Vic was getting more and more suspicious now. Mac obviously knew
something he wasn't telling and that bothered Vic. He and his
partner were definitely going to have a little talk when they got
back to the hotel.

Until then, though, he was going to keep his eyes open. Something
weird was going on, and he wanted to know what.

>>>~~~<<<

As the night went on, Vic made a mental list of everything that
struck him as odd, drawing on his training as a detective. He wasn't
sure what most of them meant, or even if they meant anything, but he
had no way of knowing what was significant yet. He wished he could
pull out a notebook and jot down some notes, but that would have
attracted attention he didn't want.

The first item on his list seemed fairly innocuous. Considering the
mix of people in the club, you would expect to see a wide variety of
drinks, tending towards either beer or hard liquor, but the
overwhelming favorite drink was the same red wine that the Director
had been drinking earlier, somehow darker and slightly thicker in
consistency than he was familiar with. Perhaps it was a local
specialty or something, but it *was* strange.

Second was the pattern of interactions between groups. As he'd

noticed on previous evenings, each group stayed mostly to themselves.
However, there *was* interaction, if only a look or a nod. Some of
those seemed reasonably friendly, while others looked to be verging
on violence. There was some sort of pattern to it -- Vic was sure of
it -- but it eluded him, kind of like the on-the-tip-of-my-tongue
phenomenon.

Jackie always said that his surveillance skills were pitiful, and he
was noticed in his watching. It got him a few angry glares and one
rather disturbing snarl, all accompanied by a weird flash of silver
in the eyes. A few looked so hostile that he'd quickly looked in
another direction. Vic wasn't a coward, but he knew danger when he
saw it and Victor Mansfield was *not* a fool. As for the silver, he
just assumed that it was something to do with the lighting in the
club.

"My, don't we look suspicious tonight," a husky voice purred in his

ear. Vic twisted in his seat to look up at an obviously amused
Lillie.

"What?"

"You have the look of a cop in a suspected drug house," she said
with a smile. "You really should work on your poker face."

Vic snorted. "My poker face is fine. It just doesn't translate

well," he said. In his mind he could hear Jackie telling him 'You
look like the hotel dick.' The kindest comment he'd received was
that his face was too honest for surveillance. "I was just curious,"
he told her. "I hope I didn't offend."

For a moment, his eyes flickered over to the bar where Mac was
chatting with Cash. The Director had promised that Mac's attackers
were going to be dealt with, but until then he was keeping a close
eye on his partner.

"Of course not," she said, sitting down. "I even know a few cops."

"I'm not a cop."

LiAnn frowned and excused herself. For some reason she seemed to
have taken a dislike to the elegant club-owner. But then she always
seemed to take a dislike to any woman who showed an interest in
either of her partners -- other than the Director, of course -- even
though she'd made it clear that she didn't want either of them.

Lillie cocked her head to the side, watching LiAnn walk away, an
amused smile on her lips, before turning back to Vic. "Maybe not
now, but you used to be," she said confidently. Vic didn't bother
denying the comment: He'd also been told that he was a lousy liar.
"So tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not being
suspicious?"

A glass of the same red wine he'd noticed earlier was set down next
to her and when she sipped, it left a sheen on her lips that
disturbingly made him think of blood. He shook off the fancy before
answering.

"I listen to music, mostly old-style blues. I cook, although not very
well yet." Vic grinned, remembering the time the fire department had
shown up while he was trying to make blackened catfish; the resulting
smoke had set off the smoke-detectors in the corridor. The result had
been so over-spiced that it had been inedible. His second attempt
hadn't been half-bad, though, so he *was* improving with practice.

"How domestic. And do you cook for Mac as well?"

Vic drew his gaze back to Lillie after it had wandered over to his
partner again. Mac was laughing at something the bartender had just
said. "What?"

"Do you cook for the delightful young man that you are watching so
intently?" The smile on her face said that she was teasing him.

Vic shook his head. "Mac likes 'authentic' Chinese food, so he seems
to live on take-out."

"How long have you been together?" There was no mistaking the
meaning of her question.

"We aren't lovers," Vic told her. "We've been working together for a
little over two years, though."

"Really? The way you've been watching him, I would have thought...
On the other hand, he *did* spend the night with Cash," she said
thoughtfully to himself.

"I've been keeping an eye on his because he attracts trouble like

honey attracts flies. After last night, I think I have reason to
worry."

"You don't seem to worry about the young lady."

"LiAnn is very good at avoiding trouble," he said defensively.

"And are you and she..." Lillie trailed off suggestively.

The slight flash of pain was barely noticeable, unlike the months
after she'd called off their engagement. "Not for more than a year.
And before that, she was with Mac," he said, wondering why he was
telling all of this to someone who was almost a complete stranger.
There was just something about the woman that seemed to compel him
to tell her everything she wanted to know.

"I see." There was a wealth of innuendo in the comment. "Well then,"
she finally said, her expression turning seductive. "If you aren't
involved with either of them, perhaps you'll reconsider my offer?"
She raised a single arched eyebrow.

"Um..." Vic shifted in his seat uneasily.

"Or don't you find me attractive?"

"No! I mean you are very attractive. It's just..."

"All I'm suggesting is one night," she said. "After all, you're just
here for the week."

"That's the problem," Vic said, seizing on the comment. "I don't..."

"Do casual sex?" she finished for him, smiling again. "How old-
fashioned. Very well, I won't press. Actually, it's rather sweet."

Vic winced. He was reasonably sure that the comment wasn't *meant*
to be patronizing, but Lillie struck him as the sort of person for
whom casual sex was almost a way of life.

"Having fun?"

Vic looked up as Mac and Cash moved to join them. "Maybe not as much
as you," he said and was surprised to hear a tiny bit of bitterness
in his voice. Cash's eyebrows went up and he smiled, like he was
seeing something no one else was. Mac just laughed.

"Well, well, well. Aren't we all the happy family," the Director
said, seeming to appear almost out of thin air, LiAnn right behind
her. The meetings must be over for the night, and Vic was a little
surprised to notice that it was only an hour to sunrise.

The Director turned to Cash. "Marcus?" she asked in a hard voice.

Cash's smile disappeared. "Cameron seems to be having... trouble
locating him. Until he does, I am Mac's personal bodyguard. Julian's
orders."

She frowned. "If he continues to have... 'trouble,'" she said,

imitating Cash's phrasing, "*I* will have a little talk with him.
Tell him for me; he really doesn't want that. Understood?"

Vic was impressed; Cash didn't even break a sweat. "Understood."

"Good."

As usual, the limo was waiting for them; one of the many that the
meeting attendees and their people were climbing into. Vic wondered
where everyone else was staying; their group was the only one at the
Garden House. Considering how isolationist the different groups
were, he wouldn't be surprised if every delegation was housed at a
different hotel or B&B around town.

He was also a little surprised that there were no cops around. The
conversation earlier with Mac had reminded him just how suspicious
these meetings would look to a cop. And if they *were* completely
legit, wouldn't a cop want to make sure that there wasn't any
trouble? On the other hand, Lillie's comment about 'knowing' cops
might explain that. Either that or a lot of money applied in the
right places.

Cash's bike was parked right next to the main door, so he had his
helmet on and the engine revved up by the time they were ready to
drive off. As they did, he fell in behind to follow them, watching
for trouble.

Vic couldn't help noticing that the Director looked seriously pissed
off. The atmosphere in the limo was tense all the way back to the
Garden House. Once there, the Director gestured Cash over. "Tell
Luna he's got a deadline of tomorrow, this time. Find Marcus and his
friends or I will.

Cash nodded coolly. "I'll tell him."

"Good." With that, she turned and headed up the steps, her heels
clicking on the marble.

Mac winced, then wrapped his arms around Cash. "See you tomorrow,"
he said, then gently kissed the man.
"Watch your back, gorgeous," Cash replied. He sat on the bike and
watched as Mac and LiAnn headed inside, then turned his attention to
Vic, who was waiting patiently. "You have something to say?" he
asked.

Vic stepped in close, putting on his most threatening expression. "I

hope you're a better bodyguard than tour guide," he told the man.
"Because if anything happens to Mac, I'm coming after you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a promise. Letting Mac go anywhere with you was obviously
a mistake. It's not going to happen again."

Cash grinned. "Mac's a big boy, you know. He can chose his own
friends."

Vic snorted. "He also has a record of getting involved with

terrorists, thieves and killers," he said, carefully ignoring the
fact that that also described most of *his* romantic attempts since
the breakup with LiAnn. "He's a little too trusting for his own
good."

Cash's 'I know something you don't know' smile was back in full
force. "You know, Mansfield, you almost sound jealous. Don't like
anyone else hanging around your boy?" Vic didn't rise to the bait.

"Just remember what I said," he said, then turned and headed inside.
LiAnn and the Director had already headed upstairs, but Mac was
waiting for him.

"What the hell was *that* all about?" he demanded, grabbing Vic's
arm.

"Just clearing up a few points."

"Oh great. Just... great. What's next, background checks on all of

my dates? You want to threaten them *before* I go out with them? Or
maybe I should save myself the trouble and just join a monastery
now."

Mac was furious, and deep down, Vic knew he had every right in the
world to be. He was acting like an over-protective brother, or
worse, a jealous... something. "Mac, what's going on here?"

"You're acting like an ass," was the prompt reply.

"*Other* than that," Vic said tiredly. "And don't play innocent. You
know something you aren't telling, and it could put us all in
danger. We're partners, damnit. *Talk* to me."

Mac glanced around, then pulled Vic into the empty dining room. It
was still before dawn, and while they could hear sounds of life from
the kitchen, all the chairs were still up on the tables and the room
wasn't open for service.

"Listen, I *can't* tell you." Vic started to protest, but Mac hushed
him. "First of all, the Director says she wants you to figure it out
on your own. Second, even if I *did* tell you, you wouldn't believe
me. It's..." He paused, looking for words that apparently weren't
coming. Then he sighed. "It's got to do with the Director: Who and
*what* she is. If you want to know more right now, you'll have to
talk to *her*."

Vic wasn't sure he wanted to press anymore -- the Director didn't

like people prying into her business, even when it was theirs too --
and even if he did want to, Mac's expression would have stopped him.
The younger man looked worried and more than a little afraid. Vic
decided to take pity on him.

"All right, I'll let it go. For now," he warned. Mac smiled
gratefully and relaxed. "But we stay here today," he warned. "No
sight-seeing, no shopping, no nothing. You don't give this Marcus
person a free shot at you, got it?"

"Got it," Mac said, rolling his eyes. "But it's not like he's going
to be coming after me during daylight."

"You can't be sure about that." Mac opened his mouth, then shut it
again. Vic frowned; Mac had seemed pretty sure. "Mac?"

"Ask me again when we get home," was the only answer he got.

The arrival of staff wanting to set up for breakfast interrupted the

rather surreal conversation they were having and they headed for
their room and bed.

Once in bed, though, Vic had trouble getting to sleep. His mind kept
turning over the puzzle of Mac's comments and his own observations.
He must have been more tired than he thought. Either that or he'd
seen too many late-night horror movies, since only one explanation
was coming to mind.
And while he'd called the Director a lot of things in the years
since she'd blackmailed him into working for the Agency -- although
rarely to her face -- calling her a vampire was too ridiculous for
word.

>>>~~~<<<

They didn't wake up until lunchtime. The bruise on Mac's face was
already fading to a mottled brown and when they ate lunch, he didn't
look like it hurt to chew anymore. The meal was surprising quiet --
Mac rarely did *anything* quietly -- and Vic was distracted by his
self-imposed job of watching for anything suspicious. He saw nothing
and Mac seemed completely unconcerned.

Vic still wished he had a gun. Unarmed, he felt naked.

After lunch they found a TV room -- that being the one necessity
missing from their room -- and settled down for the afternoon. They
flipped back and forth between a Vancouver-LA hockey game and a
martial arts flick. Vic hooted at the stupid moves the hockey
players made, all the while complaining that *he* could do better,
and Mac heckled the lousy sub-titles on the Hong Kong-made movie,
suggesting that they'd been written by someone with a Chinese-
English dictionary who didn't understand either language. All in
all, it was a fun day.

The only problem was that the Director seemed to be deliberately

avoiding him. Mac had told him to talk to her if he wanted answers,
but she never emerged from her suite and no one answered the door
when he'd knocked. Even LiAnn didn't seem to know where the woman
was, and of them all, the Director-proclaimed 'teacher's pet' was
the closest to her.

All in all, Vic was starting to count the hours until they headed
home. San Francisco was turning out to be just a little too weird
for his tastes.

The Director finally made her appearance just in time to leave for
the Haven. In that entire time, Mac hadn't been out of his sight
once, except for when one of them was in the bathroom. At those
times, Vic was either right outside the door, or when he had showered
he had trusted Mac to keep his word and not run off.

Through it all, Mac just seemed amused.

But that changed as the sun went down. Vic would have had to be
blind to miss how Mac got more and more apprehensive the darker it
got outside. For a moment he reconsidered the exhaustion-induced
vampire theory, then decided to just chalk it up to worry about what
was going to happen at the Haven.

Cash arrived a half-hour after sunset along with the limo. He was
looking very tense, and the bulges under his leather jacket said
that he, at least, was well armed. When the Director shot him a
glance, asking the obvious question silently, he shook his head.

Marcus and his cronies were still on the loose out there.

When they arrived at the Haven, they found that Cash wasn't the only
one who was tense. There were more than a half-dozen faces that Vic
didn't recognize and they all had the hard and wary look of
soldiers. It reassured him for a moment, but only a moment. Then he
got a look at Cash's unhappy expression and Lillie's coldly angry
one.

"Brujah?" he heard Mac ask quietly and Cash confirmed it, just as
quietly. The word didn't mean anything to Vic, except in reference
to some sort of male witch, which didn't exactly fit the
circumstances.

Vic gestured them into an alcove near the door where coats were
hung. "What the hell is a Brujah?" he asked them, suddenly tired of
all the secrets.

Cash glanced at Mac, then checked the area outside the alcove for
listeners before answering. "A family. A... gang, I guess you could
call them," he finally said, although Vic had the feeling that there
was more to it than that. "Marcus is Brujah. Julian ordered their
leader to bring him in, but either they haven't found them yet or
they're hiding him." The glare he shot at the room in general and
the Brujah specifically told Vic which option *Cash* thought more
likely.

Suddenly Vic had a headache: They were about to spend the evening in
a club surrounded by the armed friends of the men who had tried to
kill Mac, and other than Cash, they were unarmed. The hairs on his
neck were all standing on end and Vic felt like he had target
painted on his back.

For once, the Director escorted them to their table, then turned to
survey the room. "If this isn't resolved tonight, the three of you
will be on a plane to Toronto tomorrow morning even if I have to
charter one," she said in a tone that didn't allow for protests. Not
that Vic was inclined to protest; at the moment, heading for home
sounded like a good idea to *him*.

Then she left for what she'd told them was the second-last night of
her mysterious meetings. Vic wondered if they would *ever* find out
what those were about. He doubted it, though. If she didn't think
they needed to know, she wasn't going to say.

After that, the evening settled down into a stomach-roiling tension

that left Vic wanting to order a bottle of antacid instead of beer.
They'd taken their usual table, up against the wall, and Mac was
sitting closest to the wall with Cash between him and the rest of
the room in the seat that Vic would have taken if the local hadn't
got to it first. Vic settled for taking the seat directly opposite
Cash with LiAnn next to the wall. The smile on Cash's face said that
he hadn't missed that.

It was going to be a looooong night.

>>>~~~<<<

Despite -- or perhaps due to -- the high level of tension, the

evening passed quietly. None of them danced, and they all stuck to
non-alcoholic drinks. Lillie dropped by a couple times to keep them
up-to-date on the search.

The first sign of relief came just after midnight when Lillie let
them know that Cameron -- who was apparently the head of these
'Brujah' -- had just delivered three of the four men being hunted
for. They were Luna's estate, waiting under guard for their chance
to explain themselves. However, that bit of good new was tempered by
the fact that one of the men was still on the loose, and that was
the ringleader, Marcus.

Still, Vic started to relax. While Marcus still being free meant
that Mac -- and Cash, he supposed -- could still be in danger, at
least they now knew that there *was* an honest effort being made to
find him.

Vic finally managed to loosen up enough to start chatting with Cash.

The man turned out to be a reasonably okay guy. They might even have
been friends if it weren't for the feeling that they were rivals for
Mac, even though Vic had no claim on him except as a partner.
Maybe he was just as bad as LiAnn; not wanting to take a chance on
the man as a romantic partner, but unwilling to let him find someone
else. It was a disturbing thought.

But that thought brought something else to his attention.

"LiAnn."

Mac looked over from his conversation with Cash. "She went to the
ladies room."

"I know that," Vic said, exasperated. He checked his watch. "But she
*never* takes half an hour, especially considering the circumstances."

That got Mac's attention. He'd known LiAnn much longer that Vic, so
he recognized the truth in the statement. Immediately, he started to
his feet.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cash snapped, grabbing
his arm. Mac jerked it out of the man's grasp.

"I'm going after my partner," he said and pushed past Cash, heading
for the back corridor where the restrooms were. Cursing, Vic hurried
after him, Cash right on his heels.

Ignoring the shocked looks he got, Mac pushed open the door to the
ladies room. "LiAnn!"

There was no answer.

Vic turned to Cash. "Is there any other way out of here?"

Cash nodded to a door at the end of the corridor. "That leads out
back, but it's wired. Opening it sets off the fire alarm.

"Well, let's find out," Mac snapped, and pushed the door open so
hard that it actually banged against the outside wall.

There was no alarm.

"Shit," Cash hissed, scanning the narrow alleyway between the Haven
and the building behind it. There were two dumpsters, but other than
that was surprisingly tidy. There was no sign of life.

"LiAnn!" Mac shouted, despite Vic's gestures to stay quiet.

"Right over here," a masculine voice said.

The dark haired man who stepped out from behind the dumpsters was
dressed in clothes that had been elegant, but now were grubby and
wrinkled. Marcus -- assuming this was him -- obviously hadn't been
sleeping comfortably the last two nights. But that didn't detract
from his menace, especially since he had a barely-conscious LiAnn by
the throat and a gun pointed at them.

"Took you long enough," he said with a sneer. "I was about to just
kill her and leave."

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, taking a step forward. "You're

just digging yourself in deeper. This isn't going to change anything."

"No, I suppose it won't," Marcus said, slowly lowering his gun. Vic
decided that maybe he should start breathing again.

Then the man smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "But at least I won't go
alone," he said, swinging the gun to point at Mac.

"No!" Vic shouted, already moving.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Nine
----------------------------------------

"He's watching you again."

Mac glanced over at Cash after giving the bartender his order. He
knew Vic was watching; it was the same thing he'd be doing if their
roles were reversed. "He's watching my back."

"That's my job tonight," the man said with a grin.

Having Cash watching his back was a weird experience for Mac. It had
been years since he'd had to trust anyone there other than LiAnn or
Vic -- and Vic more often than not, it seemed. It wasn't that he
didn't trust Cash -- he did, which was weird in itself since they'd
only met a few days earlier. The problem was that he didn't *know*
the man or how he would react in a situation. Sure, he'd seen Cash
in a fight and knew he could handle himself, but there wasn't the
instinctive knowledge of which way he was going to move that he had
with his partners.
"Relax, gorgeous. It'll be all over soon."

"You know," Mac said with a wry grin, "that could be interpreted in
ways that aren't exactly reassuring." The bartender placed a glass
of ginger-ale in front of him. He really wanted a beer, but that
wouldn't be a good idea.

Cash snorted and scanned the room before turning back to him.
"That's new," he commented, reaching over to touch the pendant
resting against Mac's chest.

"Hmm? Oh, that." Strangely, he'd forgotten about the pendant until
Cash pointed it out. It felt so natural around his neck; like it had
always been there. "Vic picked it up for me the other day."

Cash grinned. "You two are close, aren't you?"

"Well sure. We've been working together for two years now. Of
course, when we first met we mixed like oil and water, but we became
friends after LiAnn dumped him. Maybe we should call ourselves the
Society of LiAnn's Ex-Lovers."

"*Just* friends?"

Mac flushed at the smirk on the other man's face. The question
brought to mind some of those fantasies he'd been having about Vic
Mansfield for months. Fantasies that had seemed completely
impossible until this trip, when he'd found out that Vic had also
had male lovers in the past. Now they were merely improbably. "Just
friends."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Not the answer I was expecting. The way he's been acting; watching
you, warning me off like a jealous lover... And then there's the way
you look at him."

Mac bristled. "Vic's an overprotective worrywart, that's all."

"One who buys you jewelry?"

"Why not? I bought him a shirt and an earring the day before that."

"Really?"
Mac was starting to get a little annoyed at the innuendo. "Listen,
Cash. We are *not* lovers. We're just partners. That's *all* we
are." And all we'll ever be, he thought a little sadly.

And he knew why, too. After Michael, LiAnn and Claire, Mac didn't
want to take a chance on anything too serious, which was why he went
through such a steady string of dates. Vic, on the other hand, was
*not* the type for casual sex, Moorcock to the contrary. But if he
ever got the chance at a night, no strings attached, Mac certainly
wouldn't turn it down.

Not waiting for Cash's response, Mac picked up his drink and headed
back to the table where Vic and LiAnn were waiting, praying that
Cash wouldn't press the subject, although he figured he didn't have
much hope of that. He could feel Cash's amusement as the man
followed him.

It was going to be a long night.

>>>~~~<<<

It ended up being just as long as he'd feared. Vic finally loosened

up enough to chat with Cash, even getting a little friendly with the
man. That made Mac more than a bit uncomfortable, especially since
Cash's side of the conversation was laced with subtle innuendo that
went right over Vic's head, although not LiAnn's, going by the
slight smirk on her face.

Mac had made fun of Vic in the past for being unsophisticated, but
tonight he was glad for it. If Vic had any idea of the undercurrents
in the conversation, Mac would be glowing red as if he were sun-
burnt. Besides, after the high-class world he'd grown up in Hong
Kong, Vic's uncomplicated personality was a breath of fresh air. You
didn't have to dig through layers of false faces to find the real
man. Everything was out in the open.

Not that he was *stupid*, of course. When it came to work, Vic was a
damn good investigator. Better than Mac, in fact. Mac knew he had a
tendency to be too easily distracted, especially by a pretty face or
great ass. Vic had only made that mistake once that Mac could
remember, and he'd made up for it in the end.

That focus on the job was why Vic was the first one to notice that
LiAnn was missing. After the report that Marcus's goons had been
captured, Mac had started to relax. He assumed that even though
Marcus was still on the lam, everything was as good as over. Vic's
comment brought that assumption to a crashing end.

Marcus had LiAnn. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was true.
Cursing himself for a fool, Mac double-checked the ladies room, then
headed for the door to the back alley. Cash seemed confident in the
security system, but Mac knew from personal experience just how easy
a fire alarm was to disable.

Vic tried to keep him quiet, but Mac was past caring about stealth.
He just wanted it to be over. "LiAnn!"

"Right over here," said the voice he was dreading.

Marcus stepped out from behind one of the dumpsters with an

unresisting LiAnn by the throat, effortlessly supporting her weight.
The bruise on her temple explained why she looked so dazed.

Marcus no longer looked like he'd stepped off the pages of GQ. He
was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on the last time Mac had
seen him. They were badly rumpled now and his hair hung lank. But
his eyes glittered with a manic silver light and Mac could see a
hint of fangs when his lips drew back in a sneer. For a more mundane
threat, he had a gun pointed at them.

"Took you long enough," the Brujah said. "I was about to just kill
her and leave." His lips drifted towards her throat and Mac's breath
caught.

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, trying to move past Mac to

shield him. Mac wasn't interested in cooperating. It was his fault
that LiAnn was in this mess. "You're just digging yourself in
deeper. This isn't going to change anything."

The gun wavered, then lowered. "No, I suppose it won't." Mac tensed.
It wasn't going to be that easy. It never was.

Then suddenly the gun was pointed straight at him. Over the roar of
his pulse, he heard Marcus say, "But at least I won't go alone."

His finger tightened on the trigger, oh so slowly. It was like the

entire world slowed down as Mac waited for the bullet that was going
to end his life.

Mac froze, but neither Cash nor Vic did. Cash threw himself at
Marcus, while a shouting Vic jumped in front of Mac.
The echo of the gunshot was obscenely loud in the narrow space.

Dimly, Mac heard snarling and the sound of flesh tearing as Cash
literally ripped Marcus to shreds. LiAnn hit her head again on the
edge of the dumpster as she fell away from Marcus and lay
unconscious on the ground.

But Mac noticed all that only peripherally. His attention was
focused on Vic. His partner collapsed to the ground, a gut wound
pouring out blood. You didn't need to be a doctor to know that even
a hospital probably couldn't save him at that moment.

"Mac..." Vic's eyes drifted shut. His face was a pasty white as the
blood drained away, pooling beneath him on the ground.

"Vic? Vic!" Mac moved to his side, pressing a hand to the wound to
try and slow the bleeding, even though he knew it was pointless.
Vic's breathing already sounded with a death rattle.

"Mac?"

Mac looked up at Cash's worried face and hope flared as he saw the
man's fangs, fully extended. He reached up with a bloody hand to
grab the man's sleeve. "Help him," he begged.

"I... can't."

"You're the only one who can," Mac pressed desperately.

Cash wavered. "The rules say Julian has to okay..." He cut off,
recognizing the truth: Vic wouldn't last that long.

"Please," Mac said, begging now. He was sure that there were all
sorts of logical arguments he could make for why Cash should Embrace
Vic, but none of them were coming to mind. All that mattered was
that he didn't want his partner to die. Especially not because of
*him*.

Cash took a deep breath, then gestured him to move out of the way.
As Mac scrambled back, the Gangrel took his place, lifting Vic's
head into his lap. "Vic. Vic!"

The dying man's eyes fluttered open again. They were dim, no longer
their usual brilliant green, but they were aware.
"Vic, I can save your life, but only if you become like me. Are you
willing to accept that price?" Mac wanted to yell at him to get on
with it, but somehow he knew that Cash wasn't going to do anything
without Vic's consent.

Vic stared up at him, and Mac knew what he was seeing. Cash's eyes
were glowing with an eerie light, his bloodied lips were drawn back
to display his fangs. There was no mistaking what he was. Vic's eyes
widened and what little breath he had left came in a gasp.

For a long moment he said nothing, while Mac's heart pounded.

Finally his eyes shut. "Yes," was the barely audible reply. Mac
slumped against the brick wall in relief.

Cash bent his head and Mac watched in fascination as the man's fangs
sank into Vic's neck. Then Cash's lips sealed around the entry and
his throat muscles went to work as he started to suck powerfully.

For nearly a minute, that was all that happened. The blood flowing
from the stomach wound slowed, then stopped. Vic's breathing paused,
restarted, then stopped altogether. Mac whimpered low in his throat.

Then Cash pulled back and raised his hand. His other hand came up,
talons extended, and he cut open his wrist. As soon as the blood
started to well, he pressed his wrist to Vic's lips and started
talking in a low, hypnotic tone.

"You have to drink if you really want this. If you don't, you will
die the true death. It's up to you now. It's your choice and yours
alone."

Behind him, LiAnn groaned and sat up. Her eyes went wide as she took
in the tableau in front of her. Mac ignored her, his eyes focused on
the two men.

Suddenly, Vic's throat flexed once, then a second time. Mac almost
cried in relief as the man started to drink. Already, a flush of
color was returning to his face.

Just then, the door to the alley flew open and Lillie rushed out,
followed closely by several armed men. Two of them were friends of
Cash that he had met at the dance club, Mac was relieved to note.

Not pulling his wrist from Vic's greedily sucking mouth, Cash
twisted in place to look at the newcomers. "Get a car," he ordered
one of his friends and the man nodded before disappearing back
inside. "Marcus is over there, what's left of him," Cash told Lillie.
"The body needs to be disposed of. Tell Julian and Toronto that
we're going to the estate. They can meet us there." He looked down
at Vic and sighed. "They can decide what will happen to us then."

Lillie nodded sadly and went back inside, pausing only long enough
to squeeze Mac's shoulder reassuringly. Now that the immediate
danger to Vic was over, he was remembering what Cash had told him
about Zane and the penalties for Embracing without permission. He
prayed that the relationship between Julian and Cash -- not to
mention the circumstances -- would convince the Prince to be lenient.
Otherwise both Vic *and* Cash could be dead before sunrise.

At the end of the alley, a car door slammed. Two of Cash's Gangrels
picked Vic up and carried him to the waiting car. Finally paying
attention to his *other* partner, Mac helped LiAnn to her feet and
half-carried her down the alley. The car was just barely large
enough to hold them all, with LiAnn half in his lap and Vic leaning
against Cash, still not quite conscious, in the back seat and the
two Gangrel in the front.

Mac slumped against the back of the seat, suddenly beyond exhausted.
The world had just tilted on its axis and he didn't have a clue what
happened next. He was probably in shock, he knew. He'd nearly been
killed and he was now sticky with Vic's blood. A quick glance over
let him see the wound still showing through the gaping hole in Vic's
shirt, but as he watched, the edges were starting to pull together.

Vic moaned faintly, and Cash held his bleeding wrist for the man to
suckle at again. "It's going to be all right," the Gangrel
whispered, and Mac wondered who he was trying to reassure: Vic, Mac
or himself.

The car pulled into traffic and Mac closed his eyes, the lids too
heavy to keep open any longer.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke with a start as the car came to a stop in front of a large
mansion. It was a beautiful building, practically screaming "money,"
but Mac barely glanced at it as they maneuvered Vic and LiAnn up the
front steps.

Once inside, Cash gestured for Mac and LiAnn to go into the library
just off the main foyer while he and the others took Vic upstairs.
Mac wanted to protest, but LiAnn still had the glazed look of
someone with a concussion or worse. She needed to sit down quickly
and she couldn't be left alone. Mac let the rational part of his
mind take over and did as he was told. He trusted Cash to look after
Vic, after all.

Really, he did.

About ten minutes later, he heard a car pull up outside. A moment

after that, the front door opened and he heard Julian's voice. Mac
closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself for what would
happen next. It was 'make or break' time.

Julian came into the study, the Director right on his heels. "I saw
Marcus," he said bluntly. "Where's Cash?"

"Upstairs with Vic."

"What happened?" Julian seemed calm but determined. Mac looked past
him to the Director, but her expression was impossible to read. He
took a deep breath and started from the moment they'd discovered
that LiAnn was missing.

He left out nothing, including his own insistence on rushing out

into the alley to confront Marcus -- a foolish decision, he knew.
The only reason he was still alive was because Vic had taken a
bullet for him. Vic had nearly *died* to save him.

Then he explained how he had begged Cash to Embrace Vic, doing his
best to take all the blame. Julian just snorted.

"No one *makes* Cash do anything," he said, one corner of his mouth
quirking up into a half-smile; the most promising sign so far. Then
the amused smile disappeared. "However, this was not a good decision.

"San Francisco is in a delicate state just now. Since Eddie Fiori

died, the Brujah have been pushing. They say I show blatant
favoritism to the other clans. If I allow Cash to get away with
increasing the Gangrel ranks without permission at the same time
that the Brujah lose four..."

"He hasn't." Everyone's attention turned to the Director. "Victor is

*mine*. I did not bring him with me just to lose him to you. When we
leave in three days, he leaves with us."

Julian's eyebrows went up. "You want to put a fledgling on a plane

that soon after his Embrace? No Kindred learns control *that* fast."
"He will," she said confidently. "He won't have any other choice.
LiAnn?"

The oriental looked up obediently, but there was still little

comprehension in her eyes. In the light of the study, her pupils
could be seen to be overly large and mismatched in size. The
Director sighed. "She needs medical attention."

Julian nodded. "Daedelus is well-trained in mortal medicine. He'll

be here shortly."

"Good. Take care of her. Mac, come with me."

Mac got to his feet and followed her out into the foyer and then up
the stairs. She unerringly led them to a door that led to a richly
decorated bedroom. There they found Vic lying on the bed, fully
awake now. Cash sat next to him, talking quietly, but quickly.

Vic was undressed, his clothes no doubt already disposed of. They'd
been too soaked with blood, even without the bullet hole, to be
worth saving. Mac stared in fascination at the man's stomach. While
the scars from the fatal wound could still be seen clearly, it was
completely closed and those scars were already starting to fade.

Cash got to his feet as soon as they entered. He half-bowed to the

Director in a gesture of respect, then stood still, waiting for her
to speak. She stared at him coldly for a moment. "Julian is waiting
for you downstairs," she finally said, stepping aside so that he
could leave. Taking the hint, he patted Vic's hand, then left the
room, pausing only long enough to brush his lips against Mac's
cheek. His breath stank of blood and Mac shivered.

Once he was gone, she turned her attention to Vic, who had struggled
up into a seated position. "Now, this is a fine mess," she said,
sounding exasperated. The conversation in the study had raised Mac's
spirits a bit, but now they plummeted again.

"I mean, really, Victor," she continued. "Couldn't you have settled
for knocking him to the ground? Or *letting* him take the bullet he
was so obviously inviting?" Mac winced at the glare she sent his
way. He was going to pay for this; he knew it. "You really need to
outgrow these foolish heroics."

"It was the only thing I could come up with at the moment," Vic said
weakly.
The Director sighed. "Unfortunately, I believe you. However, this
creates a mess that I now have to deal with. I'm sure you've already
started to feel the Hunger?" He nodded. "Of course you have.
Controlling the Hunger is the first thing any new fledgling must
learn. Unfortunately, you don't have much time to do so. You cannot
stay in San Francisco for a number of reasons, chief of which is
that you belong to *me*. But you also cannot be allowed out in
public until you can control yourself. Therefore, I am going to give
you a little incentive to learn that control very quickly."

She gestured Mac over and he obeyed, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Mac will be staying in here with you. He will be your only source
of blood."

"I won't..." Vic started to say, but she cut him off.

"Don't even think about refusing to feed. Either you would die, if
you could restrain yourself completely -- in which case I will
simply kill Mac -- or you would finally lose control of your Hunger
and kill him in a frenzy -- in which case I will kill *you*. You
will learn to feed only as much as you need to or else."

Her tone was so cold that neither of them could doubt her
determination; she would do exactly as she said.

"You have two days until the party," she said once her words had
sunk in. "You need will to be able to behave yourself in public by
then. *I* think you can do it. Don't disappoint me."

She turned to leave and glanced at Mac. "I'll have breakfast sent
up after sunrise."

"Assuming I'm still alive to eat it?" Mac asked wryly.

"Have faith, Mr. Ramsey! You don't really think he'd kill you after
the lengths he went to keep you alive?"

She smiled and closed the door behind herself. In the silence of the
room, the sound of the key turning in the lock was almost deafening.

Mac sighed and went to sit on the end of the bed. Immediately, Vic
scooted over until he was as far from Mac as he could get without
actually falling *out* of the bed. Mac snickered.

"What's so damn funny?" Vic snapped at him.

"You. You're acting like a virgin on her wedding night. Relax." Mac
moved closer and this time Vic held his ground.

"Like hell. Doesn't it bother you that the Director just served you
up to me like a blue plate special?"

Mac shrugged. "Why should it? After all, it *is* my fault you're in
this mess in the first place. If someone has to pay the price, it
might as well be me."

That got Vic's attention and he moved closer. "Don't be an idiot.

She was right. There were any number of things I could have done
that would have left both of us without a scratch. Instead, I got
myself shot. *That* is why you're here, facing near certain death
for the second time tonight."

He looked so morose and penitent that Mac couldn't help laughing and
once he started, he couldn't stop. Hysteria, the last rational bit
of his brain told him helpfully. Mixed with a touch of shock, no
doubt.

Finally, he brushed the tears from his eyes and found Vic staring at
him with a shocked expression on his face. "All right," he gasped.
"Let's just say we're both to blame and leave it at that. It just
means that we *both* have to fix it."

Vic shook his head. His green eyes now had a silver sheen that
reminded Mac of something, but he couldn't remember what. "I don't
think I can do this, Mac."

Mac reached out and grabbed Vic's shoulder. "You don't have any
choice! Cash offered you this chance -- sure, because I begged him
to -- and you said yes. Now you learn to do this or we *both* die."

"Maybe if I..."

Mac shook his head, stopping Vic before he could continue. He could
guess what the man was going to suggest. "You heard her. The longer
you wait, the worse this Hunger gets and the less you're able to
control it. She should know."

Vic stared at him. "This is what you wouldn't talk about last night,
isn't it? The explanation too weird to be believed."

Mac nodded. "And would you have believed me if I told you that our
boss was a vampire?"

"No, I suppose not. The idea occurred to me briefly, but I rejected

it as too ridiculous to be real. And the meetings? Can you tell me
about them now?"

"Well, I don't know much," Mac said. He knew they were both just
delaying the inevitable, but he was a little nervous about it too,
so he didn't object. "Cash told me that the Kindred -- that's what
they call themselves, not vampires -- are organized kinda like
feudal times. All the Kindred in a city are headed by a Prince. This
was a meeting between Princes to organize cooperation. Things like
letting Kindred move from city to city when they attract notice and
the like."

"So the Director isn't just a vampire, she's the chief vampire for
Toronto?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Why am I not surprised?" Vic muttered to himself. Then he licked

his lips and swallowed convulsively. His eyes, when they met Mac's,
were almost completely silver and starting to glaze over with
hunger. Mac could see his fangs, fully dropped into place. "Mac..."

Obviously, the time for talk was over. Mac shivered and shrugged out
of his jacket, then reached down to unbutton his shirt cuff. "Cash
said it was easiest to control the feeding through the wrist," he
said in a reasonably steady tone, trying for an instructional voice.
It was difficult enough. He didn't want to make it any harder on his
partner.

He was both terrified and aroused, though. Cash had a lot more
experience at this, but his body could still remember how the man's
Kiss had felt. He wondered if it would be the same with Vic.

He held out his wrist to Vic. "He licked it first and it kind of
deadened the skin," he said. Vic's fingers curved around his
forearm, slightly cooler than normal, and he raised Mac's wrist to
his lips. Hesitantly, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at the
delicate skin over the big vein there. Mac's breath caught at the
sensuous rasp.

"Okay. Um. I guess you just bite. But only take a couple swallows
and stop, okay? It'll probably be easier to control if we do lots of
little... um... snacks, not a full feeding." He hoped.
Vic bared his new fangs, hesitated, then sank them in.

The initial bite was more painful than it had been with Cash, but
with the first swallow, Mac's eyes rolled back in his head. Like
before, the sensations went straight to his groin and he hoped that
Vic could control himself, since he didn't think he'd be able to
stop the man.

But if he couldn't, at least Mac would die enjoying it.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Ten
----------------------------------------

Vic drifted into wakefulness not long before sunset. It was a little
strange, being able to tell how low the sun was on the horizon from
inside with his eyes closed, but it looked like his life was going
to be strange from now on. He was a vampire. Even just thinking the
words was weird.

As he grew more aware of his surroundings, he could hear voices: The

Director and Mac. Mac sounded like his normal self, he was relieved
to note, so he hadn't suffered any harm the night before from Vic's
feeding.

The thought of that feeding woke the mental snarl that the Director
had called 'the Hunger.' It remembered the taste of Mac's blood,
sweeter than sweet, more intoxicating than the finest wine. Vic
could feel his fangs pushing out; yet another strange sensation that
was now part of his life. Afterlife. Whatever.

Deciding that he'd delayed long enough, Vic opened his eyes and
pushed up into a seated position. Instantly, the conversation
stopped and all eyes were focused on him. He shifted uncomfortable,
suddenly remembering that he was still naked. They hadn't given him
any clothes before locking Mac in with him.

"How's LiAnn?" he asked, remembering Marcus having her by the

throat. She hadn't looked good.

"Sleeping Beauty finally wakes," the Director said, a small smile on

her lips. "LiAnn is going to be fine. She has a concussion, but
she's already doing better. How do *you* feel?"

Vic licked his lips, wincing as he cut his tongue on a fang, and
considered the question. "Pretty good, I guess," he admitted. He
glanced down at his stomach and noted that there was no trace of
where a piece of metal had made a large, fatal hole. "Better than I
should." The snarl intensified. "Hungry."

Immediately, Mac started to roll up his sleeve, but the Director

waved him off. "Here," she said, holding out her own arm. Vic
flinched; feeding off her was *not* an appealing idea, although he
couldn't quite explain why. "Victor," she said in a tone that made
it clear that this was an order, not an invitation.

Carefully keeping the bedspread wrapped around his waist, Vic moved
closer to her and bit into the proffered wrist.

Despite his reluctance, the Hunger quickly took over and he

swallowed greedily. The difference was actually quite interesting.
Her blood didn't have the bubbling life of Mac's, but there was an
earthiness to it. Like an aged Scotch instead of Champagne;
different, but just as intoxicating. A little more mellow than
Cash's blood, he thought, and wondered if every person's blood would
be as different to his taste buds. Then he stiffened when he
realized that he was seriously considering going out and conducting
a taste-test.

"Enough."

At the order, he pulled away, pausing only long enough to lick the
wound. He'd noticed during his feedings from Mac the night before
that his saliva seemed to heal the puncture wounds his fangs left.

The Director nodded, pleased. "And Julian didn't think you could
learn control this fast. I'm glad to see you're living up to my
expectations."

"Expectations? You were *expecting* this?" Vic asked, a little

outraged. She frowned at him and he had to fight to keep from
cringing.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said in a stern tone. "Of course I wasn't

expecting this. As I told Mac when he came to me after finding out
about the Kindred from Cash, I brought the three of you with me to
see if you would figure it out. Becoming targets was *not* in my
plans for you. Being Embraced Gangrel *definitely* wasn't in my
plans either."

The emphasis didn't go unnoticed and Vic's eyes narrowed. "What sort
of Embrace *were* you planning?" he asked, not sure he liked the
idea.

She stared at him levelly for a moment. "Brujah, actually," she

finally said, not bothering to deny the implication that she *was*
going to have him Embraced, possibly whether he liked it or not.

"Are you *nuts*!?" Mac exploded. "Those thugs?"

The Director turned a glare on him that did little to quell his
outrage. "Do not judge an entire clan on a single bad example," she
said, ignoring his muttered 'four bad examples, you mean.' "And
don't judge the Gangrel based just on Cash. They aren't necessarily
any better and you would be wise to remember that."

Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but Vic cut him off before he
could start and get himself in big trouble. "Fine. So now I'm a
Gangrel. Just what exactly does that *mean*?"

"As a member of the clan or the race?" she asked, allowing herself
to be deflected.

"Let's start with the big picture first. What exactly is a Kindred
and what does it mean?"

The Director leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on

her face. "Well, we don't have time for long explanations; I do have
to get to the meetings for tonight. However, I will give you a quick
history lesson.

"The story, as passed through the generations, sounds more like myth
than history, and maybe it is just myth. Then again, maybe it isn't.

"I'm sure you both know the story of Cain and Abel?" She waited
until they both nodded, before continuing. "According to the Bible,
God marked Cain for the crime of killing his brother and he went
into exile in the Land of Nod. About what that mark was, nothing is
said.

"According to Kindred lore, the mark of God made Cain the first
vampire. He sought out his father's first wife, Lilith and from her
he learned how to use the new disciplines that his mark gave him.
When he felt she'd taught him everything she could, he left. He
traveled until he found a town of humans and with his abilities,
they made him their king and he lived among them for a time, content.
"But as time went by, he became lonely. Despite warning omens, he
chose to Embrace three Childer so that he would have others like him
for companions. But the three became uncontrollable, Embracing
without care. About the time of the great Flood, their own Childer
rose up and destroyed them, and Cain withdrew, never to be seen
again, although he did still affect Kindred history after that. Some
say that the Nosferatu's disfigurement was a curse from Cain for
some long-ago crime.

"The clans of the Kindred are each supposed to be descended from one
of Cain's grand-Childer. Each clan has certain traits and abilities
passed on through the Embrace, as well as those that are common to
the entire race. In each generation removed from Cain those abilities
are weaker, but there are benefits to that, although some would call
them flaws.

"For example, sunlight can kill, but unlike the Vampires of legends,
not immediately. In fact, you are of a generation far enough removed
that sunlight won't be *too* much of a problem for you. The older
generations sneer at that, but I think it's a benefit, don't you?
But I would recommend you avoid bright, sunny days.

"A stake through the heart won't kill you, but it will immobilize
you and weaken you enough that sunlight or fire *will* kill you. As
for garlic, running water and holy symbols? Pure invention. Forget
about them.

"As for the specific abilities of a Gangrel, I will arrange for a

teacher once we return to Toronto. You will learn about them then.
For now, concentrate on controlling the Hunger. That is the first
and most important lesson that any fledgling must learn. Questions?"

Vic shook his head, more to clear it than anything else. "A
million," he said ruefully.

She snorted. "Unfortunately, there isn't time to answer them all.

Make a list. I'll decide which ones I'll answer later. In the
meantime, I need to be going. LiAnn is down the hall, but the two of
you will remain here. Oh, don't worry, Victor. Now that the initial
change is finished, you won't need to feed quite as much. Mac is
quite capable of safely supplying you with what you need for
tonight."

She paused and eyed him speculatively. "Mac, go tell Cash to have
the car ready," she ordered, then waited until he'd left the room.
"Victor, I know you aren't very happy about it, but yes, I did
intend to have you Embraced, probably later this year. But not until
you knew what it meant."

"Why?" Vic had to ask.

She patted his hand. "You are very valuable to me, however I'm sure
you've realized though that you can't go on working as a field agent
for much longer." Vic nodded, remembering his musings on that just a
few nights earlier. "Well, now that won't be a problem, other than
the fact that you'll have to do most of your work at night. You're
still in your prime and now you will stay there until you die. You
should be pleased."

Vic wasn't so sure about that, but he held his tongue. After all,
Cash had offered him a choice and he'd taken the chance at life. He
couldn't complain now about what that life was.

The Director got to her feet and headed for the door. Then she
paused and turned around. "And I was quite serious about control,"
she said sternly. "Tomorrow night, you need to make it through the
party without giving yourself away to the non-Kindred. If you can do
that, I will believe that you can be safely taken on a plane. If
not..." The implied threat was obvious. Vic nodded, completely
incapable of breaking eye-contact with her.

"I'm glad you understand," she said. Then her eyes narrowed, and she
muttered something to herself, too low for him to understand. For
some reason, Vic found the movement of her lips fascinating.

"The car is ready," Mac said, reappearing in the doorway. He eyed

the two of them suspiciously, obviously wondering about what they'd
been talking about while he was gone. Vic had already noticed just
how protective of him the younger man had become in the short time
since the shooting and it amused him. After all, *he* was the
supernatural creature now.

The Director left and the door was once again locked behind her.
This time though, Vic was a little more confident. The Hunger seemed
to be asleep and he'd proven to himself -- and everyone else -- that
he could control himself.

He was also starting to feel a little better about what he'd become.
Last night he hadn't had the time to really think about what he was
being offered before accepting. Maybe it would have been different
if he were the religious type. As it was, the whole story about
being 'descended' from Cain was just that to him: A story.
But he was still surprised that he *was* reacting so well. The
concept of living off blood was a little disturbing, but the Hunger
had overcome his natural revulsion easily enough. And the taste...
well, the taste was addictive, he'd already found.

But even that wouldn't have been enough to save his sanity if he
hadn't quickly found out that *killing* wasn't a requirement of
feeding. If it had been, he would have found a way to kill himself,
even if he had to starve himself to death to do it. Killing a gunman
in a fight was one thing. He was *not* going to go around killing
people just so he could eat.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Vic said thoughtfully.

"Good." Mac chewed on his lower lip for a moment, looking around the
room. Vic wasn't hungry and it wasn't like there was a TV or anything
to distract them. Mac started opening cupboards and drawers. "So
what did the queen vamp want to say in private?"

Vic winced and prayed that Mac never used that term around the
Director. Her sense of humor was a little strange and she might just
laugh. Then again, she might assign him to the dirtiest job around.
"Just pointing out some of the advantages of this change."

"Like what?" Mac asked, perking up with curiosity.

"Mainly the never aging bit."

Mac looked like he didn't quite understand, but he nodded and went
back to searching the room. Vic rolled his eyes. At ten years younger
than him, Mac wasn't going to be facing the same aging problem for a
long time yet. He'd understand in a few years when he woke up aching
on a regular basis, or found that he couldn't quite touch his toes
anymore.

"Aha!" Mac said triumphantly, pulling a pack of cards and a curved

board with two lines of peg-holes carved into it from a drawer.
"Cribbage, anyone?"

Vic snorted, then waved Mac over. He hated cribbage, but at least it
was a way to pass the time.

>>>~~~<<<
Maybe it was the fact that he'd fully changed -- whatever that meant
-- or maybe the Director's blood was more... filling. Whatever it
was, it was just past midnight before the Hunger made itself felt
again.

It was slow to start this time. He and Mac had abandoned the cribbage
board for other games earlier. Two-handed poker wasn't much fun, so
they'd played war for a while, then finally resorted to trading off
games of solitaire.

Vic was leaning over Mac's shoulder, still wrapped in a sheet,

kibitzing on the younger man's game when he found his eyes being
drawn more and more to the large vein pulsing right below his ear.
The first couple of times it happened, he ignored it, but when it
happened three times in as many minutes, he finally got the point.
The Hunger was just a muted hum in the back of his mind, expressing
an interest, not a need.

"Um... Vic?"

Vic shook off thoughts of just how sweet Mac's blood had been and
moved back. "Sorry about that," he muttered, a little embarrassed at
how he'd practically been drooling all over the man's neck.

"Hey, it's okay. If it's time, just say so."

"You sure?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "Would you just do it already?" he said,

sounding exasperated.

Giving in to the need, Vic leaned forward and started to lick Mac's
neck. They'd used the wrist the night before, but the long column of
the man's neck was just too tempting to resist. When Mac's head fell
back, he sank his fangs into the vein and started to suck.

Vic moaned deep in his throat as the flavor exploded in his mouth.
It was even better than he remembered. He definitely preferred it to
the taste of the Director's blood, but he wasn't sure if it was the
difference between human and Kindred or just the different between
the persons in question.

Despite the temptation to keep drinking, Vic withdrew after only a

few swallows, carefully licking the marks away. As he did so, he
inhaled deeply. Somehow, every scent was sharper, stronger. He could
smell Mac's supper, even thought the tray was long gone. He could
smell the lemon of the polish used to clean all the wood in the room.

And over it all, he could smell the musk of a man's arousal --

*Mac's* arousal -- and it was even more intoxicating than the taste
of his blood.

At that moment, the smart thing would have been to move back, get
some distance between them, but Vic found that he couldn't. Giving
in to an urge that he couldn't explain, he buried his face in the
crook of Mac's neck, only this time, instead of using fangs he used
his lips, nuzzling the sensitive skin there.

"Vic..." Mac moaned. There was no protest in his voice.

Vic lifted his face and turned Mac to face him. The younger man's
expression was glazed and his pupils were dilated until his eyes
were almost completely black. "Mac," Vic murmured, then covered his
mouth with his own. The lips immediately parted and he took the
implied invitation, diving in to explore.

Once he was satisfied that he'd examined every square centimeter,

Vic moved on, needing more. He'd tasted Mac's blood, then his mouth,
and now he was possessed by the need to taste everything else.

He kissed, nibbled and licked his way around Mac's face, absently
noting how soft the fresh-shaven skin was against his lips. Mac was
starting to sweat and he savored the salty taste as he lapped up the
liquid dotting his forehead and upper lip.

He continued his way down the neck he'd so recently been feeding
from, mapping out every spot that made Mac moan, until he was stymied
by the collar of the man's shirt. A quick pull, accompanied by the
sound of ripping fabric, quickly disposed of that obstacle.

Mac's chest was a forest of dark hair, almost making him self-
conscious about his own, mostly smooth flesh. LiAnn had always told
him that she preferred her men smooth, but he took that with a grain
of salt considering how long she and Mac had been lovers. She was
very good at telling people what she thought they wanted to hear.

Mac's nipples were very sensitive, he was delighted to find, and he

spent a long time tormenting them with sucking and nibbling until
they were red and swollen and Mac was starting to protest. Deciding
to humor him, Vic moved instead to bury his nose in the man's damp
armpit, licking up more of the fragrant sweat there. Once the hair
was completely saliva-soaked, he transferred his attention to the
other side, repeating the process there.

But there was another place where the sweat-musk would be even
stronger, he realized, so he licked his way down further until he
reached the waist of Mac's pants. That didn't delay him any more
than the shirt had. He barely noticed Mac protesting as he ripped
the fabric apart. Underneath, Mac wasn't wearing underpants, he
noted with a grin. A convenient time-saver for him.

All clothing now disposed of, Vic buried his face in Mac's thick
bush. The smell of Mac's musk made his head spin as he inhaled
deeply. Then he started licking, working his way around the base of
Mac's erection. It was large and almost purple in color, with pre-
cum rolling down the sides. He decided to save *that* taste of last
and moved to suck on the man's balls instead. They were swollen and
heavy in their sack and he sucked first one then the other into his
mouth. He briefly considered trying to fit both in at the same time,
but decided regretfully that they were too large for that.

By this time, Mac's hands were desperately trying to get a hold of

his hair, pulling him towards the erection that looked almost
painfully hard. He begged continuously in sounds that could barely
be considered part of the English language. Vic decided to take pity
on him and licked his way up the erection, catching every drop of
pearly fluid as he went, until he reached the head.

Vic ran his tongue over it in a slow circle and decided that the
fluid there tasted just as good as Mac's blood, but then he'd always
loved the taste of semen. The one night he'd spent with Moorcock the
year before had reawakened old hungers and now he was ready to
indulge himself completely. He probed the slit for more of that
fluid and was rewarded with a small spurt that he let roll over his
tongue and down his throat.

The Hunger was roaring now, just not for blood, and while he wanted
to draw this out, he knew that Mac was too close to the edge of pain
for any more teasing. He took the top half of Mac's erection into
his mouth and sucked while he wrapped his fist around the base and
started to pump. Mac writhed under him babbling and when he glanced
upwards, the brown eyes that met his were completely mindless.

Too soon -- or maybe not soon enough -- Mac howled and thrust
upwards, pumping out shot after shot of semen. Vic held it in his
mouth for as long as possible, then let it slowly slide down his
throat. Most of his past lovers would have spat, but *he* wasn't
going to waste a drop. Besides, he would bet that he couldn't catch
anything... unpleasant anymore, so he didn't need to worry if his
lover was clean or not.

He let Mac's softening cock slip from his mouth with a sigh of
regret. He gave it a couple licks and Mac moaned, but didn't move.

But the Hunger still wasn't completely satisfied, and he started to

caress Mac's inner thighs. He nuzzled the base of the cock in front
of him, but all it did was twitch a little, so he moved lower to
suck on Mac's balls again.

Mac gasped and spread his legs wider. Vic slipped his hands under
the man's thighs and pushed them up and back, exposing Mac further.
He softly scraped Mac's perineum with his teeth, enjoying the
resulting jump, then zeroed in on his new target.

He slowly swiped the tight opening with his tongue and felt it
twitch in reaction. The flavor was musky but clean, with a hint of
soap from an earlier shower. He'd never had the urge to rim anyone
before, but he couldn't resist. It was the one part of Mac that he
hadn't tasted yet.

The Hunger was roaring now and he hardened his tongue into a point
and started to probe. Every so often, he backed off long enough to
work up some more spit, getting everything good and wet. Somewhere
along the line, Mac grabbed his own legs and pulled his knees back
almost to his chest, letting Vic concentrate on what he was doing.

And the noises Mac was making were wildly enthusiastic about what
Vic was doing to him. When he checked, Vic found that Mac was
already half-hard again and he gave the man's cock a slow pull as he
drove his tongue in as far as it would go.

But that wasn't far enough. He needed to get deeper. He switched to

using his fingers, but while the heat squeezing them felt good, it
still wasn't enough.

He moved back up Mac's body and paused with the head of his own
neglected erection slowly rubbing against Mac's twitching entrance.
Desperate brown eyes met his and the younger man grabbed him,
steadily chanting "do it do it do it do it..."

Obeying the desperate order, Vic slowly pressed into the saliva-
lubricated passage. The rim job had been thorough enough that there
were no signs of discomfort on Mac's face, assuming that he was in
any condition to notice.

When he finally hit bottom, he stopped and they both moaned. Mac fit
him like a glove. He pulled Mac's head up a little so that they
could kiss, then started to thrust.

They quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, like they'd been doing
this for years. Mac's legs moved to wrap around his waist and he
used the resulting leverage to increase the pace. His fingernails
scratched at Vic's back and he knew it was going to sting like hell
when they were done.

"Mac..." he moaned, and dropped his face to the man's neck.

"Oh fuck, Vic, God," was the incoherent reply. One of Mac's hands
moved down so that he could stroke himself and Vic responded by
thrusting even harder. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was
loud in the room, even louder than their grunts and moans.

Finally, Mac threw his head back and was coming again, although
there was nowhere near as much fluid this time. As Mac's ass went
into spasms around his cock, Vic's fangs dropped and he bit down on
Mac's shoulder with a roar. The sudden spurt of blood in his mouth
pushed him over the edge and he pumped his own semen deep inside his
partner.

The Hunger finally satisfied, Vic collapsed on top of Mac and

slipped into darkness.

>>>~~~<<<

Sometime later, Vic woke with a pounding headache. He felt like he

was coming down off an all-night bender and the taste of blood was
strong in his mouth. When he looked down, he was horrified to see
fresh smears on Mac's shoulder. The bite marks were obvious, just
starting to scab over. How could he have been so careless?

He still wasn't sure what had come over him. He had *never* used
anyone like that before. Sure, Mac hadn't protested -- hell, he'd
participated enthusiastically -- but it didn't change the fact that
he'd basically *raped* the man, and he didn't even know why. All he
knew was that he'd looked at the man and had been hit with an
overwhelming need to have him.

And oh, how he'd had him.

But it wasn't going to happen again, he told himself sternly. He
didn't want to be another notch on the man's bedpost. Maybe, if he
thought that Mac was willing to commit to a real relationship...

Then again, maybe not. Mac was his partner and best friend and he
wasn't sure he was willing to risk *that* relationship, no matter
how good the sex had been. In the end, sleeping with Stan had ruined
*their* friendship. He wasn't going to let that happen to him again.

But looking down at the sleeping man, he couldn't help wishing that
things were different. Mac was an important part of his life and he
knew that he could easily fall in love with the man. Hell, in a way,
he already had.

Perhaps someday he would find someone else to share his life,

although that seemed less likely now. After all, who would want to
settle down with a vampire?

But for the moment, he would have to be happy with watching this man
sleep curled up against him and indulge himself in fantasies where
that was where he belonged.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Eleven
----------------------------------------

When the sun came up, Vic lapsed once more into a coma-like state.
Mac found it more that a little disturbing -- the man wasn't even
breathing -- but took comfort in the fact that it was just temporary.
He preferred not to think about how close it had come to being
permanent.

He went into the attached bathroom to shower and shave, washing off
the last traces of sweat, semen and blood left from the night before.
His ass ached, but it was a pleasant sort of ache.

When he came back out, the door was unlocked. He pulled his clothes
back on, trying to ignore how wrinkled they were -- couldn't someone
have bothered to supply them with clean clothing? -- and headed
downstairs to find food and slightly more lively company. He was
feeling dizzy and light-headed, no doubt due to blood loss, and he
was hungry.

"Mac! How are you feeling?"

Mac smiled brightly at the sight of the man who'd really been the
start of all this: Cash. He hadn't seen the man since they'd arrived
at the estate and was glad to see that the man was in one piece and
looking unconcerned. "Starved. Where can someone who *doesn't* live
off blood get a meal?"

"Come on, I'm sure we can find you something in the kitchen. I
didn't see you yesterday."

Mac followed as the Gangrel led the way. "I slept most of the day.
Exhausted, I guess. The Director must have left orders though, since
there was a food tray there every time I woke up."

"She does seem rather protective of her people."

The kitchen was deserted, but the cupboards and fridge were well-
stocked, although the baggies of blood, he tried to ignore. Still,
he found that strange and said so as he pulled out eggs and bacon
and bread for toast. He wasn't a cook, but scrambled eggs he could
handle.

Cash laughed. "Julian is a corporate head," he pointed out. "He

entertains a lot. Plus, it keeps up appearances to have groceries
delivered."

"The Masquerade."

"Exactly."

"And you two are... okay? I mean, you aren't in trouble over what
happened with Vic?"

Cash shrugged. "He was pissed, but more with Marcus than anyone
else. Toronto speaking on my behalf helped. Cameron's pushing to
have me punished, but considering that it was *his* Brujah broke
Truce, he doesn't have a lot of say in it. The Brujah have lost a
lot of power over this," he added with a feral glee.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "You *really* don't like them, do you," he said
more than asked.

"No," was the fierce reply. Then Cash relaxed a little. "Gangrel and
Brujah have always been enemies," he explained, "but for me it's a
little more personal. A couple of years ago, I was in love with a
niece of Julian's, Sasha. Last of his family's line. Julian gave me
permission to Embrace her as Gangrel, but Eddie Fiori, the previous
Brujah Primogen, sent one of his thugs to Embrace her by force. He
was trying to push Julian into making an illegal move. The Prince
might make the laws, but he isn't above them, and Eddie was too
strong to slap down at the time.."

Mac hissed. "What happened to her? And him?"

"The Brujah who Embraced her was killed for it, torn to pieces.
Eddie died a little while later. He finally stepped over the line
and was executed. And Sasha..." Cash sighed and dropped his eyes.
"We tried to work it out, but the blood instincts were tearing her
apart. Finally, she decided to leave town. I haven't seen her since.
Last I heard, she was in New Orleans and rising through the Brujah
ranks there." The regret was clear in his voice.

"But I thought you and Julian were lovers," Mac said in confusion,
looking up from the frying pan.

"We are." Cash grinned at his expression. "Kindred rules are

different from human rules. Monogamy is not very common. At the
time, Julian was sleeping with a human woman who worked for him,
Lillie and me. Lillie was sleeping with him, Zane and Cameron. And
there was this cop that they were both trying to seduce. Julian got
him first, then Lillie, but he eventually chose Gangrel." Cash
smirked, obviously self-satisfied over that.

Mac shook his head. "I don't think I could live like that," he said.
He slept with a lot of people, but never at the same time.

Cash shrugged. "Things change when you're Embraced. When you're

looking at a life-span potentially of centuries, some things aren't
as important. Plus, we're immune to human diseases, which is handy
these days."

"What about love?" Mac asked, dropping his breakfast onto a plate
and sitting down.

"Oh, we love. Believe me, we love. But love and sex aren't
necessarily connected. Plus, the Hunger is driven by more than just
blood, as you've already found out." The grin he gave Mac was
wicked, and Mac shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Right," Cash drawled. "That's why you winced when you sat down. And
you reek of semen, I might add."
"I showered!"

Cash tapped the side of his nose. "Kindred have sharper senses."

Mac deflated. "I don't know what the hell happened," he muttered.

"Hey, you wanted him, he wanted you. What else matters?"

"Only it wasn't like that," Mac said. "It was out of the blue.
Totally unexpected."

"And great?"

"Oh, yeah," Mac breathed, remembering. "At the time, at least."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know! It was so intense that I passed out, and I've never
done that before. But when I woke up, it was like it never happened.
He wouldn't talk about it. He would barely even look at me. It was
like he felt guilty or something."

"Maybe he did. If he was swept away by the Hunger, he might feel

like he took advantage of you. Don't worry, he'll get over it."

"Maybe," Mac said helplessly. "It was weird, though. The look in his
eyes... It was like he wasn't quite there. And afterwards, every so
often I'd catch him looking at me with this confused expression."

Cash frowned thoughtfully while Mac worked his way through the
oversized plate of bacon and eggs. He didn't usually eat breakfast,
but he was starved. "I wish I could tell you more, but the blood-
bond between us is very weak."

"Blood-bond?" Mac asked around a mouthful.

"When a Kindred feeds someone their blood, it gives them a link to

that person," Cash said, falling into a lecture tone. "They become
the most important thing in that person's world. It also gives them
an influence over the person. Actually, I'm a little surprised at
how weak my link to Vic is, so soon after the Embrace. Either he's
extremely strong-willed, or someone is interfering."

Mac's eyes narrowed as he remembered the night before. "Would the

Director ordering Vic to feed off of her do it?"
"Yeah. A more recent bond to an older vampire..." He paused. "And
she's Ventrue. One of their traits is Dominate. It lets them
influence others, *especially* those they have a blood-bond with."

"What, you mean like mind control?" Mac asked in disbelief.

"Not completely. More like implanting a suggestion."

Mac sighed. "Like an urge to have sex with your partner? Great. Just
great." He liked that even less than Vic having second thoughts.
"Why?"

Cash shook his head. "Who knows? She's Ventrue *and* a Prince. If
she did it, I'm sure she has her reasons, but don't expect to
understand them. Hell, I love Julian and I've been with him for more
than a decade, but understand him? Not often.

"The blood-bond, sure. She would want Vic bound to her, not someone
out of town. Ventrue are big into control. The sex, if she's
responsible, is probably for similar reasons. She wants to tie Vic
to her. Probably you too."

Mac wasn't sure how getting him sleeping with Vic would do that, but
it made a certain amount of sense. The Director was very good at
manipulations. Hell, there were times when she manipulated them just
for the fun of it.

But if what had happened the night before *was* the Director's
doing, what did it mean for him and Vic? He knew the ex-cop well; if
Vic thought he'd been manipulated into sleeping with Mac, he might
walk. Certainly, he'd never touch Mac again; a decidedly unpleasant
thought.

But he couldn't help thinking that he should be more careful about

what he wished for in the future. He'd wanted one no-strings-
attached night with the man and he'd gotten it. Now he had to deal
with the consequences.

"Good morning, boys. Have a good night?"

The suggestive tone and the speculative look that the Director gave
him as she came into the room moved the idea that she'd arranged
things from the 'maybe' list to 'almost certain.' Mac resolved to
make sure that Vic never found out, for both their sakes.

Mac watched in sick fascination as she pulled one of the small

baggies of blood from the fridge and stuck a straw in it to sip
delicately, like one of those juice packs that kids drank. "Just
dandy," he said, dragging his eyes up to meet an amused gaze. "Would
have been better if we'd had more than a deck of cards to amuse
ourselves with, though."

"Oh, I'm sure you found... something to pass the time." She looked
him up and down with a smug expression, her nose no doubt as sharp
as Cash's.

Okay, forget 'almost certain.' It was definite. But why?

"So," Mac said, dumping his dishes in the sink and starting the
water running. "How come you two are up and about while Vic's doing
a zombie impression upstairs?" Never let it be said that Mac Ramsey
couldn't avoid a subject.

The Director chuckled, but it was Cash who answered. "The change
takes a lot of energy, so he needs to sleep a lot. Plus, his body
is adjusting to a nocturnal schedule. Forcing him to sleep all day
is the fastest way to do that. Give him a week or two and he'll be
able to function after sunrise."

"Indoors," the Director added. "It will take a little longer to

build up any sort of resistance to sunlight. A year or two, at
least."

"Is that why you can go out in the sun; because you're... um...
older?" Mac asked, trying to be diplomatic. He could remember seeing
the Director outdoors during the day on a few rare occasions.

"Partly. I dress to cover. Plus, the Agency scientists have

developed a handy makeup foundation that provides some added
protection."

"Really?" Cash perked up.

"Yes, really. Don't worry, the formula one of the things I handed
out during the meetings. It will be up to the individual Princes
whether they tell any of their people about it, or keep it for
themselves.

"But I do prefer the night," she said, returning to the original

topic. "It's more... subtle."

Subtle wasn't necessarily a word that usually to mind when thinking

about the Director, but Mac kept his mouth shut.

"Well," she said as he finished washing up. "I've arranged to have

our luggage delivered here. Remember that the party is tonight. You
know what to wear. And, no," she added from the doorway on the way
out, "you may *not* skip the accessories. Ta, ta!"

"Accessories?" Cash asked, one eyebrow gone up.

"Don't ask," Mac said with a groan. "Please."

>>>~~~<<<

Cash had to leave after that, having work to do for Julian, so Mac
found himself at loose ends. He watched Cash drive away in a car
with darkly-tinted windows, then decided that he didn't really want
to return to the 'scene of the crime.' Instead, he went exploring.

The Luna estate screamed money: old money and lots of it. On the
ground floor alone he saw five paintings that if fenced together
would bring in six-figures easily. His fingers twitched with old
instincts, but he restrained the urge. He wasn't a thief anymore.
Besides, he now knew enough to know that stealing from Luna would
probably be a very stupid thing to do.

But still, that miniature in the dining room was *very* tempting.
Easily portable too.

And it wasn't just paintings. The sculptures were just as fine in

quality and value. Bronze, marble and plaster. Ancient, Renaissance
and modern. It was almost like a museum. And in the library were a
selection of rare first editions, some signed by the author. A
couple were even personally inscribed to Julian himself. The boy got
around.

The safe was easy to find, but he left it alone. Mac's curiosity was
running away with him, speculating on what treasures might be
inside, but decided that getting caught at it would be bad thing. He
left the computer alone for the same reason.

Upstairs looked to be mostly living areas: bedrooms, bathrooms and

the occasional sitting room. As he tried doorknobs, he found most of
them locked. The few that weren't led to rooms that were obviously
not in use at the moment. Again, Mac restrained his curiosity.

Besides, his lock-pick set was back in Toronto.

By that point, he'd killed a couple hours and the only part of the
building he hadn't checked out was the cellar. An estate like this
had to have one, for the wine if nothing else, but he couldn't find
the stairs. He wondered why anyone would bother concealing the
stairs to the cellar. Maybe it had been converted to dungeons, he
thought with a grin. The grin quickly disappeared. For all he knew,
they *had*.

And through it all, he never saw another soul. It was downright

creepy. Kind of like the way that the Agency headquarters in Toronto
always seemed deserted. They never saw any of the support staff
unless it was needed for a case, and usually that was just Nathan,
the nervous little twit in the archives with a thing for Vic.

Finally, he gave up and headed back to the library to find a book to

distract him for the rest of the morning. Then he'd probably use one
of those empty rooms for an afternoon nap; he wasn't sure that he
could sleep next to Vic without a major case of the guilts.

He was a little surprised to find LiAnn already there, reading, or

at least pretending to. She looked very pale, with dark circles
under her eyes. "Hey, how you feeling?" Mac asked softly when she
finally noticed him.

She shrugged. "Better. Confused. Scared. Angry. You name it."

"Angry?" Mac asked. He was the one confused at that moment.

"Yes, *angry*." She dropped the book on the table next to the
loveseat. "Damnit, Mac, why didn't you tell me? You knew about...
about what was going on and you didn't *tell* me. I thought we were
partners. I thought we were more." By the end, she had gone from a
shout to a whisper.

Mac sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She was
shaking. The last time he could remember her shaking like this was
the day when she'd come to tell him that she was ready to run from
the Tangs with him, more than four years earlier.

"You are," he said, rocking her gently. "You're my sister, my

partner and a part of me. But the Director told me not to, and you
know what she's like. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell Vic. All
I could do was sit and wait and worry."

LiAnn pressed her face into his shoulder. "He was waiting for me in
the back hall, near the washrooms," she said softly. "He was
pretending to talk on the payphone. He grabbed me as I went past. He
was strong, I couldn't break free. He dragged me outside.

"He told me over and over again what he was going to do to me after
he killed you." Her voice was cracking and he held her tighter as
the words tumbled out. "He was going to torture me and rape me and
then bring me back so that he could do it all over again, he said. I
didn't understand! So he bit me and he started... sucking..." She
was gasping around deep sobs by that point. "I tried to get away,
but he slammed me against the wall so hard that I couldn't breathe.
I thought I was going to die."

"It's all right, LiAnn," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You're all
right. He's dead. He can't hurt you or anyone else."

"He killed Vic!"

"Vic's going to be okay," Mac pointed out.

"But now he's one of *them*. He isn't Vic anymore."

Mac shook his head sadly. This was one reaction that no one had
expected. "He's still the same person," he assured her. "He's still
our partner, still the man you fell in love with once. That hasn't
changed."

But LiAnn didn't seem to be listening, she was so caught up in her

fears. "I don't think I can face him. I'd always be wondering when
he was going to turn on me. I just can't deal with that."

Her words sent a chill through Mac. "What are you saying, you want
to break up the partnership? You can't mean it. We're a *team*."

"I... I don't know. I need some time." She pulled away from him,
scrubbing at her face. She looked like she wanted to say something
more, but finally just got to her feet and left the room. Mac could
already see the recently cracking walls dropping back into place.

He watched her go, a feeling of dread sending chills through him. It

seemed like his world was coming apart -- his *family* was coming
apart.

But he'd be damned if he was going to let that happen without a

fight.
>>>~~~<<<

Feeling more than a little shell-shocked, Mac made a half-hearted

attempt to eat lunch, then headed upstairs. He went into the room
next to the one where Vic was, undressed and lay down to sleep.

An hour later, he gave up. Sleep just wasn't happening. Every time
he closed his eyes he had visions of a future where he was alone.
LiAnn had left because she couldn't handle Vic's change and Vic had
left because he couldn't handle what had happened either. The team
had fallen apart and it was all his fault.

But he needed sleep. If he was supposed to be on display, so to

speak, at a party, he better not be yawning. But the room was too
silent and the bed was too large.

And too empty.

Mac sat up and sighed. That was the real problem; he didn't want to
be alone. He pulled on his clothes, not bothering to do anything up,
and headed for the room next door. There he found Vic lying in the
same position he'd left the man in that morning. Mac pulled off his
clothes again, dropping them next to the suitcases that someone had
delivered and left next to the armoire in the corner, then crawled
into bed.

Almost immediately, he started to relax. Vic wasn't going to leave.

For one thing, the Director wouldn't let him. She got him out of
jail and she still had a tight hold on him as a result. The same way
she had a hold on him, he admitted to himself.

And once LiAnn calmed down, she wouldn't leave either. She was just
upset because of what Marcus did. Once she realized that Vic was the
same person he always was, she'd be okay.

The team was safe. His family was safe. He wasn't going to lose them.

He curled up against Vic's slightly cool form and drifted off to

sleep, his cheek pressed against the man's chest. It was a nice
place to be.

>>>~~~<<<

Sometime later, Mac woke to the strange sensation of his pillow

trying escape. Grumbling sleepily, he wrapped his arms around it a
little tighter to hold it in place.
"Mac, I'd like to move."

Mac grunted, trying to get back to sleep. Sleep was good.

"Mac, you need to let go." His talking pillow shifted again.

"Don wanna," he muttered, trying to hand onto that peaceful place

where he'd been. Vic was making that very difficult, squirming like
he was.

"Mac!" A sigh. "It's time to get up. If we don't shower and change
in time for the party, the Director will come looking for us."

That hit Mac like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped over his
head. "Spoilsport," he grumbled, sitting up in bed. He glanced over
at his partner and sighed when the man still wouldn't meet his eyes.
He was not going to let *that* go on any longer. "About last
night..." he started to say, but Vic cut him off.

"Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"Not even if I want it to?" Mac snapped back, a little tired of the
self--sacrificing tone that Vic was so good at.

That got Vic's attention and when he turned his head to look at Mac.
Mac took advantage of the open-mouthed expression to home in for a
deep kiss.

He had several reasons for kissing Vic. Partly it was to reassure

the man, in case Cash was right and he felt like he'd taken
advantage of Mac. Partly it was to reassure himself that even if it
*was* the Director who'd... arranged what had happened, that Vic
might honestly want him, if only physically. The immediate response
he got confirmed that hope.

But mostly, he kissed Vic because the man all sleep-rumpled was
beautiful and he really *really* wanted to kiss him.

But despite the response, Vic pushed him away. "We shouldn't be
doing this."

"Why not?" Mac asked, determined to settle matters before it became

a wedge driving them apart.

"Because... because it will change things."

"Change can be good," he pointed out. "Change is part of life."

Vic shook his head sadly. "Not this kind of change. I've been burnt
too many times. Stan. LiAnn. I don't want to screw this up too."

Mac reached out to touch Vic's shoulder. "We've all been burnt, Mac.
My flames were Michael, LiAnn and Claire. Doesn't mean you hide from
life."

"So what are you saying, Mac? You want to settle down with me in
domestic bliss? Buy a house with a white picket fence? One next to a
blood bank, of course." Vic's dripped with sarcasm, but there was a
plaintive note to it.

Mac flinched, but hid it well. That was moving a little too fast for
him, although he'd do it if that was what it took. "Does it have to
be that complicated? Can't we just take things one day at a time,
one step at a time?"

Vic sighed. "I don't know. Everything is changed. I need time to

deal with that. I need... time."

Mac pulled back reluctantly. Even though he wasn't really ready to

settle down, commit himself *that* much, he still found himself a
little disappointed that Vic had turned the idea down. "Sure, we can
do that. But it you ever need... um... a meal -- or more -- call me
first. Please?"

Vic smiled -- a faint one, but a smile nonetheless. "I will," he

promised. He leaned forward to kiss Mac, then inhaled sharply. Mac
could see the Hunger starting to form in the man's eyes and tilted
his head back in silent invitation.

"Hold it right there."

Both of them twisted to look towards the door and the unexpected
interruption. The Director was standing there; Mac wondered for how
long. "He can't keep up tonight if he's low on blood. Here." She
tossed over a baggie of blood, like the one she'd had for breakfast.
"This should do you. Now, be good boys and get ready. We leave in an
hour."

She left as quickly as she had appeared, swaying on her high heels.

Mac exchanged rueful glances with Vic. "Flip you for the first
shower."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twelve
----------------------------------------

Vic stared at his reflection in the mirror, tugging at his clothes

in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. Actually, the clothes
were probably the best fitting he'd ever worn. They felt like they'd
been specifically tailored for him -- which they probably had. Even
the boots didn't need breaking in.

No, it wasn't the clothes that made him uncomfortable, it was the
persona they projected. The man in the mirror, dressed in glossy
black leather and pristine white silk, looked dangerous; the sort of
man you didn't want to meet in a dark alley on the wrong side of
town. He looked like a... hunter.

Only thing was, this hunter was on a leash.

Vic ran a finger under the gold-decorated black leather collar. It

was silk-lined, so he couldn't even complain that *it* was
uncomfortable. Except mentally, that is. The motion that made the
gold chain that connected to the collar to the matching belt chime
lightly. Vic winced. He was wearing a collar and a leash. It was
humiliating.

"Looking hot," Mac said, coming out of the bathroom. In a way, it

was just as well the younger man had lost the coin toss. If Vic had
had to wait for him to finish, he'd be heading off with damp hair
and feeling like he'd forgotten to wash behind his ears or something.

"I feel like a fucking dog," he snapped back, trying to avoid

looking at Mac.

He'd been quite serious about needing time to think. He was going to
have enough trouble adjusting to what he'd become without trying to
deal with a relationship at the same time; especially with someone
as volatile as Mac. He had to admit, though, Mac had had a point.
He'd been all hung up on relationships being an either-or situation;
either marriage or completely casual. Taking it one step at a time
was actually a good idea.

And the current step was *not* going to involve sex, even if the
younger man's appearance was making his mouth water.
Seeing Mac's outfit hanging on a clothes hanger was definitely *not*
the same as seeing it on the man. The leather pants left nothing to
the imagination, hugging the lines of his legs tightly and showing
off the fact that a) he wasn't wearing underwear and b) he was
very... well developed -- something that Vic already knew from
personal inspection. Over that, Mac wore a white silk poet's shirt
with flowing sleeves ending in tight cuff and lace trim. The front
was open to the waist, showing a great deal of dark chest hair.
Topping it all was a black leather vest.

Together, they were obviously intended to be a matched pair, their

outfits different in style but the same in color and material. Even
the accessories continued that theme.

The heavy gold chain wrapped around Mac's neck, resting right above
his collar bone. In his hand he held the other 'present' from the
Director. He tossed in from hand to hand, looking at the device with
an expression of distaste.

Then he sighed and reached under his shirt, fumbling for a minute or
so. When he lowered his hands, a delicate gold chain stretched
across his chest. He rolled his shoulders in an unconsciously
sensual motion, like he was trying to get comfortable.

He looked delicious and suddenly Vic's pants weren't as comfortable

as they *had* been. Once again, he wondered if his no-sex rule was
such good idea. Then he threw a mental bucket of cold water over his
libido. The Hunger was humming, but since he'd fed less than an hour
earlier, he refused to give in.

Mac took a deep breath and straightened up. "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'm ever going to be," Vic replied, pleased at how steady
his voice was. He waved towards the door, letting Mac go first.

It was ridiculous, but he was a little scared about leaving the

room. The man he'd been coming in was quite literally dead. He felt
like leaving it would be admitting that. In a way, you could call
the room his womb, and now that it was time to leave it, he didn't
want to be born.

But he didn't really have a choice, so he steeled himself and

stepped forward, pausing only long enough to shut the door behind
them.

Strangely enough, he didn't really *feel* any different. In fact,

all he felt, heading down the stairs and trying not to stare at
Mac's ass, was self-conscious. He wasn't looking forward to this
party. People who knew what had happened two nights earlier were
going to be watching him closely for any signs of slipping in this
Masquerade thing, and the ones that didn't... well, he didn't know
*what* they'd think when they saw him and didn't particularly *want*
to.

The Director was waiting for them in the foyer, along with LiAnn,
Cash and the man that Vic assumed was their host, Julian Luna.

Vic felt his jaw drop at the sight of LiAnn. He'd been expecting the
third member of their team to be dressed in black leather and white
silk, the same as him and Mac, but her outfit was anything but. She
wore a silk dress in China red, high necked and sleeveless, a black
embroidered dragon curving around her slender frame. The long skirt
was slit all the way up to the hip. Her shoes were black with red
embroidery with low heels, looking more like ballet slippers. The
only jewelry she wore was the gold necklace with the scepter charm
that they'd been given before the start of the trip and a pair of
diamond earrings.

Next to her, the Director wore a black evening gown, tight in all
the right places. Over it she wore a black bolero jacket made from
leather that had a decorative cable design of red, gold and white,
tying them all together; an unpleasant metaphor, as far as Vic was
concerned.

As for the others, Luna was in a classic Armani-style tuxedo and

next to him, Cash looked dangerous in black leather.

Vic and Mac stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the
verdict.

The Director walked in a slow circle around them and Vic felt his
face flame. Next to him, Mac fidgeted nervously. She stopped in
front of Mac and adjusted the hang of his shirt so that the nipple
clamps that supported the gold chain were more obvious, smacking his
hands when he tried to pull it shut again. Then she adjusted the lie
of Vic's collar and stepped back.

"Very nice, don't you think?"

Luna was smiling, and his expression reminded Vic of the Director at
her most predatory. "They'll certainly be very popular."
Suddenly, Vic had the urge to head back up the stairs -- run, don't
walk -- and lock himself back in his womb. If the party was anything
like this inspection, he did *not* want to be there.

But it was too late to run. Already they were being steered out the
door and into two limousines.

"Relax," the Director said with a smile from the seat opposite him.
"You're going to do fine."

"Doing *what*?" he demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Luna's comment about being very popular. What did he mean?"

The puzzled frown disappeared and the Director laughed. "As dance
partners," she said. "What were you thinking, that you were going to
be handed out as party favors?"

Said out loud, it sounded ridiculous, but Vic wasn't so sure that it
was completely improbably. After all, look at the Caligula. If the
woman was founder of a kinky sex club, complete with dungeons, then
who knew *what* she and her kind were capable of?

Then Vic remembered that they were also *his* kind now. Somehow, it
didn't reassure him.

At least LiAnn now looked all right. If there was any bruising left,
it was disguised with subtle makeup and the hang of her carefully-
done hairdo. She was beautiful.

However, she refused to look at him. Every so often her eyes started
to drift his way, only to dart away, never meeting his. It bothered
him and judging by the Director's frown as she watched the
interplay, he wasn't the only one.

A hand dropped on his knee and squeezed reassuringly before moving

away again. Vic gave Mac a small smile in response.

Everything was starting to seem surreal. Nothing was what it had

been before, least of all him. LiAnn was obviously avoiding him, the
Director was not what he'd thought and Mac had become something less
than a lover but more than a partner. Vic found himself wondering
when he'd fallen through the rabbit hole and how he was going to get
out. Unfortunately, no handy white rabbit ran past muttering about
being late, so it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare for that matter.

They pulled up outside the Haven, right behind Luna's car. They
could already hear the music as they got out of the car.

"Welcome!" Lillie said brightly as they moved into the main room,
obviously there to greet all arrivals. She was dressed like
something out of a forties glamour magazine in cream and sequins,
her auburn hair drawn up into a complicated style quite different
from LiAnn's simplicity. Vic found himself blushing again as she
stepped close to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome to the
family," she said softly. "Although *I* think you would have been
better as a Toreador."

The Director glared at her and Lillie backed off with a smile. She
didn't seem very intimidated, but she gave the Director a respectful
nod before heading off to welcome the next group of arrivals.

"They always think that *everyone* should want to be one of them,"

the Director muttered, leading them in. "Don't take it to heart.
You'd be a lousy Toreador."

The atmosphere in the room was a far cry from what it had been all
week. Most of the tables and chairs had been removed, forcing people
to mingle. And mingle they did, although like before, he could see a
definitely pattern forming. This time, though, he had a pretty good
idea of just what that pattern was: Clan groupings.

Something else was different, in a slightly more disturbing way.

During the week, people had occasionally glanced at him, then seemed
to dismiss him as if he were of no interest. Tonight was a different
matter. Tonight, eyes narrowed and stayed focused on him longer.

Some of them nodded -- a very small number -- and he felt a strange

sort of kinship with them. He glanced at the Director.

"Other Gangrel for the most part, I would assume," she said softly.
"There won't be many here. Most of the Gangrel decided to
disassociate themselves from the Camarilla in the last few years, so
they don't have a say in the councils. However, some members of the
clan are still part of the Camarilla. The ones here are probably
mostly bodyguards, like Cash."

"Camarilla?"

She waved off the question. "Later. It's not a short explanation.
Add it to your list." She took his arm and led him into the crowd.

What followed was a blur of faces, both friendly and hostile. The
hostile ones seemed able to raise his hackles without even a word.
The friendly ones were a little more comfortable, although to widely
differing degrees.

The were introduced to both Princes and their entourages from what
seemed like every major city in North America. Vic jokingly asked
about a couple of the cities that *weren't* represented and the
Director responded with a cold look and the comment that *that*
would have to wait until later too. Vic's list of questions was
growing quickly.

And it was obvious that while she was introducing *all* of them
around, Vic was the focus. Everyone seemed to be taking his measure.
Vic didn't like it: he'd always preferred to fade into the
background, the observer not the observed. Unfortunately, he didn't
exactly have a choice in the matter.

Still, it sure as hell beat the alternative.

Finally, she led them over to the bar and Vic breathed a quiet sigh
of relief. He couldn't remember the names of most of the people he'd
met and his feet were aching. He was desperate for a drink --
alcohol, not blood, although he was starting to feel *that* need too.

Mac ordered a Tsingtao -- his favorite beer -- and LiAnn a white

wine. Vic was about to ask for a beer as well when the Director cut
him off, asking for two wines, no other qualifiers.

Vic frowned at the glass he was handed. He didn't much like wine,
red wine especially. The Director just stared at him until he sighed
and took a reluctant sip.

The flavor exploded in his mouth and he suddenly realized just *why*
the mysterious thick red wine was so popular.

"What is it?" Mac asked curiously as Vic fought the urge to chug the
contents of his glass.

"Blood wine."

Mac paled slightly when Vic nodded in confirmation; the liquid was
at least half blood, mixed with a red wine. LiAnn flinched,
something she'd been doing a lot as the evening went on.
"Ah, there's someone I'd like you to meet," the Director said and
was tugging at his arm to steer him the direction she wanted.

Vic sighed. It was going to be a long night. Again.

>>>~~~<<<

It was well after midnight by the time he managed to separate his

boss's hand from his elbow and find a quiet spot, away from the
crowd. The Director had insisted that he dance with her several
times, as had Lillie, and he'd been... encouraged to dance with
several other party-goers who'd approached him. He was beginning to
think that he *was* going to end up a party favor.

But he'd finally found an out-of-the-way spot and a wall to lean

against. He'd kill for a chair, but there weren't any free ones to
be found. The band was playing a steamy tango and from his vantage
point, he could see that Mac had finally managed to coax LiAnn out
onto the dance floor. He'd never seen them dance together before.
Mac had described to him what it was like, back when they'd been
rivals, but it wasn't the same as seeing them.

They moved like one person in two bodies; seamless and perfect. They
were a beautiful matched pair and he wasn't the only one watching
them. Vic felt a sudden pang of jealousy, although he wasn't sure
which one he was jealous *of*.

He'd never danced with LiAnn. Correction, he had. Once. However,

she'd made no attempt to hide her amusement at his lack of polish,
so he'd never tried again.

Come to think of it, she'd always been good at putting him down for
his lack of 'sophistication.' She'd managed to imply without ever
saying it outright that he was less intelligent than her. Sure, Mac
had done the exact same thing at first, but he'd never tried to
pretend that it was anything more than the typical male head-butting
rituals. They put each other down, they fought over LiAnn. With
LiAnn, the put-downs were all one-sided and a little more subtle.

Looking back, Vic was surprised that he and LiAnn had lasted as long
as they had. Even if Mac *hadn't* returned from the dead, they would
have gone their separate ways eventually. Sooner or later, he would
have been unable to ignore her attitude any longer. So maybe Mac had
done them all a favor by giving her an excuse to back out before it
was too late for them to stay friends.
"Well, well, well. The new dog boy."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected voice, Vic jumped. The man who'd
slipped up next to him was one he hadn't met, although he vaguely
remembered seeing him a couple times during the week. But there was
something about the man that annoyed him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You should. You cost me four of my best men."

The comment told him just who he was talking to. "Cameron, I
presume," he said frostily. He stood up straight, instantly on edge.
Unfortunately, there was no one nearby that he knew, let alone
trusted.

"And you are Cash's little mistake," was the sneering reply. "You
should be just as dead as *my* people, along with your law-breaking
sire. The only reason you aren't is because Luna likes the pretty
ones. Tell me, has he fucked you yet?"

Vic bristled at the man's tone. "I suggest you find someone else to
blame," he told the handsome man. "Your people got *themselves* into
trouble by attacking someone under your boss's truce. It was their
own stupidity that got them dead, not me."

He started to walk away, but a hand like iron grabbed him, stopping
him dead in his tracks. He pulled, but the man didn't budge. He
stopped struggling and turned to stare at the man. "I suggest you
let go."

Cameron stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose. "Watch
your back, puppy. Your Prince isn't all-powerful and I have a lot of
contacts."

"Are you threatening me?" Vic asked in disbelief. The man was a
thug, pure and simple. Hard to believe that he held any sort of
power, let alone was able to hang onto it. Then again, from what
he'd been told, Cameron was definitely on his way out.

"Just stating facts, little boy. Toronto isn't out of my reach.

Remember that."

He let go suddenly, obviously expecting Vic to go flying. Vic just

shook his head and walked away.

"Are you okay?" Mac asked, coming towards him at a near run, Cash
right behind him. Vic wondered if they'd been off somewhere together
and felt that pang of jealousy again.

"Just fine. Cameron wanted to make a few useless threats. Nothing I

can't handle."

"Don't be so sure of that," Cash said darkly.

Vic snorted. "Yeah, right. The day I can't handle a thug like him--"

"Is the day you die. Permanently. I'm serious," Cash added when Vic
shook his head. "Do you know what the leading cause of death is
among the newly-Embraced?"

Cash stared at him expectantly until Vic finally sighed and

obediently said, "All right, I'll bite. What is the leading cause of
death among the newly-Embraced." He felt like the straight man in a
joke.

"Pissing off older Kindred," was the blunt reply.

"And your point would be?"

Cash grabbed his arm and dragged him into a corner where no one was
watching them, Mac following on his heels. Once they were away from
prying eyes, Cash slammed him up against the wall. Vic struggle for
a moment, but he couldn't shift the man anymore than he'd been able
to break Cameron's grip.

"Listen to me and listen good," he said softly. "Older Kindred are

going to be stronger than you, with abilities that you won't develop
for several decades, assuming you life that long. And the older ones
like nothing better than slapping down uppity fledglings, especially
from other clans. Don't count on your boss to protect you."

The serious expression on the man's face sent shivers up and down
Vic's spine. Normally he'd laugh the warning off, coming from
someone who didn't know him well, but there was something in the
man's eyes that convinced him that he wasn't playing games. He
nodded.

Cash relaxed and took a step back. "Learn to watch what you say.
You'll recognize other Kindred when you meet them. Be careful around
them until you learn how they'll react. And practice. A lot. Once
you've learned more, then you can push back."
He lifted a hand and brushed the back of his knuckles along Vic's
cheekbone and smiled. "Don't worry too much, though. I think you'll
go far. And if you need advice, someone to talk to, just give me a
call." He sighed. "I wish I could do more. I always said that I'd
never abandon one of my childer. The typical Gangrel sire abandons
his or her childer to find their own way for a decade or two before
reclaiming them. I didn't want to do that. Unfortunately, your
Prince won't let me be there for you."

Vic closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm scared," he
whispered. There was something about the man that seemed to drag
the admission out of him. Cash's hand moved down to rest on his
shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "I don't know what's going to
happen when we get home."

"She's going to find you a teacher, she says. Someone who will teach
you what you need to survive. After that? Really, not a lot will
have changed. You're still you. The only thing that's changed is
that you'll need to stay inside during the day."

"And drink blood."

Cash shrugged. "Whatever. It's not that hard to get used to it."

Vic didn't respond; he'd already learned the truth of that.

Suddenly, Cash lifted his head. He looked like he was listening to

something that neither Vic nor Mac could hear. "I've got to go," he
said reluctantly. "Julian needs me."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Cash leaned forward and kissed him.

The man's lips were cool against his, completely unlike the fever-
hot touch of Mac's. Vic's reaction was immediate and unexpected,
opening up to Cash like he was the most desirable man in the
universe. Vic was reeling with confusion when the man finally pulled
away and left.

Vic watched him walk away, feeling more than a little dazed. He
turned to find Mac watching him with a stormy expression. In fact,
he'd almost swear that the young man was as jealous as *he'd* been
feeling earlier.

"An... interesting man," he said, suddenly feeling the urge to tease

his partner. "I just wish I was going to have the chance to get to
know him better."
"I'll bet," Mac muttered under his breath. Vic hid his grin. Mac
*was* jealous.

Vic slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We're heading home
tomorrow." Thank God. "Then everything goes back to normal, or what
passes for normal for us."

"I wish I could believe that," Mac sighed. "But I'm not so sure.
LiAnn's kinda traumatized by what Marcus did to her. She's... well...
scared of you. Scared of any Kindred. I'm sure she'll get over it
pretty fast, but right now..." His voice trailed off.

Vic sighed. This explained LiAnn's behavior all evening. "So what
happens to the team?" he asked, more resigned than anything else. He
should have known better than to think it was going to go back to
the way it had been. His mood-swings were starting to give him
motion-sickness.

"I don't know. Best guess? The Director splits us up until she gets
over it. Maybe she'll put LiAnn to work with Jackie for a while."

Vic snorted. "Oh, she'll love that," he said wryly. LiAnn had hated
the blond ex-mob princess with a passion from the moment they'd met.
Of course, the interest that the bubbly girl had shown in Mac hadn't
helped matters. LiAnn was used to being the center of the team and
Jackie threatened that position. Being forced to work with Jackie
was one of the Director's favorite punishments for LiAnn on those
rare occasions when she screwed up on a case. "It'll certainly
encourage her to adapt fast."

Then something occurred to him. "Speaking of LiAnn, where is she?"

Mac blinked. "Um..."

"Shit! She's panicking over Kindred and you left her alone in a room
full of them? Bright move, Mac."

He wasn't sure why he was quite so upset; maybe just some leftover
anxiety after the conversation with Cash. But if LiAnn was as upset
as Mac had said, leaving her alone was a bad move.

Moving away from their private corner, Vic scanned the room. He
didn't see LiAnn at first glance. Then he noticed a small knot on
the other side of the room. Operating on instinct, he started to
push his way through the crowd, heading for the group, Mac following
him.

They got some glares from people that they had to push past, but no
one delayed them. As they got closer, Vic could hear LiAnn's voice,
raised and with a slightly hysterical tinge to it. The last time
he'd heard that had been several months before Mac had joined the
team, when she'd had to defuse a bomb strapped to him without any
outside help. She'd done the job, but she'd had the shakes for a
couple days afterwards. She'd said it was because her *last* lover
had died in an explosion, or so she'd thought.

Finally reaching the slowly growing crowd, Vic grabbed one shoulder
and pulled its owner away, pushing himself through to LiAnn's side.

LiAnn was squeezed against the wall by a large man who raised Vic's
hackles. Based on his experiences that night, he would guess that
the man was Brujah. Vic squeezed between the man and LiAnn.

"I think the lady would like some room to breath," he said, bracing
himself in case of attack.

"Get lost, Gangrel," the man snarled. "Me and the little lady, we're
having a private conversation."

Vic glanced around at the small crowd, one eyebrow raised in

disbelief. The man bristled in annoyance. "Scram, little boy," the
man snarled.

He shrugged. "Sure. Care to join me, partner?" he said, holding out

his arm to LiAnn. She hesitated, then slipped her hand into the
crook of his elbow.

"I'm not finished with her," the Brujah snarled.

"Maybe, but I think she's finished with you. Go find someone else to
bother."

"You need to learn some manners, little boy. How about we step
outside and I teach you some?"

"How about you don't," a cold voice said behind him. The Brujah
turned and Vic saw the Director walking towards them. The crowd
parted in front of her and he could see fear on more than a few
faces.

"This doesn't concern you," the man said, blustering. She raised one
eyebrow.

"My people, my concern," she said gently. "Now, are you going to
look elsewhere for your entertainment or do I need to have a talk
with Jefferson?"

Vic didn't know who Jefferson was, but the Brujah paled slightly. He
glared at Vic and LiAnn, then stormed away.

"Jefferson?" he asked the Director softly.

"Prince of Phoenix," she said equally softly. Then her lips quirked
into a smile. "I'm surprised you don't remember. I introduced you to
him earlier."

Vic snorted. "Along with half the room. Is this going to go on much
longer? It's been a long night." Even he could hear the plaintive
tone in his voice.

Her expression softened. "Yes, I suppose it has. Well, the party

will keep going until dawn, but I suppose we can leave now. Our bags
have already been picked up and loaded in the car."

"We aren't going back to Luna's?" Mac asked in surprise.

"We have a private jet for the trip home and we'll be leaving right
at sunset. I've arranged for rooms at the hotel nearest the airport."

As she spoke, they drifted towards the front door. Luna met them
there, Cash at his shoulder.

"Well, it's certainly been an interesting convocation," Luna said

with a smile, taking the Director's hands in his. "I hope you
weren't too... inconvenienced by the results."

She smiled back and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, it certainly
wasn't what I planned on, but no. I'm quite pleased in fact."

Behind Luna, Vic could see Cash and Mac whispering to each other.
Then Cash kissed his partner and Vic felt that flash of jealousy
again. He moved over to where they were standing and Cash smiled at
him.

"Remember what I said," Cash said, slipping him a small business

card. Glancing down, Vic saw a phone-number on it and slid it into
his jacket pocket.
"I will," he replied.

Cash leaned over and kissed him softly. "Be well, my Childe," he
said seriously. "I expect to hear great things about you in the
future."

Vic swallowed around the large lump forming in his throat. "Thank
you," he said, almost choking. It was stupid, he didn't really know
the man, but he was going to miss him.

"Time to go, boys and girls," the Director called. Vic squeezed
Cash's hand and moved to follow her, Mac at his side and LiAnn right
in front of him, just like always. It was raining heavily again,
just like the night they'd arrived. It was an appropriate touch to
end their visit to San Francisco.

Vic sighed. He couldn't wait to get home.

----------------------------------------
Epilogue
----------------------------------------

The end of their trip to San Francisco was almost anti-climactic.

They checked into two hotel rooms not far from the Oakland airport
for the day; Mac and Vic in one room, the girls in the other. By the
time they reached their room, all Mac wanted was bed. Of course,
having Vic to snuggle up against was nice, even if it was just
snuggle. He was going to miss that when they got home.

This trip had been a weird one all around. Of course, life had been
weird since the day the Director had walked into his cell in Hong
Kong and had coldly proceeded to blackmail him into working for her.
Still, what other job could he have where he got to deal with
psychotic beekeepers and mad geniuses in their rooftop lairs? Not to
mention the organ smugglers and terrorist clowns. The mind just
boggled.

And if he had to admit it, he liked his life now. Sure, working for
the Tangs was just as exciting at times -- and the rewards were a
hell of a lot better -- but with the Agency, there was a cause.
Well, he *thought* there was a cause, even if he wasn't exactly sure
what it was. And they didn't ask him to smuggle guns.

But now that world had changed. Vampires were real and his boss was
one of them, and now one of his partners was too. And his other
partner had received a new trauma on top of an old one that had
barely started to heal. As for him, he'd made a new friend and had
his relationship with one of his partners change beyond recognition
-- for the better he thought.

And once they got back to Toronto, he was going to have to go back
to sleeping alone. At least Vic wasn't completely rejecting the idea
of a relationship, but he *was* determined to take things slow. And
who knew, maybe the man was right. Mac had a tendency to fall into
bed quickly. Maybe that was why he had such a long string of failed
relationships behind him.

On the other hand, after working together for more than two years,
it wasn't like they were complete strangers.

But if that was the way Vic wanted it, that was the way it was going
to be. He'd prove to the man that this wasn't just an overwhelming
lust for the man's admittedly gorgeous bod. He was going to prove
that he had *some* restraint.

Besides, he was looking forward to the chance to seduce his partner

all over again.

Cash had recommended holding off until Vic got the training that the
Director said she was going to arrange, though. It was a little
strange, getting advice from a man who'd been basically a one night
stand on how to build a more lasting relationship with another man,
but if it would work, Mac would take advice from anyone, even
Dobrinsky. And besides, as Vic's Sire, Cash probably had a pretty
good idea on what would work.

He was going to miss Cash. He might only have known the man for a
few days, but he still felt a strange sort of kinship with him. They
had a lot in common. Besides, the man really knew how to party, Mac
thought with a grin. Like Vic, he had one of Cash's cards tucked
inside his wallet, with instructions to call anytime, for advice or
just to talk. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

After the sun came up and Vic fell asleep, Mac left the room to find
some breakfast. Vic might be able to live on a little bit of blood,
but he needed something a little more substantial. Hopefully the
hotel restaurant served Eggs Benedict. He had a craving.

>>>~~~<<<

The phone rang, waking him from a sound sleep. Mac rolled over and
grabbed it, cursing under his breath in Cantonese. "Yes?" he barked
into the receiver.

"This is your six PM wake-up call," an overly cheerful recorded

voice said. "Have a pleasant evening." A dial tone grated painfully
on his eardrums.

"You too," he snapped at the phone before hanging up. He hadn't

ordered a wake-up call, but he could guess who had.

Still, since their flight was leaving at nine-thirty, that just gave
him time to shower, shave, change and eat while Vic did the same.
Since it wasn't quite yet sunset, he headed for the bathroom after
calling up room service and ordering a ridiculously priced meal.

By the time he emerged, towel-drying his hair, Vic was up and

looking at least partly awake. "All yours," Mac said.

Vic disappeared into the bathroom as a knock at the door heralded

the arrival of Mac's dinner. Mac signed the receipt and found the
cash for a tip, then dove in. The club-sandwich wasn't the greatest
and the french fries were cold, but it was food and that was all he
cared about.

He was polishing off the last of it as Vic reappeared, looking fully

awake. Mac held out his hand. "Dinner?"

Amazing how casual it had become between them. Vic didn't even try
to protest, although he kept it short and with no frills. Mac still
ended up aroused by the feeling of the blood being slowly sucked
from his veins, but refused to give in to his libido by jumping
Vic's bones.

But damn it was difficult.

They actually managed to be dressed and packed by the time the

Director knocked on their door for the trip to the airport.

"Good evening, ladies," Mac said cheerfully as they headed for the
elevator. "Sleep well?"

LiAnn nodded curtly, although the circles under her eyes made a liar
of her. He Director smiled. "Just fine, and you? I don't need to ask
how *you* slept, Victor."

"I certainly hope I get over this sleeping all day before summer,"
Vic groused. "Fifteen hour naps would be a little ridiculous."

"Oh, don't worry," she replied, patting his arms. "I'm sure that by
then you won't be quite so much a slave to instinct. Still, you'll
be very groggy. I'll make sure I don't assign you to anything that
requires *too* much thought during the day. I know, I'll give you
Mac's assignments."

Mac stuck out his tongue at her. She just looked amused.

"Now," she said, changing gears, "I suggest you prepare yourself.
The flight is just under eleven hours and you're going to want to
feed during that time. Luckily, since it's an overnight flight, I'm
sure that the two of you can deal with that without attracting
attention. Make sure that you do," she added darkly. The 'or else'
was pretty clear in her voice.

In a way, it almost sounded kinky, having Vic feed from him in a

public place without anyone knowing about it.

That was another thing he was going to miss, the feeding. However,
while he wasn't exactly a doctor, he knew that he could keep being
Vic's sole food-source. He could already feel the affects of the
continuous blood loss, even with Vic's diet being supplemented by
bagged blood and blood wine.

Then Mac glanced at LiAnn and sobered up. The expression on her face
was one of fear. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Don't
worry, we'll let you know ahead of time so that you can go to the
bathroom or something." Vic winced, but the relief on LiAnn's face
was obvious.

They arrived at the airport and went through the check-in process
with remarkable speed. Mac had expected to be running to make their
boarding call, but they actually had time to sit down and relax for
a while before the first call for their flight was announced.

"Enjoy yourselves, children," the Director said when first-class

boarding was called. Just like the flight to San Francisco, she was
flying first-class while the rest of them were flying coach. Of
course.

Finally, their boarding was called. This time, *unlike* the flight
down, LiAnn held back when they reached their seat. Mac exchanged
glances with Vic and nodded towards the window seat. Vic slid in and
Mac took the seat next to him. For the first time in their
partnership, LiAnn *wasn't* insisting on sitting between them. That
was nice, but the reason for it wasn't.

"What time are we supposed to land in Toronto?" Vic asked in a low

undertone.

Mac checked the tickets. "Just before five-thirty, Toronto time," he

replied. "Why?"

Vic shifted, obviously trying to find a comfortable position for his

legs. Airline seats weren't designed for anyone over five feet. Mac
had the same problem, but even worse since he was a little taller
that Vic and longer in the legs.

"Just checking. Don't want sunrise to come while we're still in the
middle of a busy airport."

"Don't worry. Sunrise isn't until nearly two hours after that. I'm
sure that the Director will take care of making sure we're safely
away before then."

"I hope so," the older man muttered.

What Mac was hoping that the in-flight movie was better than the one
on the other flight. After sleeping days for most of the week, he
wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep at all, let alone in one of these
torture devices masquerading as seats. And he had even lower
expectations for the in-flight meals than he'd had for the hotel
room service.

Maybe he'd borrow one of those detective novels that Vic had been
reading all week. Or maybe one of LiAnn's books, although her
preference for Chinese romances weren't exactly his style. Anything
to pass the time.

Take-off was right on time, a first for Mac. Once they were in the
air, he started to relax. It had been a long week, an exciting week,
a terrifying week.

But they'd survived the experience and they were going home.

Home.

What a wonderful word.

>>>~~~<<<
Mac surprised himself by actually drifting off half-way through the
movie. The rubber-chicken meal had been horrible, but he'd eaten the
whole thing in anticipation of needing the fuel.

"Mac."

His name, whispered in his ear, woke him up quickly. He could hear
the husky note in Vic's voice that already signaled to him that the
other man was hungry. In fact, the more often Vic fed from him, the
closer he felt to him, in many ways. Sometimes it almost felt like
he could read the man's mind.

Mac glanced around. The lights had been dimmed and everyone around
them was asleep, even LiAnn. He decided not to wake her. If she
wasn't awake to see, she couldn't be disturbed by Vic's feeding.

He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Expecting this, he'd

worn a black shirt, just in case a little blood got on it. "Pretend
you've fallen asleep," he whispered.

Vic picked up on his suggestion immediately; no matter what some

people said, the man wasn't stupid. He let his head flop to the
side, onto Mac's shoulder. Then Mac leaned forward and to the side a
little. That way, Vic's face fell in the crook of his neck without
looking too forced. He felt Vic's tongue swipe his neck a couple
times in preparation, then his fangs sank in.

Like earlier, Mac refused to let the feelings overwhelm him. First
of all, someone had to keep an eye out for any interruptions from
the attendants or other passengers. Secondly, while he wouldn't
*mind* joining the Mile-High club with Vic, he didn't think that the
man, straight-laced as he still was, would go for it. Pity, though.

Finally, he felt Vic's fangs withdrawing, followed a few more licks

to close the puncture wounds. He could understand why books and
movies made vampires so sexy; the feeling of fangs going in and out
was reminiscent of sex, a different sort of penetration.

By the time an attendant came to check on them, they were back in

position, eyes shut as if they were sleeping.

As he relaxed, Mac reached up to caress the pendant hanging around

his neck. He wasn't sure why, but touching it reassured him. Perhaps
it was because it was a gift from Vic. There was something about it
that made him feel like everything was going to be all right.
He leaned against Vic's shoulder and sighed.

Only three hours left before landing.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was sitting in a forest glade beside a small pool, relaxing on a

warm flat stone. The light coming through the leaves and reflecting
off the water was unusual. Looking up, he could see that it was
night, but one brighter than he'd ever seen before. The quarter
moon, to his eyes, was brighter than the sun. And the colors! The
colors were like nothing he'd ever seen before.

Deciding to just accept it, Mac stretched out to bask in the moon-
and star-light. He was naked, he noted idly, but it didn't bother
him anymore than the strange light had.

"Do you have any idea what you look like, lying there?"

Mac turned his eyes and smiled as Vic emerged from the pool, equally
naked and sparkling with water droplets. "I'll bite," he said, and
they both laughed at the pun.

Moving gracefully, like a cat, Vic pounced, stretching out over Mac.
"Absolutely fuckable," he growled in a low, sexy voice, then claimed
Mac's mouth in a deep kiss.

Mac groaned and arched up into the damp body above his. This had to
be the best feeling in the world. They were such a good match.

Mac spread his legs and let Vic move into place between them. Thick
fingers penetrated and stretched him until he was writhing in place,
begging for more.

Then Vic moved closer and...

"He's not yours," a soft voice hissed.

Both of the men were startled by the unexpected voice. The figure
that stepped out from between the trees was indistinct, but
definitely female.

"You aren't welcome here," Vic snarled, getting to his feet, his
erection still hard and proud between his legs.
"Gangrel fool," the woman said. "He's going to be mine. Sooner or
later..."

Vic roared with anger and leapt forward, his shape blurring in mid-
air until he was more cat than man. The woman roared just as loud
and met him half-way.

Blood was already flying as the two fought. Mac ran towards them,
frantic with worry for his lover. And yet, for some reason he was
also worried about the stranger. There was something familiar about
her. Something he should know.

Then he saw the talons aimed at his lover's neck and his heart
stopped.

"No!"

>>>~~~<<<

"Mac. Mac!"

Mac's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. Vic's
hand was on his shoulder, shaking him, and he latched onto it,
reassuring himself that the man was real.

"Vic," he said in relief, then paused. Why was he relieved? He

reached up to brush the sweat from his forehead.

"Are you all right? You were shouting in your sleep."

"I was?" Mac blinked. "I don't remember." He glanced around the
cabin. LiAnn and Vic both looked equally worried. The passengers
nearest them just looked annoyed. An attendant was heading their
way, but he waved her off. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Must have been a doozy of a dream," Vic said in a forced light

tone. "Good as the one where Jackie was the Director?"

Mac frowned, then shook his head. Hard as he tried, he couldn't

remember any details. Just a few quickly fading images. "I was in a
forest glade at night, but that's all I can remember," he said
apologetically

"Don't worry. After what happened this week, I wouldn't be surprised

if we *all* had nightmares." They both carefully didn't look at
LiAnn, who hadn't been sleeping very calmly on the flight either.
Luckily, before they had to say anything else, the intercom came to
life, announcing that they were about to land.

They were home.

>>>~~~<<<

The Director must have pulled more than a few strings. They were
through customs and into a waiting car in almost no time at all.

"Um... My car is in the long-term parking," Mac pointed out as they

headed away from the airport.

"Not anymore, it isn't," the Director replied. "It's at the office.

You can pick it up there."

"Couldn't you just drop me at home?" Vic said, already sounding

tired as dawn approached. "I'll pick my truck up tonight."

"Ah, but you don't know where home *is*."

Vic frowned. "Of course I do," he protested.

"No, you don't. Your things have already been moved," she told him.

"What was wrong with my old place?" he asked suspiciously. They all
knew that there were cameras and microphones in their apartments.
What would Vic's place have *now* in the way of surveillance?

She gave him a disappointed look. "Do I *really* deserve that tone
of voice? There is nothing wrong with your old apartment. However,
the new one has a bedroom *without* windows. After all, we wouldn't
want you to climb into bed one morning and forget to draw the
drapes, would we? You wouldn't do me much good as dust."

Mac winced at the blunt words. Across from him, Vic winced. "No, I
guess not," he said softly. Mac could understand why he was upset.
Vic had lived in that apartment for years, since the days when he'd
been a cop. It was the last piece of his old, pre-Agency life.

"Good. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet. After that, you
can sleep at the office, since I doubt you'll have time to get home
before dawn. Tonight, you can check out your new digs."

"Great," Vic muttered.

It was a little strange walking through the always empty hallways of
the Agency headquarters in Toronto. So much had happened in the week
since they'd last been there that it seemed like the place should be
different. Instead, they were exactly the same; brightly lit,
echoing and creepy.

And coming towards them was Mac least-favorite tormenter, Dobrinsky.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the man said cheerfully as he
drew up even with them.

"Don't you *ever* sleep?" Mac snapped back. There was something
about the man that had annoyed him from the day they met. Of course,
it didn't help that the man was a sadist. He was also the person
that the Director sent him to for training and punishment, the same
way that she made LiAnn work with Jackie as a punishment.

"No. I don't," was the simple reply. Then the black man turned to
look at Vic and his eyebrows went up. Vic was staring back at him
with an equally surprised expression. "Well, well, well. Look's like
*someone* had an interesting trip."

"You're Kindred?" Vic said, his voice going up in shock.

"Of course he is," the Director said, amusement in her voice. "Do
you think I would have anything else for my assistant. He's Ventrue,
of course."

"Of course," Mac said weakly. He should have guessed.

"Well, I suppose this explains the... person," Dobrinsky's usual

smile faded as he spat the word, "waiting in your office."

"Now, Dobrinsky. She does have her uses," the Director admonished.

"Rarely."

"And was everything moved?"

Dobrinsky tossed a set of keys to Vic. "All done. Even the eight-
track," he added with a condescending smile. Vic didn't reply,
except with a small sneer.

The man just laughed and walked away, shaking his head. Mac stuck
out his tongue in the direction of the back of the man's head. The
man hadn't said a word to him, but it was instinct. Besides,
Dobrinsky had just insulted *his* partner.

Of course, just *owning* an eight-track was an insult in Mac's books.

"If you don't need me," LiAnn said, speaking up for the first time
since they'd left the airport, "I think I'll go home."

The Director stopped and turned to face LiAnn. She took the younger
woman's chin in her hand and looked deep in her eyes. They stood
that way for a moment, silent.

"Fine," the Director said, suddenly letting go and stepping back.

"I'll see you this evening."

LiAnn left quickly, Vic staring after her.

"Oh, don't worry, Victor. She'll get over it quickly, I promise."

Vic exchanged glances with Mac. Neither one of them really believed
that, but they didn't say anything. Then again, after what Cash had
told him about the Ventrue Dominate ability, maybe she was right. Of
course, that would imply that she was going to manipulate LiAnn into
acceptance.

But then again, she was always manipulating them. Why should this be
any different?

"Any other surprises in store?" Vic asked, tossing his new apartment
key from hand to hand.

"Surprises? Me? Whatever do you mean?" The innocent expression on

her face didn't fool either of them in the least.

"Like Dobrinsky for one. How many other Kindred are there around
here? Are we the *only* ones who didn't know?"

"Not at all. In fact, most of the people you've worked with are
perfectly human."

"Most?" Mac jumped in.

"Well, there are a few exceptions," she replied, scratching her head
and staring at a blank wall.

"Like who?"
She hesitated a moment before answering. "Jackie."

Both Mac and Vic blinked. "Jackie?" Mac almost squeaked. "Jackie is a..."

"Malkavian."

"A what?"

"One of the other clans that you haven't met yet. They tend to be
excellent information gatherers. Very insightful, in fact. Oh yes,
and they are all quite insane."

Mac glanced at Vic and shrugged. "That's Jackie, all right," he

muttered under his breath. "Remind me to avoid her more often."

"Great," Vic added. "Next you'll be saying that Nathan is a vampire

too."

The Director gave a lady-like snort. "Not likely. However, he is

very, very useful, so I made him a ghoul."

"A *what*?" Mac said.

"A ghoul. A human who has tasted Kindred blood. It makes them
more... controllable."

"I thought that made them Kindred," Vic said. He sounded as confused
as Mac felt.

"No, that only makes them Kindred if they've been drained first.
Otherwise, they just become a ghoul. Your teacher will explain all
this."

"My teacher?"

"Yes. Actually, I called ahead. She should be waiting for us."

With that, the Director pushed open the door to their usual briefing
room.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing, *summoning* me? I'm not
one of your lapdogs!"

The woman waiting there was one Mac had never seen before. She was
short, even shorter than Jackie, who was the shortest member of
their team, and like Jackie, she was compact and muscular. Her hair
was brown and very short, greased into sharp spikes, tipped in a
rainbow of colors. She wore a motley outfit pieced together from
scraps of leather, over a T-shirt that was more hole than cloth.

But there was something strange about the shape of her eyes and her
ears were more than a little pointed, although not as obviously as
the Nosferatu he'd briefly met in the Haven's office. And it was
hard to tell, but it almost looked like her ears were... hairy?

"No," the Director said calmly, coming to a stop directly in front

of the stranger. "However, you and yours live in this city on *my*
sufferance. I can withdraw my permission as quickly as I granted it."

The woman snarled, but even though she didn't move a muscle, it
seemed like she backed down. "What do you want," she snapped.

"Meet Victor," the Director said, waving towards the man. "You are
going to be his teacher."

She glanced at Vic and her eyebrows went up. "You have *got* to be
joking," she said in disbelief. "You want me to train your little
Caitiff? I don't *think* so."

The Director moved, so fast that Mac didn't even see. In a blink of
an eye, she had the other woman by the throat. "You will do what I
say, or else," she hissed.

Then equally suddenly, she let go. The woman fell back, rubbing her
throat.

"Victor's Sire is Gangrel," the Director continued in a perfectly

normal tone. "He needs training in the Gangrel Disciplines."

"Couldn't his Sire do that?"

"No." The Director didn't explain further.

The two women stared at each other, one probing and the other not
budging. Finally, the stranger turned to Vic. "Tonight. One hour
after sunset. Meet me at the Toronto Zoo. Outside the big cat's
area. Don't be late."

She turned and stormed out.

"That was Moira," the Director said in a wry tone as the door
slammed shut. "She'd leader for the Gangrel here in town. She'll get
you up to speed fast."

"Assuming that she doesn't just kill me."

"Oh, she knows better than to cross me," the Director said with a
cold smile. "No, she'll do as she's told, or else."

"Else what?" Mac asked out of morbid curiosity.

The Director just looked at him and he shivered. Suddenly he didn't

*want* to know what 'or else' entailed.

"Anyway," she continued, turning back to Vic. "She'll train you

quickly, if only to get you out of her hair. What she has, that is."
Her expression showed her distaste for the woman's colorful
appearance, which was the pot calling the kettle black in Mac's
books.

"Great. A teacher who hates my guts and wants nothing to do with

me," Vic muttered. "What could be better?"

"She'll protect you, since I'll kill her if she doesn't," the
Director said. "She'll drive you hard because she hates you. You
need both, Victor. I suggest you get a good day's sleep. You'll need
it."

With that, she headed up the stairs to her private office, leaving
them alone in the room.

"Well," Mac said. He should head home to get some sleep too, but he
was reluctant to leave. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to be
seeing Vic for a while. Not until he finished this training, at
least.

Vic glanced around. "It's almost dawn," he finally said. "I should
find a bed somewhere."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Mac thought for a moment, then grinned. Moving fast, before he could
reconsider, he bit down hard on his tongue until he felt blood start
to flow. It was going to hurt like hell later, but he didn't care.

Then he grabbed Vic's face between his hands and kissed him hard,
thrusting his bleeding tongue into the other man's mouth.
Vic went stiff with surprise. Then he grabbed Mac back just as hard,
sucking on his tongue, obviously tasting the blood.

By the time they separated, they were both breathing hard. Mac felt
like he was going to burst the seam of his pants and Vic's jeans
looked to be in the same condition.

But he wasn't going to take advantage of that.

He smiled at his dazed partner. "I'll be waiting when you're ready,"

he said in a cocky voice. "Don't take too long."

He turned and headed for the door, then paused. "Just remember, it
doesn't have to be complicated to be real."

And then he headed home.

THE END of San Francisco Meetings