----------------------------------------
Chapter Eleven
----------------------------------------

Vic finally found a parking spot a mere five-minute walk from the
club and grabbed it before anyone else could. It amazed him just
how many people bothered, considering the place's isolated
location, far from the normal Toronto nightlife. The place should
have been out of business almost as soon as it opened.

He made doubly sure to activate the truck's alarm system, not
that it would deter a serious thief. On the other hand, the three
separate locators buried deep inside the vehicle's frame meant
that if stolen, the truck would be quickly located and the thief
summarily dealt with.

The Agency did *not* like anyone messing with its property.

He gave the red pickup one last check, then made sure that the
sample case was safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before
heading towards the club. Mac was right about one thing, though:
he was going to have to change vehicles. As much as he loved the
truck -- and he'd been driving it for nearly four years, ever
since his last truck had been demolished in a run-in with a gang
of peaceful (so they claimed) Eco-terrorists -- but it didn't
match his new... needs. So unless he was willing to install a
depressingly coffin-shaped 'tool case' in the back, he was going
to need to switch to an ordinary car with a large, enclosed
trunk.

The club was packed -- not exactly normal for the middle of the
week, he thought -- when he finally got there. The music was
turned up to a level where he could barely even think, let alone
hear anything *but* the pounding beat. He felt like his entire
body was throbbing in time, and if he still had a natural pulse,
it would probably be pulsing to the same tempo too.

Confidently, he pushed his way through the gyrating crowd,
ignoring a few furtive gropes from girls even younger than his
little sister, until he reached the stairs leading up to the
upper levels. Immediately, a beefy man with no neck was blocking
his way.

Vic waited for a moment, but the man stayed silent. He rolled his
eyes and shouted over the music, "I have business with Ramirez."

The man snorted. "Yeah, right," he said in a thick French-
Canadian accent.

Vic shrugged. "Fine, have it your way. If he complains about me
not showing up, I'll point him your way." He turned and started
to walk away, heading back the way he'd come, hoping that the
thug wouldn't realize he was bluffing.

"Hey, you Mansfield?"

"And who else would I be?" Vic drawled sarcastically, turning
around and waiting with his arms crossed over his chest. It was
obvious that the man trying to play dominance games, but compared
to the Director, he was a complete amateur.

"You got proof?" the man growled, a mulish expression on his
face.

Vic couldn't help laughing, which gest made the man's darken.
"You think I'm going to be carrying ID? Victor Mansfield, drug
manufacturer to the stars?"

The man's eyes bugged out and his face went white with shock that
Vic would say that in public, and worse, in the middle of his
boss's club. It was just the reaction he'd been going for. The
man obviously didn't realized that no one was paying any
attention to his posturing. "Up, end of the hall," he said
quickly, getting out of Vic's way. "He's waiting for you."

"Thanks," Vic said sarcastically. As he passed the man, he
exercised a little Kindred strength and brushed against the man
hard enough to nearly take him off his feet. He was almost
disappointed when the man didn't respond, even though his face
went nearly purple with rage.

As he climbed the stairs, though, his steps slowed. He couldn't
shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong here. The
hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He paused a
moment to listen for anything out of the ordinary, but anything
that might have been there was drowned out by the music.

The office door was ajar, and he pushed it open. "Ramirez," he
called out impatiently, then stopped in his tracks. His nose
prickled at the smell filling the room, and he finally realized
what had been bothering him.

Blood. Everywhere, blood. It splattered the wall with dark red,
like some sort of modern art; Jackson Pollack, or one of his
fellows. The scent was enough to make his fangs drop, even though
he was also nauseated by what he saw.

Whoever had killed Ramirez hadn't exactly had an easy time of it,
though. There were signs of a struggle. The heavy desk had been
pushed nearly halfway across the room according to the scrapes on
the floor. A computer desk was overturned in one corner, the
monitor's screen a spider's web of cracks staring mutely at the
ceiling. A warm breeze blew through the ragged hole where a glass
window had been.

And on the floor, sprawled out across the glass shards, was the
body of Ramirez. From the extra angles they were bent at, Vic
could tell that both his legs were broken in several places. His
arms as well. Nearly every finger in both of the man's hands had
been smashed too. He couldn't tell if the others had been since
they were gone, ripped off at the root, leaving bone shards
sticking out through shredded flesh.

But worst of all was the expression of horror and utter disbelief
on Ramirez's face. Worst, because the head that the expression
was attached to was no longer fastened to his body. The man's
head was sitting on the desk, facing the door. And Vic.

Vic stood frozen in disbelief. It had been less than an hour
since he'd spoken on the phone with Ramirez, so the man hadn't
been dead for long. For that matter, the sprays of blood on the
wall and floor still had a faint sheen and were tacky when he
cautiously touched one, so it was more likely only a matter of
minutes.

So who had killed him and why? And where *were* they? The method
matched the deaths of drug dealers that had refused to cooperate
with Ramirez's plans, but why would his own assassin turn on him,
killing him too? Vic had the sinking feeling that they were
missing something very important.

"Mr. Ramirez?"

Vic's eyes went wide at the sound of a voice coming from behind
him. The voice of the same tough boy who'd tried to stop him
downstairs. He had the feeling that the man wasn't going to be
looking at things reasonably. The only way out of the room, other
than the now blocked off way he'd come, was the window. Three
long strides, ignoring the body he had to step over, took him to
it, and he dove through just as the thug reached the office.

Vic could hear shouts as the alarm was raised but ignored them,
focusing on getting down to the ground as quickly as possible.
Reaching the bottom landing, he didn't bother to lower the
ladder. Instead, he jumped over the side, landing on relaxed
legs. He wasn't quite able to keep to his feet, but after a quick
roll, he was up and running. He reached the end of the alley just
as a stream of well-armed men spilled out the back door of the
club. Bullets pinged off the bricks next to his head as he ducked
around the corner.

Heading for the truck as fast as his feet would take him, all Vic
could think was: the Director was *not* going to like this.

>>>~~~<<<

"Are you sure he was dead?"

The Director didn't sound more than mildly peeved, which had Vic
seriously considering making a break for it: usually, the angrier
the Director was, the cooler she got, and at the moment, she was
being very, *very* cool.

It was getting very late in the night at that point. It had been
nearly midnight by the time he'd reached The Silver Wolf, and
thanks to the gunmen determined to hunt him down, it had been
more than two hours before he'd been able to ditch them and get
back to the Agency.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said tiredly. They'd been going over this for
the last half-hour and he was starting to get a little
frustrated. "Ripped apart, just like all the dealers who told him
no. I didn't have time to find out anything more." He eyed the
clock. Three in the morning and sunrise was only three hours
away. "The question is, what do we do now?"

The Director ignored the question and returned to her pacing. Vic
sighed and pulled out his cellphone again. He punched in the same
series of programmed numbers that he'd already tried before:
Mac's apartment, his own apartment, Mac's cell, Mac's pager. The
result was the same as the last two times: no answer.

This time, though, he'd had it. He tucked the cell back into his
pocket and pushed to his feet. "Where do you think you're going?"
the Director snapped before he'd gone three steps in the
direction of the door.

"To find Mac."

"He's a big boy, Victor. He can take care of himself."

Vic spun around to face her. "We've got this Sabbat organization
making a move on Toronto, a woman out for personal revenge
against you and our main lead is dead. All of this, and Mac
doesn't even *know* about it yet. And now!" He took a deep
breath, then continued in a lower tone. "And now Mac is
unreachable. I don't know if that is directly related. Hell, for
all I know, his phone battery is dead and he's had a breakdown.
But I am not going to sit around here waiting to find out."

He headed for the door again, but suddenly the Director was in
his way, eyes flashing. "Sit down!" A moment later, he was in his
usual seat at the briefing table with absolutely no memory of how
he got there.

"Good," she said. "Now, if you would exercise your brains once in
a while, you would know why running out there with no plan is a
bad idea. Can you tell me why?"

Vic stayed silent. He wanted to get up, get going, but his body
wasn't exactly in the mood to follow orders. Somehow, he liked it
better back in the days when she'd kept her true nature -- and
abilities -- hidden.

The Director rolled her eyes. "Fine, I guess I will have to spell
it out for you. Either Mac is fine, or he is in Guylaine's hands.
Well, I suppose there are a few other possibilities, but those
two are the more likely. If he is fine, then running out there
looking for him will just mean that you're both at risk. If
Guylaine has him, he is probably dead or close to. Don't growl at
me, mister. But dead or alive, he is bait. Bait means that
they'll be ready for you, and they'll have two hostages against
me."

She sighed. "Why the hell did I send Jackie and Dobrinsky out of
town to that conference?" she asked the ceiling. "They are both
more sensible about these things."

"Now," she said, turning her attention back to Vic. "We wait
until we hear something a little more definitive about Mac or
Ramirez." There was no room for negotiating in her tone and Vic
found himself knodding reluctantly.

"And if we don't?" he said. "Dawn's not far off."

"Then tonight we go hunting."

This time her eyes glowed a feral silver, showing a side that she
rarely exposed. Vic shivered and hunched down into his chair.
Dawn was coming too soon and sunset was an eternity away.

>>>~~~<<<

An hour later, the only thing keeping Vic in that room was the
sheer force of his boss's will, and even though it was a pretty
forceful will, it wasn't going to work for much longer. He'd been
trying to call Mac every ten minutes during that time, along with
calls to some of his favorite haunts. He had even -- briefly --
considered calling the police to see if he'd been caught breaking
into the ROM, even though they'd already checked the police
computers to find out if there was any record of that. There
wasn't.

The only lead was a report that he might have been at The Cave, a
dance club he'd gone to with Mac a couple times. Definitely not
his kind of club, though. The bartender had said he'd seen Mac
dancing with some woman who he didn't know, but wasn't around
anymore. He'd hung up before Vic could ask if the two had left
together.

Someone less confident might have worried at hearing that his
lover had been seen with someone else, but Vic wasn't one of
them. Maybe. Sure, he'd wondered for a moment if Mac had fallen
back on old preferences, but he quickly pushed that down. He knew
Mac better than that.

Or so he kept telling himself.

But there was a limit to his patience and he had finally reached
it. He opened his mouth to tell the Director that like it or not,
he was leaving to find Mac when the phone rang.

Her phone.

The one phone that even *he* didn't know the number to.

They stared at it for a moment until it rang a second time. Then,
moving across the room faster than he'd expected, she stabbed one
of the buttons with a long, red-painted fingernail.

"Hello, Dianne," a warm voice purred from the speaker. Vic knew
automatically that it was Guylaine. Her voice had the same tone
as his boss, but with even more sexual innuendo poured into the
four syllables. "Comment vas-tu, ma chère soeur?"

"What do you want, Guylaine?" the Director asked, the ice of the
arctic north in her voice.

"Oh, just to talk. After all, it has been a while, hasn't it?"

Vic barely noticed the women trading fake pleasantries. In the
background, he could hear Mac's voice. The speaker quality wasn't
good enough to let him pick up what Mac was saying, but he could
hear the fear in his lover's voice.

The Director's hand came up, and he realized he was moving
towards the phone, a low growl vibrating in his chest, but he
backed down at the gesture. For now. "True. However, we both know
you want something. Cut to the chase."

"Spoilsport," the other woman griped. "However, I really just
wanted to let you know where you can find your other delightful
little boy."

At that moment a blood-curdling scream came through the line,
making Vic's hair stand on end. Even worse, he knew just who was
doing the screaming. "What are you doing to Mac?!" he burst in,
not caring about the warning on the Director's face.

"Oh, don't worry, little Gangrel. I've found a... pleasant
resting place for him."

A click cut off the scream, leaving on the hiss of empty air.

Vic actually made it to the door of the briefing room before it
slammed shut in his face, knocking him off his feet. He bounced
back up almost immediately, but the thick metal refused to open
for him.

"Damnit!" he shouted, whirling around to face his boss.

She met his anger with icy control. "And just where do you think
you're going?"

"To find Mac," he hissed back at her. "And you're not going to
stop me."

She shook her head tiredly and sat down. "Fine. I'll let you go
when you can prove that you have something more to go on than
just determination. It's a large city. Where are you going to
start?"

Vic opened his mouth to say 'The Cave,' then stopped. It was
nearly dawn and he didn't have time to play detective. But what
the hell else was there? Then it hit him. "She wouldn't call just
to taunt, would she? She's set a trap and she wants to make sure
that it gets sprung." He thought back to what Guylaine had said
on the phone. He hadn't really been paying attention, too caught
up at the sound of Mac being... He refused to go there. Mac was
going to be just fine.

He had to be.

Finally, he found what he was looking for and nearly smacked a
hand to his forehead in frustration. It was so incredibly obvious
that he should have seen it right away. "She said she found him a
*pleasant* resting place. The only place that fits the bill is
Mount Pleasant." Mount Pleasant was a Toronto landmark; the most
beautiful, peaceful, opulent cemetery in the city, and probably
the largest. With its surrounding trees and unexpected gullies --
not to mention abundance of crypts and monuments -- it was the
perfect place to set up an ambush.

Or to dispose of a body.

"If they've killed him..." he started to say, but the Director
cut him off.

"I doubt she has," she said gently and more than a little sadly.
"That wouldn't be enough for her. Remember what I told you about
the Sabbat?"

Vic shuddered. "When they Embrace, they bury their victims and
leave them to dig themselves out alone."

"Exactly. Which means we've got time to prepare. She'll expect
you to run off immediately. If we wait until sunset..."

"No! I am *not* going to leave Mac in her hands that long!"

"Be reasonable, Victor. There's no way you'll find him before
sunrise, let alone dig him up and find a place to hide for the
day. The place it too large. If we wait and plan..."

"No," he broke in again stubbornly. "I'm going, so you better
open those damned doors before I rip them off their hinges."

She glared at him, but he wasn't going to budge on this. Of
course it was a trap. Certainly, he didn't have much of a chance
of getting Mac out before sunrise. But, "Please," he said
desperately. "I have to at least *try*."

Finally, she sighed. "All right. I'll let you go. But you won't
have any backup until sunset. Just because you want to risk your
life doesn't mean that I'm going to throw away the lives of any
other Agency staff."

"Fine. Now open that damned door! Please," he added, a little
more politely.

She tapped a key on her computer and the doors swung open as
quickly and silently as they had swung shut. "Thank you," he said
softly, then headed off at a run, refusing to acknowledge the sad
eyes that watched him go.

>>>~~~<<<

Sunrise was only an hour away by the time he reached the cemetery
and the sky was already starting to turn grey on the horizon. He
pulled to a stop, wheels screeching at the suddenness, on the
road that split the two main sections of the grounds. He could
have driven the truck *through* the cemetery, but the driveway
was long and twisting, and didn't cover the entire grounds. He
would be better off on foot.

But he found himself standing next to the truck, frozen by
indecision. Like the Director had said, the place was huge. It
was divided into several sections, each as large as most ordinary
cemeteries. This, however, was the one where the elite of Toronto
were buried, with family crypts going back generations, more
modern headstones, statuary and crematory gardens. Where the hell
did he start.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath...

And guessed.

Turning to his right, he moved silently into the shadows. The
pre-dawn light was scattered by the branches waving in the wind,
creating a pattern of movement that made it impossible to see
anything clearly. Instead, he opened up his other senses,
listening for any noises other than the rustle of leaves, sniffed
for the scent of fresh earth or anything else unexpected.

Something like the perfume he associated with Kata.

The scent hit him a second before a large, furred, muscular form
did. He went flying, trying desperately to keep fangs from his
throat and claws from his vulnerable belly. Finally, he got a
foot wedged between him and his attacker and kicked hard.

The beast went flying with a yowl, then faded into the shadows.
Vic was on his feet in an instant, bleeding from multiple slashes
and braced for another attack. Instead, he heard soft, mocking
laughter.

"You're too late, 'hero.' He's mine now."

"Like hell he is, lady," Vic snarled back at thin air, twisting
around, trying to find her.

"We'll just have to see then, won't we, lap-dog? Maybe I'll have
him kill you before we leave town. Or maybe I'll just leave you
to live with your failure."

"I'm going to kill you," Vic said, then stopped in shock,
realizing for the first time in his life, he meant it; he wanted
to hunt her down and rip her heart out for what she had done.
Then he'd find her boss and kill *her* too. He'd killed in the
line of duty, but this was the first time he'd *wanted* to kill,
gone looking to kill.

After a moment, he realized that there was going to be no answer.
Kata was gone.

>>>~~~<<<

There was no further interference after that confrontation, but
there was also no sign of Mac. He'd finished searching the one
side of the cemetery as best he could, but there was no sign of a
fresh grave or anything else that might be hiding the other man.
Cursing softly to himself, he headed back across the road to the
other section. He was so intent on his search that he didn't see
the car coming at him until it swerved around him, horn blaring.
"Hey asshole, watch where you're going!" the driver shouted
before driving off again.

At that point, Vic realized just how late it was getting. The
eastern sky was bright grey and the first colors of sunrise were
showing. When he'd arrived, there'd been no traffic. Now cars
were passing with increasing frequency. It was dawn and there
wasn't enough time to drive to a safe haven.

Just inside the gates on the other side of the street, he looked
around quickly. Unfortunately, the only nearby structures were a
couple mausoleums that were securely locked. He could have broken
the locks easily, but that would have been obvious to the
groundskeepers and the last thing he needed was for the cops to
show up to drag him out. Besides, the idea of spending the day in
a building with dead bodies was not his idea of a fun time.

So that just left the one skill he'd not been able to master on
his own: merging himself into the earth. He'd always been blocked
by a fear of not being able to find his way back, but now he had
no choice. He could remember Moira explaining *how* to do it,
though, and like she'd said, necessity was an excellent teacher.
He moved into the trees, away from the cemetery proper.

Stopping in a tiny clearing, he looked around nervously. He
didn't want to be doing this, but he could already feel the sun
coming up over the horizon. He didn't have long until the first
rays hit this area.

He lay down on the ground on his back, looking up into the leaves
above him. He took a couple deep, if not really necessary,
breaths, then closed his eyes. He brought to mind the sensation
of sinking into a feather mattress, buoyed by softness and
covered by thick covers.

Day sleep took him, and after a moment, there wasn't even a mound
of earth to show where he'd been.
 

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twelve
----------------------------------------

Mac woke to a heavy, oppressive blackness and the feeling of
being tightly constrained. Actually, he was a little surprise
that he'd woke at all. The last thing he remembered was a dungeon
and Kata sinking her fangs into his neck with no concern for his
feelings at all.

In a way, the excruciating pain had put a lot of things into
perspective. Suddenly, what Vic had done the other night when
he'd teased the other man into losing control didn't seem so bad.
He was barely starting to realized just how *much* control Vic
had managed to hang onto, even under those circumstances.

In fact, he couldn't remember ever experiencing *anything* worse
than what Kata had done to him, not even Michael's betrayal or
the warehouse explosion when his former brother had tried to kill
him and both of his partners.

Of course, he still wasn't sure just *what* Kata had done to him,
but he knew that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

Mac shifted his weight and raised one arm. His elbow hit wood
beside him, making him wince, and his hand hit wood above. He
froze for a moment, then quickly felt around. An examination of
his immediate surrounding confirmed his worst fears.

He was in a coffin, or at least something shaped like one.
Nothing fancy, made from cheap plywood that left splinters in his
palm as he pressed it against the surface just above his nose.

Or maybe hammering that surface was a better term for it. He'd
never been comfortable with tight spaces -- probably a left-over
from his months in solitary confinement before the Director had
sprung him from the Hong Kong prison system -- but it had gotten
worse since the year before when a politician under the Agency's
protection had kidnapped him and packed him in a coffin to ship
to Hong Kong and the loving embrace of his former family. The
only thing that had saved him from spending a day or two locked
in that box before being presented to a Tang Family hit squad as
target practice was the timely rescue by his two partners and the
Director. But he still had nightmares about what might have
happened, and had even slept with a night-light for nearly a
month, although he'd rather die than admit it.

The one calm part of his mind that was analyzing this noted that
he was well on his way to hysteria. However, it also noted that
his actions *were* having an effect. One of the boards was loose
and shifted under his hands. Since the tight space didn't allow
him the leverage to push, he dug his fingernails into the edge of
the board and pulled.

Two nails were broken and another was ripped off altogether by
the time he'd managed to pull one of the wide boards down on top
of him.

But the board was followed by an avalanche of loose dirt, filling
his open mouth. And the truth hit him.

He'd been buried.

At that point, he abandoned any pretense of sanity and started
clawing at the wood and earth above him.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac drew in deep shuddering breaths of the warm night air as he
pulled himself from the earth, as naked as a baby sliding from
his mother's womb. It was dark and he was surrounded by trees and
the whisper of breeze through the branches. He was scraped and
bleeding and filthy.

And he burned. Oh, how he burned.

He looked around, but the only thing other than trees and bushes
that he saw was a dim figure, barely visible in the nighttime
gloom. He moved towards it, not bothering to try to pull his
thoughts together. Behind him, the churned-up earth bore mute
witness to his desperate struggle for freedom.

When he reached the figure, he realized that it was just a
statue: the figure of an angel carved from stone, standing on a
pedestal so tall that he had to stare up at her. Pollution and
weather had left there marks, wearing away details and staining
her until she had a blank oval for a face. A star adorned her
forehead and her arms were folded over her breast. She exuded a
sense of calm compassion and he could not look away.

He lifted a hand to his own chest and was disturbed to find it as
bare as the rest of him, even though he didn't know why. All he
knew was that something was missing. Something important. His
thoughts were still sluggish and only half-formed. Everything
seemed to be lost in a haze, but he could not find the ambition
to worry about that.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?"

Mac turned to see a beautiful woman moving out of the shadows
towards him. Slim and graceful, with a spill of dark hair
covering her shoulders, he knew her on a deep, instinctive level,
even though her name was one of those things lost in the mist.

She came up beside him and ran his fingers through his hair,
brushing dirt from it. He leaned against her, looking for more of
that caress. A sigh of contentment escaped him, even though the
burning in his gut was growing by the moment.

Her laughter was like a peal of bells as she pulled his head down
to her breast. "Oh yes, you are mine, no matter what he thinks. I
knew you were meant for this the moment I saw you, and no one
will ever take away from me. You are mine, sweet Mac."

He nodded, more in response to what he recognized as his name
than any understanding of what she was saying. But all she seemed
to want was agreement and for some reason he wanted to please
her. Then the nod turned into a nuzzle as he looked for
something, although he didn't know what it might be.

Then the pain struck and he doubled over with a cry, clutching
his stomach. The burning feeling was spreading through him and he
felt like he was going to burst into flames. Flames of need. He
needed, he needed...

Something was pressed to his lips, flesh and fluid and an
intoxicating scent. He fastened onto it and started to suckle
eagerly.

>>>~~~<<<

When Vic woke, it was well after dark and he was lying on the
ground. There was a light rain coming down and he was nearly
soaked. He couldn't remember anything after lying down that
morning, but he assumed that he must have succeeded in merging
himself with the earth since he wasn't charred remains. Moira was
right: imminent death was a great motivator.

But he was no better off than he'd been before. Mac was still out
there, and Vic found himself praying that he *had* been Embraced
by their enemies. The alternative was that he was dead, and Vic
did *not* want to consider that. No, Mac was alive and he would
find him and save him. He deliberately did not think about Cash's
story of being driven apart from his lover after she was embraced
by a clan hostile to his. If that happened, he and Mac would just
have to prove that instinct could be overcome if you wanted to
badly enough.

But first he had to find Mac. The Director had promised
reinforcements come nightfall, but he wasn't about to wait for
them. Once again exercising all the senses and talents of the
Gangrel, he started hunting.

>>>~~~<<<

"Very good," the woman crooned as Mac drank. Whatever it was, it
was like the finest of wines sliding down his throat and cooling
the burn. When she pulled it away, he whimpered and tried to hang
onto it, but he was too weak.

Immediately her voice turned hard and she grabbed his chin hard
enough to bruise. "Enough, Mac. There will be more later, but you
need to learn some self-control. Do you understand me?" He stared
at her in confusion, but she shook him. Hard. "Do you
understand?!"

He swallowed hard. "Ye...yes," he managed to croak. "I...
understand." The words felt awkward in his throat, but they came.

And with the words came thought. He shuddered as he remembered
pulling the dirt down on top of himself, praying that he hadn't
been buried too deeply, thanking God that the dirt was packed
down. Digging his way free hadn't been too difficult, but the
panic had been all-encompassing.

And before that, he remembered pain. Lots and lots of pain. Pain
and silver eyes and sharp teeth.

He cried out and pulled away.

>>>~~~<<<

The cry was Mac. Vic would know his voice anywhere. Angling his
path slightly to the left, he ran even faster.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac fought to keep himself upright, but the memory of pain was
threatening to overwhelm him and he ended up collapsing back to
his knees. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, only just beginning
to realize that he didn't *need* to breathe. He should need to
breathe, shouldn't he?

A strong hand grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back to his
feet. "It's time to go," Kata said. He looked at her, confused.
The haze had drawn back a little further, enough to remember her
name.

"Go where?" he asked, a deep feeling of foreboding. She didn't
look quite as attractive anymore. Her hair was matted down by the
rain turning the dirt on his own body to muddy streaks, and her
expression was harsh.

Then she smiled, and he shuddered slightly. "South, I think.
Someplace warm and far from the Gaje. Won't that be nice?"

He wasn't so sure about that, but when she turned and walked
away, he followed her, almost against his will. With every step,
the sense of wrong increased, but he couldn't think of anything
else to do. She wanted him to follow, so follow he would.

"Mac!"

The shout stopped him in his tracks and he turned to see a man
bursting out from a copse of trees behind the stone memorials.
Green-eyed and crusted with dirt and mud, much like Mac but
fully-dressed. He was familiar, but his name wasn't coming to
Mac.

"Time to go," Kata said, almost harshly, from behind him. He
turned to see her waiting impatiently, one foot tapping lightly
against the grass. He took a step towards her.

"No!"

"I told, you, he's mine, Gangrel. He was mine the moment I saw
him. Blood calls to blood. Do you think he would really stay with
a Gajo like yourself?"

The man's face was twisting into a snarl now, his green eyes
starting to turn silver. His hands clenched and his fingernails
were... growing? Mac took a step back, confused and more than a
little afraid. Silver eyes were associated with pain, he
remembered.

Then the man sprang forward and Mac fell over backwards trying to
get out of the way. But the man went sailing over him to hit
Kata. Mac blinked in confusion, though, when he realized that
what had hit the woman wasn't a man.

It was a large cat?

It was a mountain lion, although he wasn't sure just where it had
come from. Or where the man had gone. His mind was refusing to
accept the evidence of his own eyes: the man had *become* the
cat.

Kata was fighting back, seemingly unconcerned about just what her
attacker was. She struck out, like she was trying to slap the
oversized feline, but there was a flash of light off of claws
just as long as his, and the cat howled as lines of blood were
left behind by the blow. Kata's lips drew back in a feral grin,
exposing teeth that were longer and sharper that Mac remembered
them being.

The two sprang apart, settling into poses where either could
attack or defend easily, although a woman facing off against a
large mountain lion was not exactly normal. Mac was pretty sure
of that. A flash of lightning and the answering roll of thunder
just added to the unreality of the scene.

And Kata's eyes were glowing an eerie silver to match the cat's
eyes. Mac shuddered and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The
man's eyes turning silver had made him think of the pain. Kata's
eyes turning silver brought the memory of pain back full force,
along with other memories.

He remembered her tearing through the skin of his neck, sucking
hard. Remembered the pain, followed but the darkness as his body
turned cold and limp. And last of all, he remembered fluid being
poured into his mouth and drinking it, before the darkness
consumed everything.

And then he woke up, buried alive. *She* had done that. Then
she'd just *waited* until he'd dug himself free, doing nothing to
help him.

As the two combatants threw themselves at each other again, Mac
scrabbled backwards until he was hidden behind one of the
headstones. Then he pushed to his feet and ran.

He just wished he knew where he was running to.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic barely noticed slipping into cat form, it was so comfortable,
so right. It was like slipping on a favorite outfit. As well, it
had advantages in strength and speed that he had a hunch were
going to be important.

He knew that the bitch was Kindred, even before her talons and
fangs made an appearance, and while he still didn't have a clue
which clan she might be, he had the feeling she was a lot older
than himself, and in Kindred terms, older meant stronger and
cannier. Definitely more experienced in basic survival.

A slash of the talons opened up his shoulder, sending shards of
pain through his body. He leapt back with a howl and took a ready
stance opposite her while he didn't a self-check. He was bleeding
what blood he had and his leg wasn't entirely steady. She'd done
damage to the muscles and worse, she knew it.

"Here, kitty, kitty," she mocked softly, pushing the wet hair out
of her eyes and circling to his left, trying to get an angle that
would allow her to attack his injured side. Vic matched her
rotation, not allowing her the opening.

He might not be able to speak in this form, but his snarl spoke
volumes. Unfortunately, she didn't seem in the least bit
intimidated.

"Poor little Gajo," she said, her lips twisting into a very
unpleasant expression for such a beautiful face. "I told you that
he was mine now. Romany blood *and* a thief. How could he
possibly be happy in the world of the Camarilla? Oh yes," she
crooned, flexing her talons as she inched closer to him. Vic
tensed, ready. "He was *born* to be Ravnos and now he is all
*mine*!"

With the last word, she attacked. Vic met her in mid-air and this
time when they fell apart, there was a set of parallel gouges
down her chest, slowly oozing blood, and she was no longer
smiling. Vic made a coughing noise that he managed to pour his
derision into.

She snarled, and her features seemed to melt a little. When they
stopped, her appearance was more like what the movies showed as
vampires: twisted, showing too much teeth and too much brow-
ridge, with pointed ear-tips showing through the limp, dark hair.

This time, they leapt simultaneously, both going for the jugular.
They fell to the ground in a clawing jumble. Vic strained to
reach her throat while kicking with his back legs to gut her. She
used her own legs to keep his claws away from her vulnerable
belly, and one elbow jammed under his jaw to keep his teeth away
from her while also exposing his own neck to *her* fangs.

At this point it was a stalemate. Neither one could get close
enough to do damage without risking letting the other do the
same. Vic snarled his frustration. He wanted her blood. He wanted
to tear her flesh. This was the bitch who'd hurt Mac, who wanted
to take him away. Mac was *his*, and he wasn't going to let some
outsider break them apart.

The sane portion of his brain was trying to point out that Mac
wasn't his property any more than he was hers, but hunger and
pain was overriding his commonsense. All he wanted was to kill
her and then drag Mac home and make sure that *no* woman ever
came between them again. The Beast was in full control.

But first he had to do something about this Mexican standoff they
were stuck in.

Then there was a sharp double-prick of something hitting him in
the back, followed by the feeling of having stuck his finger in a
light-socket, only a thousand times worse. Vic spasmed, then
everything went...

Black.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac ran, as fast and as hard as he could. In the back of his
mind, he knew this was a mistake, but instinct was in the
driver's seat. He crossed the road into the other section of the
cemetery so quickly that he didn't even notice if there were any
cars on the road.

He wanted to stop running. His mind was starting to recover from
what had happened to him and he knew that running through the
streets of town completely naked, other than a layer of dirt, was
a *very* bad idea. However, he could hear people moving in the
dark, calling out to each other, and he had the sinking feeling
that they were hunting for him. Now, maybe they were the good
guys and he would be safe with them, but he wasn't willing to
risk his life on that chance. Especially not considering the two
he'd left behind, fighting over him.

Part of him wanted to go back, but he wasn't sure why. *She* had
hurt him, but he still felt drawn to her, no matter how hard he
fought it. He could still taste the sweetness of her blood in his
mouth. And the guy... He shook his head. He knew the man, but the
name wasn't coming. But he could trust him. Maybe. He wasn't sure
right then. Whichever one won the battle of the century that was
going on, he had the feeling that he didn't want to be around
when that happened.

So he kept running until he ran out of room to run. He stared out
at the city street, not sure what to do. If he stayed, *they*
would find him. If he kept going, someone might see him and call
the police.

A shout from behind him decided it. Praying to a God he'd been
ignoring since being abandoned on the streets of Hong Kong, Mac
started running again.

>>>~~~<<<

When Vic came to, he knew he'd only been unconscious for a few
minutes. Kata was gone though, and he rolled over, scanning the
surrounding area for her.

"Easy, Ace," Dobrinsky said, holding out a hand. Vic took it and
let the older man pull him to his feet. "Here," Dobrinsky said,
tossing him a sweat suit.

That was when Vic noticed that he was back in human form, soaking
wet and buck naked to boot. Thankful that he didn't blush easily
anymore, he quickly pulled the fleece garments on. "What are you
doing here?" he asked suspiciously. Last he heard, Dobrinsky and
Jackie were in the States somewhere on the Director's business.

"The boss thought you might need some backup." That made sense.
He just hadn't expected her second-in-command to be heading up
the promised reinforcements.

Vic looked around, but other than the two of them and a lot of
headstones, the clearing was empty. "Where's Mac?" he demanded.
"And the bitch?"

Dobrinsky's lips pulled into a smirk. "The... lady is on her way
to the Agency. The Director plans on questioning her herself. As
for the kid, your guess is as good as mine. The two of you stuck
in a clinch were all we found when we got here."

Vic started swearing. "I've got to find him," he said, looking
for and finding the signs of a panicked flight, fading quickly in
the heavy rain.

"Relax, I've got people looking. We'll find him."

"Don't count on it," Vic said, already heading after Mac.

"Hey!" Dobrinsky shouted from behind him. "The Director wants you
back to base. Pronto!"

"Screw her!" Vic shouted back, then ignored everything but the
trail.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac ran hard, looking for a place to hide until he could figure
out what to do next. He hoped that Vic had won the fight, now
that he'd remembered just *who* Vic was. He wanted to go back,
but he still didn't know who the others were. Also, if Kata had
won, he didn't want to be anywhere near her. She'd drugged him,
kidnapped him for that Guylaine woman and she'd ripped his throat
out. She'd... changed him.

Kindred. He was Kindred now. Like Vic. And the Director,
Dobrinsky and Jackie.

But what would the Director do when she found out? Whatever clan
Kata was, he doubted that it was one that the Director was
planning on for him. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't
matter -- after all, she'd accepted Vic after *he'd* been
Embraced by a clan she hadn't planned on -- but the part of him
that was still pure instinct was terrified that she might decide
to just dispose of him.

He knew he was being irrational, but it didn't stop him from
looking for a place to hide.

He crossed another street, ignoring the offended shriek of a
woman stupid enough to be taking her dog for a late-night walk in
a thunderstorm, then ran through a yard. He grabbed some clothing
off of a forgotten clothesline, then scrambled over yet another
fence. Almost immediately, he was surrounded by green. Looking
around, he realized that he'd reached the Don Valley Parkway,
which traversed Toronto from the 401 to downtown.

Not hearing any sounds of pursuits, he took the time to pull on
his stolen clothing. The jeans were too short and threatened to
fall off his hip, while the sweater was far too large for him,
and both were soaking wet, but at least he was no longer in
danger of being arrested for indecent exposure.

Then he considered what direction to head. If he went south, he'd
run out of park, but he'd be going in the direction of his
apartment and Vic's. Home. North, on the other hand, led to more
and larger parklands. More places to hide.

Mac bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. Going with his gut
instinct, he turned.

And headed north.

>>>~~~<<<

Once Mac left the cemetery, his trail was harder to follow, but
Vic persevered, using every trick he'd been taught and a few he
made up along the way to keep going.

Eventually he realized where Mac was headed and sped up even
more.

Mac was headed out of the frying pan and into the fire.
 

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirteen
----------------------------------------

Mac followed the parkway until the green space widened into a
full-sized parkland and he sighed in relief. This was so much
better. He'd followed the East Don Valley River until he reached
the conservation reserve, and while he could still hear the
sounds of cars, the wildness of the area soothed his soul.
Looking around, he found a nook underneath a bush and crawled in.
The leaves of the bush protected him from the worst of the storm,
and even though he was soaked to the skin, Mac didn't feel the
chill. The fire in his belly was more than capable of keeping him
warm.

But he was exhausted already. The space was protected and he
curled up tightly and closed his eyes. Maybe if he slept, he
would wake up with the world back the way it should be. He'd be
in his own bed, or better yet, Vic's, with the older man wrapped
around him like he was an oversized body pillow.

With that thought in mind, he slipped into sleep with a soft
smile on his face.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic followed Mac's trail, wincing as it headed into the wilder
areas. Mac was headed into Gangrel territory, where even *he* was
barely tolerated. As far as Moira and her lot were concerned, he
was only put up with because the Director was capable of forcing
them out of Toronto. If they found another Kindred in their
territory...

He'd seen them tear apart a mugger, once, who'd thought he could
escape into the reserve and the cops wouldn't find him. He was
right about that though: there hadn't been enough of him *left*
to find.

Vic picked up his pace. He had to find Mac before someone else
did.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was drifting in a pleasant haze. He and Vic were walking
along the shore of Lake Ontario, someplace outside of town. There
were trees almost all the way to the waterline, and the song of
night birds blending with the lap of the waves was the only
sound.

Then something grabbed his ankle and he looked down. A hand had
burst up out of the sand and had a grip like iron on his leg. He
stared at in shock for a moment.

Then it started to pull him down, the sand sucking him like some
sick form of quicksand. Vic grabbed his wrist and pulled in the
other direct, shouting something he couldn't hear over the
roaring in his ears. The suction increased, and between it and
Vic, he felt like he was going to be ripped apart.

He kicked out with his free -- free? -- leg and heard a snarl of
pain. His eyes flew open and he realized that he'd been dreaming,
but he really *was being pulled out of his shelter. He'd grabbed
onto the trunk of the bush in his sleep, but he could feel the
roots starting to go. Realizing that he had no choice, he let go,
and shot out from his little nest.

He went flying, and whoever it was twisting his ankle lost his
grip and went sprawling too, cursing the whole time.

Despite the confusion of the night -- and the previous night --
his reflexes were still sharp. Mac rolled and came up in a
martial arts ready stance. The brief nap had been exactly he
needed to finish clearing his mind, although the burning in his
gut was intensifying to the near pain stage again.

What he saw didn't reassure him. Facing him were four men that
practically reeked. They all had silver eyes and talons that were
almost as long as their fingers. They also reminded him of Vic's
temporary teacher, Moira. She'd had pointed and tufted ears like
an animal, and these ones had similar... deformities. One had
feathers instead of hair, one was shoeless and his feet resembled
paws more than feet. One was so hairy that he almost counted as
furred. The last looked nearly human, but there was something
about him that made the hairs on the back of Mac's neck rise up.

The feathered one was back on his feet after Mac's unexpected
move had sent him flying. The four started to sidle to the side,
obviously trying to surround him. He shifted, trying to keep them
all in view, but he was honest enough to admit to himself that he
didn't have much chance of stopping them. He might be hot shit in
a fight, but four-on-one were lousy odds, even for him.

"Hey, guys," he said, trying to put on an ingratiating smile. "Do
we really need to do this?"

Paws-for-feet chortled in a way that made his teeth grit. "Oh,
yeah, we do. Did you really think you could just waltz in,
trespassing, and get off scot-free?"

"Especially one of *your* kind?" Black-and-furred added in a
deep, gravelly voice that was almost a growl.

"Um, my kind?" Mac was almost twisting, trying to keep Feathers
in view. In another moment, one of them was going to reach his
blind spot and he would be dead meat.

"Yes, *your* kind." Paws' eyes narrowed as he looked at Mac. Then
he grinned very unpleasantly. "Boys, I think what we have here is
a baby. The *freshest* of meat."

That pronouncement was answered by a chorus of chuckles. Mac
gulped, then continued to try to brazen his way out. "I don't
doubt that you can kill me," he said, going for the honest
approach, "but it wouldn't be a smart move."

Raucous laughter greeted that statement. "And why not?" Paws
asked. He seemed like he was the leader of the mini-pack.

"Because he's not alone."

>>>~~~<<<

Hearing voices up ahead, Vic broke into a run. The rain had
nearly stopped, so visibility was good enough for him to see Mac
surrounded by four of Moira's top dogs, so to speak. Mac was
trying to talk them out of killing him, but Vic could tell that
they weren't going to go along with it. Martin -- the one with
the feathers -- in particular had a streak of cruelty a mile
wide. He'd seen the man hunt and kill a terrified homeless kid,
while his bully boys had kept Vic from interfering. When he'd
complained to Moira, she'd laughed in his face. 'This is what
Gangrel is,' she'd told him. Well, not *this* Gangrel. The mugger
he'd been able to justify to himself. The kid had been a
different matter.

"I don't doubt that you can kill me," Mac was saying, "but it
wouldn't be a smart move."

"And why not?" Jazz asked with a sneer. Martin might be the
cruelest, but Jazz was the smartest. But not right now. Now he
was in a really stupid place to be

Vic smiled: It was payback time. "Because he's not alone."

Jamal was the biggest of the bunch, heavy muscle under the dark
fur, so Vic tackled him first. The big man went down under him in
an inelegant heap, and Vic hit him in the head a few times until
he went limp. He was still alive, but out of the picture.

Then Vic was back on his feet, looking for the next opponent.

>>>~~~<<<

The new voice was completely unexpected by everyone. Mac's four
attackers all twisted to see who it was, but Mac took the chance
to go after the weird one. He couldn't explain it, but the man
scared the shit out of him and he wanted to get him out of the
way *fast*.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vic tackle the big furry
one, and the two went flying. Meanwhile, Mac kicked for Creepy's
head, but the man twisted out of the way in a move that was
definitely *not* human. He laughed, and stuck out his tongue at
Mac.

Mac recoiled. The guy didn't have a normal tongue, he had a
*snake's* tongue. Complete with fork at the tip.

The man laughed again, more hiss than chuckle, and wiggled his
tongue in a way that was downright obscene. Mac's skin crawled.
He *hated* snakes. With a bellow, he attacked with both fists and
feet, fueled by disgust and near-panic. As a result, he was
almost surprised when the man went down hard, accompanied by the
sickening crack of breaking bones. The man's neck was bent at an
unnatural angle, but he was still flopping, trying to get up. Mac
didn't know if a Kindred could recover from a broken neck and he
really didn't want to find out.

But he was a little surprised at how *easily* he'd taken the man
down. While he'd realized he was now Kindred himself, he hadn't
really *believed* it. However, after this little show of
strength, he didn't really have much choice.

Welcome to life after death, Mac Ramsey.

Unfortunately, he was so caught up in his ruminations on the
nature of life, or un-life, that he forgot about the others. Even
more unfortunately, they hadn't forgotten him. He found this out
when a very cold, very sharp blade pressed against his throat.

>>>~~~<<<

Jamal was down for the count and from the look of it, so was
Sidney the snake. Mac looked like he was going into shock, but
Vic didn't have the chance to reassure him. Before he could take
a step in the direction of the younger man, Martin slammed into
him.

The fall would have knocked the air from his lungs if he wasn't
Kindred: There were some benefits to being a vampire, and not
needing to breathe was one of them.

Instead, he twisted away from the man, avoiding talons and claws
that were going for vulnerable spots. He kept rolling until he
ended up back on his feet, facing his opponent. He might not be a
flying kung-fu master like his partners, but in a street brawl,
no one could out-mean him.

"Down, lap-dog, or the baby gets it."

Vic cursed silently. While he'd been paying attention to the
fighters in the foursome, Jazz had managed to get behind Mac and
was now holding a wicked looking dagger to his partner's throat.
It was certainly sharp enough to decapitate him, something that
would be beyond to even a Kindred's abilities to heal.

Behind him, he heard Jamal groan and slowly get to his feet.
Sidney would be a bit longer, but Martin was almost growling in
his eagerness to get at Vic. A glance from Jazz quelled him, but
just barely.

"You want to live?" Vic asked softly, not taking his eyes off the
man or his knife. Jazz's feathers were fluffed up, showing that
despite his confident words, he was agitated.

The man laughed, a slight edge to the sound. "I'm the one who
should be asking that," he said.

Vic shrugged, playing it cool. "This is Toronto. I may be the
Prince's lapdog, but she takes care of her people. And she
avenges them. Kill *two* of her people and you haven't a chance
in hell of getting out of the city alive. She'd call a hunt. Let
us go and you'll have the chance to get out of town with your
skins intact."

His words were answered by a chorus of growls, but he refused to
allow that to affect him. They were getting out of this alive,
but not if he didn't keep his cool.

"You two vanish and how's she to know *how* you died?"

Vic snorted. "I'm just the first one to get here. Dobrinsky and
his boys were right behind me. I just ran faster."

Jazz's eyes flickered in the direction Vic had arrived from, then
back to him. "I don't believe you," he said, but he didn't sound
completely sure of that.

"Your funeral." Vic shrugged. Jazz might not believe him, but Mac
was relaxing. Vic met his eyes and did his best to project
reassurance.

Then, ever so faintly, came the sound of voices, coming closer.

"This is Gangrel territory," Jazz blustered. "The Prince can't
just send invaders with impunity."

That bit of bravado had Vic choking off a slightly bitter laugh.
"You don't know her very well, do you? She does whatever she
wants, when she wants, and you don't tell her 'no.' The Gangrel
live in Toronto on her sufferance, and I doubt that Moira would
appreciate you screwing that up for the entire clan."

The voices were getting closer now. He could almost tell which
was Dobrinsky. "Choose fast," he said, flexing his fingers before
drawing them up into fists. "Run, and I'll make sure you have
time to get out of town, but only if you go now. Wait any longer
and the four of you will be hauled into her presence, and so will
Moira. Who knows, maybe your boss will kill you herself, sparing
*my* boss the need to get her hands dirty."

He could see the man fidgeting. He didn't turn his head as one of
the four took off, heading away from the newcomers. He didn't
have to look to tell who it was: Martin might be cruel, but he
was also a coward. If his prey fought back, he ran. Why Moira
allowed him to stay, Vic would never know.

"Go, Jazz, before it's too late," he said softly

The man hesitated for one moment longer. Then he pushed Mac
directly into Vic and took off, Jamal right behind him. The only
one left with them was Sidney, who wasn't in any shape to move.

He could hear Dobrinsky calling his name and speculating on his
parentage, but he didn't bother to answer. Instead, he clutched
Mac to him, reassuring himself that the younger man was... well,
alive wasn't the right term, but at least he was still in one
piece. He was clinging, he knew, but at least Mac was clinging
back just as tightly.

They were still wrapped up tightly in each other's arms when
Dobrinsky arrived to take them home.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac fidgeted under the Director's glare as she paced back the
length of the room then turned and did it again. He did his best
to look as innocent as he possibly could. Hanging onto Vic's hand
helped with his anxiety levels, but it nothing about the burning
in his gut. This time, he knew it was because he needed to...
drink, but he really wasn't too crazy about *what* he had to
drink. He might enjoy Vic drinking from him, but deep down, the
idea of drinking blood himself was a little disconcerting.

Nerves getting the better of him, he started to chew on the
inside of his lip and winced as his fangs -- fangs he hadn't
noticed yet -- sliced the tender skin open. It hurt, but the
taste of little bit of blood that came out made the burning grow.
He whimpered slightly and clutched Vic's had a little tighter.
Now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, his brain seemed to
be shutting down again.

The Director didn't miss the small sound. "Oh, for pity's sake."
She headed over to her desk. A locked drawer was opened and she
pulled out a baggie filled with red fluid. "Here," she said,
sliding over the table surface to Mac. "Drink that before you
lose it."

Mac stared at the thing with distaste, but he could smell the
blood. While his brain was screaming "Yuck!" at him, his
instincts were saying "Yes!".

He picked up the baggie, and those instincts took over. His fangs
ripped into the plastic and his mouth filled with cold, delicious
fluid. Almost immediately, his mind cleared again. Some of the
precious liquid escaped and ran down his face to drip onto his
'borrowed' clothing. He didn't care. It tasted as good as he
remembered.

In fact, it tasted *exactly* like he remembered.

That thought was like a splash of cold water in the face. He
lowered the empty baggie and met the Director's eyes. "Kata?"

The woman's smile was positively feral. "She didn't need it
anymore."

Mac gulped and fought the urge to vomit. He'd was drinking the
blood of the woman who'd Embraced him. A woman who was now
*permanently* dead.

And yet, deep down, he couldn't find it in him to care. His only
regret was that he hadn't been there to help. He started drinking
again, this time a little more slowly.

The Director watched him, a hard expression on her face.
Finished, he put down the limp plastic and wiped his face on the
sleeve of the oversized U of T sweatshirt he was wearing.

She leaned back against her desk, tapping her long fingernails
against the size. "You know," she said in an overly reasonable
tone, "If I didn't like you so much, I would kill you." He
flinched. "I mean, how is it you keep getting yourself into these
messes?" She paused and waited expectantly. Mac opened his mouth
to answer, but couldn't think of anything to say.

Luckily, Vic *did* have something to say, and he took the
opportunity to jump in. "In this case, he got into this mess
because *no one* bothered to tell him what we were really up
against." He glared at the Director and Mac wondered just what
he'd missed in the last couple of days.

The Director's eyebrow went up. "Are you suggesting that this is
my fault?" she asked in a voice that almost dripped with sarcasm.
"Did I tell him to go to a nightclub after his little excursion
instead of coming back here? In case you've forgotten," she
added, turning her attention back on Mac, "*I* pay your salary."

"I didn't realize I was on company time," Mac said, then had to
fight the urge to cringe under her glare.

Actually, she had a good point. Going to a nightclub after his
break-in *was* a pretty stupid thing to do, and thinking back, he
couldn't really remember *why* he'd decided to do it.

He frowned. For that matter, he couldn't remember leaving the
club either. "How did they grab me?" he said softly, not really
aiming the question at either Vic or their boss.

The Director frowned at him. "You don't know?"

Mac shook his head. "After I left the ROM, I just had the feeling
that I *had* to go dancing. But I don't remember anything after
getting there until I woke up in Guylaine's dungeon."

The Director finally stopped her tapping and crossed her arms
over her chest. "Nothing at all?" she asked.

Mac closed his eyes and scrunched up his face in an effort to
force the memories. "I remember dancing. Then..." he paused, not
sure he wanted to say the rest, it was so crazy. "I remember
flashes of a gypsy camp and fiddles and a woman singing."

The Director was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, her
gaze bored into him. Finally, she seemed to relent. "You were
influenced, so I suppose you can't be completely blamed. This
time. But I suggest you don't let it happen again."

She moved to take her seat at the head of the conference table,
the seat she gave them their instructions from. She stared at him
for a long moment. Then a small smile forced its way free. "But
still, only you could end up in this position, deliberately or
not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, of all the clans you could have been embraced by, it
figures that it would have to be Ravnos."

Mac glanced at Vic and clutched his hand a little tighter. "What
sort of clan is that?" he asked, his voice breaking a little.

She snorted. "Ravnos and Gangrel don't get along, despite legends
that say they are related. But relax, it's a... political
animosity, if you like, not and instinctual one. The two of you
aren't going to be playing Romeo and Juliet anytime soon.

"As for what sort of clan they are, they're mostly gypsy-born,
thieves, smugglers, con-men." She shook her head. "Chaos. They
refuse to join either the Camarilla or the Sabbat. The last thing
any prince wants is for the Ravnos to move into town. If they are
noticed, they're run out of town or killed. On the other hand,
being gypsies, they tend to travel a lot, which is why they still
exist at all."

This time it was Vic who snorted. "No wonder she kept saying that
Mac was meant to be one of them."

"Exactly. He would be irresistible to any Ravnos that crossed his
path."

Mac wasn't sure whether he was being complemented or insulted,
but they had a point. Other than the first few years of his life
before his mother had died, he'd traveled the world, learning the
art of the con from his unreliable father. After his adoption by
the Tangs, those skills had been refined, turning him into one of
the best thieves in the world, if he did say so himself.

"And what about Guylaine?" Vic asked.

The Director deflated. Mac stared in disbelief: he couldn't
remember ever seeing the woman look so defeated. "Kata was...
convinced to tell us where she was, but by the time the team got
there, she was gone." She didn't look angry that the ringleader
had escaped, Mac noted. Instead, she seemed almost sad.

He opened his mouth to ask, but Vic squeezed his hand warningly.
"I'll explain later," he hissed.

Now he *really* wanted to know what had happened while he'd been
playing hostage, but he decided to wait until he and Vic got
home.

With a start, he realized that when he thought of home, it was
Vic's place that came to mind. He squeezed Vic's hand and leaned
a little closer. The older man glanced at him and smiled warmly.
Yeah, home was a good idea. A real home.

The Director sighed. "It's nearly dawn, so I suppose that the two
of you should head off. Normally, I wouldn't let Mac go anywhere,
but he seems to be doing as well, if not better than you did,
Victor. And by the way, your fridge has been stocked for two."

Mac was on his feet immediately, and pulled Vic in the direction
of the door. He did *not* want to know what the alternative to
him going home would be.

They just made it to the door when the Director called out,
"Mac!"

He winced, then turned around. He should have known that getting
away wouldn't be *that* easy.

"I think this belongs to you," she said mildly, then tossed
something at him.

Reflexes took over and he plucked the object out of the air.
Opening his hand, he smiled. "Thanks," he said softly, and hung
his pendant back where it belonged, around his neck. For a moment
it seemed to pulse warmly against his skin, almost like a living
thing.

Then he turned and followed Vic out the door.

He wanted to go home.
 

----------------------------------------
Epilogue
----------------------------------------

Vic nearly had to carry Mac into the apartment. The sun was
coming up and he could feel it like an itch under his skin, like
a cut draining all his energy away. "Should be wearing white," he
mumbled as Vic unlocked the door while trying to balance his
weight.

He was answered by a snort. "White is for virgins, so unless
there's been a miracle of epic proportions, you don't count."

Mac found the energy to smile. "Haven't I been reborn? Everything
is new again, including me, so I *am* a virgin. Again."

Vic stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then nearly fell
over laughing. If Mac hadn't known better, he might have thought
that the man was having hysterics.

"Fine," Vic said, wiping away pink-tinged tears. "You're a
virgin. Do you want to wait for me to go find you something white
to change into, or do you want to go to bed?"

Mac closed his eyes. "Bed," he whispered, awed at the thought.
Beds were soft with covers and pillows and someone to curl up
against. Beds didn't have earth or leaves. Beds were wonderful
things.

Vic caught him as he started to slip down the wall he'd been
leaning against. "Bed," he said firmly.

Seemingly an instant later, Mac landed on the promised bed. He
blinked and Vic was gone. He blinked again and his partner was
back, carrying a couple of those damned blood baggies. "Here,"
Vic said. He started to toss the baggie, then thought about it
and decided to just hand it to him.

Mac stared at the squishy thing. "Huh?" was all he could say. It
looked liked a red version of those icky breast-implant thingies.

"Drink it, or you'll wake up starving." Leading by example, Vic
draining his own baggie.

Deciding that since the other man had been doing this longer --
by a few months, at least -- Mac did the same. He still found the
idea distasteful, and the baggie was *so* uncouth, but the taste
was... incredible.

But he didn't really have time to enjoy it before his eyes
started to drift shut. He tried to force them open again, but his
entire body had gone limp.

Dimly, he could feel Vic stripping him down to bare skin, then
climbing in next to him. Vic was naked too, and while usually a
naked Vic was to be enjoyed, he couldn't move a muscle.

Vic curled up around him, a comforting presence. "Go to sleep,"
he whispered in Mac's ear. "Tonight we can discuss what happened.
But for now, just sleep."

And Mac did.

>>>~~~<<<

The Director watched the two men on the screen. They looked good
together, she couldn't deny, even though this had never been in
her plans. San Francisco was supposed to be a turning point for
her favorite team, but she'd foolishly thought she could decide
what direction they would be turning to.

She briefly considered separating them. Julian might be willing
to take Mac in. Then again, considering the young man's
resemblance to the late, lamented Zane, that might not be a good
idea. Or maybe she could send Vic to the Prince of Vancouver.
After all, he did owe her a favor.

Then she shook her head ruefully. She'd practically thrown them
together. She couldn't complain if it had... 'taken' better than
she had expected. If the separation during Vic's training period
hadn't cooled them off, nothing would.

And now she had the additional problem of Mac's Embrace.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. Mac was supposed to be
*Ventrue*, damnit. She'd planned it all out so carefully. True,
he had a taste for larceny, but he also had the polish and the
poise of a Ventrue. All he needed were the rough edges filed off,
the impatience tempered. She'd even considered taking him as her
own Childe, before deciding that Dobrinsky would do a better job
of taking him in hand.

And now he was Ravnos. Might as well call him chaos.

Still, she would deal with it. That's why she was Prince; to deal
with the tough problems. And unfortunately, Mac wasn't the
toughest one.

Her phone rang and she stared at it, waiting for it to rear up
and bite her. It did no such thing, though. It just kept ringing.

Finally, about the tenth ring, she stabbed the speaker button.
"What?"

A soft chuckle answered her, and she stiffened. "Guylaine."

"Who else? Did you miss me?"

"Get within firing range and I won't."

More laughter. "Such a far cry from the worshipful little sister
I remember."

"Well, we all grown up sooner or later," she said, resting her
chin on her intertwined fingers, staring off into space.

"A pity. I quite miss my little sister."

The Director snorted and shook her head. "Yes, you miss me so
much that you came to town just to see me."

"Actually, I did. I wanted to see just how good a Prince my dear
Dianne had become. I was quite impressed with your two boys. They
took out my little operation, stopped my right-hand man. Or
woman, I should say. Very impressive for a baby Gangrel and a
human."

"Don't play games, Guylaine. The only reason they got as close as
they did was because you let them. Why?"

"Did you like my last present?" the voice on the other end of the
phone said, bypassing the question.

"And which one would that be?" the Director asked, leaning back
in her chair.

"Why, your little boy, of course. He'll make such a lovely
Ravnos, I think. So much untapped potential, there. A pity you
didn't think to take advantage of it sooner. So ripe for
plucking, and I beat you to it."

"He's still mine," she replied, bristling at the satisfied tone
in her sister's voice.

"Exactly. And every time you look at him, you'll see plans
thwarted. I had him first, and every day, you'll have to face
that. Enjoy."

There was a click, followed by a dial-tone.

It was a long time before she could bring herself to turn that
dial-tone off.

She glanced back at the screen where she could see Mac and Vic,
still wrapped tightly around each other, and made a decision.
Keeping them together kept them *both* tied to her. And it
wouldn't take much encouragement on her part of bind them even
closer.

>>>~~~<<<

The sun was heading down when Vic finally woke. It was late for
him, but all of the stress and activity of the last few days had
exhausted him. He felt completely drained, but absolutely
fantastic at the same time.

Mac was still in the same position he'd landed in that morning,
looking almost heartbreakingly pale. His chest didn't rise, Vic
couldn't hear a heartbeat and he was cool to the touch. To every
sense, Mac seemed dead. In fact, technically speaking he *was*
dead.

But at the same time, he wasn't. While Vic wished he could have
had the chance to personally rip Kata to shreds for hurting his
lover, at least she'd Embraced him instead of just killing him.
Mac was Kindred now, which meant that forever just got a whole
lot longer.

And forever was what he wanted. He and Mac had been dancing
around the whole commitment issue, even *before* San Francisco,
if he was honest with himself. And while forever was just the
sort of thing he wanted, he hadn't been sure that it was
something Mac could give him.

But after nearly losing Mac, he'd decided that he'd rather try
and fail than not try at all. Mac was his and anyone who tried to
take him away was going to learn to just what lengths he was
willing to go to keep him.

Now, if Mac *wanted* to leave him, that would be a different
matter, and he wasn't sure just what he'd do then. Let him go?
Turn stalker? He really wasn't sure.

In the meantime, the sun would be setting in a half-hour, and he
knew from personal experience that despite the snack before bed,
Mac would wake up starving. For that matter, he was more than a
little hungry himself.

He could hear the sound of rain on the large picture-windows in
the living room, muted by the thick drapes, so he was safe to
leave the bedroom. He headed for the kitchen to make sure that
they had enough blood for the night at least, then stopped dead.

In the middle of his tidy living room was a pile of boxes, along
with two larger wardrobe boxes. There was a note pinned to the
side of one of them and he pulled it off and started reading.

"Victor," the note said in the Director's no-nonsense script.
"Mac's apartment will require major renovations before it is...
livable. There are no other appropriate accommodations available
at the moment, so Mac will be staying with you for the time
being.

"I will leave it to you to teach him the basics that he needs to
know. I will expect to see you both on Monday after sunset.

"Enjoy yourselves."

He could almost see her smirk in the last line of the note, and
it was matched by the one on his own face. It was just too bad
that Mac had to move in with him. And who knew for how long?
Reading between the lines, he could read matchmaking there.
They'd just been given the equivalent of a honeymoon.

Now he just had to hope that Mac didn't run scared when he found
out.

Leaving the boxes for the moment -- they could unpack Mac's stuff
later -- he continued on to the kitchen. The fridge had enough
blood to keep them going for almost a week. He dropped a couple
of baggies into a large bowl and set the kettle to boil. Blood
tasted better at... well, blood-temperature, and pouring boiling
water on the baggie didn't make it clot the way the microwave
did.

Vic stopped and shook his head in bemusement. Only a few months
ago, saying something like that would have made him ill. Now it
was just a fact of life.

As soon as the blood had warmed up enough, he quickly drank it
down. He started a couple more baggies warming for Mac, then had
a different thought.

Almost immediately, his cock surged to life and he found himself
drifting back towards the bedroom. He'd seen the effect of his
own feedings on Mac, but he'd never had the chance to experience
that for himself. After all, he wasn't about to go around asking
the Director or anyone else to bite him. He didn't *want* any of
the Kindred at the Agency to bite him. But the though of *Mac*
biting him...

He moaned softly in the back of his throat, standing in the
doorway, watching Mac sleep. Pale and unmoving, he looked like he
was carved from marble. Soft marble. Touchable marble.

He moved forward and tugged the covers down the bed, leaving Mac
bare to his eyes. He'd seen the young man naked before, but
nearly having lost him added a spice to the experience.

Mac was definitely the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

He could feel the sun slipping below the horizon as he crawled up
the length of the bed to hover on all fours above Mac, waiting
for the moment when the new-born Kindred woke. He had to fight
the urge to just take the man; an act that would be akin to rape
in Mac's unconscious state. Besides, he liked his partners a
little more... involved.

The moment the sun was completely gone, Mac's eyes flew open,
already gleaming silver. "Vic?" he said, a little hoarse.

>>>~~~<<<

"Vic?"

Mac stared up into the eyes of his partner and frowned. He lifted
a hand to trace the ridge of bone below one eye.

"What?" Vic said.

Mac opened his mouth, then shook his head. "Nothing." He wasn't
sure he was coherent enough to explain to Vic that his eyes
were... different. Not noticeably unless you looked real close,
but the feline green eyes were even more feline than they'd been
before.

Then his nostrils flared. He could smell blood. Blood on Vic's
breath. Vic had been drinking blood. Blood.

He growled softly in the back of his throat and reared up to
catch the man's mouth in a kiss. The taste of blood was there
too, and he plunged his tongue into the man's mouth, hunting for
more. More taste. More blood. More Vic.

He reached up and grabbed Vic, pulling the man down on top of
him. He dimly heard the man chuckle, but ignored it. He needed to
touch, to feel, to taste. He wrapped arms and legs around the man
to keep him from getting away while he finished plundering his
mouth.

But it wasn't enough. While the taste was there, his instincts
were crying for the real thing. He ended the kiss and buried his
face in Vic's throat, shuddering. "Vic," he whispered, trying to
articulate what he needed.

In response, Vic tilted his head back, exposing the entire length
of his throat. "Go ahead," he said in a tone of voice that was
almost a moan.

Taking the invitation, Mac fixed his lips on the offered throat
and sucked hard. He tickled the flesh with the tip of his tongue
and felt Vic shudder against him. That shudder aroused more needs
in him, the need to dominate, to take.

He surged upwards, flipping them over. He landed on top of Vic,
his mouth never having let go of the man's throat. Vic was making
whimpering little noises that just made him hotter.

Mac reached over and pulled the bedside table's drawer open and
pulled out a tube, going just by feel. He was able to control
himself long enough to coat his cock with gel, but need was
screaming through his veins. He tossed the tube over his
shoulder, dimly hearing it hit the floor with a moist thud, then
pushed Vic's legs apart, tilting the man's hips to the right
angle.

He pulled away from Vic long enough to moan the man's name, then
sank his cock into the man's ass the same time as he sank his
fangs into the man's throat.

Tight. Liquid. Feel. Taste. Scent. Scream. Vic exploded across
his every sense, and he found the control to wonder if this was
what Vic felt every time he fed on Mac, fucked Mac. It was so
damned *good*. Mac wanted to fuck Vic, keep fucking him until the
world crashed down around them. Vic's blood was flooding down his
throat, soothing the hungry burn. Vic's ass was clenching around
him, soothing the other burn. Everything he wanted -- the *beast*
wanted -- was found right here.

He heard Vic scream one last time, then he arched up against Mac,
spraying them both with cum. The scent added to the whole sensory
cocktail that was happening and Mac pulled away from the vein
he'd been nursing on and roared his approval, his hips pumping at
blinding speed as he emptied himself into the other man.

Then he collapsed onto Vic, his eyes shutting, remembering how
the French called an orgasm 'the little death' before the world
went away again.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac didn't think he was unconscious for long, just a few minutes.
He opened his eyes to see Vic sitting next to him with an amused
look and two mugs in his hands.

"Good evening, again," Vic said in a chipper voice that made him
growl. Mac pushed up into a seated position and accepted the mug
held out to him. He sniffed it briefly, then chugged the thick
liquid down.

He eyed Vic, who was sipping his own blood in nonchalant way.
"Are you okay?" he asked when the older man stayed silent.

"Hmm? Me? I'm fine. I'm better than fine." The man's lips curved
up in a satisfied smile. "In fact, I'm fantastic."

Mac should feel guilty for nearly raping the man, but the feeling
just wasn't coming. Vic certainly didn't look injured. Or upset.
What he looked like was someone who'd been royally fucked and
loved it. It was a look that Mac really liked.

But if Kata'd had her way, he never would have seen Vic again,
like this or any other way. And if those three Gangrel'd had
*their* way, he would never have seen *anything* again. He'd
nearly lost everything important in his life, and Vic topped that
list.

Mac put his mug down, then took Vic's mug from the man and put it
on the table next to his and pulled the man into his arms. He
could feel the confusion radiating from the man, but he stayed
silent. He needed to feel Vic against him, to know that he hadn't
lost everything.

After a moment, Vic relaxed against him, his arms coming up to
wrap around Mac's back. Mac pulled him a little closer and sighed
in contentment.

"Mac?"

Mac took a deep breath, taking in the scent of blood, of sex, of
Vic. "Yeah."

"Are *you* okay?"

He thought about it for a moment, then smiled. "I'm great."

"Good."

"Can I move in?"

Vic stiffened, and he wondered if he was pushing a little too
hard. All he knew was that he didn't want to let go. Ever. "Do
you want to?" Vic asked.

"Makes sense," he prevaricated. "The bedroom at my place has a
big window."

"Is that the only reason?"

He slumped a little. "I want to be here. With you."

"For how long?" He could hear the tension in Vic's voice, and
started to second-guess himself.

However, it was too late to back down. "Forever? Or at least
until you want me to leave."

Vic's arms tightened around him. "Forever sounds good," the man
whispered.

Mac pulled back and met Vic's eyes seriously. "I've tried forever
twice now," he said, thinking of LiAnn and Claire and how those
relationships had ended. "I failed both times. But I do want to
try."

Vic smiled slowly. "Good, because I wasn't planning on letting
you leave. And luckily, the Director seems to agree."

"Huh?"

Vic's smile turned to a smirk. "Everything you own is in boxes in
the living room. She says there's no other Agency apartment
available, so you have to stay here temporarily. Personally, I
was planning on it being permanent."

He was? "The Director?"

Vic kissed him hard, then pulled back again. "In fact, she's
given us until Monday off."

"Time off?"

"Yep. To teach you the basics, she said."

Mac frowned. "She was here?" He had a sudden image of the
Director molesting them in their sleep. It was just the sort of
thing she'd do, too.

Vic pushed him onto his back and kissed him again. "She just left
a note," the man reassured him, then kissed him a third time.

He was still wrapping his thoughts around the idea of the
Director ordering them to move in together. On the other hand,
was it really much different from locking the two of them in a
room together after Vic's Embrace? He'd had the feeling that she
disapproved of them continuing to sleep together, though, but now
she was throwing them together.

He'd never understand the woman.

But since she seemed to be encouraging them, at least for the
time being...

Mac purred softly as Vic nibbled on his earlobe. "Monday, huh?"

"Yep."

"Whatever shall we do until then?"

He felt Vic smile against his throat before thrusting against
Mac's groin with an already recovering erection.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Oh, yeah. He could certainly think of something to do. A lot of
somethings.

Mac spread his legs and offered himself to his lover.

>>>~~~<<<

Jackie weaved her way through the crowd, ready to enjoy a night
out. After the last few days, she needed some relaxation, and a
rave was just the ticket as far as she was concerned.

The conference in the States had been pretty damned dull, so
Jackie hadn't minded when the Director had called them back
unexpectedly. Dobrinsky had been sent to back up Vic and Mac --
just how *did* those boys get themselves into these messes? --
while she'd been sent to clean up the dance club that the bad
guys had been operating out of.

There hadn't been much left to clean up, and when they'd been
sent to the big cheese's place, it had been cleaner than a baby's
bottom. Then again, maybe that wasn't a good comparison to use.
Whatever. The place had been spotless, nothing useful left behind
for them to find. Not that that had stopped the Director from
making her spend two nights going over every square inch with a
all-Kindred team. You'd think it was personal or something.

But she'd finally admitted defeat and had given Jackie the
weekend off, and she was going to take advantage of it.

She popped a couple of tablets, then took a swig from her water
bottle. Ecstasy was a favorite of the young crowd, and while it
didn't have the same effect on her that it did on them, it did
provide a really nice buzz.

The bottle empty, she tossed it away and dove into the writhing
crowd. The heavy techno beat was making the walls vibrate and she
wanted to *dance*. And after that, maybe a little hunting. She
grinned.

Then she saw something out of the corner of her eye and twisted
to get a better look. A slim figure was working her way towards
an exit. Forgetting about dancing, Jackie followed.

The press of bodies made the going tough, and she had to resort
to elbows and claws to discourage a few hands that tried to hold
her back or grope her. One persistent asshole even got a fanged
snarl in his face, which got him to back off in a hurry.

But by the time she made it to the door, the other woman was
gone.

Jackie stood in the doorway, looking up and down the street
outside. There was no sign of the woman she'd seen. Or had she
really seen what she thought she'd seen?

After all, wasn't LiAnn still in China?
 

END OF ON A WIRE
 

Coming soon, Book Three: Never the Twain. Just where is LiAnn
anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is *with*
that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but
we shall see <g>

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