Single Handedly

[Trillian]

Lazarus drove until the sun threatened to come up and end his existence.

Behind him was a city he loved but also despised, as well as a powerful young vampire he used to love but had grown to despise, and an ambitious young vampire he’d wanted to love but was now apathetic towards.

The obsession was over. As lost to him as his left hand above the wrist.

He made it to the outskirts of the next city, pushing Murphy’s car to the limits. He was in the cheap suburbs, with rickety houses a step up from caravans. He approached the first one that had a light on and rapped on the door, intending on barging his way in.

A woman answered. She was perhaps in her thirties, mediocre, brown hair and brown eyes looking owlish behind her glasses. She was heavier than what current society would allow her but closer in size to the women from his time. He was about to ambush her, drain her and use her place to rest, but the way she was staring at him stopped him.

Adoration. Yes, he could work with that. It was better to have a mortal follower than a dead body.

“Uh, hello?” she said, her gaze fixed on his face while a blush crept up her cheeks. Her pupils dilated and her physical response was obvious. She was doing her best to keep her composure, even though a gorgeous man stood on her doorstep. He supposed she wasn’t used to beauty like his. Poor thing.

“I’ve been driving all night and I need a place to sleep,” he lied smoothly, offering her a smile that made her eyes widen. “I have no money so am knocking on doors searching for kindness.”

Her lips parted, perhaps to offer him her home, but she licked them while her eyes darted sideways, considering the intelligence of letting a strange man into her home. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand her hesitation.

“Please,” he said, then shifted to draw attention to his amputated arm.

When she looked at it she pulled in breath – a soft gasp of surprise that also softened her gaze when she directed it back to his face for more eye contact.

“Of course, come in,” she said, stepping back while opening the front door for him to enter. Beautiful men missing a hand were obviously no threat to her. Silly woman, except he liked the way she let her guard down and appreciated that she was easy to manipulate.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” she asked, heading for the tiny kitchen and talking over her shoulder.

He would’ve laughed except he didn’t feel terribly amused. Too much had happened tonight. He’d sent Ben and Jake a final fuck you via Murphy’s siring, and now he was running for his life. He wanted a great deal more distance between him and the city, and this woman in her shabby little home could help him with that.

“Maybe later,” he said, thinking he would drink from her once she was feeling a bit more relaxed around him. He couldn’t look into her mind but he could read the muscles in her shoulders were a little tight. “Right now I need to sleep,” he said, the urgency of the approaching dawn giving him cause to worry. He was hoping she had a spare room, but the size of this house implied he would be sleeping on the couch. His gaze moved to the windows where the curtains were thin. Hopefully she had a heavy blanket she could lend him.

When he looked back at her he caught her staring at the couch as well, and her cheeks pinked. He didn’t know why she was so embarrassed. He looked at it again. It was a little old and saggy, but he saw no reason for her shame.

“You can use my bed,” she said quickly, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I hope you’re a heavy sleeper because I’ll be doing housework,” she warned. She detoured from the kitchen and moved into a short corridor with two doors. The first door led to a toilet/bathroom combination room and the second was her bedroom. She flipped the light switch on so she could present him with her queen-sized bed. There were multiple blankets and a heavy coverlet on it because her house was likely not well insulated. The temperature didn’t bother him.

Lazarus looked from it to the curtains which were still drawn. Heavy blackout curtains, his favourite kind. He turned to her to thank her, wanting to keep her on side and happy to leave him be, when he caught an odd expression on her face. They stared at one another for a long moment while he waited for her to spit out whatever she’d been thinking. He damned his inability to read minds. It would be a handy fucking skill to know if she knew he was a vampire and if she intended on turning him to ash.

“I’ll get to my chores,” she said, sounding breathless. “Have to leave for work soon.” She blinked like she hadn’t meant to tell him this.

“I’m not here to rob you. What am I going to take?” he said tiredly.

It was, surprisingly, the right thing to say because he finally saw her bunched-up shoulders relax. She laughed to herself and then pointed at the dresser shoved into the corner.

“You can leave your clothes on top of that and I’ll wash ‘em for you,” she offered.

“Thank you. Could you leave the curtains drawn even if I’m still asleep in the afternoon?” he asked, wanting to be sure of her.

“Course,” she said, like he didn’t need to ask. She smiled at him, not in reassurance but again in that adoration. A handsome man had entered her life and was about to sleep in her bed. She wasn’t about to pull those covers back and kill him with light. Satisfied, he nodded and began undressing. He had his shirt off before he realised she was still in the bedroom doorway, watching. When he looked at her it took her a second to register and she made a soft noise of apology and shut the door. He would’ve laughed except he was too tired.

He shed his clothing and put everything on the dresser in a messy pile before shutting off the light, pleased that the darkness felt so complete. He crawled naked in between the sheets. He imagined her smelling his underwear and rubbing it all over herself, or whatever it was women liked to do.

He closed his eyes as the sun emerged into the sky.

[Trillian]

When he awoke again it was to movement on the bed.  He could sense it was still daytime, though possibly only a couple of hours before sunset. He opened his eyes to darkness but could see the woman clearly as she settled down beside him, facing him. She had no glasses on which meant she probably couldn’t see anything at all. He could feel her warmth radiating over him as her hand crept onto his chest, and the touch of her fingertips as she slid them along his skin. He caught her wrist and she gasped but didn’t try to snatch her hand back.

“I know what you are,” she breathed.

“What I am?” Lazarus repeated back at her.

“A vampire,” she told him. “You’re so pale, you’re cold, you don’t draw breath. I… I used to live in a city where vampires didn’t hide themselves. I fled and moved here because I was scared, but… but I know…” She hung her sentence there instead of continuing it as he’d expected.

He didn’t release her hand, wondering if he should drain her because she was a liability now, especially if she knew his vulnerabilities. But… she’d climbed into bed with him instead of throwing open the curtains.

As if she had the ability to read minds, she whispered: “I can protect you. I can help you.”

“Protect me?” he said, unable to stop the amused sound in his voice. She needed protecting from him. What a strange idea she had.

“You must be in trouble if you drove almost to daylight.” He had nothing to say to that because her deduction was correct. She took his silence as concurrence and pressed on. “Is the car yours?” she asked in a tone that made him think she suspected not. He shook his head, letting her continue because she was clever and she wanted to protect him. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, determined. “We can use my van.”

“We?” he asked, surprised.

“Haven’t you ever had a mortal servant?” she asked, her eyes wide as she looked at him in the dark. He doubted she could see how his lips twisted at the question, how he’d always used, abused or shunned his followers. He could see how if he’d gathered some up and kept them close, they could help him now.

“So you’re offering?” he asked, releasing her wrist. She pulled it back to herself like he expected but then reached down like he didn’t expect. The warmth of her hand was welcome around his cock and he hardened beneath her attention. He closed his eyes to savour it but as she continued to stroke, he eventually grew bored of her motions. “Use your mouth.”

She didn’t hesitate and submerged beneath the covers. She was clumsy at first, getting into position, but once there she revealed she could perform a blow as good as any of his boys. He wasn’t interested in her in the slightest, but a mouth was a mouth. Being daytime meant he was more lethargic than usual and so she had her work cut out for her. It took a long time before she came back up for air, her ministrations upon his body a resounding success because he was horny and ready for a fuck, but she hadn’t brought him to full satisfaction. She made an apology about her aching jaw which he ignored.

He turned and reached for her, remembering she wasn’t the first woman he’d had, and pulled her close. Her breasts were squashed against him, which he didn’t care for, but she afforded him entry by wrapping a leg around his hips. The head of his cock seemed to zero in on her warmth because it was nudging against her opening, slick and hot. She reached down between them, aimed him upwards into her and he thrust impatiently.

Her body was tight and hot; different to a pretty boy with a sweet ass but still an enjoyable sensation. Again, he closed his eyes and shunted his hips in and out, ignoring her cries and grunts and groans. A few minutes later he withdrew in order to flip her around, facing away from him. Her breasts were an annoyance that he couldn’t ignore, and he didn’t like her hot breath on him. With a little adjustment, he was thrusting into her from behind. She snuck a hand down and pressed fingers against herself while they had sex, doing it until she came. Her entire body clenched and vibrated with the force of it, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He pumped his seed into her and fell back, exhausted, giving himself back to the heavy hand of day.

When he woke again the sun’s rays were still cresting the sky but the sun itself had been spun away. He wondered if the afternoon’s activities had been a dream, especially when he found himself in bed alone. He sat up and his gaze found his clothes on the dresser, neatly folded in a pile. He could smell the detergent she’d used on them.

He could smell her on him. Lazarus grimaced and got out of bed, exiting the room and entering the bathroom where he could shower. He used her soap and hair products and stood under a stream so hot that it would warm his skin to the touch. When he stepped out, he smelt like her in an entirely different way – a more acceptable way.

He’d fully dressed by the time she returned, a different set of keys in hand. He was lounging in the front room and saw the duckling keychain dangling from her fist. She followed his gaze and lifted it slightly.

“I like ducks,” she said sheepishly. With her wide eyes behind thick glasses, he wondered why she didn’t like owls. She had an embarrassed look on her face and was fidgeting where she stood in the middle of the room.

“What is it? Spit it out.” He thought she might ask him how he’d lost his hand.

“What’s your name? I’m Kate.”

He looked at her, so used to not caring about names that he’d not bothered to ask. Now that she’d signed up as his ‘mortal servant’, it made sense that they’d have to call each other something. With a growing smile – because things had started going his way again – he announced himself grandly.

“Lazarus, the Risen.”

[Trillian]

Lazarus and Kate headed for Canada. He didn’t really understand her motivation for joining him, other than the fact she had a dead-end job and a dead-end life. He told her during their first driving shift together that he was only interested in men. He explained without preamble that sex with her last night would be the only time. She said she understood and put a brave face but he could see she was disappointed. Understandably so.

While he drove during the night she would sit with him until about eleven o’clock, then she would climb into the back of the van where she’d made a sleeping area for them to use out of a blow-up mattress and a sleeping bag. The van itself was a junker; it couldn’t do over 45 miles an hour without shuddering violently. Lazarus kept it at 40 during the highway driving but the beeps and shouts from passing cars irritated him enough to use back roads, which made driving harder because he had to change gears more often and his left-arm-stump made it harder to move the stick where he needed it to go. Still, he managed. He slept safely and comfortably during the day without having to zip the bag up over his head because she’d not only newspapered the windows, she’d duct-taped towels over them. The space between the front of the van and the back had been curtained in blockout. She was a practical, handy woman to have around.

They pulled into a gas station after a full day and night of driving. It was very early in the morning, around three, and while there was the odd car using the winding route Lazarus had driven, nobody else had pulled in for supplies.

Kate turned to Lazarus. “I’ll pump while you mesmerise the clerk.” She leapt out before he could reply. Baffled, he slowly got out of the driver’s seat and watched her clamp the pump handle into her vehicle’s tank. She looked at him expectantly.

“I don’t mesmerise,” he said.

“I’m sorry. What do you call it?”

He stared at her for a moment, annoyed that he would have to explain and feeling somehow incompetent. He didn’t like the sensation of it as it prickled upon his skin. “I don’t call it anything. I don’t have vampire voodoo powers.”

He expected her to ask ‘why not’ or something equally useless, but she looked at the pump instead. It wasn’t going because they hadn’t paid yet.

“I have a bit of money. Can you watch the pump?” She asked this timidly, like she thought he might be angry at her for having the audacity to perform a mundane task. He would normally be irritated over it but because she’d just accepted his word about his lack of powers, it didn’t bother him.

If only Kate was a lovely looking young man, she would be perfect.

After he nodded and she left for the building to pay, Lazarus hung around the nozzle, wondering if he’d have to do anything. After a short time, the pump made a clunk and gurgling noise as gasoline began pouring into the tank. He eyed it until he was certain it would stay put, then he hopped back into the van behind the driver’s seat.

It was half an hour later before sunrise when he swapped out, pulling over into an isolated carpark for a hiking path to take eager tourists to a lookout point if they could manage a forty-five minute walk.

He thought Kate was going around the vehicle to sit in the driver’s seat, but she climbed into the back with him.

“I’m not attracted to you,” he told her.

“Don’t you want my mouth?” she asked, like she was surprised he would refuse such an offer. He had a large dose of surprise as well, not expecting that she would want to service him if nothing would come of it beyond his exultation.

He beckoned her in and undid his pants as she shut the van door behind herself. “Why would you…?” He had no idea how to finish his sentence even as she positioned herself to take him into her mouth. He was already growing at the thought of it.

“To please you.”

He didn’t understand what drove her, but he didn’t have to. She was his, for whatever reason, she was his, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

It took them a week to reach Canada because they were making slower progress than Lazarus liked. He had a different destination in mind, though, so now they were driving to Canada’s east coast. They’d developed a routine of a kind. She would lure young men with a variety of promises; from selling drugs to pretending she needed them to do yard work or mechanical work. The promise of cash or a high got them close to Lazarus and it was his charm that did the rest (though his hit rate wasn’t as good as it used to be). Out of what she brought to the van, Lazarus managed to seduce a promising Latino fellow named Javier. He was an apprentice mechanic but couldn’t isolate the issue with Kate’s van other than telling them ‘it’s past it’s use-by'. They loitered at his place for another four nights before Lazarus grew restless. Kate had started acting weird as well, spying on them while they fucked. She didn’t say anything and she didn’t act unhappy but Lazarus regretted not being able to look into her mind.

“We should leave,” Lazarus told Kate after sunset on the fifth day.

“Is Javier coming with us?” she asked.

“Would it bother you if he does?” Lazarus rebutted.

Kate thought it over for a full minute, staring at Lazarus. “He’s not a bother, I just don’t think he’s as dedicated to you as I am,” she said carefully. “You like having sex with him and he’ll be an asset if the van breaks down.”

Lazarus laughed. “All good points, but he won’t be joining us."

He realised, only after they left Javier behind, that he’d chosen Kate over a pretty young man who’d been happy to grace his bed.

[Trillian]

Following Lazarus’ instruction, Kate booked passage for them on an expedition yacht from Halifax to Palermo. It was leaving at ten pm and would arrive eight days later, scheduled for an early morning arrival. Lazarus could feed on Kate if he needed to, both of them in agreement that snacking on someone from the small crew would be detrimental.

In the morning Kate sold her van because she couldn’t take it with them, and she also had to raise funds for the ticket. The decrepit vehicle hadn’t managed to earn her enough so she’d sacrificed two pieces of jewellery to a pawn shop for the rest. She told him all this before they headed for the docks, Kate wheeling her suitcase and the last of her possessions behind her. Their yacht was leaving in an hour.

Lazarus had thought little of her story until she started crying on the way.

“What? Why are you snivelling?” Lazarus asked, deeply unsettled by her tears.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get my… my emotions under control,” she sobbed.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“The locket I pawned. It was my great grandmother’s.”

He was astounded that she would give up something that had so much meaning to her. “Why did you sell it, then?”

“It’s the only…” she hitched in her breath as she settled herself, “…thing worth anything. The rest of… what I have, is junk.”

He was stabbed with another spike of guilt that he couldn’t just mesmerise people into handing over their cash. It would’ve been easy as fuck to afford a ticket that way.

“Is the shop close?” he growled. When she nodded, he ordered her to take him there. She turned them around and Lazarus marched with her back to the pawn shop.

There was another customer in the store when they arrived. Lazarus waited impatiently for him to leave and saw a cricket bat for sale. He grabbed it and handed it to Kate who took it and wheeled her suitcase into the corner. When the store owner came over—a brawny but rotund man with burst capillaries in his nose—Lazarus grabbed him by his collar and hefted him up and over the counter. Trinkets on display were knocked off by flailing arms and legs. Kate shrieked and then gave voice to a high-pitched hysterical laugh at the way the pawnbroker had fallen to the ground. Lazarus vaulted over the counter and clicked through the software, opening menus at random until he spied something called ‘cash sale’. Double clicking it opened the cash drawer behind him with a ding.

“Hey! How dare you—” the pawnbroker began, but Kate shut him up with a solid thwack to his head. The man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he sagged to the floor.

“Did I kill him? Did I kill him?” Kate asked, dropping the cricket bat.

“No, he’s just knocked out. I can hear his heartbeat,” Lazarus said, who could hear Kate’s pounding heart very easily but nobody else’s. He picked up all the paper money—some were already bundled into thick rolls—and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He did a quick inspection of the jewellery cabinet and saw a locket. He punched the glass with his stumpy wrist and then reached in and took the locket with his remaining hand. After climbing the counter back over to Kate, he held it in front of her face.

“Is this it?” he demanded.

“Yes. Thank you so much,” she said. Her eyes were wet with tears and much larger than usual—panic was setting in. They had to leave. He instructed Kate to grab her suitcase and Lazarus flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ as they left the shop. He hoped nobody would test the door to see if it was unlocked. Anybody nosy enough to do so would find a dead body. With luck their crime wouldn’t be discovered until morning.

The trip to the docks was hasty. They were late but the skipper of the expedition yacht waited for them. Lazarus had taken an extra ten minutes to clean up the stolen funds so he could hand over a polite wad of bills. The man’s eyes lit up when he looked at it and he was pleased after he counted it out. He promised that Lazarus and Kate wouldn’t be disturbed for the entirety of the voyage as they slept in the captain’s berth below.

Lazarus remained on deck with Kate as the yacht left the dock and headed out into the Atlantic. It was midnight when they finally lost sight of land and were surrounded by ocean. Once that happened Lazarus went downstairs and into the captain’s quarters, of which Kate had been assigned a key. She would be the only one going in or out throughout the trip.

So far his trip to Palermo had been met with little resistance. He hoped it would continue that way.

[Trillian]

The yacht docked late afternoon nine days later, inclement weather having slowed them down. Kate kept the captain at bay with another payment, using up what little remained of their money, and fetched Lazarus once the sun went down.

“It’s alright, Kate, you did well,” Lazarus said when she confessed their money was gone. He kissed her forehead and the two of them left the yacht and moved through the docks together, Lazarus carrying her suitcase.

It was a busy place with people yelling out to one another and laughing about how they’d spent their day. The mood was high as people came back from their adventures out and most of the fishing boats had brought back a good haul. Lazarus let the language flow over him, understanding almost everything and remembering patches of different yet similar languages to fill in the holes. There were a few words that sounded like gibberish. Probably slang.

They flagged down a taxi. Lazarus and Kate both bundled into the back.

“Portaci alla Biblioteca Commemorativa d’Alessio Graza,” Lazarus ordered, the Italian rolling off his tongue as though he’d never been away. He could hear his own accent in the words, though, his time in the States colouring his pronunciation.

The building was smaller than Lazarus remembered it, but it still had the same stately centuries old façade. He’d remembered a grand set of stairs leading up to the front door but there were only a half dozen stone steps.

“Ventuno euro e ottanta,” the driver said. Lazarus explained that he would have to go into the library to get someone else would pay for them. This immediately angered the cabbie and a long line of abuse was hurtled at Lazarus, not all of which he understood but he got the gist of it. Lazarus told him Kate would stay in the car until he got back. Another sour comment was made but the driver accepted because he had no other choice.

“I’ll be back soon,” Lazarus said, not realising he would barely be away.

When he stepped out of the taxi and shut the door, he was recognised immediately by someone approaching from his right.

“Lazzaro?” a deep voice spoke his name with incredulity. Lazarus turned to see who it was and pressed his lips into a thin line before he summoned a broad smile and bowed with a flourish.

“Pietro… it is a delight to see you,” Lazarus said in Italian. He’d wanted to say it was wonderful to see him but he couldn’t think of the word right at that moment. Either way it was a lie. Pietro was the reason he’d stayed away from the Nido in the first place. The vampire nest that controlled the territory of Palermo was one he’d joined and then abandoned a long time ago.

“What are you doing here?” Pietro asked, ducking to see who was still sitting in the taxi. Lazarus enjoyed watching confusion etch on his face as he realised Lazarus was here with a woman. He waited until Pietro made eye contact with him again before answering.

“I’ve come back home.” He had many people and places he could say those words to, but there was a reason he’d come back to this particular locale. “I just need someone to pay the driver. I don’t have any Euro on me.”

“I see you haven’t changed,” Pietro said, pulling out his wallet and moving to front passenger window so he could take care of Lazarus’ fare. Lazarus opened the door for Kate, and she stepped out. Lazarus opened the boot and pulled out Kate’s suitcase. He’d barely closed the lid of it when the cabbie roared away, blatting fumes at them. Lazarus gave a rude gesture that he hoped the turd would see in the mirror. When he turned back to look at Pietro, the dark-haired vampire was staring at him like he was trying to work a puzzle out.

“Antonio still in charge?” Lazarus asked as the three of them moved up the stairs. Kate kept herself on Lazarus’ other side and didn’t contribute to the conversation because she couldn’t understand it.

“As always. What happened to your hand? And why do you have a woman with you? I thought you hated all of them?” Pietro eyed Kate as they entered the building. The change in temperature was obvious but didn’t bother him. Kate looked relieved to be out of the heat and she looked at the tall bookshelves in wonder. The memorial library had eighteen foot ceilings. Not the highest roof around but still impressive. “And you bring such an ugly one, too.”

Lazarus bristled. “She’s not ugly, just plain.”

His defensiveness rattled Pietro even more. It was obvious in the alarmed look he shot Lazarus before they walked through the library to the back wall and then turning left. Pietro unlocked the heavy door they came up to and opened it for them. They all stepped through and he locked it behind them.

On the floor was a heavy trapdoor that only superhuman strength could lift. It wasn’t a problem for Pietro or for any of the fledgling vampires (if they had any), but there was no way a human could do it. Lazarus recalled there were two other entrances into the Nido but he couldn’t remember either of them anymore. He’d almost exclusively used the library during his time here.

The trapdoor was pulled up and Lazarus and Kate descended first down the stairs with Pietro moving after them, pulling on the rope that closed the trapdoor after them and gently lowering it until it was flush. Kate clung to Lazarus and she paused on the stairs as the darkness engulfed them. There used to be torches on the walls but now there were small bulbs lighting the way, such was the marvel of electricity. It still wasn’t bright enough to held Kate and her poor eyesight.

Lazarus helped her navigate the stairs and then they were in a small room that Lazarus considered the ‘foyer’ of the place.

“I’ll assemble a meeting. For now you and your friend can wait in one of the tanks.”

Lazarus remembered the spaces that were called ‘tanks’. They were places of punishment – where a vampire was placed when they weren’t trusted. There were usually a couple of chairs in the tanks and nothing else. “I don’t want a tank, I want a room.”

“All the rooms are taken.”

“You do not have that many vampires,” Lazarus scoffed, fairly sure that there were twenty bedrooms down here, of which Antonio’s was the most grand. He remembered that bedroom very well. It had been a grating point between him and the ever-jealous Pietro.

“Not that many vampires, no, but the rooms are taken,” Pietro insisted.

The way the particular word was stressed made Lazarus think the Nido had finally finished collecting their mortal followers. He could certainly smell a few different mortals in the air down here. He also spied one staring at them, his dark brown hair an unruly mop on his head and sea-green eyes clever and watchful. Lazarus' gaze raked his slender form, taking in the way the youth had shouldered the pillar he leant against, his bare foot casually hooked around the back of his ankle. Relaxed. Confident. Nobody said a word as they passed him, but Lazarus had another question.

“How many vampires are there?” There had been six when he’d left.

“You’ll see,” Pietro said, leading them down a rounded corridor and opening a door for them.

“Oh, there’s carpet on the walls as well as the floor,” Kate said, her English startling Lazarus as she wheeled her suitcase in and set it aside against the wall. She frowned at the two metal armchairs inside the room. Knowing that they would be locked in here for at least a couple of hours, Lazarus sighed and entered. There was nothing else he could do.

The door shut with a clang and a bolt slid home. It was nothing Lazarus couldn’t escape from with his superior strength but right now he wanted the Nido to trust him enough to let him and Kate stay.

[Trillian]

A little over half an hour in the room and Lazarus had grown bored enough to request a blow from Kate. Now she was sleeping on the floor using a thin blanket from out of her suitcase and the case itself as a pillow. It didn’t look comfortable. He was sprawled on one of the chairs, zoning out. Three hours passed when Lazarus and Kate were finally collected.

When the bolt screeched across the door, waking Kate up, Lazarus expected to see Pietro. A statuesque and very pale red-headed woman stood in the doorway, dressed in what looked like a tuxedo with her hair up in a bun. Fancy. Her nostrils flared, smelling the sex that lingered. Vampire, but he didn’t recognise her. A new one made since he’d left this place a hundred years ago. Maybe two hundred? He couldn’t remember. He’d only been here for a decade before he’d been sent away. It would be good to see Antonio again.

Maybe.

“Follow me,” she said. Even with her two words Lazarus knew that Italian wasn’t her native tongue. Perhaps German or Dutch by the harshness of her accent. He hunted in his memory for some German.

“What is your name?” A basic sentence and not what he’d wanted to say, but it was the best he could do for now. The woman gave him a long stare and he couldn’t tell if she’d understood him or not.

“Mila,” she finally said. Her gaze went to Kate who was getting to her feet and she looked back at Lazarus. He thought he could see disapproval in her eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have had relieved the boredom by receiving a blow. Never mind, it was done. When Mila spoke again, it was still in Italian. “Antonio is waiting.”

Enough said. Lazarus got up off his seat and pulled Kate away from doing up her suitcase.

“We’ll come back for it,” he said, not particularly wanting to roll or carry a suitcase into the hall.

Mila walked quickly, her strides long and purposeful. Lazarus grabbed Kate’s hand to ensure she kept up. They moved past the columns and went through a doorway that Lazarus knew would lead to a round marbled hall. He thought it would be smaller than he remembered, like the library had been. He was wrong. The room was long with columns placed down each wall like soldiers. Coloured tiles made swirling patterns on the floor. Mila’s heels clicked across them and she gestured at a spot for Lazarus and Kate to stand before she moved to stand beside one of the columns, joining her vampire kin who stood at attention beside them, watching the scene unfold. There were a few mortals seated on plain wooden chairs seemingly positioned randomly. The only mortal Lazarus noticed was the messy-haired Italian youth who’d watched him arrive. That boy was near Antonio.

In front of Lazarus sat his old friend and ex-lover in a grand armchair (throne?). Antonio was the most ancient vampire in the room second to Lazarus. Doing the math, he figured Antonio was around thirteen, maybe fourteen hundred years old now – his ex and leader of this little Nido had always been peculiar about his age. Pietro would not have hit the benchmark thousand but he would be fairly close. Maybe a few decades out. A quick glance around the room and he saw three more vampires he recognised plus one that looked vaguely familiar but he didn’t know the name of. Mila was one of two unknown vampires. Okay, a nest of eight vampires, then. There was some wiggle room there.

As Lazarus checked out the room, Kate bowed deeply, going so far as to get on one knee, like a knight. Ugh, embarrassing. Lazarus noticed the way Antonio looked from her to Lazarus and then raised an eyebrow. He could be expecting Lazarus to bow as well, or maybe he thought Kate was weird. Risking offending Antonio, Lazarus remained standing. He looked at Pietro who was grinning at Kate’s display and his subsequent chuckle echoed throughout the chamber. Lazarus yanked Kate to her feet by her upper arm. She made a peculiar sound before standing obediently at his side. He could hear her heart over all the others; a frenzied pounding. He could smell her fear.

“Lazzaro,” Antonio said gently, rolling the r’s of Lazarus’ name in the most delicious way. It brought back the memory of their time in bed. He couldn’t remember Antonio ever uttering his name outside of it. “I told you to never come back.”

Lazarus said, “Never is a long time, Antonio.”

“Do you remember what I said when I cast you out?” Antonio continued as though Lazarus hadn’t spoken. “I said if you came back, you would be punished. I see that you have been punished already,” Antonio gestured at Lazarus’ left arm, “by someone more powerful than you.”

Lazarus bit back the sharp retort that Jake fucking McCloud was not more powerful than him. Except he was. And that was why he’d come here.

Lazarus lifted his stumpy arm for all to see. The silence was palpable. He knew that all of them were having silent conversations that he could neither capture nor even detect. The mortals were silent and obedient, as was Kate.

“That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

“Help?” Antonio leant forward in his chair, clasping his hands together between his legs. He glanced at Pietro and gave a small murmur, as if agreeing with something spoken between them. Fuck. Lazarus’ gaze flicked from Antonio to Pietro and back again. “Why should we help you?”

Because you loved me, once.

No way would he say that, but by the way both Antonio and Pietro visibly reacted, he thought they’d scanned that out of his head anyway. Fuck.

“Because I’m here to face my punishment.” Lazarus swallowed and pressed on. “I ran before it could be given. Now that I’m back, I’ll take what you think I deserve.”

He imagined he would be tied to a column and whipped in front of everyone, for both pain and humiliation. Neither of them had been his friend. Antonio knew Lazarus’ aversion and so he’d fled because of that knowledge, concerned about what the leader of the nest would do after learning Lazarus’ most intimate fears. He waited a lifetime as Antonio stared at him. He stopped himself from fidgeting, though he could see Pietro was tense as well. It wasn’t hard to see that Pietro’s tension came from excitement. He’d been the one Lazarus had wronged, after all.

“So you will take your punishment, here and now,” Antonio said, shifting back to slouch on his armchair. His eyes never stopped drilling a hole into Lazarus’ own. “Pietro will decide your punishment. It was his pet you killed.”

Lazarus pressed his lips together tightly, biting back any comments. He nodded, once. Pietro would not hold back on any of the strikes, and he would name a ridiculously high number to cut Lazarus’ back to ribbons. Lazarus could hear him now, arguing that ancient blood would heal his skin quickly so the punishment needed to last.

But Pietro named something completely different. “Lazzaro, your punishment is to kill your own pet.”

There were audible gasps, mostly from the mortals in the room but even some of the vampires reacted. Lazarus didn’t move, instead he stared blankly at Pietro, wondering what the fuck he was on about. He didn’t have a pet. But then the realisation of what Pietro wanted came to him in a swift blow. Kate. He was talking about Kate.

“She’s a follower, not a pet. She has nothing to do with what happened between us,” Lazarus snarled, glaring at Pietro and taking a step forward. Kate was making an odd sound like maybe she did understand the conversation in Italian after all.

“Follower, pet, same difference. You took him from me, so now I’m taking her from you!” Pietro shouted back.

Lazarus could feel Kate squirming in his hold, he looked back at her and saw her focus on their hands. He released her and she clutched her hand to her chest—he must’ve squeezed it. While staring at her, Pietro continued.

“So show us how callous you are, how you do not care for others, how you use them. I want everyone to see who you really are. That is your punishment. If you love your ugly woman you will leave with her. If you spoke the truth about facing your punishment, you will end her life.”

Pietro’s words echoed around the chamber and faded away into silence as Lazarus looked at Kate, at her hurt hand. He reached out for it and she offered it to him. He held it and inspected it, pleased that he hadn’t crushed her fingers in his moment of anger. He looked at her face next, at her eyes full of adoration and trust, though he still saw her fear. She’d killed for him (but didn’t know it), she’d left her life behind, every action she’d taken was to please him. She would do anything for him.

He raised his arms, his hand gently gripping her chin, his stump at the back of her head. He lowered his head towards hers, as if for a kiss. He felt her tilt her face upward to receive it, confusion in her eyes but no fear. Only trust. With a quick move, before their lips met, he twisted her head to snap her neck, his strength spinning her head all the way around like she was an owl.

But she liked ducks, not owls.

The crack was like a gunshot in the silence. Many mortals and vampires flinched.

Lifeless and in his arms, Lazarus felt instant regret. “No, no, no, wait!” he called out, struggling to hold her up. She was falling out of his hold and he got onto his knees to lay her gently on the ground. Her head didn’t look right and he turned it back around to have it face the right way. Her glasses were akimbo and he put them back on her face. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice trembling. He should’ve tried another nest. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought of that first? “Wait, wait,” he told her, as if her spirit could return.

He had no idea how long he knelt at her body, stroking her hair. Somebody cleared their throat and shifted in their seat. It brought him back to the present, making him realise he was being watched. Slowly, he got to his feet. Before facing Antonio, he looked at Pietro, who straightened a little at the murderous glare cast at him.

“I have paid a high price in coming back,” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “Now you will help me.”

“What is it you want?” Antonio asked, speaking through the hand that covered his mouth – his elbow upon the arm of the chair. His body language screamed his discomfort of the scene he’d just witnessed before him.

“You criticised my lack of mental skills in the past and offered to teach me,” Lazarus said, hoping that Antonio would remember. His ex gave nothing away so he pressed on. “That’s what I want now. Make my mind strong. Train me to block mental attacks. To lift things with my thoughts. To reduce another, younger, vampire to a gibbering mess.” He didn’t look at Pietro, but he was thinking about him.

“Two thousand years,” Antonio said quietly. “You have wasted your immense time on this world. I made you that offer over a hundred years ago and you laughed at me and turned me down.” Antonio’s hands gripped the arms of his chair as he leant forward. “You said you would never need it, that you were strong, that you were charming, that you could talk or fight your way out of anything. And then you killed his pet!” Antonio stood, pointing at Pietro. “And then you left!”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Lazarus said, his gaze moving around the room to plead to the vampires and mortals who were watching. None of them made eye contact with him. He looked back at Antonio, standing in front of the chair, fists clenched. “I killed her for you. I can come back now.”

“You killed her for him,” Antonio said, his voice lowering to quiet menace, his hand sweeping towards Pietro before it dropped. “What you want from me is to train you up. You are no better than a fledgling.” Antonio’s expression flickered as though he had an idea. “And one shall serve as a reminder to you, so that you will know your place here.” Antonio whirled and gripped the youth’s wrist who’d been standing beside and slightly behind the chair. He pulled the young mortal as he strode up to Lazarus, ignoring anything that was said, then flung the boy at him. Lazarus captured the youth about the shoulders after the mortal faceplanted his chest. “Matteo wants to be one of us so you will make him, and you will train with him, and you be responsible for him and yourself during your time here.” Antonio turned heel and returned to his chair, gracelessly falling upon it as though he’d been weakened somehow. “Do it now.”

Lazarus looked at the mortal he’d inherited and wondered if he was collateral damage or if he’d done something to upset Antonio. He tried to gauge if the boy would let himself be sired. It didn’t seem right to turn him as they stood over Kate’s body, still cooling on the floor at his feet.

But since when had he ever done anything right?

[suneater]

Something was happening, and no one would tell him what. His hatred of being denied was at war with his love of drama. Not knowing was a bit like an itch- inherently annoying, but pleasurable to scratch.

He’d seen the newcomer arrive with his dowdy woman. They made quite the pair; one was incomplete, the other a vision in mediocrity. He had never seen a deformed vampire before, and he certainly hadn’t failed to notice the way the stranger had looked at him. Pietro seemed to know him, and his body language had been difficult to categorize, hinting at a complicated relationship. There were far too many possibilities for him to guess at, so he’d made his rounds to cadge up whatever information he could from his friends among the nest.

He’d come away with a name from the Bible and some allusion to some sort of scandal generations distant. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to assure him that this evening would be more interesting than most. His suspicion was confirmed when Mila arrived, curtly summoning him to the audience hall and then sweeping off to some other business.

He padded to his mirror to inspect himself. His hair was tousled just right, and his favorite button-down, cream patterned with tiny blue diamonds in a chaotic array, hung completely unbuttoned, baring a chest developed by swimming and his flat stomach. He shucked the shorts he was wearing and opted for an even shorter pair- Antonio’s favorite- which truncated millimeters below the curve of his buttocks. Satisfied, he made his way to the meeting, padding silently along (at least, by mortal standards) on bare feet.

Most of the nest was already gathered. In fact, aside from Mila, he was the last to arrive. Antonio was already enthroned, his expression the usual careful mask. Pietro offered him a smirk when their eyes met, but Matteo simply averted his gaze and approached the nest’s leader.

His pace lagged slightly as he drew near. He was used to a place of honor, close at hand, but Antonio had been distant ever since he had returned to the nest full-time. He half-expected to be dismissed to sit with the lesser pets, but when he was close Antonio favored him with an almost imperceptible smile.

The youth’s caution evaporated, and his lips curved into a diminutive grin. He took his place, just behind and to the side of the ancient, and by the time he’d turned to face the room, his boyish features were composed into their typical dreamy, vaguely-amused configuration. He clasped his hands behind his back, watching the others (and Antonio, as much as his vantage point allowed) and waiting.

He did not have to wait long. Mila was heralded by the echo of her heels, and she brought the odd duo along with her. When the woman dropped down in obeisance, Matteo had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Pietro was apparently not so disciplined, or actively inclined to show disrespect. Matteo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hooking his right ankle behind his left, listening and watching.

Banishment. Punishment. A plea for assistance. Matteo sensed he was only glimpsing threads of this story, tugged from a whole tapestry, but he was fascinated nevertheless. His eyes remained fixed almost entirely on this Lazzaro, measuring him as Antonio sat in judgment.

Matteo’s only reaction to Pietro’s edict was an arched eyebrow, and to study the woman more carefully. He didn’t see much, other than obvious terror. What was she to this vampire, that he would react as such? He’d learned that humans meant strange things to the ageless. Some valued beauty, others influence, but every so often, stranger connections developed. Perhaps she reminded him of someone from bygone centuries, or had capabilities beyond what her meager presence suggested.

Matteo was not among those who flinched when the deed was done. The vampire had telegraphed her death plainly enough. No, what had caught his interest was the utter ease with which Lazzaro wheeled her head about, and with only a single hand. The display of strength caused his breath to catch in his chest, but the trapped air out smoothly as the maudlin bit ensued. He’d made peace with the danger inherent to vampiric bedfellows; if the dead woman had not, that was her own mistake, and either way, she was the one who had paid the price for Lazzaro’s crimes. The boy’s nose wrinkled slightly.

What followed was… confusing. Matteo was still putting together the request and the revelation that this broken figure was the oldest vampire he’d ever seen when he felt Antonio’s cold hand close on his wrist like a vice. Shock obliterated his thoughtful expression as he was dragged forward. His feet slapped loudly against the tiles for the first few paces before he managed to match Antonio’s swift stride. “You’re hurting me,” he whispered plaintively, low enough that they could be interpreted as intended for Antonio’s ears alone.

He stumbled when Antonio thrust him forward. He would have ended up flat on the ground if Lazzaro had not intercepted him. He flung his arms around the tall man’s waist in order to keep himself upright. He felt weight on his shoulder, but his face remained buried in the stranger’s chest. Antonio’s pronouncement rang in his ears. You will make him. Do it now. The words had become trapped in his skull, ricocheting within it a thousand times in a matter of seconds. His pulse spiked, and despair and anger jockeyed for dominance in his gut.

This was not what he had worked for, planned for, dreamed of. He released a ragged breath and sharply drew in another. His shoulder hurt from the force Antonio had put on it to drive him away, but it was nothing compared to the resounding, public rejection. Ducking from Lazzaro’s grip, he turned to face Antonio, seemingly on the verge of hyperventilating, weeping, or both.

His mouth fell open and his jaw worked, but no sound emerged. His wet eyes shone with pain as he regarded his lover and mentor in charged silence. When there was no reaction, no retraction, Matteo let out a strangled, aborted sob that transformed into four harshly whispered words tinged with resignation: ”You’re making a mistake.”
 
He wheeled and lifted his Adriatic eyes to meet Lazzaro’s. The boy’s stare was no less murderous than the one Lazzaro had cast toward Pietro a moment before, but Matteo’s fury had no single target. It was diffuse and seemingly boundless, a bonfire of emotion with an unlimited supply of fuel. His fists were clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and a faint tremor ran continuously through his form.

“You heard him,” the boy murmured. His flat, empty tone was shocking in contrast to the outrage rolling off of him in waves. “I’m yours now.” His composure strengthened and he stood a little straighter. With a practiced motion, he shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall down one arm. He tossed the garment casually to the side, and in doing so, drew his eyes over the corpse on the ground.

“I’d rather it not be ruined,” he explained simply as he closed his eyes. He turned his head to the side, tucking his chin against his left shoulder to offer Lazzaro his taut, exposed throat. Despite his nonchalance, his heart was hammering in his chest. He knew what was about to happen. He knew that he had to all-but-die to transcend his stunted mortality.

A serene smile traced his lips as he waited.

He was ready. For all of it.

[Trillian]

Lazarus assessed the youth as he gently put forth his command and bared his throat. Lazarus knew he would make a difficult fledgling; he'd come from Antonio's side and he hadn't looked happy about being sired even though he supposedly 'wanted to be one of us'. Even so, the youth's body was to his taste as was the streak of rebellion in his eyes. Those who worshipped him made for better, longer-lasting relationships but those who were uncertain or resentful made for better sex. The commanding words echoing Antonio's instruction had confirmed the attitude he would get from this one.

If Antonio hadn't made all those disparaging comments about how Lazarus was nothing more than a fledgeling himself, he would've enjoyed turning this divine looking creature. He would've honoured the request without a second thought. He would've bedded him gladly or fought with him nightly and thanked Antonio for the opportunity. But no, Matteo wasn't a gift or even a shackle of responsibility. He was a punishment, and would eternally serve his role letting Lazarus know he was a joke.

This situation reminded Lazarus so much of how he'd sired Murphy to give a final fuck-you to Jake and Ben. Oh... oh... that was fucking funny. So funny that he didn't laugh. Antonio's decision had perfectly mirrored Lazarus' own from two weeks ago.

Lazarus stepped towards the youth, wending his left arm around the youth's shoulders, his arm ending at the wrist so he unable to hook a hand onto the side of his chest. Matteo would surely hold onto him to keep himself in place. Lazarus ducked down and swept up the youth from behind his knees, picking him up and holding him bridal style, turning on the spot to properly face Antonio so that the ruler of the Nido could see what he was up to.

The boy was almost naked in his arms and the feel and look of him had Lazarus thinking about later; when the boy would be filled with blood lust, trying to deal with the craving, locked in a room with just Lazarus for the last little piece of night before the sun came up with sex the best way to distract himself from what he really wanted. Or would Antonio take care of that part himself? He was known for not making fledgelings of his own and bringing younger vampires into his little group. Lazarus' presence in his bed had been an aberration. Thinking of sex of course thickened him in his jeans, but that was going to happen anyway when he drank from Matteo's neck.

He pulled Matteo closer, wanting him to rest his head on Lazarus' shoulder. When Lazarus turned his head next he could nuzzle into the mortal. He was overwhelmed by the other's smell and warmth, by the strong beat of his heart and the smooth quality of his skin. He licked a path along Matteo's throat, feeling for the vein in his neck. He found it and tongued it, then suckled it, bringing blood to the surface. Then, he rumbled a growl deep in his chest and bit. And he drank.

He was hopeful that Matteo would have an erotic response to the bite or if he spaced out. Because if it was the former, Lazarus intended on putting on a show for Antonio. Since the bastard had wanted him to do this in front of everyone, Lazarus would not hold back.

[suneater]

His initial outrage had worn off. Matteo’s feelings tended to burn bright but fade quickly. It rankled him that Antonio had cast him aside. There had always been an insurmountable gulf of power between them, but that was what kept things interesting. He relished being close to such strength and, up until a moment ago, what he considered immense wisdom. Simply giving him away, without so much as asking him? It was unforgivable, but it was well within the vampire’s rights, at least when one defined rights as any action they could take and enforce.

Had he been consulted, he would have readily agreed. Lazzaro was Antonio’s elder. He might not have had any standing with the nest, but he knew that vampiric might was proportionate to age. Perhaps his soon-to-be-sire had squandered his millennia, but he had still lived them, and that benefited Matteo as the recipient of his blood.

Antonio had never given him a solid notion of when he would be made, either; it might have been years, or even decades. No, this was best. Now he would be preserved just as he was for eternity. Ever since he’d successfully co-opted the coven, he’d been very careful with his appearance. He carefully obliterated what little body hair he had daily and kept his hair perfectly trimmed. He’d been religious with his skin care, as well. If his appearance was going to be fixed outside of time, he wanted his eternal body to look perfect- and now it would.

When he felt Lazzaro’s touch, he did indeed settle his hands on the vampire’s hips before looping them around his waist to keep himself upright. A thrill went through him as he was lifted, and his eyes burst open. He might as well have been an empty egg carton, for how easily the one-armed man held him. He released Lazzaro briefly and curled into him, hooking his left arm over Laz’s right shoulder, behind his neck, and then wrapping his right arm around Laz’s torso. Secure, he closed his eyes again and supported his head on Lazzaro’s shoulder. The childish feel of being scooped up dissipated and his heart began to hammer once more. It was happening. It was finally happening.

His whole body shivered when he felt that cold tongue on his neck. His fingers bunched the man’s garments, and he couldn’t help but moan at the suction. He could feel the vibration in Lazzaro’s chest when he growled, and then came the twin pin-pricks followed immediately by the feeling of fangs sliding in. There was always an instinctive wave of revulsion as they penetrated, but it was immediately washed out by the wave of pleasure that accompanied the first gulp.

The feeling was most intense at his neck, but it was everywhere at once, from his scalp to the tips of his toes. It danced on his skin and charged through his veins, filling the vacuum left by his missing blood. He moaned into Lazzaro’s shoulder, loud and needy. His body was no longer his. It belonged to this vampire, this exquisite bite. He was dimly aware of his own erection, but it couldn’t offer anything to rival what Lazzaro was inflicting on him. He shifted reflexively against the man, making his response to the process unmistakable.

He could feel himself emptying out, and a funny notion struck him: maybe vampires don’t just slake their thirst; maybe they are full of the void, like a venom, and inject it into their prey when they feed. The world had faded away, but for the bite, and Matteo loosed a weak giggle and ground himself against Lazzaro once more.

[Trillian]

Lazarus sank to his knees, still holding the youth whose response was all that he'd hoped for and more. This would be the only time Lazarus could experience him in this way, so he would make it memorable - for himself, for the boy and for everyone who watched them.

Once kneeling he was more aware of Matteo's body as it weighted on his lap, pressing on the rod trapped inside his jeans. He wouldn't be pulling it out but his glance did find Matteo's own erection tenting his impossibly short shorts. He was surprised that he couldn't see the head already. As he unhooked his arm from beneath Matteo's knees and ran cool fingers up the lad's thigh, he had an inkling that the youth might be embarrassed by the display he intended to put on while everyone watched on with steely gazes as he made a mockery of his 'punishment'. He didn't care whether Matteo would be humiliated or not. Who was he other than another of Lazarus' countless fledges?

Lazarus continued to drink, taking from the youth not too deeply or shallow, to make it last while not making it tedious. He wanted Matteo to be dazed and so he strummed the boy like an instrument, running his hand up his leg to the pole in his shorts, gripping it and stroking it with the material a barrier before his cool hand delved beneath and gripped him, twisting and squeezing in a way that should be enticing.

They made a circuit like that, with Lazarus' mouth on Matteo's neck and a hand on his cock, milking him at both ends. A quick look up and all he could see was Pietro, who'd stepped forward from his original spot - perhaps to stop what was happening? who knew - and he was glaring daggers at Lazarus, obviously furious with what was going on right now in front of everyone.

Nobody made a sound except for Matteo, who gasped and sighed beneath Lazarus' expert hand. Before he was drained Lazarus managed to encourage a joyous eruption out of him, strands of cum flinging upward and covering the boy's chest in a way that had Lazarus wanting to lick it off. But no, he had something else to do. The orgasm had leant towards an erratic heartbeat.

Lazarus straightened, Matteo's neck wounds dripping two thin streams of blood because Lazarus hadn't bothered to heal him. The process of becoming a fledgeling vampire would do that. A wrist against his mouth and then a grunt of pain as Lazarus bit down and tore the skin open, making a large gash that poured his blood. He pressed his wound to the teenager's mouth, knowing there would be little resistance because there never was; the older the blood, the better it tasted, and a dying man never turned down sustenance.

[suneater]

Matteo was beyond humiliation. Aside from the bite, he was barely cognizant of what Lazzaro was doing to him. His body responded, of course, though he could hardly be harder than he already was. Another moan escaped him when Lazzaro made direct contact with his member, but the ennervation inherent to blood-loss left it barely audible.

The ancient would realize why Matteo had not escaped his shorts immediately; he simply wasn’t big enough to do so. His length was average at best, and his girth was better described as slender- an almost perfect compliment to the body it was attached to. Modesty had never been his strong suit, so even with his faculties intact he would not have cared about the show he was an unwitting part of.

The orgasm Laz so masterfully coaxed from wracked his body and spattered him in his own seed- copious enough, but runny, suggesting that this wasn’t the first or even second time he’d cum in the last twenty-four hours. When it was over he was still save for whispered, labored breathing and the occasional twitch.

He was dying. His thoughts didn’t seem like his own, as if they were words being shouted from too far away to hear, just noise with unrecognizable form. You’re dying, you’re dying. Lazzaro would see his brow crease slightly, if he was paying attention. I can’t be dying. I’m going to live forever. Despite his confusion, despite his weakened state, his body was wired to fight for survival. His arms lifted perhaps a centimeter, but that was all the resistance he could mount. A spike of terror flashed like lightning against the black haze of pleasure that had enveloped him, but it was too late. His vision had been black and red and brown before, but now there was only empty blackness.

What little was left of Matteo lay inert as Lazzaro bled into his slack mouth. At first there was no response, but gravity and fluid dynamics eventually drew the vampiric blood down his throat. Nearly ten seconds later, his eyes snapped open. Terror and hunger shone in them, and he began to suck at the wound. It was demure at first, but as his strength returned he lashed his hands up. One took Lazzaro at the wrist, the other at the elbow, trying to hold his arm in place. He was a messy drinker, and his lips and chin were soon coated with crimson. His eyes were still closed, and child-like delight had suffused his angelic features.

There was too much hunger for thought to return just yet. If left to his own devices, he would have drained Lazzaro to a husk. The taste was intoxicating, exploding on his tongue. Sweet, liquid flames danced down his throat, pooling in his gut. He would resist any efforts to stop his feast, to move him away from the source of potent vitae. It was all that mattered. For the moment, it was his whole world.

[Trillian]

The thing about two-thousand-year-old strength was that it came in handy when making needy fledgelings with vice-like grips (that they had no business having access to but every single fledge he'd made had been ridiculously strong during the turning and he supposed it was survival instinct and the transfer of powers and he couldn't be bothered thinking about it beyond this). Having one hand, though, made it a great deal more difficult.

Matteo was his second siring since Lazarus had been separated from his left hand. He thought of Murphy, who he'd flung across the motel room to get him off. He doubted he could do that here without facing criticism. Lazarus lay Matteo properly on the floor, pressing his wrist (already almost healed) against his mouth so the boy would remain with his head on the tiles. He placed a knee on Matteo's chest while that awful feeling of being drained started to feel more urgent, pressed his left arm against the boy's forehead - and most of his face that was still visible - and pulled his right arm away. It was like breaking through mesh; there was some resistance but it might as well have been nothing. Because of his anchoring, Matteo didn't lift with the movement, hanging onto his arm like an accessory. Instead he remained on the floor, half of his face stained with Lazarus' blood.

Wasteful little shit. And it was Lazarus who would have to teach him to bite clean. Fuck. Already turning this youth was starting to feel like punishment. It hadn't taken long. He stood and stepped back, watching Matteo's eyes change. The colour that they were already might yield a spectacular result.

[suneater]

Matteo tried to cling as his source of blood pulled away, but it was futile. He felt more powerful than ever, but he was a gnat compared to his sire. His bloodlust cooled once the font was removed and conscious thought slowly resumed.

Scent hit him first, like a sledgehammer to the skull. Blood and sex launched a two-pronged assault on his nose, and the combination was almost too much for him. He made himself stop breathing, and when he did, he found he no longer had to. His nervous system didn’t send him any of the usual emergency signals, allowing him to ignore the the olfactory bounty of the room.

Touch came next, and with it, awareness of where he was. He’d forgotten for a moment. The cool tile against his bare back was a delight; the wet, tacky sensation surrounding his mouth, less so. He could feel the air currents in the large room. He’d sensed them before, but only dimly. Their might as well have been wind roaring through the chamber. He could feel it sluicing across every individual downy, almost invisible hair on his forearms. I’m on the floor, in the hall… it’s done.

His eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly. What might have been a languid, sensuous movement when he was mortal ended with him almost comically bent forward as his core muscles exceeded their own memory. His eyes had already changed. Where they had once been the blue-green of summer waters, they were now the briny blue of the depths, bottomless, yearning, threatening to drown anyone trapped in them.

Lazzaro was their first potential victim. Matteo looked up at the one who had made him. He had planted his palms on the floor to anchor him in sitting, and he grinned as he wiggled his toes. The ancient’s presence was palpable in a way it hadn’t been before. It was as if there was a tide washing between them, tugging Matteo toward him. He wanted to bask in it, to give in to it, but he didn’t. Not yet.

He turned his bloody face to scan the room, marking each vampire and mortal in turn. Most of them returned his stare, but they were a mixed lot. A few offered small smiles or amused nods, others maintained careful lack of expression, and others still seemed vexed as they regarded him. He stopped on Pietro, whose features were contorted livid, and could not help but let out a loud gale of laughter. He just looked so silly that way, and this was hardly the time for glowering. They should be celebrating! He was one of them!

Heedless of any offense he might have caused, he turned at last to regard Antonio. He drew himself up onto his feet and only realized that his shorts were splayed open when they nearly slipped off of his hips. He jerked his arms down and tugged them back up, then snapped and zippered them in short order. In looking down to do so, he saw the semen on his chest, partway dried already. Puzzlement scrunched his features a bit, and he absently reached up, wiping his thumb through the sticky blood on his chin and then licking it elaborately off. His eyes remained on Antonio as he savored the last of it. He did it again with his index finger, and this time slid it into his mouth down to the second knuckle before removing it slowly.

“My apologies for before.” His voice was thick, as if drunk. He could feel something happening in his mouth, more specifically, in his gums. It wasn’t quite painful, but there was a dull ache, as if something was grinding at his maxilla from within. Fangs, he realized. Distracted, he reached up at his mouth again, poking at the tip of one of them with the pad of his finger. With his curiosity satisfied, he focused again on Antonio.

“This certainly doesn’t feel like a mistake.” With that, he looked over his shoulder to Lazzaro.

[Existentially Odd]

Antonio watched the siring with a moue upon his face. He didn't wish to openly condemn Lazzaro in front of the nest - for that would give the blond what he wanted - but he could've done without the theatrics. The vulgarity of the act only served to present the bi-millennial as petulant and obscene, the entire display making most of the audience uncomfortable. The rest seemed to relish it. Antonio watched them watching, taking mental notes of everyone's reactions.

When Lazzaro peeled the fledgeling off his wrist with all the grace of a hunter bleeding a fresh kill, Antonio's expression shifted to open disdain. He was aware that Matteo spoke, his voice resonating in Antonio's ears with an altered timbre in his new form, but Antonio only had eyes for Lazarus the Risen. He had conditions to impart and the blond had lost none of his infuriating charisma in the years that had passed since his last visit. He would pay for his insolence.

"Lazzaro," he began, putting an extra tinge of vibrato into his voice so that it would emanate throughout the chamber and strike everyone in the chest, affording him instant attention. "Firstly, you must dispose of your... follower cleanly and well away from here. Flames or grave, it is your choice but do not dump her in the water and risk her corpse washing up on Palermo's beaches to be discovered. I won't have you bringing attention upon us. She must never be found," he warned darkly, taking a moment to glower before he moved on.

"Secondly, you must take your bambino to the streets outside the nido to feed, every night, as often as necessary. We do not have the resources to support his hunger." The corner of Antonio's mouth flicked as if he were apologetic but he wasn't. It was mostly true. They had blood resources but the supply wouldn't sustain a voracious fledgeling for long. The needs of the many outweighed the one. Antonio's gaze shifted to meet the newest vampire's deep blue ones.

"Lastly, Matteo, you must take your belongings from your current room to the kindred section of the nest. You and Lazzaro should walk from here, turn left and take the fourth room along," he specified, pointing at the open doorway at the far end of the enormous room they were in. There were other doors out of the reception hall but he limited his directions to the parts Lazarus had seen, tonight. The far doorway neatly divided the twelve vampire rooms into two sections of six, both sides spaced along a wall that was partly curved and partly straight.

Lazarus and Matteo would inhabit the tenth room; it wasn't the largest but nor was it the smallest abode on that side of the building. There would only be two rooms slept in over there - once they moved in - and they wouldn't have neighbours. Most vampires were on the right, closest to the kitchen and mortal dining area. Lazzaro and Matteo's room was not far from the shared bathroom. Pietro slept in the very first room on the right, closest to the food. At least they would be on the opposite side of the central chamber to him.

The mortals all stayed in rooms behind the wall at Antonio's back. His own room was beyond that again, expansive and somewhat secluded from the rest of the nest's inhabitants. It had been converted into his suite a decade or so after Lazzaro left.

"You have a busy night ahead of you," Antonio smirked, eyeing Lazarus pointedly. There were at least six good hours left before dawn.

[Trillian]

A fist of anger clenched in his chest at the term 'dispose' when it came out of Antonio's mouth. Kate was not going to be disposed of, fuck you very much. His expression betrayed his thoughts when his mouth turned downward at the corners while his chin jut out with indignation. He would not insult her memory by turning her into a water-logged, bloated corpse. She deserved better.

Bah, he'd have to teach Matteo how to hunt and bite and feed without killing... if they wanted to remain in this Nido. Lazarus doubted Antonio had suddenly changed his mind about leaving corpses behind - especially not after that declaration about Kate's body. That would be hard to control with a baby bird squawking for a meal every five minutes. Depending on Matteo's control or lack of it, Lazarus might want to strangle a few mortals as stress relief. They would find out what he was like soon enough.

With the immediate assignment of a bedroom for himself and Matteo, Lazarus' gaze flicked to Pietro - that fucking liar. There had been rooms available, he'd just stuck them into the tank like they were common prisoners for the hell of it. Bastard. Pietro still looked like his panties were in a knot over Lazarus' siring of the boy. Interesting. Matteo had been standing at Antonio's side, not Pietro's. He could use this to get under the fucker's skin. Ah, he felt himself slipping into old relationships like settling into a warm bath.

"Get your shit and meet me in the room," Lazarus ordered his new fledge.

"No," Pietro interrupted, his voice hard. He'd lost a great deal of the rage demonstrated now that the siring was complete. He looked almost... joyous? "It is a rule here that fledges remain with their sires at all times in the first six months. You should help him pack, then usher him to his room."

Lazarus stared at Pietro, the two of them holding eye contact for a long moment before Lazarus flicked his gaze to Antonio, who nodded very slightly.

"Ugh! Fine," Lazarus spat, and moved to Kate's body. He wouldn't just leave her here with these assholes who'd watched her die and didn't care about her. If he didn't need their help so badly right now, he would fucking leave. He picked her up, opposite to how he'd held Matteo. His left elbow hooked beneath her knees and his hand kept her torso up. Her head dangled unnervingly, swaying with every step he took as he followed Matteo to wherever the youth's stuff was.