Original Story

[piplover]

Hello, all.
This is an original story that I have been working on for quite some time. 3 years actually, lol. I'm only posting the first half here, as its 50 pages so far. Depending on the feedback I get, I will post the other half tomorrow. So, let me know what you think. And be warned, for there is reference to gay sex in the later half.
On to the story.


The throbbing pulse of the music pounded in his ears, his body moving to the rhythm with a grace and ease that only the freedom of true abandonment could offer. The dim lights of the club combined with the multicolored strobes provided an audience of shadows that followed his every move.
Kyle Jacobson, twenty-two and aspiring linguist, was letting loose with some friends on the dance floor of the Jubilee, a night club known for its eclectic clientele and its nearly endless supply of music. All ranges of the social ladder enjoyed the autonomy the club offered, as was evidenced by the disparate attire. Some danced or reclined in fashionably logo-ed outfits, while others enjoyed the night in retro Goodwill finds that had cost less than half a tank of gas and were older than the wearers.
Kyle, for all his family’s wealth, chose the route of his friends and tended to spend his money on outfits his father would have enjoyed at his age. At the moment he was bedecked in a lime green leisure suit with pink undershirt and blue tinted sunglasses that did nothing to hide his angular features and large, almond shaped green eyes. His dishwater hair was neither long nore short, but styled into varying lengths, the longest of which touched the bottom of his ears. Artfully styled to look as though it weren’t, he danced to the current song as though he were made of liquid, flowing around the people nearest him and yet never leaving his friends’ sight. Being only of moderate height, this in itself was testament to a personality that refused to be lost amongst a crowd.
As for Kyle’s friends, the two young men could have been twins. Despite a lack of common blood., the two were as similar in appearance as though they had come from the same womb. Blond headed and sun darkened skin glinted with sweat as the heat from over two hundred celebrants formed an invisible blanket over the dancers. Sam, his hair cut halfhazardly by a drunken friend, moved to the sounds in what some would politely call spasms, fueled by the pot he had smoked a few moments ago. His blue pants glittered and shimmered in odd contrast to his orange tie dyed shirt, both a hidden treasure of the local thrift store. To his right, Eric moved with the grace that was ingrained after twelve years of professional dance training. Hair cut stylishly short in the front and long in the back, his blue eyes twinkled with merriment . Sporting gold nylon pants and a purple see through shirt, the three clashed horribly, adding to their enjoyment in the way only purposefully hideous clothing could.
The music slowly faded, replaced by a slower piece that allowed the three escape to the bar for a moment. Sam, laughing at something only he knew about, was supported by Eric to a stool where the bartender eyed him knowingly.
“No more after this, Sam,” he said congenially, handing the other a glass of Coors.
“Aaahhh,” he began to protest.
Kyle put his arm companionably around his shoulders to stifle him. “That’s okay, Sam, I have to leave soon, anyway. I have to be to work tomorrow by eleven, God forbid.”
“Ah, poor baby,” Eric snickered, his eyes slightly bloodshot and puffy from his own recreational indulgence. “The Quick Mart needs their number one stocker to function, after all. You can’t deny them that, can you?” He broke out into more giggles, taking a swig of Sam’s beer.
“Hey, hey!” Sam protested, then grinned. “You owe me now.”
Kyle finished off his own drink, dropping fifty and leading the other two towards the door. He alone was steady on his feet, having refrained from indulging as the other two had. When they managed to make it past the press of bodies outside he breathed in the city’s stagnant air and sighed. Los Angeles, he reflected, stank.
“Either of you need a place to crash?” he asked, grinning at their attempts to walk.
“I’m good,” Sam assured him before another laughing fit had him doubled.

“Yeah, he’s got me,” Eric snickered, patting his friend on the back. Sam fell from grace with an undignified squawk and a squelch as he landed in a puddle.
Eric nearly joined him as he chortled, gasping for breath as he gazed blurrily at his friend’s misfortune.
“Right, well, so long as he’s got you,” Kyle said with a clap of his hands to accentuate his point. “I’ll call you guys a cab.”
He ignored Eric as the other protested, “Hey, do we look like we’d give just anybody a ride?” and waved down a passing vehicle, giving the driver instructions and helping Sam, incapacitated with laughter, into the cab. Eric followed, chuckling at his own lame joke, waving farewell as they pulled off, leaving Kyle alone in front of the club, the bass still pounding in his ears, streams of chatter floating around him without meaning.
He smiled to himself as he sighed at the idiocy of his friends and started in the direction of the train station. It was only twelve and if he caught the next train he’d be able to be home by two. He walked the fifteen minutes quickly, only to realize the train had arrived three minutes early and he was going to have to scramble if he wanted to make it. He ran full out up the stairs, thrusting his arm in the nearly closed door just in time, jumping through despite the glare of the woman sitting in the seat opposite the door. He ignored her, walking the length of the near empty car easily, matching his gate to the slow, steady rocking. He did the same for the next few cars until he came upon one that was empty, taking a seat by the door and allowing himself to relax. He wiped his sweating palms on the lime green trousers, grimacing at the stain they left. Cool as the outfit looked, it was hot as hell in the June heat.
He looked up, towards the window, and saw a man sitting two benches down, staring at him with unblinking blue eyes. He started slightly, having been certain that the car was empty when he entered and not having heard the door open. He looked away quickly. After a few moments he looked back and saw the man still staring at him with an intensity that was a bit unnerving.
No more than twenty-four, with raven hair that framed a thin, almost gaunt face, he was pale enough to be almost transparent. Black velvet long sleeved shirt and matching pants, lace up black leather boots and a large red ring on one finger were all the proof Kyle needed to know this man was a goth-puppy, or gothic psycho as his mother would have said. The point of an elongated tooth was the final touch, and Kyle stood slowly, heading in the opposite direction towards the next car, which he made certain was empty before taking another seat. He had no intention of dealing with a Cam member, thank you very much. He fidgeted, looked at his watch only to see he still had forty-five minutes left until his stop, and sighed mightily. He kept his eyes on the door for at least ten minutes but no one appeared, so he finally looked away, out the window to watch the city lights pass quickly below. When he looked back up he nearly jumped out of his skin to see the man sitting two benches down from him once more, eyes boring into him.
He was able to handle the goth-puppy’s attention for nearly twenty minutes before he moved again, this time to a car that was occupied by a tired looking black businessman in a suit and tie reading the paper. He sat down opposite to him and kept his attention on the door, relaxing only when he heard his stop announced. He stood quickly and jumped out of the train the moment the doors began to open, breathing easily for the first time since seeing the strange man. He had dealt with enough members of the Camarilla to know that some members took their roles a little too seriously, and he wouldn’t put it past the man to think he had to drink blood to survive.

He turned and began the ten minute walk to his house, situated in the richer part of town and thus in a fairly tame neighborhood. Large houses with even bigger lawns loomed on either side of him, though he paid them no mind, having grown up around such luxury and being accustomed to it. He was almost home when a sound behind him made him turn, startled, nerves on edge after the last hour. He found himself confronting nothing but a sprinkler popping out of the ground and he laughed at himself, putting a hand over his heart as he turned back, trying to regain his composure.
He gasped as blue eyes stared at him from less than three feet away, so close he could smell the other man’s foul breath. He jumped back, right hand scrambling in his pocket even as the other moved with a lightening fast speed to hit him, sending him sprawling. He landed awkwardly, his left hand scraping pavement as he was forced off the sidewalk and into the street. He managed to regain his balance enough to withdraw his hand, now holding its prize possession. The black clad figure moved again, to strike him, and Kyle acted without a moment’s hesitation, spraying his attacker full in the face with a full can of pepper spray, not releasing the steady stream until the bottle was empty.
The man screamed, clawing at his eyes, staggering away from Kyle and letting the other escape, running faster than he ever had in his life until he reached his doorstep. He was more thankful than ever that his mother did not believe in complicated locks as he scrambled with shaking hands to get his key out and the door open. Only when he was safely inside did he realize he was still holding the now empty bottle of pepper spray. He walked unsteadily into the kitchen and threw it away, then dialed 911.
“911, please hold, all operators are currently busy,” came the mechanical reply.
“Figures,” he grumbled, putting the phone back on the hook and allowing himself to collapse on the couch in the living room. The six bedroom house, though small by the standards of this street, suddenly seemed entirely to large. He took a few steadying breaths, then stood once more, adrenaline pumping through his veins more intoxicating than any amount of pot.. He paced the floor a couple of times before turning on the television, more for the background noise than anything, and then quickly turned it off, thinking that if the goth-puppy followed him he would not be able to hear him enter. He made his way to the bathroom and stopped when he turned on the light, his reflection catching him off guard. The mirror above the sink revealed a quickly bruising eye and bloody lip from where he had hit the pavement. When he turned on the sink he was disconcerted to see his left hand bleeding from where the street had scraped it raw.
He washed quickly, peeling out of his clothes as though they were contaminated and throwing them to the floor. He stood, dressed only in his boxers and socks, when he heard the lock on the door turn.
His heart began thumping so loud it was difficult to hear, his breath suddenly catching in his throat as he turned off the bathroom light. He went into his room quickly and grabbed the nearest lethal thing he could think of, a giant statue of a penis he had gotten as a joke for his last birthday from Sam. Despite its shape, the statue was made entirely of wood and was reassuringly heavy in his hands as he made his way to the front door, where the person was still fumbling with the lock. He waited, his sweat beading his forehead and palms and stinging his cuts and bruises. Finally the door began to open and he raised his weapon, ready to bring it down at the first sight of the intruder.
“Kyle, I’m hoo - OH MY GOD!” His mother stared at him in horror, bringing her arms up in defense and dropping the groceries she had been carrying. They both heard the distinct sound of eggs cracking. “What are you doing?” she demanded, glaring at her son for a moment before she registered his cut face and slightly bloody hand.
Sara Jacobson, brown hair pulled back in a tight braid that reached just to her shoulders, stared at her son with hazel eyes gone wide with shock. Her tanned skin glinted oddly in the light from the street lamp, her bare shoulders revealing the pale lines of old scars received from a car accident three years previously. Her brown tank top and khaki shorts looked more appropriate for hiking than her work as a receptionist at the local hospital. She wore only her wedding ring on her left hand, even though her husband had died fifteen years previously. It was with this hand that she reached out to touch his cheek, then stopped midway.

“Kyle, what in the world happened? You weren’t fighting with Sam or Eric, were you?” she demanded, bending down to pick up her now soggy bag, her golden ankh necklace slipping out from where she kept it hidden under her shirt. “Look at this, I broke the eggs. Thank the Gods this is tile,” she mumbled, holding the dripping bag out in front of her as she made her way into the kitchen.
Kyle, finally remembering what he was holding, set he statue down in the hall and followed. “I was attacked by some psycho Cam player on the way home, “ he explained, taking the carton of broken eggs from the bag and opening it to see if any could be salvaged. “He followed me all the way from the train. If it weren’t for that pepper spray you gave me I’d be toast.”
A loud crash made him drop the eggs again, looking up to see his mother staring at him in horror, a jar of pickles now in pieces on the floor around her feet. She came to herself with a start and bent to pick up the pieces, hiding her face for a moment.
“What did this weirdo look like?” she asked from her bent position, her voice near normal despite the look of panic Kyle was certain he had seen in her eyes.
“Young, with black hair. You know the type, they all look alike. Black velvet and leather boots with a large ring and fake pointed teeth. Really pale, too, so he must have been one of those out of whack players who sleep in a coffin and drink real blood. He scared the hell out of me,” he finally finished, bending down to pick up the eggs he had dropped. If any had been intact, they were not now. “Why?”
“So you can give the police a description,” was the curt answer as she stood up again, depositing the broken glass into the waste basket.
“I already tried, “ Kyle sighed, shrugging. “It’s LA, Mom, what can you expect? Don’t worry about it.”
“Hmm,” came the doubtful reply before she changed subjects. “Why don’t you go finish cleaning up and then I’ll take care of those cuts. Make sure you wash that really well, young man, I don’t want it getting infected.” She pointed to his hand to emphasis her point.
“All right,” he agreed, giving her a peck on the cheek, careful of his split lip, and then picked his way through the broken glass to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turned the bath on and rested his head against the cool green tile of the wall for a moment, trying to calm down as his heart still beat furiously in his chest. After a few moments he finished undressing and climbed into the enormous tub, turning the jets on so the water swirled around his body soothingly. He laid his head back and did his best to let his tense muscles relax. Only when the water started to cool did he actually clean his hand, carefully as it was smarting like the devil. When he finished he undid the drain and stepped out, his bare feet making no noise on the plush, green carpet. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist, noticing where a large bruise was forming on his left side from where he had landed wrong. When he left the bathroom, fogged with steam to a high humidity, he retrieved his penis statue from the hall before heading back to his room, knowing full well that it would be too easy to forget about it until the next shocked Avon lady came calling.
He changed into faded blue shorts that were so well worn they were soft as down to the touch, then went back to the kitchen, to see his mom making a huge sandwich of turkey, cheese, tomatoes, mayo, lettuce and olives, though no pickles since she had broken the jar. She turned as he entered, cutting the sandwich in half and offering him half. He accepted gratefully, not for the first time wondering at how his mother was able to eat like a sixteen year old boy and remain a constant size four.

They ate in silence, then Sara washed her hands and motioned her son to sit on the couch, where she had arranged her first aid supplies, a kit that would have made a paramedic proud. Not surprising considering she had been a paramedic before her car accident. She studied his hand for a moment to determine if a doctor visit was in order, then liberally smeared it with some medicine that stung enough to bring tears to his eyes before she wrapped it expertly with medical gauze and tape.
“That should do for now, but I want to keep an eye on that. Streets are a lot cleaner than people think, so I don’t think there should be any problems. Now let me look at your face, honey,” she ordered.
She decided, in the end, that all she could do was provide a cold compress and a tender kiss, leaving him for a moment as she stored her gear away. When she came back she was yawning hugely, rubbing eyes that were starting to droop.
“I’m off to bed, sweety,” she said, kissing the top of his head as she headed off. “Get some sleep.”
He watched her head up the stairs to her bedroom and sighed, then heaved himself up and took himself off to bed, remembering rather belatedly that he had to be at work the next morning. He made sure he set his alarm for ten and then lay down, the familiar surroundings comforting as he drifted off.

The shrill beeping of his alarm brought him to consciousness gasping for air from a nightmare of black clad hamsters chasing him through abandoned train cars. He blinked for a moment as the fear faded, then shook his head, wondering where in the world his mind had come up with some such an image and why he had thought it scary.
He slammed his hand down on the alarm and then spent the next few minutes cursing as he cradled his left hand against his bare chest. When he was finally able to get up he liberally applied deodorant and then dressed quickly, donning his black slacks and Quick Mart blue polo shirt before rummaging through his drawers for socks. When he was dressed appropriately he headed out into the kitchen, yawning at what was for him an early hour, and made himself a bagel with plenty of cream cheese. He was sitting there at the small table when his mom entered, hair free for once of the braid she usually wore and wearing blue jeans and a khaki button up short sleeved blouse.
“Off to work?” he asked as she poured herself a generous amount of cereal into a bowl.
“Yep,” she said around a dry mouthful, pouring the milk even as she added three large spoonfuls of sugar. She said no more as she shoveled the food into her mouth with the gusto usually only displayed by starving people or military personnel. She finished before he did and, grabbing her purse, kissed his forehead before heading out with a hasty farewell. He watched as her car pulled out of the drive, amazed as always at the manners she had learned while working in a fire station. His watch beeped at him and he quickly finished his meal, grabbing his keys and his sunglasses as he headed out of the house and walked quickly towards the store a few blocks away. Though he owned a 1997 Jeep Wrangler he very rarely used it, finding it more practical to walk or take the tram.
He arrived with several minutes to spare and immediately sought out his boss, Carl Winthro, to explain why he looked the way he did.
“Did you want to take today off?” Carl asked worriedly, grimacing at his employee’s bruised face.
“No, I’m fine, really. It just looks nasty, that’s all,” he tried to reassure the older man.
Carl, dark skinned to the point of ebony, looked at him for a moment more with his coffee colored eyes, then sighed. He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair and said, almost reluctantly, “All right. But you’re just doing recovery today. I don’t want you hurting that hand of yours.”
“Sure thing, Bossman,” Kyle said smartly, saluting flippantly as he left the office. Carl’s rich laughter followed him down the stairs back onto the floor.

For the most part he contented himself with restocking the various food stuff, a chore which had been known to take up an entire day and required little physical exertion or much brain power. He did, however, have to keep assuring the sweet ninety year old ladies that he was fine and that he was perfectly all right to do the work he was doing.
He shook his head and smiled as the latest such customer walked away, turning back to his cart-full of canned peas and carrots when he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a man one aisle over staring at him. Though he looked nothing like the one who had attacked him the night before he found his gaze uncomfortable and quickly looked back to his work, his smile vanishing.
“Excuse me, “ the man said softly, coming over to him gracefully. Dressed casually in blue jeans with a plain grey t-shirt, the man looked friendly enough as he stopped a few feet away. His blond hair was cut decently short without forgoing style, and his shoes were black tennis shoes. He looked no older than Kyle, maybe twenty-five at the most.
“Can I help you, Sir?” Kyle asked, managing to bring his smile back as the man remained non threatening. He saw the other’s gaze go almost involuntarily to his bruised face and bandaged hand, something deadly coming into his eyes that would have had Kyle running in fear if not for the fact that it did not seem to be directed at him and passed so quickly it could have been his imagination.
“Yes,” the man replied so pleasantly that Kyle decided it must have been his imagination. After last night, he was seeing everyone as an enemy today. “I was wondering if you carried any 68 sun block. I have a friend who is extremely sensitive and nothing else seems to work.,” the man asked. He smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged as if to say, “What can you do with friends like that?”
His request was nothing too out of the ordinary, yet Kyle could not shake the feeling that somewhere there had been a double meaning. However, not having a clue as to what it could have been, he simply answered the question put to him.
“We have 68 for babies, though I don’t know if that would be strong enough for your friend. Would you like me to check and see if we have anything stronger?” His tone was deliberately light, but his eyes never left the other’s face. The man gave no hint as to his thoughts, but shook his head and smiled in resignation.
“Apparently its not in that much demand these days, but thanks for your help.” He smiled once more, and Kyle finally relaxed enough to offer him a genuine grin.
“Are you sure? It would only take me a moment,” he suggested, putting the can he was holding back into the cart. “I’ll be right back.”
He headed over to the aisle containing tanning material and quickly perused the stock, finding only the baby sun block he had mentioned. He came back and found the man where he had left him, but with his attention not on the items around him but on the people, eyeing each person as they passed as though assessing whether they were friend of foe. He saw Kyle heading back towards him and his manner changed, once more becoming relaxed and pleasant. Whoever he was, Kyle decided, he was not going to hurt him, though why he felt that way he was not sure. He did not trust this man, but he did not fear him either.
“Sorry,” he said, going back to his spot by the cart. “You might want to try Freddy’s up on Argyle, they usually have a lot of stuff this time of year,” he suggested, once more picking up the can of peas he had been holding before the man asked his assistance.
“That’s all right, but thanks for your help,” the man replied, smiling his farewell as he left.
Kyle watched him go, uncertain what had just occurred but not quite worried. He was in a crowded building that he knew inside and out, literally, with cameras watching from every angel. He shrugged to himself and went back to work, humming one of the songs from the club the night before.

Four hours later he sat quietly in the break room, sipping his Coke and enjoying the last five minutes of his break. He sighed as he stood, headed into the bathroom and checked his reflection.. Not a visage to give nightmares but hideous enough that he knew the night clubs were out of the question for a little bit. He sighed, splashed some water on his face, and headed out, ready once more to face the throngs of customers beckoned by that day’s add in the newspaper proclaiming all items marked were fifty percent off.
“Yo, Kyle!” a familiar voice shouted to his left, and he turned to see Eric heading his direction, sweat pants and tank top announcing he had just come from a dance rehearsal. “Woe, Dude, what happened to you?” he asked, circling around his friend before coming around to stare him in the face.
“Some weirdo tried to mug me last night,” Kyle shrugged, grinning. “Thank the Gods Mom gave me that pepper spray. I unloaded the whole can in his face.”
“Way to go,” Eric applauded, grinning. “Gotta love this town. Anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted to spend the night tonight. Sam’s got the family thing he has to do and my apartment’s lonely at night.”
“You mean you’re lonely at night,” Kyle teased, leading his friend back to the cookies, where yet another cart was awaiting to be unloaded. The two of them talked as he worked, an easy bantering perfected after twelve years of friendship.
“Well, what can I say?” Eric laughed. “Besides, I know Jena’s out of town so you haven’t gotten any in a while. Come on,” he persuaded, lightly punching Kyle’s arm. “We’ll go fishing,” he added, using their anachronism for getting high while using his fish shaped pipe.
“Sorry, man, “ Kyle apologized. “I’m really not up to it tonight. Tomorrow, probably, but not tonight. I’d probably jump out of my skin at the first weird noise or strangle you in my sleep.”
“And what makes you think I’d let you get any sleep?” Eric asked mischievously. “But, seriously, that’s cool. If you still want to go fishing just tell me. I know you promised your mom not in the house so we’ll sit in your backyard.”
Kyle laughed. “Sure, I’ll give you a call. If you don’t hear from me its just means I’ve been abducted, so no sweat.”
Eric gave him a quick hug and headed out, waving to the cashiers he knew on the way and earning grins. Eric, for all that he was odd, was one of the best friends a person could have, Kyle thought.
With that meeting bolstering his spirits he smiled to himself as he worked and the last four hours past relatively quickly. When it was finally time for him to go he gave his schedule a cursory glance and was startled to see that Carl had given him the next two days off. He grinned. Apparently the little old ladies had had their say.
He was humming to himself once more as he headed out, enjoying the warm summer air as twilight set in and he started back to his house, thinking longingly of the stuffed salmon waiting for him in the freezer. His mom wouldn’t be home for a few hours more, so he’d have time to call Eric over and enjoy their own “fish” before she arrived.
Looking back, he was not able to tell what alerted him to danger. Perhaps it was a noise, or the feeling of someone watching him, but he turned suddenly and found the man from the night before glaring at him from less then four feet away.
“Oh, man, not again,” he groaned, using the only defense he had: he started to run in the opposite direction.

Before he had gotten even three feet, however, the man grabbed him, jerking him off his feet and down to the ground once more. His head hit the pavement and he saw stars for a moment The man looked into Kyle’s eyes with loathing, his own eyes still slightly red from their meeting the previous night. “Give my regards to your father, Brat,” he hissed, revealing pointed teach and fowl breath.
Before Kyle could understand what the man had just said something struck the goth-puppy from the side, sending both forms to the ground and leaving him suddenly free.. He blinked and was astonished to see the man in the grey t-shirt look back at him from where he was pinning the other.
“Get out of here!” he yelled. The crazy struck the other in the face, hard, and he went flying. He landed a few feet away but amazingly seemed unhurt. He charged the other again, yelling profanities as he did so.
Kyle stood frozen for just a moment, then shrieked as someone grabbed his arm.
“It’s all right, I’m a friend,” came an urgent voice to his side. “I knew your father, Kyle.”
He looked and saw a man in his mid forties holding his arm, black mustache and thick hair peppered with early gray. He was not a large man, but he pulled Kyle away from the snarling fight with a strength that was amazing. He was thin, though well muscled, and pulled Kyle to a red car parked hastily near the sidewalk
“No way,” Kyle protested, finally getting his wits about him and fighting off the man. “Are you crazy?”
“Kyle, we don’t have time for this. Get in the car now or that monster is going to tear your throat out, understand? Dane can only hold him off for so long,” the man snapped, opening the car door and doing his best to shove Kyle inside.
A roar from the two fighting men caught his attention and he turned, to see the man in gray go flying, landing in the nearby bushes of someone’s yard where he remained, still.
“Shit,” the man beside him cursed, and before he could react was pushed into the car and the door slammed shut. The man in black velvet, his concentration now centered on the older man, snarled something that Kyle couldn’t hear. He watched as the two faced off, the one trying to help him edging his way around to the driver’s side. What neither one of them saw was the man in the bushes stir, raise his head slowly, and then shakily get to his feet. He was bleeding from several cuts and his left arm was hanging at an odd angle, but he yelled, getting the man in black’s attention long enough for the other to get in the car and start it. The noise snapped the Cam member (at least that was what Kyle hoped he was) back to them, and the older man gunned it, hitting him full force head on. The windshield cracked as he went flying, up and over the car to land in a heap behind them. The car slowed only long enough for the man in gray to jump in, panting hard and grimacing in pain as he tried to cradle his injured arm.
“Are you all right?” he demanded of Kyle as they sped off, though how the driver could see with the windshield in near ruins was beyond him.
“Who are you? What the fuck is going on?!” Kyle demanded, his voice breaking with panic, shaking uncontrollably as the car swerved around a corner. He had no idea where they were going or what was happening, but he wanted none of it.
“It’s a long story, Kyle,” the older man sighed, not slowing down as he rounded another corner, forcing his two passengers to grab at the nearest support. “By the way, my name is Adam, and I served with your father before he died.”
“Wh- what?” He looked from one to the other in disbelief. “My father was an interpreter for Tanayaki Industries,” he protested. “Somebody had better start talking RIGHT NOW!”
“That was his cover,” came the pain filled reply behind him. He turned around in his seat to see the other, he supposed his name was Dane, staring at him with eyes squinted against the pain of his wounds. “Like Adam said, it’s a long story, and right now the only thing I’m worried about is whether or not that Bastard hurt you again.”

“A-again?” Kyle stuttered, realizing that, somehow, this man had known that he was attacked by that psycho the night before and had been expecting something similar to happen today. He had come into the store to watch him, had possibly been watching him longer. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he considered the implications.
“Kyle,” Dane snarled, moving so his face was only inches from the other. “Take a deep breath and try and think.”
“No, no he didn’t hurt me - at least, I don’t feel anything,” Kyle admitted, still trembling despite himself. It was hard to think with his heart pounding in his ears, and when he touched the back of his head he felt something warm and sticky. He looked at his hand and saw his fingers were slightly stained red.
“Shit,” Dane muttered, seeing it as well. “He got the kid, Adam, speed it up.”
“I’m all right,” Kyle protested hotly, moving so he was closer to the door and as far from them as he could get. “Its just a little blood.”
“Damn,” Adam hissed, and his foot floored the accelerator, surging them forward.
“Who was that psycho? How did you know he was going to attack me again? How the hell did you know he attacked me in the first place?” Kyle demanded, glaring from one man to the other. “Will someone please tell me what the hell just happened and why you’re so worried about a little blood?”
“That man was Alyosha Demetriov, and he wants you dead because your father tried to kill him. We thought he had, in fact, until a few months ago when he resurfaced,” Adam answered. “And we’re worried because if he even gets a taste of your blood he can track you like a blood hound. Your only hope is getting you to somewhere he can’t penetrate in a million years.”
“And what’s your story? Why aren’t you worried about him going after you?” Kyle demanded of Dane.
“Because I’m already marked, shithead,” Dane snarled, and for some reason his use of the profanity made Kyle relax a little, even if he had no idea what he was talking about.
They drove for several more minutes in silence, then another sharp turn and they were passing through great iron gates onto a private drive. Kyle looked out the windshield as best he could and had to swallow, hard, at the vague image looming before him. A mansion, the biggest he had ever seen, was slowly growing bigger as they approached. A stately building made of red brick with white columns in the front at least three stories tall, Kyle felt truly insignificant next to it.
The car stopped and Adam took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel finally releasing. “All right,” he muttered, turning to look at Dane. “Let’s get you both inside and have Yukito look at you.”
He opened the door and stepped out, closing it with a muffled thud. The force was the final straw for the poor windshield, which shattered into a thousand pieces, showering both Kyle and Dane as they stared, momentarily stunned.
“Well, shit,” Adam mused, looking at the damage. “Marak’s gonna kill me, this was his car.”
Dane started to laugh painfully, carefully shaking the glass out of his hair and clothes as he unsteadily opened the door and crawled out, trying not to cut himself anymore than he already was. Where he had sat was wet with blood.
Kyle, his mind made up, opened his door and bolted as soon as his feet hit the gravel, heading down the path to what he hoped was freedom. He could see the gate and the road beyond when he was tackled from behind and sent sprawling to the ground, the wind knocked out of him and his shoulder protesting with screaming agony.
“Sorry, Kid,” he heard Adam say above him, sounding not sorry at all. “I can understand you’re afraid, but we can’t let that Bastard get you, not after all your father did to keep you alive.”

Kyle struggled to turn around and Adam moved, so that his weight rested on his arms and the younger man was able to flop over unceremoniously onto his back. “What did you say?” Kyle gasped, still trying to get his breath back. Adam was inches from his face, his brown eyes serious beneath his barely visible wrinkles.
“Adam, c’mon!” Dane bellowed, holding his arm awkwardly as he leaned against the car, clearly impatient. Without another word Adam pulled Kyle up, earning a groan as his shoulder
protested. He blinked at the man for a moment before he was pulled against his will toward the house. Dane snorted as he fell into step with them.
“‘Bout time,” he grumbled, wiping his bloody hand on his ruined jeans before using it to cradle his arm once more.
Adam did not relinquish his hold on Kyle even after they were inside. At the sound of the older man’s bullhorn of a greeting they heard footsteps running toward them, giving Kyle time enough only to take in the grand staircase and monstrous hall they were standing in before three men and a woman came hurtling towards them from one of the rooms further down the hall. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the woman was his mom.
“What the FUCK!” he yelled, breaking Adam’s hold on him and running to his mom, still dressed in her jeans and khaki shirt. “Mom, what the hell are you doing here? Did they grab you too?” he demanded, whirling to face the men angrily.
“Kyle, STOP!” That tone, the one his friends called the “drill instructor bellow,” froze him where stood. Sara placed a placating hand on his bandaged arm, turning him around to face her once more. “Kyle, I want you to listen to me, all right? These men are old friends of mine and your father’s and they’re trying to help you. They’re not going to hurt you, so just shut up for a minute and listen to what we have to say.”
He stared at her, mouth slightly open in shock, unsure of what was happening but knowing that he wasn’t going to like it. He managed to nod and she smiled, rubbing his hair as she used to do when he was a kid. Her grin instantly vanished when she felt the warm stickiness on his scalp and her hand came away showing red.
“Dammit!” one of the men beside her cursed.
“Yeah, um, we forgot to mention that,” Dane mumbled, looking sheepish.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” another one of the men snapped. “Come on.” He was Japanese and not very old, possibly even Kyle’s own age, though paler even than what’s-his-name. His hair was long, down to his shoulders, and dyed different shades of blond and purple. He was as thin as any anime character, and just as nimble as he turned on his heel and stalked off, grumbling to himself in Japanese. Kyle understood enough of what was being said to know that the other was not very pleased with the current situation.
The entire entourage followed the man down the hall, giving Kyle a chance to actually take in the opulence. Chandeliers that could easily hold half a dozen men hung sporadically from the artfully painted ceiling. Paintings of great value hung on the walls and statues that looked as fragile as autumn leaves lined the hallway. He swallowed and moved closer to his mother.
The Japanese man led them through a set of double oak doors into what appeared to be a miniature hospital, complete with two operating tables and enough medical supplies stored in several cabinets to supply an army. He motioned his patients onto the two operating tables as he washed his hands and set about preparing the tools he would need.
“Adam, could you go get Leyah, please? Dane’s going to need to have that arm set and cast,” the man asked absently, rummaging in a cabinet before he withdrew a tray holding various instruments that would have looked more at home in a torture chamber than a hospital.
“Sure thing, Yukito,” Adam replied, slipping out of the room at an easy jog.

Kyle met his mother’s eyes worriedly, but she merely smiled at him in encouragement and gave him the thumbs up. He sighed and turned his attention to the two men who stood on either side of her.
The tallest of the two was also very pale, though not so as Yukito. He must have been six foot something, as he stood a good head taller than his mother, who was only five two. He wore black slacks and a green t-shirt neatly tucked in. He, too, had a slight build despite his height, his waist not much wider than Sara’s. His hair was a rich black cut short in the front and long in the back, which he wore in a ponytail at the moment. He looked no older than twenty-seven at the most, though his mother whispered to him as though they were old friends.
The man on her other side was dark skinned and clearly of Middle Eastern heritage. He was also extremely handsome. He wore faded jeans and a loose pale blue cotton button up short sleeved shirt. Beneath the shirt Kyle could actually see his muscles ripple, something he had read about but had never actually witnessed. He swallowed and made a mental note never to get on that man’s bad side. Though he was only about five seven, he reminded Kyle of a panther waiting to strike, his short, wavy dark hair glinting in the light.
He heard a gasp beside him from the next bed and turned, to see Yukito carefully examining Dane’s cuts and broken arm.
“He really let you have it, didn’t he my young Scotsman?” Yukito murmured, gently cutting away the other’s bloody shirt to reveal several small gashes that still oozed blood. “This is going to take a bit of work, you know,” he admonished, though in a friendly manner that belied his concern.
“Yeah, I rather guessed,” Dane gasped, trying not to flinch as his arm was moved.
Yukito finally nodded to himself and retrieved a needle and small bottle from the tray he had removed earlier. He filled the needle, tapped it a few times, then gave it a quick squirt to make sure there was no air trapped in the needle. With a practiced ease that bellied several years of experience he quickly injected the other and was rewarded a moment later by his sigh of relief and the visible relaxation of his tense body.
“Could someone, please, fill me in on what’s going on now?” Kyle demanded, watching with a grim fascination as Yukito carefully began to clean each of the small cuts, bandaging them with little effort before he moved onto the larger gashes that required stitches.
“It’s a -“ his mother began, but he did not give her a chance to finish.
“...Long story, I know already!” he snapped, glaring at her. “So would somebody kindly start telling it before I die of old age?”
Before anyone could answer him Adam came back into the room with a woman who looked as though she could have broken Kyle over her knee and not raise a sweat. Slightly taller than him, she had extremely short blond hair and large grey eyes. She wore a brown tank top and green shorts that revealed muscles to rival the Middle Eastern man’s. She whistled when she saw the two, pausing a moment in the doorway to take in the situation.
“He really got you good, didn’t he, Dane?” she asked, her voice deep and sensuous. The closest Kyle could come to her age was anywhere between twenty and fifty, and there was no way in hell he would ever ask her. He watched as she strolled gracefully over to the doctor’s side and observed his work for a moment. Finally all the cuts had been sewn and bandaged, a process that took nearly fifteen minutes, and in which time Kyle remained silent, tempering his rising anger and confusion with the image of Eric waiting for him with his stash. After everything that had just happened, he felt he deserved to get wasted.

When they set Dane’s arm he grunted, but made no other sound, and seemed to relax even more as they plastered it from wrist to elbow. Finally, after a half hour of almost unbearable and uncomfortable silence, Yukito turned to him, removing his gloves, washing his hands, and then donning new ones before he gently but firmly pushed Kyle’s head down to examine the back of his scalp. His fingers were light as a feather and he was finished after only a few moments. He gently cleaned the wound before placing a light bandage over it to keep it clean and wrapping a strip of gauze around his head once to keep it in place.
“Well, you cracked it a good one, but I don’t think its anything serious. A minor concussion, but nothing to worry about. We’ll watch you for a few days just to be on the safe side, but other than that you’re head’s all right. Now, let me have a look at your shoulder.” This last was said as the doctor moved his arm in a circular motion, bringing a cry of pain to Kyle’s lips before he could stop himself.
“I take it that hurt,” he murmured, not looking up but moving the arm to a different angle.
“You take it correctly,” Kyle growled sarcastically, glaring.
Without warning the doctor did something that sent a blinding pain racing from his shoulder all the way to his toes and elicited a shrill yelp from his patient.
“That should do it. Popped right out of the socket was all. It will be tender for a few days, but it shouldn’t give you any problems.”
Kyle moved his arm gingerly and found that it ached slightly but otherwise caused him no discomfort. He turned his attention back to his mother and the others in the room, his patience at an end.
“Unless someone starts talking right now I’m out of here,” he threatened, even though he doubted he could get past them if they wanted to stop him. What was worse, he knew they knew that.
“All right,” the tall man in the green shirt nodded, turning his gaze to Yukito, who was cleaning up silently. “All finished, Doc?” he asked.
“They’re all yours,” was the ready answer, and the man motioned the others to follow him out of the room.
Kyle bit back his frustration as best he could, hopping off the table and following, noticing that Dane did the same, though with considerably less energy than he had previously shown. They walked silently for nearly five minutes, up the grand staircase to the second floor and down the hall to one of the rooms. It was plushly furnished in grey and green leather, several armchairs and two couches offering more than enough room for all of them. Kyle took one of the armchairs and sank into it gratefully, his eyes never leaving those around him. His mother sat on the couch opposite him with the tall man and Adam, while Dane and the woman he supposed was Leyah took the other. The dark skinned man sat in the chair next to him.
“Where shall we start?” the man next to his mother asked her.
“How about by telling me your names,” Kyle suggested impatiently and saw, somewhat to his amazement, the other blush.
“Of course, how silly of me. My name is Marak Vladen and this is my home. The man sitting next to you is my bodyguard Na’ur. You have already met Adam and Dane, and the lovely lady sitting next to my wounded friend is Leyah,” Marak introduced.
Kyle nodded stiffly, not in the mood to be gracious. “Now how about telling me what all that bullshit about my father was.”
“It’s not bullshit, Kyle,” his mother said firmly. “Your father asked me before he died to keep his true identity from you as long as I could.”
“Why?” Kyle demanded, sitting forward to glare at her. “What the hell is the big secret everyone is pussy footing around? I’m a big boy, Mom, I think I can handle the truth.”

She met his glare with one of her own, then backed down, letting out a weary sigh. “You’re right,” she finally agreed, looking down at her feet for a moment, her hands clasped in her lap. “You deserve to know the truth. But you’re not going to like it,” she warned, looking up again to meet his eyes.
“I don’t like being attacked by a psyched out whako, either, but there it is,” he snapped.
The two of them sat staring at each other angrily for a long moment, the others in the room keeping their silence as they watched to see how things would play out. Finally Sara let out a sharp curse and ran a hand through her hair, looking away.
“It began when your father was in college,” she murmured. “He was, like you, studying to be an interpreter, and was in his second year when he met Adam.”
“We were in the same math class and neither one of us was doing too hot. Your Dad never was too great when it came to numbers, but anything that had to do with the spoken word he left us in the dust,” Adam remembered. He smiled fondly as he looked at his friend’s son. “He was a great man. And that’s where the trouble began.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, none of the others interrupting. Apparently it was his story to tell at the moment. “I was heading cross campus from one of my night classes and wasn’t being as alert as I should have been-“
”Wait a minute!” Kyle yelled, startling all in the room. Na’ur twitched, but he didn’t notice. “Who are you people? What was that freak, and why is everybody talking like some bad script from a B-movie?”
There was a moment of complete silence, when not even the sound of breathing could be heard, and then Marak sighed. He motioned to Leyah, who stood and closed the door, taking up a position in front of it as though to block anyone from entering - or escaping. Kyle felt his heart quicken once more, and to hell with what his mother said.
“Kyle,” Marak said, catching his attention as though the name had been bellowed, even though the man had not spoken very loud. “I don’t know what your beliefs are, or how much myth you are acquainted with, but there is no easy way to say this so I’m just going to spit it out. Myself and Yukito, as well as several others in this household, are vampires.”
Kyle stared at him as though he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. “Excuse me?” he asked finally.
“Vampires, Kyle,” his mother reiterated, her gaze very steady and never leaving his face. “They are vampires, Kyle, somewhat similar to the one who attacked you. And before you go off on another spiel, this is not a joke, this is not bullshit. It is the truth whether you believe it or not, so I suggest you try and believe it.”
He looked away from his mom’s face reluctantly to stare at the others, trying to read their expressions and having as much luck as he would flying. Finally he turned back to his mom, who was still regarding him calmly, and swallowed, hard. It did, he thought to himself, explain a great many things, and reinforced some things Eric had been telling him for years but he had been reluctant to believe.
“Okay, that makes a weird, twisted sort of sense,” he finally choked out. “You can continue.”
Now it was their turn to look at him oddly, as though not quite certain of his calm acceptance, but Adam did continue, if a bit more hesitantly than before.

“Well, like I said, I was heading cross campus back to my dorm and wasn’t really paying attention, which was a major no-no on my part. I was jumped by one of Alyosha’s men, thank God, or else I wouldn’t have had a chance. As it was I getting my ass kicked when your father came by. Aaron had been on his way to see me and caught the tail end of the ass whooping. He jumped in and managed to keep the thing off me long enough for me to get my senses back and get us the hell out of there.” Here he paused and smiled sadly in remembrance. Sara took his hand, though did not say anything nor look at him. She was looking at the floor, as though she too, were remembering. “Well, as you can imagine, your dad acted pretty much the same way you are now. He wanted to know what was going on and wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I told him.” He shrugged, and this time his grin was genuine. “He took it pretty well and demanded to be let in, so I took him to Marak and explained all that was going on.”
“So what is going on?” Kyle interrupted, looking from one face to the next. “How long has this little war been going on, exactly?”
“Nearly five hundred years,” Marak answered softly. “Alyosha was a professional torturer in Russia before he changed, and continued on even afterward. He had access to high powered men and used his influence to unimaginable purposes. You think that Rasputin was bad, but everything he learned he got from Alyosha. And he was not exactly the brightest pupil, either.”
Kyle swallowed, hard, but nodded for the other to continue. “My master finally managed to bring Alyosha out into the open and chased him across the sea to this country about three hundred and sixty years ago. When he died, he charged me with Alyosha’s downfall, and its been a vicious fight ever since.”
“So where do we come into this? Humans, I mean,” Kyle clarified, looking from Adam to Leyah and then to Dane, who looked as though he was losing the battle to sleep. “How did they get involved and why?”
“Because this dinner fights back,” Adam said grimly, his eyes gone suddenly very hard. “That’s all humans are to the likes of that Bastard, and the blood trail he’s left behind makes Hitler look like a bumbler. Humans have always been allied with the good guys in this,” he added earnestly, sitting forward slightly as he explained. “We fight the evil head on right beside them and are able to do things they can’t.”
“Like go out in the daylight,” Kyle suggested. Somewhere along the way he had lost most of his fear and found himself intrigued despite himself.
“Not exactly,” Dane mumbled, surprising everyone, who had, like Kyle, assumed him asleep. The young man sat up straighter, shifting his arm slightly with a wince before he continued. “They can go out during the day so long as direct sunlight does not touch them. And it weakens them, though not to the extent that most believe. Still, they need us to be their eyes and ears, since vampires can smell each other like dogs.”
“Thank you, Dane,” Marak said dryly.
“Not a problem,” Dane grinned around his swollen cheek and cut lip.
“You really do look like shit, you know,” Marak supplied.
His only answer was a rude grunt and a lifted middle finger. Marak grinned and turned back to Kyle, seeming to just remember he was there. He coughed and turned serious once more.
“Anyway, the humans that work for us are more than just employees or partners. They are our dearest friends and closest companions. We do for them what we are capable of, ensuring that none of them shall ever want for anything. Your father,” he said, and the pain in his voice was evidence enough of what he had just said, “only wished for you and your mother to be provided for. He knew that he was working dangerous ground, being so close to finally finishing off Alyosha, and he wanted both of you cared for. I made certain his wish was granted, and will continue to do so until the day I die.” His gaze, steady and unblinking was unnerving, and Kyle looked away, to his mother. She was still holding Adam’s hand, though he could see the tears in her eyes even as she bowed her head.
“How did you get involved, Mom?” he asked, startling her out of her thoughts, as he had intended. She blinked a few times as she tried to get her brain to process the request before she answered.

“My Dad was one of Marak’s best friend’s. I’ve been involved almost since the day I was born,” she smiled.
“Grandpa Tyler?” he asked, incredulously, unable to think of his kindly grandfather as a fighter. Finally he shook his head and changed the subject. “So Dad met you when he started working for them?” he asked. His mother had never told him how she met his father, and now he understood why. Things were definitely taking a turn for the weird.
“Yeah,” she nodded, and her smile broadened.
“So after Dad had everything explained to him he decided to work for you guys. Or did he have a choice?” Kyle asked, the hint of steel in his voice reflected in his eyes.
“We are not like Alyosha,” Marak snapped, true anger coloring his voice as his own eyes flashed dangerously. “If your father had wanted to be free of us we would have let him go, though it would have put him at risk. He understood the danger and chose to stay with us. He wanted to help, Kyle,” Marak said bluntly. “Because he believed in what we are fighting for.”
Kyle nodded, then looked down, thinking. “So did he finish school?” he finally asked, looking back up. The question had been addressed to the room in general, but Adam answered.
“Yeah, he finished. He was extremely gifted when it came to languages, and Marak put him to good use. Yukito took him under his wing and taught him the stuff you don’t learn in school, and then he was hired at Takayana Industries. The business is owned by some of Marak’s allies and it was a good cover. He was able to travel around the world, keeping an eye on Alyosha and able to leave whenever things got too hot.”
Kyle ran a hand though his hair, unconsciously making it stick up at odd angels around the bandage. His skin looked pale in the light of the room, and his bruised face only enhanced the effect, though he was, he thought, taking everything rather well.
“So how did he die?” he asked softly, unable to meet any of their eyes. “I take it he was not killed in a car accident like everyone told me he was.”
“No, Kyle, he wasn’t,” Sara admitted, standing slowly to gaze down at her son. She walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, then knelt down beside him. He avoided her gaze, staring at his clasped hands that were white with strain. “He had been following Alyosha for several years when he finally cornered him in New York. He knew that reinforcements were on the way, but he didn’t want Alyosha to slip away again, so he attacked him. By the time we were able to get him he was already dead and so, we thought, was Alyosha. But he had his own minions and they carried his body away before we could truly destroy it.” She squeezed his shoulder gently, the tears evident in her voice as she said, very softly, “I’m sorry, Kyle, but it was your father’s wish that you be kept out of things.”
He nodded, understanding, more than they thought he did.
“He knew he was going to die,” he said thickly, feeling his own eyes tear up as memories he had kept buried finally resurfaced. “He took me camping that one time, shortly before he died, and he told me that he was going to go away for a while, and sometimes things happened that would have made it impossible for him to come back. He wanted me to watch out for you in case anything happened to him, and to not be angry at him, even though I couldn’t understand for a long time what he was talking about. I was only seven,” he added, wiping his eyes with the back of one of his hands.
“Oh, Kyle,” Sara groaned, taking him into her arms awkwardly, feeling his thin body shake with silent sobs. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Sweetie, I really am,” she apologized thickly, her voice choked.
There was no sound from any of the others as they watched the heart wrenching seen with compassionate eyes. Finally Sara stood, one hand still resting on Kyle’s shoulder as he tried to pull himself together.

“I think it’s time for those of us who can to eat,” she suggested matter of factly. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a stiff drink and some good dinner.”
She pulled Kyle up, taking his face in her hands and gazing into his eyes. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered. “And I know your father would be, too.”
Kyle managed a watery smile and nodded, putting his arm around her shoulders as she led him out of the room, Leyah leading the way for them as Adam and Dane fell into step behind them, Adam patting his shoulder silently as he did so.
Trying to gather his scattered thoughts, Kyle looked at his watch and was amazed to see that is was nearly nine o’clock.
“I need to call Eric,” he muttered to Sara. “I told him I’d get together with him tonight.”
“There’s a phone in the dinning room,” she assured him, following Leyah down the staircase and through one of the various doors along the hall, into a grand dinning room with a long, dark wooden table in the center, the places already set and servants already bringing out steaming trays of mouth watering concoctions.
Sara pointed to the phone hanging to the side of the door as she sat down, her eyes lingering on him as she prepared to eat. He knew they were monitoring what he was saying, but he didn’t care. Though he knew Eric would believe the fantastic tale, it was a story to be told face to face, and not over the phone. His friend picked up on the first ring.
“Kyle, you all right, Man?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“I’m fine, mostly. Look, I can’t get together tonight, long story, but I’ll fill you in later. There’s a family emergency so I’m going to be running around for a few days. I’ll give you a call when things have settled a little, okay?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Of course. You take care of yourself, Kyle, all right? I’m getting weird vibes lately, and so are some of the others. Give me a call when you can and we’ll get together and talk. It sounds like you need it,” Eric observed shrewdly.
“That among other things,” Kyle muttered, conscious of the others in the room. “I’ll see you in a few days. Ja matta.” He hung up and turned back to the table, walking slowly to where his mom sat, tearing into her food as though she had not eaten in days. The others seemed to be doing the same, so he chose the nearest item that looked good, chicken Kiev that smelled heavenly, and joined in, grateful that no one seemed interested in talking. It was, to say the least, one of the more bizarre meals he had ever eaten, and he was thankful when it was over despite the fact that the food had been the best he had ever tasted. Some things outweighed culinary delights, and a house full of vampires was one of them.