Part One

Sometimes, blood is the strongest of ties.

---

(Six Months)

I clasp the laptop in my shaking hands, trying to swallow my nerves.  The elevator climbs unimpeded, surging up towards the topmost offices of the Vampire Safety Commission building. Known only as VASCO to the humans who circle the sidewalks below.

The man beside me is a sharp contrast to my anxious energy.  But then, Gojo Satoru is always unwaveringly calm.  In my six months of working for him, I’ve never seen him flustered or upset.  The tall, white-haired figure is slouched easily, his hand shoved into his pockets and a stick of gum squishing obnoxiously between his sharp teeth.  Narrowing my eyes, I peek out at him from beneath my eyelashes.

“You know, the more you freak out, the faster your heart beats, and the faster your blood rushes through your veins,” Gojo observes with a cheeky smirk on his face.  “If you want to be noticed, you’re doing a hell of a job.”  He has the nerve to blow a bubble.  And the pop when it bursts makes me start.  Jerk.

I huff at him, clutching my burden tighter against my chest, feeling the tablet dig into my skin.  “You try being calm while walking into a den of wolves.  Without your weapons,” I add sourly.

“I walk into that den every day, my sweet little assistant.  You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

The elevator door opens and he saunters out with all the lean grace of a predator stalking his prey.  Easy for him to say, I think acerbically; he’s the biggest, baddest wolf in any given room he enters.  Of course he’d be completely at ease.  I trail behind him like a lost puppy, worried that being separated will spawn another damn war.  Gojo peers over his shoulder at me and flashes me one of his sharp-toothed grins.  I scowl back, sticking my tongue out at him.  His grin only widens; my heart throbs at the sight—stupid handsome jerk.

A familiar figure greets us at the door to the conference room, and I have to resist the urge to turn right around and walk back out.  Geto Suguru is leaned against the carved oak paneling, arms crossed and face impassive as always.  His feline eyes open when he senses Gojo’s overwhelming presence, and he straightens up.

“Satoru,” Geto greets warmly, voice soft.  “They’re almost ready for us.”  Then his coal black eyes focus on me and any warmth he’d possessed cools into something sub-artic.  “Oh, I see you’ve brought your pet with you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo responds, voice gently chastising, “play nice; she’s here to help.”  And then he presses their foreheads together in an intimate gesture.  I watch the rigid line of Geto’s shoulders melt with the sort of ease only a lover can bring.  The two men exchange quiet words, breathing in each other’s air and gazing into each other’s eyes.  They lean in to snatch a passionate kiss, like they hadn’t seen each other just a few hours ago.

Biting my lip, I politely look away, pretending to be interested in the intricate crown molding of the trim.  They separate with a wet sound and a hum of pleasure, and I feel my face heat again.

“Her presence is going to piss off the pro-war advocates, you know?” Geto points out, obviously talking about me.  And I feign ignorance, even though he knows I can hear him.  My ears might not be as good as theirs, but I have better senses than the average human.  “I’m just looking out for your best interests.”

Gojo laughs blithely.  “Oh, Suguru.  It’ll be fine! Besides, those shitty old bags of dust need to get used to my favorite new assistant.”

I turn back towards them just in time to see Geto’s lips and eyes thin into an unimpressed expression.  “You and I both know that she’s a passing interest; she’ll fade away before too long, and those ‘bags of dust’ will forget about her.  As will you.”

Ouch.  What a dick.

"You really think so?" Gojo muses.  

From behind his blackout sunglasses, his ethereal blue eyes of his pin me with their intensity.  There's something about the way he's looking at me that sets me a bit on edge.  Like I’m a meal.  There's a flicker of hungry red swirling in his irises.  I shiver at the alarm that grinds against my survival instincts.  Then, quick as a breath, the expression vanishes along with the crimson hue.  It's gone so fast that I almost feel like I imagined it.

But I hadn't imagined it at all.  He's thirsty.  Again.  My eyebrows knit together.  Hadn't he taken a blood tablet on the elevator ride up?

Gojo slings an arm around Geto’s shoulder and nuzzles his nose into his mate’s neck.  I half expect him to bite down, honestly, with how starved he’s seemed lately.  He doesn’t, only offering a kiss to Geto’s pulse point.  “Nah.  I think this one is here to stay,” he chirps brightly, answering his own question.  “She’s a keeper.”

The black-haired man lets out a begrudging sound of acknowledgement.

Geto and I fall in line behind Gojo as he prepares to open the double door to the conference room.  I stiffen up when I feel the buzzing of several presences from behind the ornate doors.  High-level.  My hand curls into a fist at the thought of entering that room.

The black-haired man beside me glowers down with barely masked hatred.  “Monkey,” he sneers.  And I'm provided with a brief distraction from the tension.

“Leech,” I fire back without missing a beat, not even bothering to look at him.

Gojo sighs loudly.  “So much for a united front,” he mutters, clearly pouting.  "Can't you two go a day without fighting?"

"No," we both answer in unison.  Then we share a perfectly timed glare, Geto's dark eyes locking with mine.

This is a song and dance that Geto and I have been repeating for a solid six months now.  Where he comes in with vicious mockery and derision, I meet him head on with stubbornness and my own brand of vitriol.  We trade insults like boxers trade punches.  Blow-for-blow, step-for-step, we keep in time.  It's almost fun, I have to admit, fighting with my boss's paramour.

There's a part of me that likes the conflict, enjoys the back-and-forth.  Of course, I'd never admit it aloud.

We enter the conference room, the white-haired man leading us into the slavering jowls of the wolves.  In unison, all the Senate members turn to face us, their faces drawn into deep disapproval.  Because, despite my best efforts, we’re over an hour late for this meeting.  And in true him fashion, Gojo has deigned to show up in sweatpants and a grey t-shirt.  Hardly the visage of the powerful person he’s supposed to portray, but my boss has never been one to stick to standards.  If it will piss off his fellow Senate members, then he’ll do it—no ‘if’s, ‘and’s, or ‘but’s.

My boss takes his place at the head of the table, tucking his arms nonchalantly behind his head and kicking his trainer-clad feet up onto the polished wood in front of him.  I have to fight not to curl up and die inside when there are numerous hisses of outrage at his behavior.  Geto, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber—too used to his mate’s outlandish behavior to be affected anymore.

“Well, grandpas and grannies, let’s get this show on the road, yeah?” Gojo smugly incites their rage.

One of the oldest Senate members at the table, a withered husk known as Gakuganji, shoots out of his seat and points an accusatory finger at Gojo.  “You’re late, you insolent brat!”  Then his ire shifts towards me.  “And what the hell is that thing doing here?”

Gojo rolls his head lazily to look at me, his glowing blue eyes shining with mischievous mirth.  “Oh, her?  She’s my assistant.”  When he grins, the pointed tip of his fang pokes out from behind his lips.  “She’s cute for a human, huh?”

Working with vampires, I’ve long since realized, is so very different from hunting them.

---

(Before)

My mom and dad had met as children, and had been best friends growing up.  Along the way, that friendly love had blossomed into something romantic.  And they'd spent years and years courting each other before finally tying the knot.  I’d come along sometime afterward, welcomed into the world as a wailing newborn.  Two years later, my baby sister would do the same, coming to us pink and fragile and already so very loved.

In most ways, we were like any other normal, well-adjusted family.

We laughed together, loved, cried.  Every breakfast was spent passing the strawberry jam around the table and sleepily making plans; every dinner was spent in noisy, chaotic bliss while my sister and I tried to steal from each other’s plates.  When it was sunny, we'd be outside, playing games in the warm sunlight or helping with chores.  When it rained, we'd sit around in blanket forts and listen to the radio shows that played at night.  And when it snowed, we'd gather around the fireplace and drink hot cocoa while Dad told us stories about when he was young.

In other ways, though, we were very, very different from everybody else.

Mom and Dad were both the heirs of ancient and powerful vampire hunting families.  Going generations and generations back for thousands of years.  While most people their age were going to school and discovering their passions for life, Mom and dad were being taught how to recognize the vampire threat that lingered like miasma in the shadows... and eliminate it.  Mom had once sadly remarked that she'd learned how to use a knife to kill before using it too cook.

Mom's parents and siblings were all frontline soldiers during the Hunter-Vampire War.  I'd never met anybody from my mom's side—they'd all but been wiped out during the fighting.  Mom never talked about them much, either.  When I asked about her family, she'd always get such a distant look on her face before abruptly changing the subject.

Dad's dad had been a well-respected and high-ranking member of hunter society.  I called him 'Papa'.  He was nice, I remember.  Doting and affectionate as a grandparent.  He was a giant of a man, always picking me up so that I could see the world from a different view.  I'd as to 'touch it' and point at something too tall to reach, and he'd lift me like a paperweight into his burly arms and hold me up to the object of my curiosity.  When I went to Papa's house, rarely did my feet touch the ground.

After Papa passed away, Dad took his spot in the Hunter's Association as their star hunter.  That'd been the only time I'd seen my parents fight, I remember.  It was a bad one.  Mom hadn't been too happy with the idea of her husband going out every night to battle with monsters lurking in the dark.  Dad had wanted to help people, save lives.  They fought for weeks about it.

Dad was stubborn, though.  And he'd won in the end.  He'd become a vampire hunter, like his forefathers before him.

Not just a vampire hunter, either, but the vampire hunter.  A once-in-a-lifetime prodigy.   He’d been lucky enough to inherit Papa's hunter abilities, thought they'd seemingly awakened within Dad in a way that they never had before—a genetic lottery, and Dad had hit the jackpot.  He was far, far stronger than a normal human.  And fast enough to go toe-to-toe with even high-level vampires.

With his anti-vampire six-shooter in hand, he’d earned the codename ‘Cowboy’.  Not too intimidating, I know, but he struck fear into the hearts of lesser vampires.  Even as a newer hunter, he started making waves.  Rumors started about him, and they quickly grew to be legends.

Mom, meanwhile, kept far away from anything to do with the Association or hunting.  She poured all of her time and effort into raising my sister and I.

I grew up knowing that vampires were fact, rather than fiction.  For me, it’d been an indisputable part of life.  A neat little secret between my family and I that made me feel special.  Because so few of the other little girls could hardly claim to know what a vampire was, beyond a blood-sucking creature found in novels.  But I knew that they lived among us, masquerading as humans.

They live within our societies, hidden in plain sight.  And they hunt us in the shadows of night, taking our blood to satiate the gnawing hunger inside.

There are bad vampires.

But there are also good ones.

The first vampire I’d ever seen was in Dad’s photo album in his office.  I’d ventured in one day at the tender age of five, curiosity nigh-insatiable.  And I’d found the dust-covered album tucked away at the bottom of his bookcase.  Flipping through it, I’d stopped on one picture in particular and had immediately become smitten.  Because the man in posing in it must have been some sort of angel—that’s the only explanation that my childlike mind could come up with at the time.  Hair the color of snow and eyes blue as the sky, he’d looked like nobody I’d ever seen before.

Dad had come home in time to see me enraptured with the strange, beautiful man.  And instead of being angry that I’d come into his office without permission, he’d sat beside me on the floor and pulled me into his lap.

“Who is this, Daddy?” I’d asked him, pointing at the pale, ethereal creature in the photo.  “He’s like a fairy!”

Dad had only laughed heartily, his barrel chest shaking behind me.  “Well,” he’d explained, “this is a friend of Papa’s, from when I was your age.”  He pointed at a young boy in the photo, holding hands with the white-haired man and smiling widely.  “This is me.”

I scrunched up my nose at the child in the photo and shook my head.  “Nu uh.  That looks nothing like you, Daddy!  You’re waaaay bigger than that!”

Dad patted my head, ruffling my clumsy little girl braids.  “I was tiny once, too, Sweetheart.  Tinier than your sister, even.”

“But she’s so small!”  There’d been no way that my dad, who was larger than life, could’ve been so little.  “I don’t believe you,” I pout.

The page of the photo album is turned under Dad’s giant paws, and he points at another picture, with and the white-haired man and another with a rugged complexion.  “This is Papa when he was my age, waaaay before your mother and I had met.  Look at how young he was.”

The faint memories that I’d had of Papa were starting to grow blurry.  I remembered him carrying me around the house, laughing warmly at my curiosity, and reading to me at bedtime.  I missed Papa.  I missed going to his house and seeing him.  But Mom and I often visited my grandfather, where he slept under a stone memorial and where he could no longer lift me up high.  My tiny fingers had traced over Papa's youthful face, amazed at how much like Dad he’d looked.  I'd never noticed the resemblance before.

Dad turned the page again.  “This is Daddy last year, at the peace talks between hunters and vampires.”  It was another photo at some sort of party.  Dad had a flute of some sort of bubbly drink in his hand and was laughing.  But the person he was with…

“It’s the same man!” I’d gasped, amazed.

The beautiful stranger had been next to my father, arm slung over his shoulder and head tilted back as he’d been laughing too.  But the stranger wasn’t drinking the same thing as Dad; rather, his glass was filled to the brim with something red, like the flowers blooming in the garden.

I looked up at Daddy, and he’d pressed a kiss against my forehead, weathered lips tickling.  “This is a very old and dear family friend, Sweetheart,” he’d said.  “And he’s also the prince of vampires.”

At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of the statement.  “Well, duh, he’s a prince.  He’s too pretty not to be!”

Dad had guffawed at that, tears coming to his eyes.  “I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him next!”

I wondered when he'd see the prince next.  Maybe on one of his hunts.  I hoped that he never had to fight with the beautiful white-haired vampire.  I hoped that he was a good vampire.

Dad talked about his job sometimes.  When it was the two of us and I was perched in his lap snacking on cut fruit and sweets, he'd spin tales about going out at night to protect people from the bad vampires.  He boasted about saving damsels in distress, like the superheroes from the radio shows that my sister and I loved so much.  He was so strong and kind and protective.  To my kid self, he was the coolest!

And that'd been the spark to ignite my desire to be more like him.

As I’d grown up, I’d asked and asked question after question.  Always curious.  I wanted to learn all about being a hunter.  And Dad had taught me about the hidden world that I’d been born to the fringes of.  I learned about vampire culture, biology, history.  Their politics were complicated and dull, and the discussion of the Hunter-Vampire War that’d ended a half-century before had nearly bored me to tears.  But I’d been the best listener I could’ve been.

I'd also started noticing things about myself: I was stronger than the other kids on the playground; I was the fastest kid in our homeschooling group by far; and I started to be able to sense little tingles in the air around me that made my arm hairs stand on end.  When I brought it up, Dad told me that I was feeling the magic that flowed through all creatures, but that existed more perceptibly in vampires and vampire hunters.  It would later dawn on me that I'd probably been sensing vampires.

Apparently, I'd hit the same jackpot that Dad had.  I'd inherited his hunter genes, manifesting their power at a level even higher than he had.  There was a chance that I'd eventually grow into a vampire hunter even more frightening than he was.  Which meant that I could help even more people than he did!  I'd never been so excited for what the future held.

One day, while we were coloring at the kitchen table during art class, Mom asked us what we wanted to grow up to be.  My sister wanted to do something that allowed her to travel.  She childishly exclaimed that she wanted to explore the rainforests down south and discover a new bird.  One purple in color and big enough to ride like a horse.

When I said that I wanted to learn how to hunt vampires like Dad did, Mom had put her foot firmly down.  “Neither of our girls will get involved in that business!” she’d howled at my dad.  “It killed your father and my parents, and I’ll be damned if I let that world suck my girls into it!”

And that’d been that.

The notion of becoming a hero like Dad had withered like a plant in winter.  I would never be a hunter.  Not with Mom watching cautiously over my shoulder, hovering and smothering any desires to be part of that nocturnal life.

But he continued to hunt bad vampires.  Almost every night after dinner, he would go out.  And he’d be back by breakfast to laugh and play with us.

Until one day, he didn’t come back.  Mom and I waited for hours by the window while my sister practiced the piano.  I’d tried summoning him, sketching his likeness on a piece of paper with charcoal.  I could never get his eyes right, could never properly capture the warmth in them.  And try as I might, the sketch refused to cooperate, and Dad’s eyes remained cold and distant—dead, lifeless.

At the start of evening on the next day, news came in the form of a sleek black car.  And I could sense that humming tingle in the air.  It was powerful, resonating within my chest.  A vampire's presence.  Mom had stood up abruptly, discarding her embroidery on the floor.  Shed turned to me, tone stern.  “Get your sister and go upstairs!”

“But—”

“Now!” And then her voice had softened.  “Don’t fight me on this.  Just get her.  Please?”

I’d grabbed my baby sister, pulling her from the piano bench and rushing her to the stairwell with haste.  And I’d frozen at the sound of knocking on the front door, then the squealing of hinges.  My mother’s voice had greeted the person with a harsh tone I’d never once heard her use, not even when she'd fought with Dad or reprimanded us.  And curiosity settles in my stomach.

“Who is it?” my sister had whispered.  “Is it about Dad?”

“I… I don’t know.  But maybe.”

“Then shouldn’t we listen in?  What if he’s in trouble?”

I looked down at her and saw how terrified she was, then.  And I couldn’t tell her that Dad was fine, couldn’t reassure her.  Because the both of us knew better.  We were aware of what kind of dangerous life our dad had lived.  And there was only one reason that he wouldn’t have returned home.

But, still, I couldn’t deny my curiosity.  Giving in to temptation, I’d snuck quietly down the hallway, little sister in tow.  We’d lingered outside of the cracked living room door, in the darkness of the hallway.  And I’d watched through the sliver of space as our guest shucked off his long coat and hat—nearly gasping aloud when he’d revealed a head of shockingly white hair.

Gojo Satoru, prince of vampires, in our home!

I watch as he steps past Mom's protective runes without so much as a twitch.  Dad had once claimed that Mom possessed the strongest warding magic he'd ever seen.  Is Gojo really that strong that he's not even bothered by the wards?  

My sister drew in a breath, and I’d cupped my hand over her mouth.  But my eyes had never left his form.  True to his nature, he remained unchanged by the years.  He still resembled a man in his early twenties, without a single wrinkle or blemish marring his features.

“What are you doing here, you damn leech!” Mom had hissed like a venomous snake.  “You know that your kind aren’t welcome here.”

Gojo had merely snorted. “And here I’d thought I was the exception.”

“I don’t make exceptions for monsters, not with my girls here.  I need you to leave.  Now!”

The pureblood vampire—the purest of any—ignored her words of warning and sauntered over to look at the family photos on the mantlepiece.  He’d picked up on of Dad and Mom together, the one of their shotgun wedding, with my dad’s wide smile and my mom looking stunning in her favorite dress.  “Your husband hasn’t returned home?”

Mom’s fingers dug into the skirt of her dress.  And she’d let out a begrudging, “No, he hasn’t.”

Gojo looked over at her, then, eyes hidden behind round spectacles so dark that not even the light bounced off of them.  “He hasn’t contacted me, either, after the last job he was sent on.”

And the room went silent.  Because the both of them knew what that meant.  I did, too.  And, judging from the way she shook against me, my sister did as well.  There was a tense moment where neither of the people in the living room so much as breathed. I watched as the two stared at each other, neither one looking away.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo finally offered, voice soft.

“No,” she whispered brokenly.  And I watched as Mom cracked, placing a hand against her chest and letting out a sob.  My sister’s breath hit hot against my palm as she gasped, and tears flowed down the back of my hand.  “I told him to leave that life!  I told him!”

“You and I both know that he never could've given it up; he was always too damn stubborn.”  Gojo circled around to where I’d been sitting earlier.  He was closer to our hiding spot, close enough and positioned in such a way that I could see the blue of his eyes behind his dark shades.  And he picked up my little charcoal drawing of my dad, scrutinizing it.  “What about the girls?” he asked.  And I watched as his glowing gaze flickered over to the living room door for a moment.

A shock raced down my spine.  He’d known we were there… probably since he’d entered the room.

“You leave them out of this!” Mom snapped.  “They aren’t a part of hunter society, and they sure as hell won’t be having anything to do with vampires, either.”

Gojo’s shoulders relaxed, and a relieved smile twitched at the corners of his lips.  “That’s good to hear.  They should keep far away from this life, if they know what’s good for them.”  Another flicker of blue as he looked pointedly at us.  “But they’re still under my clan’s protection.  Should they ever need anything…”

“Just get out, please.  Just go so I can tell my daughters that their father won’t be coming home,” Mom demanded, forlorn, all life fleeing her body.  “Leave, Gojo.  And never come back.”  My sister sagged against me, head tucked under my chin, and I pulled her closer.

The Pureblood vampire, seemingly unconcerned with being ordered around by a mere human, bowed graciously.  “Of course.  I’m sorry to have intruded.”  He retrieved his things, and I noticed that my drawing was still clenched between the tips of his fingers.  And, with a backwards glance and a softly murmured ‘my condolences’, he left.

The wail that my mom—strong and unshakeable and fierce—let out would haunt me for years to come.

---

(Two Months)

This isn’t what I signed up for, I think with annoyance.

Two months in, and I’m a human pack mule.

The man’s dry-cleaning weighs down one of my arms, while I repeatedly tap the button on the elevator control pad.  The old machinery is slow to respond, and sometimes the button is broken and I have to call for maintenance.  Why the most powerful vampire on Earth refuses to move to a more modern building, I’ll never know.  Maybe it’s the nostalgia?  The old elevator shudders to life, squealing ominously all the way up to the fifth floor.  I wait with bated breath for the day that it malfunctions and takes me out.  This place was probably built around the time he was born, if the cracks along the hallway walls are anything to go by.

I have to juggle the massive load in my arms a bit to fish out my keys.  Nothing is heavy, considering my strength, but it's so damn unwieldy that I almost let it all fall to the ground in irritation.  Between the dry-cleaning, the briefcase—with Geto’s handwriting proudly proclaiming it ‘for Satoru’s nanny’—and my own purse, I barely manage to have enough hands to succeed in my task.   I kick open the front door, perhaps a little more angrily than is strictly necessary.  And I drop the briefcase and my purse onto the entryway floor with a deafening thud.

“Must you make such a terrible racket so early in the evening?” comes the ever-disapproving tone of Geto Suguru.  He loiters at the kitchen island, sipping on black coffee.  “I know your monkey hearing is underdeveloped, but please have some consideration for those with sensitive ears.”

Geto hates humans.  Fine.  Whatever.  He can hate me all he wants.  In the end, it’s not his opinion of me that matters; he’s not my boss.  Gojo is, and the white-haired pureblood seems more than happy with my work.  The pureblood is the only one worth pleasing—the purebloods are always the only ones worth pleasing.

From what my father had taught me growing up, there is a defined hierarchy.  Vampire society is split neatly into categories, with each type of vamp in their neat little boxes.

At the top, Purebloods reign supreme—they’re Level-A.  pureblood vampires are exceptionally rare, and don’t have a speck of human blood tainting their family lines; this gives them powers that are awe-inspiring, even among their fellow night-dwellers.  Considered the only true “immortals”, their lifespans last millennia, far longer than any other vampire can even hope to live.  And certainly far longer than a human.  They can teleport, heal nearly any wound they receive, and control lesser vampires.  But their most astonishing ability is that they can turn humans into vampires.  A single bite from a pureblood, and a person is altered for the rest of their lives.

This is what Gojo is, the purest of purebloods, so far up the hierarchy that he’s basically revered as a god.  At the very tippy-top of the pyramid, surpassing even his mother and father in power.  The strongest in the world, many assume.

Below the purebloods are Level-B vampires: those of noble blood.  While they boast extensive family trees and ancient lineages, their bloodlines have been marred by humanity at some point.  Thus, they have reduced lifespans, and their powers are less impressive than their pureblood counterparts.  That said, they still far outclass those beneath them.

Geto is Level-B.  His family had been some sort of aristocracy; they’d been wiped out by the Hunter’s Association during the Hunter-Vampire War, before even my father had been born.

There are levels below those, though they have little power—political or physical.  In the end, they don’t matter as much as their Class-A and B contemporaries.  All that matters is that, for most vampires, humans are on the bottom of the totem pole—more prey than peer.  We're viewed either as cattle to be bred and kept captive for feeding or as insects that vampire kind can't quite stomp out.

I sigh and ignore Geto’s rudeness.  “Where is Gojo?  I have his dry-cleaning picked up, his schedule prepared, and,” I say, looking at my watch, “it’s almost time to make breakfast.”

The black-haired vampire scowls at me and points upwards.  “Satoru is still asleep, so you’ll have to wake him up.  I wore him out this morning.  Thoroughly, I might add.”

Ugh.  I frown at the insinuation.  Gross.

Breathing deeply in through my nose, I resign myself to what I’ll no doubt stumble into.  This isn’t the first time I’ve walking into a post-vampire-romp apartment.  And I have a sinking suspicion that it certainly won’t be the last.  The two fuck like rabbits.  Then again, I guess there’s not much to do when you’re bored and nigh-immortal, right?

Geto raises his coffee mug in a fake ‘cheers’ motion, smile downright nasty.

I stomp up the spiral staircase to the apartment’s loft, feet banging loudly on the metal.  The vindictive part of me hopes that it hurts poor Geto’s sensitive ears.

“Oh, and human?”  I peek over the railing, down at the black-haired Aristocrat.  “Don’t touch anything; I’d hate for you to get your stench everywhere.”  He laughs when I flip him off.

The apartment is an industrial style with massive two-story floor-to-ceiling windows.  Much of the time, they’re covered in blackout curtains to prevent the sunlight from getting in.  There are two smaller windows in the loft, which are also closed tight to ward off the light.  Not that it burns vampires to a crisp like it does in old novels, but their eyes and skin are sensitive to it, like any other nocturnal creature.

Groping around in the dark, I tug open the curtains of the small windows, revealing the maroon light of the nearly-set sun.  And I also reveal the pale expanse of Gojo’s naked back.  Thankful that his waist is covered in sheets, so I don’t have to see a full moon—again—I approach the bed and grimace.  It looks like a murder took place.  Vampire sex is… well, very bite-heavy.  And it usually ends up looking like a deranged toddler got a hold of the red paint.

The sheets are stained crimson in places, marked with smears that look suspiciously like handprints.  Gojo isn’t spared from the fingerpainting monstrosity; red marks decorate his pale body like medals of valor, streaks of dried blood up and down everything that I can see.  There’s even some in his hair, I note.  They’re so messy.

I’m going to have to go back to the laundromat, I think to myself.  The vampire refuses to get black sheets, instead preferring a pretty dark blue.  And, of course, they’re dry-clean only because of the absurdly soft material that they’re made out of.  I’m just glad that the cleaners down the road are vampire-owned, or I’d look pretty suspicious bringing in bloodstained things weekly.

I drop his dry-cleaning off in his wardrobe and rub my eyes tiredly.  Gojo hasn’t stirred at my presence.  Given his incredible senses, he must be aware that I’m here.  And I know for a fact that he’s not asleep—man snores like a chainsaw when he’s actually under.  I approach him noisily, scuffing my shoes on the hardwood floor in a way that Geto is probably cringing about downstairs.

“Hey, Gojo,” I call.  The vampire grumbles out a complaint muffled by the pillow he’s face down on, and tries to wave me away.  “You need to eat breakfast.  And I have your itinerary for the night.”  A groan answers me.  “Don’t give me that, Gojo.”  He grumbles cutely.  “If you get up now, I’ll make you those pancakes with the strawberry syrup you like so much.”

Alas, bribery doesn’t seem to work.  Though he does tense up for a moment, like he’s seriously considering the offer.

I reach out to shake his shoulder, when a pale hand strikes out to grab my wrist.  And I’m tugged into bed with him.  The only thing I can think is, ‘Geto is going to kill me’. The white-haired vampire buries his face in my neck and sighs.  “You always smell so good.”  And he rubs his nose along the line of my jaw, and for a moment, all I can think about is those sharp, sharp teeth in his mouth.  There’s something truly terrifying about those pearly pureblood fangs of his being so close to my neck.  It only takes a bit of his saliva in a wound for me to start turning into a vampire.  One sleepy nibble, one accidental chomp, and I’m screwed.

Like a rabbit in a snare, I freeze in shocked terror.  My heart races in my chest, and I can feel my pulse pounding against his lips.  It takes everything inside of me to stop my fingers from searching for my hidden weapon, even though I know I’d never use it on him.  Gojo has always been kind to me, has always treated me with respect.  He wouldn’t hurt me, I don’t think.  But there’s still that instinct in the back of my mind that screams ‘scary predator’.  The thing that’d been trained into me for decades.

He must realize what he’s done, because I’m suddenly all the way across the loft, and he’s gone.  I blink at how fast he’d moved, still not quite used to the speed that pureblood vampires have.  And their strength, I think, hand curling around my wrist.  He’d been gentle, but I still feel his grip on it.  If he wanted to eat me, it’d be like child’s play for him.

I press a hand to my chest and try to calm down my racing heart.  I’m fine, I think.  He hasn’t hurt me yet, and he won’t intentionally.  He was Dad’s friend.  And he’s been nothing but kind to me.

At least Gojo is awake now, I look on the bright side.  And I strip the sheets off of the bed, careful not to touch the fabric too much with my bare hands.  Because ew.  And I spray the mattress down with a fabric disinfectant before popping a new set of blue bedspread on, tucking the corners in neatly.  When I’d taken this job, I hadn’t been aware of the housekeeping duties that’d come with it.  But I don’t mind them too much.

I march down the metal stairs, sheets in hand.  And I find a squeaky-clean Gojo perched on the stool next to his mate’s, hair still wet from his speedy shower.

“Yo,” he greets nonchalantly, like he hadn’t been trying to cuddle me only ten minutes before.

I drop the bloody cloth onto the ground, not caring about the absurd price tag that they come with.  And I make a note to convince Gojo to get some machine-washable sheets instead.  Less hassle for me, and less opportunity for the elderly vampire couple at the cleaners to make racist remarks at me.

“Time for breakfast?” I ask, walking to the sink to wash up my hands and all the way up my arms for good measure.  “Or do you want to start with your schedule?”

Gojo lets out a long-suffering groan.  “You know I can’t plan on an empty stomach.  Food first, boring stuff later,” he whines, squirming in place like a child.  And when I ask him what he wants, he just tells me to go wild.

At least the vampires I babysit aren’t picky eaters, I think.  I watch their reflection in the mirrored glass above the sink while I peel potatoes.  The two men are leaned in close to one another, foreheads together, as they whisper back and forth.  Gojo catches my eye in the glass and winks at me.  I snap my gaze away from them and try to concentrate on my task, so I don’t accidentally peel one of my fingers instead.

I cut the potatoes into small cubes, coat them in a generous amount of oil, and pop them into the oven.  Hopefully they'll have time to crisp up a bit before Gojo gets too impatient.  I peek up at his reflection again and find that he's watching me with intense eyes.  He must be starving, I think to myself.

It’s still hard to separate fact from fiction sometimes when it comes to their kind.  The have reflections in mirrors, don’t so much as blink at silver or iron, and Gojo loves garlic salt in practically every savory dish that I cook.  While they crave blood, they don’t need it to survive.  Instead, they eat like humans do, though less often.

Truthfully, nobody knows why vampires drink blood.  Not with certainty at least.

Dad had theorized that the lust for blood is connected with a desire for intimacy. After all, vampires most often crave blood from those closest to them.  Lovers in particular are extremely drawn to biting each other to drink.  But that doesn't explain general bloodlust among unmated vampires.  My mentor once told me that it's a predatory response triggered by whatever genetic nightmare had created vampirism in the first place.  To the Association, blood thirst has no meaning or significance beyond the damage it inflicts upon humanity.  They don't care to understand it, only to fear and resent it.

I have my own ideas as to why vampires crave blood.  Of course, it's mostly conjecture based on gut feelings.  And limited evidence provided by my heightened senses.  I've always been exceptionally sensitive to the flow of magical energy, far more than the other hunters, who seem to only be able to sense it in the most basic of ways.

Behind me, Gojo and Geto are two powerful presences buzzing at the edges of my senses.  The two vampires bleed it like the sun bleeds light.  Gojo's aura is significantly larger and more active.  The purer the vampire, the more condensed the magic in their veins is.  Similarly, the longer a hunter's lineage, the more pronounced their auras are.  Normal humans barely even register to my senses, but even they possess traces of magic as well.

Each person has a unique energy signature.  If I'm around somebody long enough, I can come to recognize them by their magical presence alone.  The two vampires behind me are no exception; I've come to know their presences quite well.  And I can almost always tell when Gojo or Geto have fed from each other recently because their auras become muddled.  They take on bits and pieces of each other's signatures.  There's some sort of transfer that occurs when feeding, like they're making their prey a part of them.  It's perceptible, but not provable.

My theory is that vampires don't crave the blood itself, but the magic within it to sustain themselves with.  Blood is simply the vessel for what they really want.  It clarifies why they yearn more for the blood of lovers: they want the bond that comes with sharing themselves.  They want that connection, that transfer of power and lifeforce.

...It explains the existence of blood bonds between purebloods and their thralls as well.  Magical bonds formed through the one-sided exchange of a pureblood's lifeblood.  Lifelong and unbreakable.  I wonder if I have a bit of Gojo's magical signature within me?  The thought is strange, but not an unwelcome one.

And, on that note, I shake myself free from my musing.  And I get back to work preparing dinner.  Bacon sizzles in a pan, and I the pieces out when they're every nearly burned to a crisp—Gojo's personal preference.  

I pull the tin of blood tablets down from the cupboard and drop a few into glasses of water. Absentmindedly, I watch as they fizz into a thin red mist that barely resemble actual blood in consistence or color.  And apparently, taste as well.  When prodded, Gojo had remarked that they taste like licking a copper wire more than anything else.  Which hardly sounds appetizing.  The tablets themselves are a mystery.  I have no clue what they're made of, only that their creation is a closely guarded secret of the Kamo Clan.  Interestingly, they have a faint magical signature as well.  I can always find where Gojo has misplaced the tin because I can sense them—their presence is as tiny and innocuous as a mouse's.

Regardless of their origin, the tablets help keep thirst at a manageable level.  At least, most of the time.  They seem to lose efficacy the stronger a vampire is.  Level-B and above can't be completely satisfied with the tablets alone.  But they can at least act as a supplement to temper the edge of the sharp hunger pangs.  Level-C and Level-D vampires can be completely satiated with a steady supply of them, though, which is remarkable.  With their invention, attacks on humans have been cut by nearly a third.

The tablets are one of the main reasons that humans and vampires can maintain a careful, tentative coexistence.

I pop steaming plates of food down in front of them, along with their glasses of blood substitute.  As soon as the dinnerware hits the table, it’s fair game for Gojo, who starts decimating his pile of food in a matter of seconds.  How he manages to breath while shoving that much into his mouth is anybody’s guess.  Geto, in comparison, eats daintily—of course, this is only after scrutinizing it for possible poisons.

“Shhhgmfd,” Gojo moans out around his breakfast.

“Satoru, please use your manners; your mother would be horrified,” Geto calmly reprimands him.

“But it’s so good, Suguru!  My little assistant makes the best food,” he says, pantomiming crying into his napkin.  Then he perks up, offering me his now-empty plate.  “More, please?”  I’m won over when he bats those pretty eyelashes of his.

I roll my eyes in fond exasperation at him and give him a refill.  As much trouble as he causes me… he’s grown on me the past few months.  Like a particularly clingy fungus.

Geto sips his fake blood like the priss he is and offers me a faux-pleasant grin.  “Yes, I’m certain she’s a particularly talented individual in whatever colony she spawned in.”  Geez.  What an asshole.

“Be nice, Suguru.”

Dinner finishes quickly, and I pack away my own portion into a to-go container before washing up.  Gojo nominates himself to dry dishes while I rinse them.  It’s surprisingly domestic, for a vampire that is practically royalty.  He stands way too close, in his typical fashion, and towels off whatever I hand to him.  There’s little space between us.  I can feel the heat of him through the layers of our clothing, and I peek up at him from the corner of my eye.  He’s fixated on his task, obsessively chasing the water from every nook and cranny of the frying pan.  Perfectionist.

He’s still so gorgeous.  It’s no wonder I’d had a childhood crush on him after seeing his pictures.  Then I freeze as the thought settles in.  Oh no, I think.  Hadn’t Dad said he was going to tell Gojo that I thought he was pretty?!  I feel my face flush red, and Gojo looks over in concern—oh, he must’ve heard my heartbeat pick up.

“Everything okay over there?” he asks, tilting his head curiously.

I look away with a squeak, dunking the glass in my hand underwater like I’m trying to torture it.  “Y-yep!  Everything is A-okay!”

Man, I hope Dad was just kidding about that!  I shyly sneak a glance back at him and sigh.  He’s your boss, dumbass, I berate myself internally.  And, not just that, but he’s a centuries old vampire who probably considers me nothing more than a child.  And he has a boyfriend, whom he’s very committed to.  As much as I don’t like Geto’s harshness, I respect their relationship.

Speaking of Geto, I can feel his icy gaze crawling its way down the length of my spine.  I shiver at the chill.

The white-haired Pureblood finishes his task and dries his hands off, before patting my head and ruffling my hair affectionately.  Just more evidence that he sees me as a kid, I note.  Or a pet.  But I lean into the gentle contact anyway, soaking up the touch eagerly.  Touch is his love language, something that I’d learned long ago.  He’s always brushing against me, or patting me, or hugging me.  He’s the same with Geto, though a little more M-rated.

The attempt to cuddle me earlier still fresh in my mind, I ease away from him.  Geto is still watching us, and I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.

I remove his hand and pat it, smirking up at him.  “Ready to go over your schedule?”

That only gets a groan in response.

---

(Six Months Cont.)

Historically, vampires have never been kind to humanity.  They'd been the creatures we'd feared as cavemen huddled around campfires to keep the monsters at bay.  Hunting us from the shadows and taking us away from our loved ones.  They’d drain us dry and leave our desiccated husks to be discovered in alleyways and under bridges. Or they’d turn us into mindless drones and use us to fight in their armies.

It'd been like this for thousands and thousands of years.

Until Gojo Satoru had singlehandedly ended the slaughter over a century ago.  According to the stories, anyway.  The happy-go-lucky man that I’m familiar with had pressed his claws into vampire society and rent it apart, leaving few enemies living in his wake.  It’s hard to picture him in the heat of battle, with how much of a goofball he is, but I occasionally catch a glimpse of something dark lurking beneath the cheery façade.

I’m a human.  Working for a vampire.  And he’d just brought me into a Senate meeting with other vampires who hate humans.  Fuck.  I sigh and press my superheated forehead against the door in front of me.  At least Gojo has a giant soft spot for us squishy little humans, I think hopefully.  That should be enough to prevent retaliation.  Should.

Blindly, I punch a code into the keypad next to me and watch as the spiral shelving releases an energy drink.  It drops into the bin below with a sharp thud.  And I peel my sticky forehead away from the vending machine’s glass casing, leaving a nasty oil imprint behind.  Oops.  There’s a moment when I feel bad for the poor underpaid worker who’ll have to clean it—or maybe some unlucky thrall.  But it’s quickly swept under the current of my exhaustion.

I bend over to retrieve my sweet, sweet caffeine.  And when I pop the tab, there’s a presence suddenly behind me.  It’s a testament to how comfortable I’ve gotten around Gojo when I don’t so much as twitch when I sense his vampiric aura closing in.  I can feel his breath against the top of my head, he's so close.  It does get a reaction, but it’s hardly fear.

“Those things are bad for you, you know,” Gojo lectures me, looming like some creep over my shoulder.  “They’ll make you taste terrible, too.”

Good thing I’m not trying to be appetizing, then.  I make it a point to make direct eye contact when I take a swig.  And then I lick my lips, smacking them together in a show, even though the drink tastes like battery acid.  Ah, the flavor of spite.

The vampire frowns and turns to his mate.  “Suguru,” he whines, “my human is going to make herself sick.”

Geto doesn’t so much as look up from his laptop.  “Good.  Maybe she’ll speed up her death and we can both be free of her.”

“That’s not very nice.”

The black-haired Noble stares blankly at us.  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Invading my personal space further, the overly-tall vampire wraps his arms around me.  He nuzzles his sharp chin into the meat of my shoulder in a way that he probably means to be affectionate.  But I’m stewing in my outfit and tired.  And his touch sets off alarm bells in my mind.  Because Geto is only a few steps away, and his boyfriend is hanging all over me in a matter that he will absolutely misread.  Frowning, I listen the flashing ‘danger, danger’ warning inside of my mind and push the man away by his forehead.

He lets me, because there’s certainly no way he’d be moved with my human strength alone.

When I turn to face him, he’s pouting childishly, plump bottom lip poking out.  Ugh.  How old is he supposed to be, again?  And why is he so damn cute?!

I toss back the rest of my drink and lob it into a nearby trash can.

“Now you smell all sour,” Gojo grumbles, slinking away to cuddle up to his immovable mate.  Geto releases a long-suffering sigh as the white-haired Pureblood burrows himself into the other man’s side.

“I’m not here to smell tasty, Gojo; I’m here to act as your assistant.”  I pointedly ignore him when he mutters something petulant under his breath.  “Did either one of you want to review the notes I took from the meeting?”

Geto snorts.  “Like some monkey’s notes would contain anything important,” he mutters under his breath.  “It’s the same stalemate we’ve had for the last few centuries: the Gojo Clan wants peace with humans, The Zen’in want total enslavement, the Kamo are too cowardly to pick a side so they sit on the fence, and the lesser clans are so disorganized that it isn’t even worth asking them.  One little meeting won’t change that,” he snaps, rubbing his forehead. “It’s the same damn headache, year after year.”

Gojo peers down at Geto’s computer and snorts.  “If my precious assistant’s notes are so useless, why do you have your device synced with hers?” he points out, tone devious.  “Looking for anything she might’ve missed?  Or are you willing to admit she’s good at her job?”

Geto lets out a hiss, face turning the color of blood.  Vampires still blush like schoolgirls and still hold petty grudges.  Turns out that being a ‘higher lifeform’ doesn’t really account for much, huh?  I load everything into my messenger bag and pull it over my shoulder.  Another long night spent doing busy work, and another night that I reinforce my nocturnal habits.  I’m probably never going to be able to stay awake during the day again, not with how many all-nighters I pull.  Then again, my sleeping habits have been royally fucked up since hunter training.

Circadian rhythms be damned.

“I’m going to bounce, Gojo.  Call me if you guys need anything.”  I offer him a wave, secretly happy when his face lights up in a smile.

“See you tomorrow night!” Gojo calls out, waving enthusiastically, reminiscent of an excitable toddler.

The automatic doors close, cutting me off from the two predators.  And I let out a sigh, slouching against the mirrored interior of the elevator.  My temples throb.  Wearily, I press my index finger against my head and rub to try to find relief.  But this is a headache that’s been brewing for a while.  And, despite his best intentions, a certain pureblood has done nothing whatsoever to alleviate my budding stress.

Not when he's so damn cavalier about all of this.

I'm exhausted.

But, then again, I've spent the last few days and nights staying up to prepare for this meeting.  When was the last time I got any sleep?  I tilt my head back, closing my eyes against the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent lights.

Of course he’ll see me tomorrow, I think.

I’ll see Gojo every day, time and again, until it’s time for me to meet my maker.  As long as he'll have me.  Because that’s part of our deal.  The vampire owns me until the end of my natural life; that’s what our bond entails—signed in our blood and more unbreakable than any promise known to humanity.

And honestly?  I don’t mind it.  Not a bit, even with everything that's going on.  Even with all the stress.

I don't bother to hide the smile that forms on my lips.

---

(Five Months)

It’s after a long night of reviewing the boring history of the Zen’in Clan that I inadvertently fall asleep on Gojo and Geto’s far-too-comfortable couch.  Still not quite used to the change in my sleep schedule, I crash.  And I crash hard.  I must be asleep for quite some time, because I barely even wake up when a set of strong arms picks me up, one under my knees and the other under my shoulders.  My head flops bonelessly onto the shoulder of whoever’s carrying me, and I sigh in contentment when Gojo’s cologne blankets my senses.

He carries me up the spiral staircase, each step rocking me in his arms like a baby in a bassinet.  He places me under the sheets, tucking me in with great care.

“So trusting to fall asleep in the company of monsters,” Gojo remarks gently, brushing my hair away from my face.  I grumble and lean into his touch, eyelids shifting but never opening.  Even as far under as I am, I seek out his affections.  “You know I’d never hurt you, don’t you?”

The bed dips as he leans over me, and I think he means to press a goodnight kiss to my forehead, like one would do to a child.  But instead, he nuzzles into the hollow of my throat, his fine nose tracing along the pulsing of my blood there.  And he seemingly breathes me in, lips pressed against my skin.  Those lips open, slowly, and a low whining sound comes from his chest.

There’s the hungry swipe of a tongue against my jugular vein, probing, testing.  Then another.  In my half-asleep state, I don’t even think about fearing the touch.  Not when I trust Gojo as much as I do.  Even the points of his fangs barely register.  He pants against my throat, seemingly torn with indecision.  Each hot puff against me lulls me back under.  Warm.  Safe.  Even under his teeth.  He won’t hurt me, my sleepy brain coos, agreeing with his earlier statement.  I tilt my head instinctively, opening up for him.  And those needle-sharp canines press ever so slightly harder before Gojo jerks away abruptly.

And I’m left alone in the loft.

Blearily, I open my eyes and reach out into the darkness.  W-what had just happened?  All I can think about it how tired I am, how much I want to sleep.  But noise downstairs keeps me awake against my will.  Stupid enhanced hearing, I curse silently, glaring sleepily at the wall.

There’s the sound of glassware clinking together, and the sound of paper ripping.  Fizzing.  Somebody chugging violently.  Then it repeats a few more times.

“You didn’t put that monkey in our bed, did you?”  Geto snarks out, then I hear him hiss.  “Satoru, your eyes…

“Don’t, Suguru,” Gojo pants out, voice tense.  “Don’t let me go back upstairs.  If I do… I’ll do something terrible.  I can’t—"

“How many tablets have you had?”

“Not enough.  It won’t go away!”

“You idiot!  Drink.  Now!” Geto commands.

I hear rustling, followed by a soft sigh and frantic gulping in the quiet of the apartment.  Their auras blend together.  Gojo must’ve bit him, I think distantly.  There’s another moan that sounds less like pain and more like pleasure.  Then more rustling.  A hungry growl.

“Satoru… you were thinking about it, weren’t you?  Biting her?  Turning her?” Geto asks.

There’s an answering grunt, followed by more deep swallows.  Then Gojo must pull away, because I hear him panting like he’s just run a mile in a minute.  “It’d be so easy.  One bite, then I’d be able to keep her with me for a little while longer,” he confesses like it’s a dirty secret.  “But I won’t.  I can’t do that.  Not to her.”

“Then why get attached at all?”

“Because she’s special.”

“I’ll never understand what you see in these creatures, Satoru,” Geto grouses with frustration.  “She’ll die in a few years, like all her kind does, and all the time you spent on her will be wasted.”

Gojo responds, voice soft, “I made a promise to look after her, Suguru.”

There’s a moment of silence, then a sigh.  “This goes beyond a simple promise, and you know it.  How long are you going to pine after her and demean yourself?”

“Until I have to let her go,” Gojo says.  “Just let me have this.  Like you said before: she’s human; it won’t be for long.”

“You’ve always cared too much.”  Another moment of silence.  Then Geto's voice gentles into a tone I've never heard from him before.  “This isn’t going to break you, is it?”

There’s a humorless laugh, then the sound rustling, like the two are shifting closer together.  “I’m well aware that I’ll outlive everything I love, Suguru… I’ll be fine.”  But it sounds like he’s in agony.  “This is the curse I was born with, as a pureblood.  It’s the future I’ve come to expect.”

I clench my eyes shut before the tears can start.  And when I wake up in the morning, the memory fades into the fuzziness of a half-remembered dream.  I’m left with an ache in my heart when I lazily wave goodbye to Gojo the next morning, but I don’t know why.

---

(Six Months Cont.)

I rattle the canister in my hand, looking at the men in front of me with something close to disapproval.  “How many blood tablets have you guys had?  You know they’re only for when you get thirsty, right?  You’re not supposed to pop them like hard candy.”

Gojo laughs and waves me off, saying, “Maybe my cute little assistant forgot to get them last time she went to the market?”

“Don’t try to gaslight me, Gojo.  I know I picked them up; the vampire saleslady glared at me the entire time I was in her shop!”  I pinch the bridge of my nose.  “And now I have to go back.  Ugh.  Whatever.  I’ll just add that to the list of things to buy.”

Geto seems somehow even angrier than usual today, pouting at the kitchen island with an intensity that would ward even the strongest of people away.  Not Gojo, though, who clings to his boyfriend like a koala, rubbing his cheek against the darker-haired vampire’s lovingly.  How the hell Gojo stands his mate's moods, I’ll never know.  The pureblood is acting more unusual than—well, usual—today. For one, he’s wearing those round sunglasses of his inside, even though the curtains are drawn and the sun is due to set soon.  For another, he’s been less… touchy with me than normal.

Which is both a relief and a disappointment, given my ill-advised crush on him.

I turn around and add ‘blood tablets’ to the shopping list.  And when I turn back, Gojo is hovering over my shoulder, close enough that our noses almost touch.  I yelp, and flinch away, all while the white-haired man snickers at my expense. Jerk!  I place a hand over my racing heart to get it to still.  And when I look up, Gojo is gone again.  He’s right back to clinging to Geto.  What a weirdo.

“You probably shouldn’t go outside today,” the pureblood says seriously.

“Why not?”

To my surprise, it’s Geto who answers.  “We took you to a Senate meeting last night, and probably ruffled a few feathers.  It might not be wise to be out by yourself until the offense has died down.  Not that I would care if you died, or anything,” he adds childishly.

“Wow.  Thanks.”  I roll my eyes at his hostility.  “Leech.”

“Monkey,” he snaps.

I turn to Gojo.  “So, you took me to a vampire club meeting and now the vampires are mad at me because we crashed it—did I catch all that?”

He nods enthusiastically, giving me a big old thumbs up.  “Got it in one!”

“Then why take me in the first place?” I ask, exasperated.

“Because having a human in his employ will garner favor with the pro-human vampire factions.  Not to mention that it looks good to the Hunter’s Association,” the title of the human guild is spit out with such hatred that it almost causes me to reel back.  “It was a political move, though not a smart one,” Geto finishes, casting an accusatory look at his mate.

“It was a good decision!  We need those swing votes if we intend to keep the peace, especially with the Zen’in Clan on the warpath.  The last thing we need is to reignite the war!”

I sigh, all too used to this.  “Well, that doesn’t detract from the fact that we need blood tablets and the ingredients to make tonight’s dinner. Unless you want me to make porridge?”

Both men grimace.

Yeah… I thought not.

Gojo perks up.  “Suguru can go with you and protect you!”  He cups his mate’s cheeks in his hands so hard that it comically purses the other’s lips, making him look like a fish.  “My assistant needs a bodyguard, and there’s nobody else I trust more than you!”  I grimace at the idea, immediately wanting to veto it.  I don't need a bodyguard.  Really.  “This can be a bonding exercise!”

That last thing I expect is for Geto to agree, but he pins me with his icy black stare and reluctantly nods.  My stomach sinks.  Gojo I trust.  But Geto rubs me the wrong way.

“Why can’t you do it, Gojo?”  He almost always accompanies me on shopping trips.

The vampire straightens up, looking uncharacteristically serious.  “Well, I have a… a meeting that I have to go to.”

My eyebrow arches in suspicion, and I scowl.  It’s a feeble excuse, because I’m the one that makes his calendar.  There are definitely no meetings scheduled for today.  Realizing that he won’t give me a straight answer, I sigh with resignation.  And I give in.  Who knows?  Maybe this can be the moment that I finally melt Geto’s icy shell and become his friend?!

The man in question shoots me a glare like he’s sensing my thoughts, and I immediately rescind my hopeful statement.

Gojo makes a show of slapping an unreasonable amount of sunscreen on his mate’s skin, remarking that he has to ‘stay safe in the sunlight’, despite the fac that it’ll be dark in less than an hour.  And when he gives Geto little butterfly kisses with his nose, he has some of the white lotion on his face when he pulls away.  Which is so adorable that it makes my heart hurt.

And then it’s my turn for the white-haired Pureblood to meticulously cover my exposed skin as well.  He coos at me about how I’m his favorite assistant, so he doesn’t want anything to happen to my skin.  Never mind that I’m his only assistant.  Still, it’s nice to be fussed over.  And then he does the same thing to me that he’d done to his boyfriend, leaning in to rub the tip of his nose against mine.  I try to reel back, aware that said boyfriend is currently glaring at us with the intensity of a thousand suns.  But that doesn’t dissuade Gojo, who can’t help but to touch.

His long fingers thread through my hair, mussing the strands, and I resist the urge to sigh at the affectionate touch.  There’s a moment, however brief, when the long digits tangle near the nape of my neck and give a light tug.  And I can’t help but think that he’s trying to tilt my head so he can kiss me.  But before I can think about it any further, he’s vanished into thin air, leaving Geto and I alone.  My heart refuses to calm down.

The aristocrat vampire is borderline furious, and snarls out, “let’s just go.”

The whole thing makes me wonder why Gojo has to have an assistant, why he can’t just teleport to whatever stores he wants and do his own shopping.  Then again, I’ve long become acquainted with the idea that I’ll probably never truly understand him.

Welcome company Geto Suguru is not.  In fact, he toes the line between faux polite and intentionally nasty with increasing frequency.  Most of the time, he’s silently disapproving of my presence in Gojo’s life, sending me sharp glares or referring to me as ‘monkey’.  But there are times that he’s genuinely malicious, like he’s still deciding whether or not he wants to kill me and be rid of me once and for all.  And the only thing stopping him from doing so is his mate’s inexplicable fondness for me.

So when Gojo insisted that we go out together as a ‘bonding exercise’, I started seriously questioning if the Pureblood has all of his mental facilities intact.  Of course, it’s nigh impossible to tell the white-haired man ‘no’, least of all because his pout could make me move mountains.  So, I end up with my own lingering storm cloud while I shop for whatever toiletries the men need in the apartment.  Because being Gojo’s assistant sometimes also entails being his mother.

As much as I care about him, I’m not sure I’m the most qualified to take care of an overgrown toddler.  Especially not one with superstrength and speed.

The market downtown is always open late, given that they also cater to vampires.  But I want to finish up my fast as quickly as possible, lest my escort spontaneously combust.  So, I have to speed through the shopping list.  It’s not the first time I’ve had to scramble for dinner.  But it is the first time that I’ve had to do so with an audience.  Geto buzzes around angrily like a wasp, and I can’t help but to feel more than a little stressed out.  My ‘bodyguard’ might be more likely to hurt me than anybody else, I think.

I wonder if Gojo had though that through?

Deep in thought, I turn over a fresh pear, looking for blemishes.  The marketplace is still a bit busy.  Or, at the very least, busier than I'd originally expected it to be.  Probably a bunch of people who just got off work, dinner shopping like I am.  At the edges of my senses, I feel the magical auras of a few vampires in the crowd, too.  They're not far from where Geto and I are, and at least one of them is high level.

I have to delicately remind myself that not every vampire is out to cause trouble.  Vampires have to do their shopping as well, after all.  But it's rare for them to be out with the sun still up.  And there are quite a few of them.  At least five.  My hunter instincts are screaming at me to keep tabs on them.

“I don’t understand your game, human,” Geto remarks, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose to block the muted sunlight.  It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since we left, barring his hissed out ‘watch where you’re going’ when I’d almost bumped into him.

Game?  I blink in confusion, still holding the pear in my hand.  “What do you mean?  I’m fruit shopping.”

“Why do you insist on lingering in our lives?”  Geto shakes his head in frustration, black bangs waving wildly with the motion.  “Monkeys like you always have an end goal when they deal with our kind.  Is it money you’re after?  Is it for Satoru to change you?  Whatever your intent is, I won’t let you hurt him.”

Oh.

Oh.

Gojo hasn’t told him about our deal.  And Geto is worried that I’m going to take advantage of his mate.  That’s actually pretty freaking cute!  Or it would be, if Geto wasn’t capable of killing me with a flick of his fingers.  Well... trying to, at least.

I let out a nervous laugh and shake my head.  “Listen, if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be.  Gojo already fulfilled his end of the deal, okay?  So, need to worry about me taking advantage of him.  Besides, I doubt I could, you know?  I’m not strong enough to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

He glowers at me, not reassured in the slightest.  “You’re stupid, aren’t you?”

Well, that’s offensive!  “Excuse me?”

“You have no idea just how much power you wield over him.  And it’s infuriating.”

I blink at him, confused.  Then get pulled away from the conversation with him when the fruit merchant asks if I’m going to buy the pear in my hand.  I hadn’t even realized I still had it.  How embarrassing!  I apologize, tossing money in her direction, and hurry away before she can get mad.  Geto stalks behind me, looking more and more peeved by the second.

Geto eventually steers us into an alleyway, away from the people that could possibly witness my imminent murder.  His hand comes up to grip my shoulder, keeping me in place.  His grip is like steel.  My hand twitches to the gun buried under the layer of my jacket, but I stay it.  I won’t shoot him, no matter how much he’s pissing me off.

“Do you know what can sate a vampire’s appetite?” he questions voice sharp.

I answer quickly.  “The blood of their precious person.”

“And what happens when their most precious person changes or when the vampire loves two people at once?”

Fed up with the inquisition, I throw up my arms in frustration.  “I have no clue!  They don’t get satisfied?”

Geto nods darkly, crowding me into the brickwork wall of the alley.  “Exactly; they don’t get satisfied when they feed.  The blood tablets only delay the hunger, but don’t chase it away.  And biting only one of their lovers won’t be enough to quell it; they have to have both.  Both,” he repeats, like that's the key to everything.

"What if they don't have both?  What happens?"   Vampires can starve to death.  But only if they don't have regular food.  Blood isn't necessary to survive for them, according to everything I was taught as a hunter.

His dark brows draw together until a line bisects his forehead.  “Their bloodlust only continues to grow, never being satiated properly.  They go into a state of pseudo-starvation, and it is agonizing.  They can try to put it off by downing blood tablets or gorging elsewhere, but nothing works to stop the pain.  Eventually, it drives them insane.  And I won't watch that happen to Satoru.  Do you understand me?"

Dread fills my stomach when I realize what he’s trying to say.  “Gojo...?  He's going through this?"  Geto’s pained look is the only confirmation I need.  “Is he refusing to feed from them because you’re together, or—”

The dark-haired vampire laughs, an ugly and strained thing.  “I don’t care about that.  Our kind live too long to be worried about petty things like monogamy.  I’d be happy if he’d bite them, because then he’d be putting himself first, for once.  But the idiot won’t.  And he’s suffering.  He cries out at night because his body won't stop shaking, he can't retract his fangs, his eyes constantly glow with need.”

Right.  I remember seeing the red swirling in them again and again, tainting their beautiful blue.

“Why not drink, then?!  If it’s that painful, then he should!  Hurting himself isn’t the answer!”

Geto laugh is almost manic as he covers his eyes with his hand.  “I’ve tried to tell him that, but we won’t listen.”  He fixes me with a weary look.  “Because there are consequences to drinking from this person.  Irreversible consequences.”

Irreversible?  So, then it's a human.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh!

I feel something like a gut punch as I connect the dots.  The affectionate touches, the clinginess, the weird behavior.  It all makes sense.  Even though it shouldn't.

“B-but he doesn’t think of me like that, right?  I mean, he’s this ancient, powerful, beautiful creature—and I’m just a human.”  I look down at my hands in disbelief, and notice that my vision is starting to blur.  “Surely, he likes me as a pet, right?  That’s all!  That’s all it can be!”

"You did this to him."  It's not an accusation.  Merely a resigned statement.  A statement that rings true, even though I want nothing more than to doubt it.

This is my fault?  I shake at the revelation.  Because the very last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt Gojo.  "Is there anything I can do for him?"

Geto's eyes sharpen, and his fingers come up to trace the vein in my neck, where my lifeblood races in time with my frantic heartbeat.  "You can go back to the apartment, bare your pretty throat to him, and let him drink you until he's satisfied.  Give him everything he wants.  Give and give until you have nothing left.  That's your only option."

I stare at him, gob smacked.  "I'd turn, you idiot!  He'd be furious at both of us!"

"I don't care," Geto snarls out.  "If that's what helps him, then I'd suffer through his anger for centuries.  Anything is better than him being in pain.  Anything."

"You'd have to deal with me for centuries, too.  Don't forget that.  If he turns me, I'll be a part of your lives a lot longer than if I were human.  Could you stomach that, Geto?"  I shove him.  "Could you deal with sharing him with me until I die?"  I push him again, and there's surprise that flickers in his eyes when I manage to move him.  I'm stronger than he thinks.  "Or are you hoping that I fall to Level-E and you don't have to worry about me anymore?!"

Level-E.  The very last, very lowest tier of vampire.  The fate that befalls one in four poor souls bitten by pureblood.  Ranked even below humans.  Feral, mindless beasts that were driven mad from the abrupt change from human to vampire.  Their thirst is unquenchable, leading to them becoming gluttons that tear swathes through human settlements in search of enough blood to satisfy.  But nothing will ever satisfy them.  There is no cure; there is no treatment.  The only thing that stops a Level-E vampire from mauling and killing indiscriminately is a swift beheading.  Falling to Level-E is an immediate death sentence.

Geto reels back at the accusation and I take that as an affirmation.

There's the truth.  Out in the open for both of us to see.

"That's it, right?" I ask softly.  "If I Turn and don't make it, then you can finally wash your hands clean of me.  After all, so many bitten by a Pureblood become Level-E vampires.  It wouldn't be a surprise if I did as well.  Then you could dispose of me the legal way, no harm done.  I'd be out of your lives forever."

The black-haired vampire's jaw clicks shut with a sharp sound, his fangs scraping against each other.  There's an unspeakable horror in his gaze along with the shock.  "Is that what you really think of me?" he muses.  "Is that the kind of person I seem like to you?"

"You've never made it any secret that you hate me, Geto.  Why would you care if something like that happened to me?"

"Surprisingly, I find that I don't hate you," he mutters.  "Not anymore."

The noble vampire in front of me sags like he’s weighed down by a ton strapped to each of his shoulders.  And, for the first time, I notice the bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept for a long time.  Geto has always been the same sort of handsome that Gojo is: inhumanly perfect, without a speck of discoloration or wrinkles.  But I can see how the stress of his mate’s unyielding hunger has worn away at him.

 He looks... defeated.

“When Satoru came home, chattering nonstop about a human he'd met—how brave and strong she was—I knew that it was only a matter of time.  He was smitten with you, from the very first moment he met you.  You, this lowly and insignificant little human, managed to catch the eyes of the strongest vampire in existence.  I thought it was a joke at first.  I thought that maybe he'd forget about you, if he left you alone long enough.  Satoru has never had the best attention span; he often gets wrapped up in interests, only to drop them at a moment's notice.

"I thought you were a momentary distraction."  Geto snorts in a derisive way.  "I was wrong."

I watch as the proud noble vampire runs a shaky hand through his bangs, mussing up the inky strands and leaving him looking more disheveled than I've ever seen him.

"Satoru pined for you, incessantly wondered how you were and if you were safe.  He was worried about you, he claimed.  He kept fretting and fretting and fretting.  It was maddening.  You were just some stupid human, and you were all he could think about.  Years of him yearning and wanting, and I'd had enough.  So, I suggested that he hire you on, keep you around as his assistant.  Anything to keep you at his side where he could have you close."

I'm floored by the idea that Geto was the one to suggest hiring me.  But it explains the time gap between meeting Gojo and becoming his glorified secretary.  Gojo had... he'd been interested in me at the very beginning?  The thought makes my heart soar.  He'd cared about me.  He thought I was strong, brave.  Gojo's approval is everything in that moment.  But a question still remains.

"If it was your idea to hire me in the first place, then why be so awful to me, Geto?"

The noble runs his shaking hand through his bangs, mussing up the inky strands in a way that leaves him looking disheveled... vulnerable.  "I knew that it was only a matter of time before Satoru's bloodlust began in earnest.  It was inevitable that he'd reach a point where he wanted to drink.  I wanted to drive you away before it was too late.  I'd hoped that if I was mean enough, you’d cut and run.

"Humans are always so fickle, and I expected you to be no different.  I thought that you’d leave us without a second thought, and we could go back to how things were.  Satoru would lose interest, and you'd fade away.  But I underestimated how much you could withstand,” Geto confesses, then his lips quirk up into a sad smile. “You held on so tightly; I can see why he was enamored with you from the beginning; you truly are a strong creature.  Better than most of your kind."

So, then all of his bullying had been on purpose to protect Gojo.  Does that justify it all?  No. Hell no!

I tilt my chin up, looking down my nose at him.  "This doesn't change the fact that you were terrible to me for months.  Honestly, fuck you, Geto."

He snorts humorlessly.  "I deserve that and more, I'm sure.  But it doesn't change the fact that you stayed, and now Satoru's thirst is out of control.  There are only two outcomes to this: you leave for good and the distance between you two eases his desire for blood, or you let him drink.  Which will you choose?"

Choose one of those two options?  Both are honestly bad.  Do I leave Gojo, breaking my word and severing a relationship that I've come to hold so very dear?  Or do I give up my humanity, break his trust, go against his will, and force him to drink to ease his suffering?  I don't want to choose.  Not when these are the two routes that I'm left with.

"Do I have to choose?  Is there another way?"  I ask the noble vampire in front of me.

"I could kill you and be done with it," he jokes in poor taste.  And when I tense up, unamused, he sighs.

"I've already considered everything else.  There are no other options to take.  The blood tablets and drinking from me will only keep him sane for so long.  It's a matter of 'when' not 'if' he snaps.  He will bite you.  It's just whether or not he'll be feral when he does it."  Geto sighs and stares up at the twilight sky.  "He'd never forgive himself if he tore out your throat and killed you; it might very well destroy him."

"And I can't leave temporarily and come back?"  I could wait for decades with my lifespan.  That might be long enough for the thirst to abate.

"He'd pine for you when you left, waiting for you to come back, never being able to move on.  And when you return?  The thirst would eventually as well, and we'd find ourselves in a never-ending loop.  It'd be crueler than anything else you could possibly do to him."

I think of Mom, then.  I think of how she'd wait by the front room windows for Dad to return from his hunts.  I remember the endless worry as she'd wring her hands and pace for a man who might never return.  He'd died a million deaths in her mind.  When I'd left, it'd been a clean cut.  A single death.  Would leaving Gojo for good do the same thing?  Leaving Mom and my sister had been hard.  Would leaving Gojo be the same?  I don't know that I could bring myself to leave a precious person behind a second time.  It might be too much.

I stare down at the unyielding cobblestone beneath my feet, trying in vain to decide what I want to do.

“This is why you humans frustrate me so much,” Geto says, exhausted and lacking any ire.  I look up at him and catch his weary head shake.  “You blissfully flit through life, never burdening yourselves with the pain of others.  You dodge hard choices and pass the responsibility off onto others.”  Geto looks at me with something like pity, then.  “I guess it’s in your nature, though; your lives are too short for anything other than selfishness, aren’t they?”

Selfishness?  Am I selfish because I don't want to leave?

And the bigger question: would I let Gojo bite me to satisfy his thirst, even though it’d turn me into a vampire?  I… I don’t know that I would, and that makes me sick.  Because I don’t want to be a vampire.  I don't want to drink blood to keep my sanity.  I don't want to avoid the sunlight because it's too bright, or stay locked up indoors because people are too overwhelming for my senses.  I don’t want to outlive my mom and sister for centuries, watching all of my family die of old age while I stay the same.

But then I realize that Gojo will suffer just like that—he’ll outlive me and even Geto.  Purebloods don’t age, not after thousands and thousands of years.  Gojo will be alone, and something about that thought makes my insides twist painfully.  Because I want him to be happy, always.  I want him to be surrounded by people he loves.

But I’m not sure that I’m ready to cross the line, to become one of those people.  Is giving up my humanity for him something that I’d be willing to do?  It’s a permanent choice for a man that I’ve only truly known for six months.  And I’m scared that he’ll eventually realize that he’s out of my league and toss me aside.  I’d be a newly-born vampire, left all on my own, possibly for hundreds of years.  I could die alone.

Or my worst fear: I'll become level-E and Gojo himself will have to put me down.

I’m terrified of that outcome.

"You won't force me to give him my blood or make me leave?" I ask skeptically.

Geto seems to see the conflict in my eyes.  The vampire, in an uncharacteristic show of kindness, cups my cheek and runs a gentle thumb over the delicate bone there.  “You deserve the right to choose.  I won't take that from you.  But you have to pick one."

I stare at him with wide eyes, taking in his solemn features.  This is the first time I’ve seen him anything other than angry or indifferent to me.  “If you were in my shoes, what would you choose?,” I whisper.

"I'd choose him.  Always."  Geto's answer is immediate.  He's resolute, honest.  Because he loves Gojo more than anything in this world.  He loves him enough to welcome a human into their home, as an unwanted pest.  And now, he'd possibly welcome one into their relationship.

I realize with a bit of horror that I'd be stepping into an established, long-term relationship.  There's no telling how long Gojo and Geto have been together, but it's obvious that they're mad for each other.  What would our dynamic look like if I slipped in to fill the cracks between them?  Would I widen any divides that exist, unseen and tiny?  Or would I become a seamless part of the dynamic, existing with them like I was always meant to fit?  I guess it all depends on Geto, I think to myself.  I can get along with him for Gojo, but can he get along with me?

"You said that you don't hate me anymore, Geto.  But can you live with me for centuries?  I won't go where I'm not wanted, and I won't tolerate any shitty behavior in the future.  Do you understand me, Geto?"    I prod at his chest with my finger, and manage to wrangle a choked chuckle from him.  "Can you treat me with respect?  Can you maybe even learn to care about me someday?  Whether as a lover or a friend doesn't matter."

He hesitates to answer.  And there’s some internal conversation happening behind his coal-black eyes that I can’t figure out.  It takes a few moments of thought before he seemingly comes to a conclusion.  But before he can answer, a shout comes from overhead

“Well, if it isn’t Gojo’s tasty-smelling human pet!  And his boyfriend, too!  What a treat!”

The baby hairs on the back of my neck rise, and goosebumps prickle along my arms.  The conversation with Geto had distracted me from the vampiric auras that I'd felt earlier.  My hunter instincts had been correct, singling them out as possible threats.  Not focusing on them had been a mistake.

Because now we're surrounded.

And when we both look up, there are six very angry vampires staring down at us.  Geto pushes me behind him in a flash too fast for normal human eyes to see.  The dark-haired noble snarls out at the other predators, but they laugh at his little display.  Shocked, I stare up at his broad back, realizing for the first time how strong his shoulders are.  He’s protecting me?  I never thought he would, honestly.

But he’s putting himself between me and the danger.

“By law, we can’t harm a pureblood like Gojo,” the only female coos with sickly sweet glee, “but there isn’t anything to stop us from killing off his cute little mates, is there?”

Geto’s body tenses, and I can see his fangs lengthening from over his shoulder.  So, it’s a fight, then.  Fine.