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

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

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

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

It was the last time his life was normal.

After that, it could be described in many ways, but never normal. 
Instead, for the next five years he'd traveled the world with his 
father, discovering that his father was a con artist and learning 
the art of the con. With his big eyes and adorable looks, Mac had 
made the perfect cover for his father.

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

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

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

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

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

And that scared the hell out of him.

>>>~~~<<<

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

His date for the night had given him her phone-number, but he didn't 
think he'd call her. A second date led to an assumption of a 
relationship, and that led to questions about what he actually did 
for a living; questions that he couldn't answer. That was the 
biggest drawback to his job. Maybe someday he'd meet someone who he 
could tell everything without them running away scared. He wasn't 
holding his breath. In the meantime, he contented himself as best he 
could with a series of one-night stands. The one time he'd tried for 
more, the woman had turned out to be an arms dealer who'd threatened 
to blow them all up with a nuclear hand-grenade at what was supposed 
to be their wedding. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out.

He'd learned his lesson. No more dating the suspects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Great!" Mac said, delighted. "I've never been to San Francisco. I 
think," he added softly. During the five years he'd traveled with 
his father he'd seen a lot of the world, and he wasn't sure of all 
the cities he'd seen. After a while they'd sort of blended together.

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

They sat staring at her, all of them wondering if that was a 
dismissal or not. The Director was heading for the stairs again when 
she paused and turned around. "Well? Shouldn't you be packing or 
something? Shoo!"

They shooed. A free day was almost as rare as praise or other 
rewards, and Mac didn't want to risk losing it.

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

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

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

Mac's grin dissolved into a pout. "Do you have to be such a 
pessimist?" he asked, his good mood already starting to fade 
slightly. It didn't help that Vic was right; the trip probably was a 
cover for something that they weren't being told about. That was 
more like the Director.

"Well," he finally said. "If it is, then there isn't much we can do 
about it. I still plan on packing to party, and I suggest that you 
do to. No, wait, I forgot. You *don't* party, do you Vic?" His grin 
started to grow again as he teased the older man. "Well, we'll just 
have to do something about that."

Vic was eyeing him suspiciously, but Mac was already starting to 
make plans. He was going to take his two partners clubbing, whether 
they liked it or no. LiAnn hadn't been much fun since the whole 
thing with Michael, and Vic would drag his feet. But Mac had made it 
his mission to make his uptight partners loosen up, and this was the 
perfect chance. People always acted differently when they traveled.

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

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

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

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

And now they were property of the Agency, so not a lot had changed.

Inside his apartment, he pushed away those depressing thoughts. What 
was, was, and there was nothing he could do to change it right now. 
Instead of dwelling on his life, or lack thereof, he started packing 
for the trip. No matter what the Director was up to now, he intended 
to enjoy the week in San Francisco. Like he'd said, as far as he 
knew, he'd never been to the 'City by the Bay', but he'd heard a lot 
about it. There were nightclubs he wanted to hit, restaurants he 
wanted to try. There was no telling when he'd get another chance to 
visit the city, so he planned to make the most of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mac sighed, his good mood disappearing again. He was starting to 
feel like he was on an emotional roller coaster. Of course, that was 
nothing new.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked, barely 
keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He hoped.

"I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ready for the 
trip."

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

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

"Whatever you say," he finally said.

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

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

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

Then she was gone.

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

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

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

Then he headed for the living room.

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

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

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

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

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention," said that oh-so-familiar voice. "Be 
wearing the earring tomorrow when you get to the airport. You will 
be expected to be wearing it during the entire trip."

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

He stared at the receiver for a minute, but there were no answers to 
be found there. He hung up the phone and shrugged. If she wanted him 
to wear an earring, he would wear it. The clamps were a different 
matter.

But he couldn't help wondering *why* it was so important that he 
wear a piece of jewelry.

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

As he got closer, he noticed that something was off with Vic's 
appearance. Same clothes, same posture, same expression...

Different earring, though. Vic normally wore a simple small gold 
hoop. This earring had a charm hanging from it, and Mac could bet 
that he knew what the charm was.

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

"Let me guess," he said, reaching over to flick the earring hanging 
from Vic's ear. "Black leather and white silk."

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

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

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

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

Vic grimaced. "Ownership."

Mac blinked, then frowned. "T for Toronto?" he speculated. "Just 
what are we going *to* that she would need to mark us as hers?"

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

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

"What an interesting idea," a voice purred from behind him, making 
him jump. When he turned, the Director was right behind him.

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

"Why?" Vic demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

San Francisco wasn't impressive so far. Black and wet. It was 
raining when they landed, raining when they got off the plane, 
raining when they finally got their bags from the luggage claim and 
raining when the Director herded them into a waiting limousine. 
Rain, rain and more rain. God, he hated rain.

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

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

So if Mac wanted to go exploring the San Francisco nightlife, Vic 
would go with him. He'd grumble and complain, but he would go. And 
knowing Mac, he would probably enjoy it too. Not that he'd ever 
admit it to the younger man, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

"So, what shall we do today?" Mac asked cheerfully as he inhaled a 
plate of something that Vic wasn't so sure that he wanted to examine 
too closely. The kitchen staff seemed to be able to produce anything 
you wanted, no matter how weird.

"Well," Vic said, considering the pile of brochures he'd collected 
from the front desk. "I'd like to see the botanical gardens."

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

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

Mac expression softened. Finally he grinned. "All right, the 
botanical gardens it is. And tomorrow *I* get to chose, okay?"

Vic shrugged. "Sounds fair to me. Of course, if it's *too* weird, 
you'll be doing it alone."

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what were you up to at the time? Playing kissy-face with Jackie 
Janczyk?"

"Hey," Mac said defensively. "I was trying to keep myself in one 
piece."

"Ever consider trying again?" Vic asked, only slightly teasing. He 
grinned as Mac shuddered theatrically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that all?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" Vic asked suspiciously.

"Telephone," the waiter said and handed over a cordless telephone 
over before heading back to his rounds of the tables.

Vic raised an eyebrow, but Mac just shrugged. He lifted the phone to 
his ear. "Mansfield."

"You know," a very familiar voice said, "if you had waited just a 
little longer, I could have given you both cell phones. That way, I 
wouldn't have had to track you down."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't think either of us will embarrass the Director tonight," he 
said instead, covering his instinctive reaction to Mac's very 
definite beauty. He and LiAnn must have made a gorgeous couple, back 
when they lived in Hong Kong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Haven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you like to order a drink?"

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

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

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

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

"Sex on the beach," Mac said with a grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

LiAnn just shook her head, then ignored them.

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

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

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

Glancing around, he noticed the red-head standing next to the bar 
still. Grinning, he weaved his way through the press of bodies until 
he arrived in front of her.

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

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

After a moment of silence, he started to feel edgy. His shifted his 
weight from foot to foot, then tried again. "Um, you don't dance? Or 
do I have something on my face?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, Lillie took pity on them. "Lillie Langtry," she said, 
putting her glass down. "I own the Haven. Built it from the ground 
up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mac shook his head. Sometimes LiAnn seemed deliberately blind. 
"Bickering? Are we bickering, Vic?"

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

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

"LiAnn," Mac said, sighing. "We aren't bickering. We haven't 
bickered in a long time."

"Then what do you call it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mac tucked himself into his pants and headed over to the sinks. He 
washed his hands while watching the man doing his business. Close 
up, he was even hotter than he'd been from across the main room.

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

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

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

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

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

"Rhiannon!"

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

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

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

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

"Look at him! Really look."

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

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

"No," Mac rasped.

"Who are you?"

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

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

"Sorry," she muttered, then took off.

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

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

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

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

"Zane. He was a singer here, several years ago. He wasn't exactly... 
stable. Anyway, he was being investigated for several rapes, her 
included," he said, pointing in the direction psycho chick had gone. 
"He committed suicide. You... You look like you could be his twin 
brother."

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

"Yeah. Lillie was the one who 'discovered' Zane, you could say. He 
was also her lover, off and on. She... she was the one who found 
him."

"Shit," Mac said with feeling. "And you?"

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

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

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

"Huh? How?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh?" Mac asked, perking up. He plastered on his most ingratiating 
smile. "Got anyone in mind?"

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

"Know any good dance clubs?"

"The best in town."

"Tomorrow?"

"If I can convince my boss."

Mac bit off a curse. Of course. The Director. He sighed, 
disappointed. "Ditto. Damn. I'll have to check."

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

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

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

"Just try me," Mac purred.

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

Unfortunately, right at that moment someone came down the hall 
looking for the bathroom, and the mood was broken. Mac sighed and 
pushed away from the wall.

"Tomorrow, then," he said.

"Tomorrow," Cash said. It sounded like a promise. Then he turned and 
head for the employees-only door at the end of the corridor.

"Tomorrow," Mac whispered to himself, then grinned. Tomorrow was 
going to be *great*.

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

"Huh?" Mac said, staring at them. Then he remembered. "Oh, sorry. I 
ran into someone in the back."

"You mean you ran into somebody's fist," Vic said, his expression 
going dark. "Who?"

For a moment, Mac had the image of Vic running off to avenge his 
honor or something equally ridiculous. Well, maybe not so 
ridiculous. If anyone went after Vic, he'd be the first in line to 
take *him* down. It was written into the Code of Partners: An attack 
on one is an attack on all.

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

"Really, I'm fine. Apparently, though, I am a *dead*-ringer for a 
guy who pissed off a lot of people before he killed himself. I just 
ran into someone with an axe to grind with this Zane person."

"Damn," the woman muttered to herself. Then she straightened up. 
"I'll arrange a flight back to Toronto for you tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cash! Boss wants you."

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

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

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

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

Mac shot him a wide-eyed parody of an innocent look. "Taking a 
shower and then going to bed?" he suggested, tugging at his shirt 
buttons.

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

Mac grinned. "Aw, is Viccie jealous? I promise, Vic," he added, 
patting Vic on the shoulder. "You and I will have a night out 
together too. I'm sure that the Director won't object. And now I'll 
know the best places for us to go."

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

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

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

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

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Cash made it clear that he was... interested. I certainly 
hope *I* did. What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a good thing that Vic wasn't drinking then, otherwise he 
would have sprayed the room. "What?! You... with someone from that 
kinky sex club?" he almost shouted. The Caligula was a sex club 
they'd gone to with the Director while investigating a case, since 
they needed a woman to get in and LiAnn was taking the moral high 
ground and refusing to go near the place. The Director, of course, 
had turned out to be a founding member of the club.

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

"But..."

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

Vic choked. The image of Mac, bound, gagged and blindfolded with a 
shadowy figure standing behind him flashed through his mind, both 
arousing and repulsive at the same time. Mac laughed.

"You should *see* your face! Relax, Vic. I am *not* into pain. Mark 
was into pretty vanilla stuff. He prefers to get the kinky stuff 
from women. The Director, on the other hand, he would have had tie 
him up and do a tap-dance on his back in spike heels while wearing 
that outfit with the leather bustier."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your cop partner? I suppose that's not a big surprise. I had 
Michael and you had him. Anyone else? Any prison stories to tell," 
he asked with a leer.

Vic shuddered. "No thanks. It took a few fights to convince some of 
them to keep their hands to themselves, though. But there was one 
guy... He was circling in. That's the main reason why I took the 
Director's offer. What about you? Hong Kong prison and all?"

Mac waved it off. "They were hoping to get me to testify against the 
Tangs, so they needed to keep me alive. My life expectancy in the 
general population would have been measured in seconds. They kept me 
in solitary the entire eighteen months. So. Anybody more recent?"

Vic sighed. He should have known that Mac wouldn't be satisfied. 
"Moorcock," he finally said, looking anywhere but at his partner.

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

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

"Moorcock," Mac repeated, his voice full of amazed disbelief. "And 
you think *I'm* nuts for agreeing to go out with Cash."

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

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

"I'm not. I just..." Vic stopped. He wasn't going to admit anything 
more. He'd just end up regretting it.

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

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

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

Vic blinked. "You still want to do that?" he asked, a little 
surprised. He would have thought that Mac would want to sleep until 
noon, then laze around until his... date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the other hand, if Mac were more serious about *anything*, he 
wouldn't be Mac.

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

That got Vic's attention. His nostrils twitched as he confirmed the 
aroma of that life-giving fluid, as well as other enticing scents. 
He pushed up into a seated position and slowly opened his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

"You should try it once in a while. Besides, it's easy to get an 
unconscious man out of his clothes. *Into* clothes is a different 
matter."

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

"You could have at least left my shorts on," he said around a 
delicious mouthful. The pancakes were buttermilk, and they almost 
melted in his mouth. And they were blueberry too!

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

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

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

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

He hoped.

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

The cab dropped them off at the Fisherman's Warf, an inevitable 
destination for all visitors to San Francisco. They wandered around, 
checking out all the little souvenir shops until rumbling stomachs 
forced a stop for lunch.

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

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

But only almost. The cheesecake was fantastic.

They lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing. 
Vic wasn't going to bring up their conversation from the night 
before, and thankfully, Mac didn't seem inclined to press either.

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

"The Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?" Vic asked in disbelief, 
looking up at the building.

"Of course! C'mon, I want to see as much as possible. I still want 
to do some shopping before we have to go back to the hotel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vic looked at himself in the mirror and had to agree. He didn't 
usually wear blue, but this shirt went nicely with his coloring, and 
it made his eyes looking even greener than they usually did. Vic 
fingered the soft fabric and decided to buy the shirt.

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

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

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

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

Still, he resolved to make sure he bought something equally nice for 
Mac. Maybe he could get up before Mac the next morning to do some 
quick shopping alone. He brightened up at the thought of surprising 
the younger man with a present.

They made a few more stops before heading back to The Garden House. 
A jewelry store where Mac picked up a gold necklace for LiAnn, an 
antique shop where he found an ornate dagger that he said was for 
the Cleaners. He even stopped at a leather shop to find something 
for the Director, although the shops wares made them both squirm and 
blush. The appraising looks they got from the other patrons 
especially made Vic uncomfortable.

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

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

Mac, on the other hand, took twice as long as he normally did. He 
was wearing a pair of brown leather pants -- his own, not from the 
Director -- and a cream-colored turtleneck, with a matching jacket. 
He stopped in front of Vic and did a slow turn.

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

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

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

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

Mac winced and nodded. "Point taken. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll be 
careful."

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

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

At that moment, the cell-phone in Vic's pocket rang. He fished it 
out and brought it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Are you boys planning on joining us anytime soon?" the Director 
drawled. Vic jumped.

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself, only slightly bitter 
after all these years.

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

"Yes," Mac said with a sigh.

"If you run into any trouble..."

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

"Home by dawn, Mac."

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

"No."

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

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

"You know him?"

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

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

"I do."

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

Still, it was going to be a long night.

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

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

And more importantly, riding through San Francisco without a helmet 
would risk getting them pulled over by the police. That would *not* 
make the Director happy. She'd told him to keep out of trouble and 
he planned to try. Not just because he was nervous about what she 
might do if he managed to get himself arrested. Truthfully, she 
probably wouldn't do much to him. She might talk the talk, but when 
it came down to it, she went pretty easy on them, even on those rare 
occasions where they managed to royally fuck up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, Cash finished greeting them, making sure that he didn't 
miss anybody, and turned around. "Folks," he announced to the group 
in general. "This is Mac. He's here as part of the Toronto group."

Mac blinked. He wondered what the group was going to make of the 
comment. *He* still wasn't sure what to make of the comment.

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

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

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

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

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

Grace straightened up and stepped forward. She didn't hug Mac, but 
she did hold her hand out for him to shake. He held it gently, 
letting go as soon as she started to withdraw it. Cash had mentioned 
that Zane had raped several girls and it didn't take a genius to 
figure out that this was one of them. And while Rhiannon's reaction 
had been anger, this one was fearful, although brave.

Grace headed for the doors to the club, followed by the big black 
man, Jean-Paul. He was talking softly to her and she was slowly 
relaxing. Mac watched them go, then turned back to Cash. "I take it 
that you warned people about my face," he said in a deliberately 
light tone. Cash grinned back at him.

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

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

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

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

"Cock-tease," Mac replied with a grin. "The only kind of dancing I 
want to do now is the horizontal kind."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you want, Marcus?" Cash snarled. No lap-dog, this man. He 
was more like the junkyard dog that Leroy Brown was compared to in 
the song. Marcus just laughed.

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

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

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

A moment later he was regretting having said anything. The sound of 
his voice drew Marcus's attention to him. "Stay out of this, little 
boy," he said with a sneer. Then he frowned and stepped closer. He 
stared hard at Mac, then laughed.

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

Mac was really confused now. Prince? Execution??

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

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

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

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

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

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

"Except the fact that he belongs to Toronto and you'll be breaking 
truce if you touch him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus just stood to the side, watching.

Mac turned his attention back to his opponent, thanking his lucky 
stars that none of the thugs seemed inclined to pull their guns. 
They probably didn't want to attract the attention that gunfire 
would bring, even out here. However, that didn't mean that one of 
them might not have a knife handy. Mac was regretting that he hadn't 
been able to bring any weapons with him. He was an excellent martial 
artist, if he did say so himself, but this guy was like hitting a 
brick wall. Then a glancing blow to the side of his head left him 
seeing stars, but he managed to dodge the next few swings while he 
cleared his head.

He finally got the break he'd been waiting for. The thug swung low, 
leaving his head unprotected. Mac hardened his hand into a flat 
blade shape and jabbed at the man's eye. He fell back, screaming in 
pain. Then he straightened up with an almost animalistic snarl.

That's when things got really strange.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mac, you okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not an idiot and I do have eyes. Very well-trained eyes, I 
might add. I can look at a diamond and tell you it's market value 
within a few percentage points in a minute. And I am a damned good 
observer. Now stop jerking me around!"

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

"Not here," Cash said, shushing him. He stopped, and sighed. 
"Listen, come back to my place and I'll explain everything. I 
promise."

Mac glanced at their audience, most of which were doing a pretty 
good impression of being deaf and blind. "Fine," he said. "But it 
better be a damned good explanation."

>>>~~~<<<

Cash's apartment was in an older section of town, right above a 
store. Looking out the front window, the bay was just barely visible 
in the distance. It was simply furnished, but comfortable. Mac liked 
it. He also thought it was also surprisingly clean for a bachelor 
apartment, and said so.

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

Then his expression sobered up. "And is this Luna person the 
'Prince' that Slick was referring to?"

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

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

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

"Normally, I wouldn't consider saying anything. I'd come up with 
*something* to deflect you. But you're here for the meetings with 
Toronto. That means sooner or later, you'd be finding out these 
things. Actually, *she's* the one who should be having this 
conversation with you." Cash looked up, a hopeful expression on his 
face.

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

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

A moment later, he'd... changed. Cash's eyes were glowing silver, 
his teeth were definitely fangs and when he held up one hand, the 
fingers ended in what looked more like claws than fingernails. Mac 
caught his breath, then forced himself to relax.

"Ooooookay," he said once he was in control of himself again. 
"You're a vampire, I take it." Mac shook his head, wondering when 
he'd fallen into the twilight zone.

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

"Which is?"

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

"Masquerade?"

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

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

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

"War?" Mac squeaked.

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

Mac watched while Cash puttered around in the apartment's tiny 
kitchen. The apartment was mostly one big room with the kitchen 
separated by a low counter. The bedroom was at the back of the room, 
partially shielded by a folding screen. The only doors he saw 
probably led to the bathroom and closets.

A thought occurred to him. "You eat!"

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

"Black is fine."

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

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

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

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

"But he ordered Zane killed?" I thought you said he'd committed 
suicide, Mac didn't say.

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

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

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

Somehow Mac wasn't surprised. In a way, Cash's advances on him had 
reminded him of the Director's teasing, just less scary. "And these 
meetings?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it ignited, setting both of them on fire. In a moment, they 
were tightly wrapped around each other, each trying to devour the 
other's mouth. Mac's erection was doing its best to stretch his 
leather pants and he could feel an answering hardness in Cash's 
jeans, rubbing against his hip. Mac groaned and deepened the kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ma-c!" Cash groaned, then pressed down harder. He leaned down and 
started nipping at Mac's lower lip. Mac returned the favor by 
grabbing on to Cash's upper lip with his own teeth.

Then one slow undulation against him made him gasp and he released 
the tasty bit of flesh. He tried to control himself -- he still 
wanted to fuck Cash, or have Cash fuck him -- but it was useless. 
With a load wail, he arched upwards and came. Above him he heard a 
matching cry, and suddenly there was even more fluid squelching 
between them. Then Cash collapsed down onto him, finally breathing a 
little heavier than usual, and rolled to the side.

Cuddled up against Cash, enjoying the afterglow, Mac returned to the 
earlier topic of conversation. "So Vampire legends are wrong."

"Right." Cash stretched, practically purring. Mac rubbed his hand in 
lazy circles on the other man's stomach, smearing the semen there. 
It was strangely pink-tinged, he noticed.

"Garlic?"

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

"Crosses?"

"Get real."

"Running water?"

"Nope."

"Wooden stakes?"

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

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

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

"Sex?"

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

"The Kiss?" Mac asked. He could almost hear the capital letters.

"The Kiss is when a Kindred tastes your blood. Some say it's even 
*better* than an orgasm."

"For the Kindred?" Mac asked curiously.

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

"I still find that hard to believe."

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

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

Cash blinked in surprise. He obviously hadn't expected Mac to take 
him up on the suggestion. "One mouthful, maybe two. Less than would 
be taken for a blood test."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mac?"

"Please? I really want to know."

"Your boss..."

"Isn't here. Please?"

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

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

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

Cash grinned. "There's a lot of ways of feeding, Mac. In a way, it's 
easier to control with the wrist." He lifted the wrist in question 
to his mouth and delicately licked at the big vein there. Mac moaned 
slightly at the sensual touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I never had time."

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

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

"You're worried about Mac."

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

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

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

LiAnn laughed. It was short and strained, but it *was* a laugh. 
"Sounds to me like you're feeling your age," she said.

"I am not," Vic protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All by yourself tonight?"

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

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

"Gone dancing. Cash took him clubbing tonight."

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

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

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

"Who happens to look a lot like Zane?"

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

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

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

"Nah, just bruised. Cash stepped in. Um... Were Cash and Zane..." 
His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out a delicate way to 
ask his question.

"Lovers?" Lillie finally sat down and a waitress promptly appeared 
with a drink for her. She ignored the service, taking it for 
granted. "No. Just close friends since childhood. Besides, Zane's 
tastes didn't lean that way."

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

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

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

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

"Maybe," Vic said, noncommittally. "Uh, oh," he said, noticing LiAnn 
heading across the room towards them. A man sitting at one of the 
other tables had reached out and grabbed her arm as she went by. 
"Looks like trouble."

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

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

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

She stopped right next to the two and reached over to touch the 
man's wrist. Her fingers curved around it as far as they would go 
and she squeezed. She didn't *look* that strong to Vic, but the 
man's face went white with pain and his hand opened automatically. 
LiAnn immediately stepped back out of his reach. Lillie turned 
towards her and said something softly. LiAnn nodded, then headed for 
Vic again.

"Are you all right?" he hissed as she sat down in her seat again. In 
the background Lillie was speaking, low and intent, to the man who 
now looked both cowed and terrified. Vic was curious, but dismissed 
it since there didn't seem to be any further trouble coming from 
that quarter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course not," she replied, sending a conspiratorial glance 
LiAnn's way. It wasn't returned, but that didn't deter her.

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

"I think you underestimate yourself," she replied before she 
smoothly maneuvered him into the pattern of a tango.

>>>~~~<<<

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

Still, it had been interesting. He'd also been delighted at the 
signs of cracks in LiAnn's rock-hard facade. It looked like she was 
finally starting to recover from her emotional pains. He just hoped 
that she wouldn't revert once they got back to Toronto and their 
normal lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damnit, Mac, can't you do anything without getting into trouble?" 
Vic snapped as Mac started to undress. He knew the words were a 
mistake before they left his mouth, but was powerless to stop them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he yawned. The late nights combined with waking up before 
mid-morning was catching up with him. Mac echoed the yawn before 
climbing into bed, naked as usual.

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

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

"It's been a really long night. Any objections to just taking it 
easy tomorrow? Sleep in and hang around here for the day?"

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

And then was gone.

>>>~~~<<<

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I help you, sir?"

Vic looked up to find the cashier watching him expectantly. "Could I 
take a look at those?" he said, pointing to the chaotic jumble.

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

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

It was like nothing he could remember having seen before. It was 
bright silver in color, except for the crevices that were black 
with... something. Tarnish or enamel, he wasn't quite sure which. It 
looked more deliberate than not. He tried to follow the dips and 
curves of the design, but quickly got lost in the complexity and 
blinked, trying to clear his head. For a moment he was almost dizzy 
from the effort.

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

He was deep in a forest, silent except for the rustle of leaves 
above his head. The ground beneath his feet was covered in a thick 
layer of dead leaves, slowly dissolving back into the ground. It was 
quiet. It was eerie. It was beautiful.

"It is, isn't it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, are you all right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last as fit to be seen by human eyes as he could make himself, 
Mac went to collect his room key and finally noticed the piece of 
paper next to it. He picked it up and scanned over Vic's untidy 
scrawl.

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

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

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

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

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

Steeling himself to confront both the familiar -- the Director -- 
and the unfamiliar -- the Prince of Toronto -- Mac walked up to the 
suite door and knocked.

He regretted the impulse almost immediately, and he started praying 
that either she wasn't there or that she hadn't heard the knock. Of 
course, he prayed in vain. Within seconds, the door opened and the 
Director stared up at him. For a moment she looked pissed at the 
interruption, but only for a moment. Then she got a good look at his 
face and the door swung wide open.

"Inside, Mr. Ramsey," she ordered. "I want details, and fast."

Mac moved past her into the suite's sitting room. It was a strong 
and powerful room, decorated in jewel tones and with rich materials. 
A laptop sat open humming on the antique wood desk in the corner, 
which was also covered with papers, telling him that she'd been 
working when he'd knocked. A small dining table sat opposite it, and 
two sofas flanked a large fireplace with a marble mantle. A small 
blaze crackled merrily in it. The overall effect was warm and 
friendly. He hoped that it was a good omen.

"Sit down," she told him, waving him towards the sofas. "Have you 
eaten yet?" Mac's stomach growled before he could answer her and she 
smiled. "I'll take that as a no."

She picked up the phone and spoke softly into it before moving to 
join him. "Lunch will be here shortly. Now, what happened? And don't 
leave out any details."

Her expression went completely hard on the question and Mac 
swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain it all. Finally, he 
decided to include everything and hope for the best.

"Cash and I were jumped by four Brujah looking for a fight with a 
Gangrel," he said, deliberately using the Kindred terms that Cash 
had used. "Then they got a look at me and decided that the Prince of 
San Francisco had lied about witnessing the execution of Zane, who 
it seems was an out-of-control Toreador. So, they decided instead 
just to kill us both. Some of Cash's friends came to our rescue and 
the four took off. I went back to Cash's place with him where I got 
a somewhat complete explanation about the Kindred, although he said 
I should really get be getting that lecture from the Prince of 
Toronto, that being you, it seems. Then, later on, he brought me 
back to the hotel, well before my dawn curfew," Mac added with a 
grin. "I figured it was too late to talk to you, so I went to bed."

Finished, Mac took a deep breath and sat back to wait for the 
reaction.

"Were you wearing the earring?"

Mac stared at her blankly for a moment, then remembered her marker 
and lifted a hand to touch it. "Yes. Cash pointed it out to them, 
but they said they didn't care."

Her eyes narrowed. "Names?"

He shrugged. "Cash called the leader of the bunch Marcus. I didn't 
get any other names, though. I was a little busy for introductions."

"I... see. I'll talk to Luna tonight, although I'm sure that Cash 
has already reported the breach of Truce to him. Your four Brujah 
will probably find themselves staked out for the sun, knowing him." 
The pleasure in her voice at the thought made him shiver. Usually 
she was easy to deal with, to trust, and then she would say 
something like that and he'd end up terrified of her, however 
briefly.

Mac was really confused now, though. The Director was taking it all 
in stride. She was upset about the attack, but not the rest.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again several time before he 
could force out anything coherent. "You don't seem upset about me 
finding out about the... Kindred, Cash called your kind?" he finally 
asked.

There was a knock at the door before she could answer him. She 
opened the door, and a hotel employee came in, pushing a serving 
tray. A plate with a club sandwich and fries, as well as a Tsingtao 
beer, was placed in front of Mac, then the server left after 
receiving a generous tip from the Director.

She turned back to find him staring at her, waiting. "Well?" she 
said impatiently in an almost maternal tone. "Eat your lunch before 
it gets cold."

Mac wasn't sure he *could* eat, he was so nervous, but he obediently 
picked up a fry and stuck it in his mouth.

The moment it hit his tongue, his body promptly reminded him just 
how hungry he was, and he started eating, barely pausing long enough 
to chew the food before swallowing.

When the plate was bare, he sat back again, sipping the last of his 
beer. Now that his stomach was full, he found he wasn't as anxious 
about her reaction as he had been before.

She was watching him with a fond smile on her face. "Better?" He 
nodded. "Good. And now, I'm not upset. In fact, I'm quite pleased."

*That* surprised Mac. "Pleased?" He thought about it for a moment. 
Understanding wasn't long in coming. "You *wanted* us to find out 
about the Kindred. That's why you brought us with you. You figured 
that after a few nights sitting in a club full of... vampires, we'd 
twig, sooner or later."

The smile was full of pride now. "Very good, Mr. Ramsey. In fact, I 
rather expected that  you would be the first to 'twig,' as you put 
it. I'm glad to see that my faith in you is not misplaced."

Then her expression turned cold again. "But the method was *not* 
what I had planned. As soon as we arrive at the Haven tonight, you 
and I will go to lodge a formal complaint with Luna."

"Do we have to?" Mac asked nervously. "I mean if Cash has already 
told him about what happened..." His voice trailed off. He really 
didn't want to meet a man who could order the deaths of his own 
people so casually. Of course, the Director had done it in the past 
too, but he *knew* the Director. Luna was an unknown as far as he 
was concerned.

The Director shook her head. "If I let this slide, then I'm saying 
that I'm weak. I do *not* want to have challengers trying to take my 
city away from me." Then her voice softened a little. "But we'll do 
it privately, out of consideration for our host. You won't have to 
face any of the others." She paused, then grinned. "At least not 
yet."

Mac nodded reluctantly. He still didn't like the idea, but he did 
understand the reasoning. In a way, it was a lot like the Hong Kong 
crime families he'd been around growing up. You never showed 
weakness, or you opened yourself up to attack, but if someone could 
be a useful ally in the future, you gave him the chance to save 
face. It was a little strange thinking of his new "Family" in the 
terms as his old one, but the parallels were obvious.

Then a thought occurred to him. "What about Vic and LiAnn?" he 
asked. "What do I tell them?"

The Director leaned back in her seat, tapping a thoughtful finger 
against her lips for a moment before answering. "About the attack, 
anything you like. About the Kindred, nothing for the time being. I 
still want to see if they figure it out on their own." Mac nodded.

His plate was empty and the conversation seemed to have reached a 
logical conclusion, so he got to his feet to leave.

Just before he opened the door, the Director called out. "Mac?"

He stopped and turned around. She nodded to him. "You did well. I'm 
glad to see you didn't disappoint me."

Mac couldn't help grinning at the praise. Then he headed off to kill 
time until they had to leave for the Haven.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac spent the rest of the afternoon out on the back patio, 
overlooking the hotel's gardens, enjoying the somewhat weak 
sunshine. While the clouds kept it from being sunbathing weather, it 
was still a hell of a lot warmer than back in Toronto. Back there, 
there was snow on the ground -- well, at least slush. Here, he could 
sit out in short sleeves without getting a chill.

An hour before sunset, he finally went in to change for the evening. 
When he got to the room, he found the shower in use. Vic was 
obviously back from his little shopping trip.

Mac stopped in his tracks, looking at his bed. Sitting on his pillow 
was a small white box, tied with a ribbon and decorated with a bow. 
A slow grin spread over his face. Vic had bought him a present.

He sat down on the bed and picked up the box. He held it to his ear 
and shook it, playing the old "try to figure out what it is before 
opening the box" game. It rattled slightly, but that was the only 
clue. Mac finally gave in to his curiosity and undid the ribbon.

The lid lifted away to reveal a pendant strung on a leather thong, 
sitting on a bed of cotton. Mac snagged the thong and lifted it up, 
fascinated by the way the light played across the intricate twists 
and turns of the metal. He'd never seen anything like it before, and 
yet it was strangely familiar.

He reached up with his other hand and lowered the pendant slowly 
into the palm.

Mac gasped. It felt like every hair on his body -- and he had a lot 
of hair -- was suddenly standing on end. He blinked, and the world 
tilted on its axis.

He was home, in Toronto. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He was in 
bed, and it was *his* bed, made with *his* sheets and covers, but 
the room itself was completely unfamiliar. For one thing, there were 
no windows in the room.

He was naked, which made sense since he was in bed. He'd never liked 
sleep tied up in pajamas. However, he was also very, very aroused, 
despite being completely alone in the bed.

Then there was a coughing noise, and he looked towards the bedroom 
door. He caught his breath. Standing there was a very large mountain 
lion with brilliant green eyes. Very *familiar* green eyes. Mac sat 
very still as it stalked across the room towards him. Part of him 
was screaming at him to move, and yet he was strangely unconcerned.

The oversized cat leapt up onto the bed and came closer, finally 
stopping when it was straddling his body. Then, making a rumbling 
noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, it settled its weight 
down on him and *damn* it was heavy.

Just when he thought he was going to be crushed, the cat's shape did 
a melty twist and was suddenly gone. Left in its place was a very 
naked, very aroused Vic Mansfield, his eyes the exact same shade of 
brilliant green as the cat's, with a slight silver shimmer. He 
smiled a lazy smile at Mac and drew closer and closer, until their 
lips...

"Well?"

Mac jumped and opened his eyes. Vic was standing leaning against the 
wall, damp and with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Mac's 
body reacted predictably to the sight of all that lean, beautiful, 
naked male flesh.

"Well, what?" he asked stupidly, not able to figure out the 
question, all of his blood having deserted his brain.

Vic shifted nervously. "Do you like it?"

"Huh? Oh!" He looked down at the pendant in his hand. Strange. For a 
moment, it had felt like something had happened, but for the life of 
him, he couldn't remember what. "I think it's great," he said 
honestly and Vic relaxed.

And it *was* great, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't his usual 
sort of jewelry, but there was something about it that drew him. He 
picked it up again and carefully draped it around his neck. It fell 
into place like it was meant to be there.

"Perfect," he whispered to himself.

Then he shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to more practical 
matters. "The Director wants to head over early, right after 
sunset," he told Vic, who was busily pulling clothes from the closet.

Vic frowned. "Why?" he asked. After all, it was a good hour earlier 
than they'd gone over the last few nights.

Mac shrugged. "She wants to talk to the host of these meetings about 
the attack last night. After all, Cash is one of his people, and 
we're supposed to be protected by the Truce."

Vic nodded slowly. "Okay, that makes sense. Well, you better get 
moving then. Sunset is less than a half-hour away."

Mac blinked in confusion. It *had* been nearly an hour away when 
he'd come in. A glance at the clock confirmed that he had somehow 
managed to lose a half-hour somewhere.

Weird, he thought, heading for the bathroom.

>>>~~~<<<

A quick shave and change of clothing later, Mac made it downstairs 
just as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He'd moved fast, 
but had still taken care with his appearance. After all, it wouldn't 
do to make a bad impression on the Prince of the city, since keeping 
with the Hong Kong model in his mind, it would reflect badly on the 
Director. He'd gone with his favorite look, though; a black linen 
suit and a smooth-front white shirt, high-necked and collarless. 
Against it, the silver pendant and black leather thong looked 
classy. He hadn't even considered not wearing it.

The Director looked him up and down, straightened his lapels and 
tweaked the pendant before stepping back and nodding in satisfaction.

"Mac, are you all right?" LiAnn gasped. Mac touched his jaw, still 
feeling the low-level ache from the bruising. He'd forgotten that he 
hadn't seen LiAnn since leaving the Haven with Cash the night 
before, so she didn't know about the attack.

"It looks worse than it feels," he assured her, secretly pleased at 
the unexpected show of concern.

"It is also why we are heading over early, so let's go, children," 
the Director added, gesturing towards the waiting limo.

The drive seemed endless, but was over faster than Mac would have 
liked. Before he was really ready for the upcoming confrontation, 
they were pulling to a stop in front of the club.

"Come with me, Mac," the Director said, heading towards the stairs 
that led up to the club's offices, Mac assumed. He could see the 
large windows of a room overlooking the dance floor. He looked back 
longingly as Vic and LiAnn headed through the mostly empty room to 
claim their usual table. In the corner, the band was tuning up.

Then he sighed and obediently followed his employer up the stairs.

There was a small crowd waiting for them. Cash and Lillie, he 
already knew, and he threw a relieved smile Cash's way. He was glad 
to see the man there to back him up. The rest of the group was 
unfamiliar, though.

The handsome man sitting behind the modern desk was presumably Luna. 
He wore an aura of power like a cloak. The stylish suit he was 
wearing spoke of a *lot* of money. Lillie was elegantly draped over 
the back of his chair, and she smiled brightly at him, although her 
eyes flashed when they flickered to the bruised side of his face.

The second man was just as handsome as Luna, but less appealing. 
They looked about the same age, but this man *felt* younger. His 
clothes were more trendy, and he felt... slimy to Mac. He was pacing 
in front of the windows, pausing only long enough to glare at Mac, 
who resisted the urge to take a step back.

Then he got a good look at the last person in the room and *did* 
take a step back. The man was completely hairless and pale like a 
corpse. His ears rose to sharp points, nearly higher than the top of 
his head. Mac flinched from meeting his eyes, not sure that he 
wanted to know what he might find there. Dressed all in black, he 
resembled the vampires of the old silent films, back before they 
were glamorized by Hollywood.

The Director moved forward to stand in front of the desk, drawing up 
to her full height. Despite the fact that she was probably the 
shortest person in the room, she had a presence that made her seem 
at least a foot taller.

"I have come to file a grievance," she said quietly, although her 
voice filled the room. "There has been a breach of Truce and an 
attempt on the life of one of my retainers." Reacting to a cue he 
hadn't even noticed, Mac moved to stand one step behind and to the 
side of her. Luna glanced at him, pinning him in place with his 
intense expression.

"Cash has made his statement," he said seriously. "I would like you 
to tell us what happened now."

Mac took a deep breath before beginning. Deciding that they didn't 
need *too* much personal detail, he started with their decision to 
leave the club and continued until the moment they left the parking 
lot after the attack. Luna broke in from time to time to ask 
questions, drawing out details Mac hadn't even realized he'd noticed.

Finally he finished and there was silence for a minute.

"Thank you, Mr. Ramsey," Luna said, then turned to the pacing man. 
"Cameron, I want Marcus and his friends brought to me before 
morning."

Cameron stopped pacing and turned around. "You can't be taking 
this... this *slander* seriously!"

That bought him glares from almost everyone in the room. "You've 
heard the statements from both Cash and Mr. Ramsey and they agree in 
every detail," Luna pointed out.

"Of course they do," the man said with a sneer. "They came up with 
this fairytale together."

Cash growled, low in his throat, and moved towards Cameron. Luna 
restrained him with a simple gesture. "And why would they do that?" 
he asked mildly.

"Cash wants to undermine my position," Cameron said. "And you're 
buying it just because he's a good fuck."

Lillie grimaced at the crudity, but Luna remained expressionless, 
other than a narrowing of his eyes. "And Ramsey's reason for going 
along with this?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "He's never met you 
before tonight."

Seeming to not notice the warning in his boss's voice, Cameron waved 
dismissively in Mac's direction. "For the same reason: Cash is a 
good fuck."

This time it was Mac who growled angrily, while Cash muttered "Like 
you'll ever find out first-hand," under his breath.

But it was the Director who responded directly. She moved to stand 
toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. "Be very careful about 
accusing my people of lying," she hissed at him. "Push me and you 
won't like the response."

At least the man had the sense to back down. The Director in a cold 
rage was enough to make the bravest -- or most foolish -- of men 
want to wet his pants. Instead of responding, he looked to Luna.

"Bring them in," The Prince said firmly. "They will have the chance 
to make their case before the council."

Cameron's jaw clenched, but he finally nodded and headed for the 
exit. Luna turned his attention back to the Director. "This will be 
dealt with," he assured her. "I swear."

She nodded regally. "Then I will leave it in your hands," she told 
him. "But if the Brujah had succeeded in killing Mac, I would not be 
so... polite."

"If they had succeeded, they would be yours to do with as you liked 
and the Brujah of this city would be looking for a new Primogen."

With that finished, the atmosphere in the room lightened quite a 
bit. Luna emerged from behind the desk, suddenly becoming less 
intimidating, although no less charismatic. He brushed a hand down 
Cash's arm possessively, then moved over to where Mac was standing.

"Amazing," he said, reaching up to brush fingers over his jaw. Mac 
shivered lightly at the touch. "They told me, but I didn't really 
believe it."

Mac swallowed, his mouth gone desert-dry. Was this intense sexuality 
something all Princes had in common? His body was responding as 
helplessly to Luna as it did to the Director's teasing. "I'm not 
Zane," he said in a remarkably steady voice considering the 
circumstances.

Luna grinned. "Obviously not," he said, then thankfully stepped 
back. "But the resemblance is startling." He looked Mac up and down 
speculatively.

A discrete cough brought the appraisal to an abrupt end. "Back off, 
Julian," the Director said, amusement plain in her voice. "He's 
mine."

While Mac bristled at the possessive tone, he was still relieved 
when Luna moved away. Once there was some distance between them, he 
was able to collect his thoughts

"However," Luna said, leaning back against the desk, his expression 
serious again. "There is still the matter of the breaking of 
Masquerade."

Mac glanced at Cash who had gone tense at the words. He remembered 
what he'd been told the night before about the secrecy that was 
paramount to the Kindred for protection from a fearful human 
population and gulped. He hadn't meant to get Cash in trouble. "If 
anyone broke it, it was Marcus's goon," he broke in. "I pushed Cash 
to answer my questions, but that wouldn't have been necessary if it 
weren't for the goon sprouting fangs and glowing silver eyes. Cash 
tried to put me off, but I wouldn't leave without an explanation. He 
did try."

Luna glanced at the Director who smiled. "I brought him with me to 
see if he would figure it out. While this was not exactly what I 
planned, I have no complaint."

Luna nodded, and both Mac and Cash relaxed. "Accepted. I will let 
you know when Marcus and his cohorts have been delivered. In the 
meantime, I need to prepare for the meetings. I will see you later."

He headed through a door at the back of the room and disappeared 
from sight. Mac breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank into a 
nearby chair. He tensed slightly when the hairless man moved towards 
him, accompanied by a faint stench that made him think of sewers, 
but he just patted Mac on the shoulder and said, "You did well," 
before following Luna.

Mac stared after him and Cash laughed. "High praise indeed from a 
Nosferatu," he said, then left as well.

Lillie moved to take the seat behind the desk. The Director headed 
for the door they'd come in through and Mac got to his feet to 
follow her.

"Mac," Lillie said, then waited until he turned to face her. "I'll 
see you later," she promised with a seductive smile.

Mac grinned. "I'll look forward to it."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Eight
----------------------------------------

The club was nearly full by the time Mac and the Director came back 
down the stairs from their meeting with the guy who was supposed to 
deal with the attack on Mac the night before. Vic wasn't sure how 
the man was supposed to do that, but he supposed it wasn't his 
problem.

Then again, an attack on one of his partners *was* his problem.

Mac looked a little shaky on his feet and Vic wondered if the 
Director had been playing her little games again. He'd seen Mac face 
down certain death without flinching, making jokes, then run scared 
when the Director went into predator mode. Not that he really blamed 
him; The Director didn't aim those attentions his way very often, 
but when she did, Vic ended up shaking in his boots.

"Julian will deal with the matter," she said, sinking into one of 
the seats at the small table. Mac more collapsed into his. Vic 
examined the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if the man 
should even be out of bed. Considering the size and color of the 
bruise, he'd taking one hell of a shot.

More drinks were delivered; a soda for Mac, since he didn't look 
like he could hold any liquor, and a deep red wine for the Director. 
Meanwhile, the band had started to play something low and soothing. 
LiAnn could probably tell him the title and composer, along with a 
brief history of the piece, but Vic didn't care: It sounded nice and 
that was enough for him.

"So," he finally said when no one else seemed interested in starting 
a conversation and the silence got a little stilted. "How much 
longer are these meetings going on, and what are they about anyway?"

"Haven't I said?" the Director said in mock surprise. "How 
thoughtless of me." Both Mac and LiAnn had leaned forward at the 
question, obviously curious, Vic noticed.
"Well, after tonight there are two more nights of meetings, with a 
party the following night. We fly home, four nights from now. As for 
the purpose." She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. "Call it a 
discussion of inter-agency cooperation," she finally said.

Vic frowned. "What sort of agencies?" he asked suspiciously.

The Director leaned over and patted his cheek fondly. "So curious. 
How sweet. However, you needn't worry yourself over that, Victor. It 
doesn't affect you right now."

Vic wanted to protest that assumption, but before he could, she 
stood and headed for the meeting rooms in back, taking her wineglass 
with her.

"Anyone else have a clue what she meant by inter-agency cooperation?" 
Vic asked, glancing at his partners.

LiAnn shrugged, already losing interest in the conversation. Mac 
shrugged too, but his gaze slid to the side; something it did when 
he was hiding something. "Mac?"

Mac shrugged again, but wouldn't meet his eyes. He knew something, 
but Vic decided that it wasn't exactly the time or place to pry it 
out of him. He did make a note of it for later, however.

"So," he said, changing the subject. "What is this Julian person 
like?"

Mac shuddered theatrically. "Picture a male version of the 
Director," he said conspiratorially to Vic, who shuddered as well. 
LiAnn's lips twitched at the display and Vic exchanged satisfied 
glances with Mac at that. Yep, the ice-queen faade was definitely 
starting to erode.

"Did he sit on your lap?" Vic teased and Mac actually blushed.

"Nope, but he seemed to be considering it before the Director told 
him to back off. Actually, if you met him you'd probably think he 
was a Mafia Don or something. Handsome, cultured, well-dressed and 
somehow scary as hell."

That worried Vic. "Maybe he *is* Mafia," he suggested, but Mac was 
already shaking his head.

"No, he isn't," was all he would say.

Vic was getting more and more suspicious now. Mac obviously knew 
something he wasn't telling and that bothered Vic. He and his 
partner were definitely going to have a little talk when they got 
back to the hotel.

Until then, though, he was going to keep his eyes open. Something 
weird was going on, and he wanted to know what.

>>>~~~<<<

As the night went on, Vic made a mental list of everything that 
struck him as odd, drawing on his training as a detective. He wasn't 
sure what most of them meant, or even if they meant anything, but he 
had no way of knowing what was significant yet. He wished he could 
pull out a notebook and jot down some notes, but that would have 
attracted attention he didn't want.

The first item on his list seemed fairly innocuous. Considering the 
mix of people in the club, you would expect to see a wide variety of 
drinks, tending towards either beer or hard liquor, but the 
overwhelming favorite drink was the same red wine that the Director 
had been drinking earlier, somehow darker and slightly thicker in 
consistency than he was familiar with. Perhaps it was a local 
specialty or something, but it *was* strange.

Second was the pattern of interactions between groups. As he'd 
noticed on previous evenings, each group stayed mostly to themselves. 
However, there *was* interaction, if only a look or a nod. Some of 
those seemed reasonably friendly, while others looked to be verging 
on violence. There was some sort of pattern to it -- Vic was sure of 
it -- but it eluded him, kind of like the on-the-tip-of-my-tongue 
phenomenon.

Jackie always said that his surveillance skills were pitiful, and he 
was noticed in his watching. It got him a few angry glares and one 
rather disturbing snarl, all accompanied by a weird flash of silver 
in the eyes. A few looked so hostile that he'd quickly looked in 
another direction. Vic wasn't a coward, but he knew danger when he 
saw it and Victor Mansfield was *not* a fool. As for the silver, he 
just assumed that it was something to do with the lighting in the 
club.

"My, don't we look suspicious tonight," a husky voice purred in his 
ear. Vic twisted in his seat to look up at an obviously amused 
Lillie.

"What?"

"You have the look of a cop in a suspected drug house," she said 
with a smile. "You really should work on your poker face."

Vic snorted. "My poker face is fine. It just doesn't translate 
well," he said. In his mind he could hear Jackie telling him 'You 
look like the hotel dick.' The kindest comment he'd received was 
that his face was too honest for surveillance. "I was just curious," 
he told her. "I hope I didn't offend."

For a moment, his eyes flickered over to the bar where Mac was 
chatting with Cash. The Director had promised that Mac's attackers 
were going to be dealt with, but until then he was keeping a close 
eye on his partner.

"Of course not," she said, sitting down. "I even know a few cops."

"I'm not a cop."

LiAnn frowned and excused herself. For some reason she seemed to 
have taken a dislike to the elegant club-owner. But then she always 
seemed to take a dislike to any woman who showed an interest in 
either of her partners -- other than the Director, of course -- even 
though she'd made it clear that she didn't want either of them.

Lillie cocked her head to the side, watching LiAnn walk away, an 
amused smile on her lips, before turning back to Vic. "Maybe not 
now, but you used to be," she said confidently. Vic didn't bother 
denying the comment: He'd also been told that he was a lousy liar. 
"So tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not being 
suspicious?"

A glass of the same red wine he'd noticed earlier was set down next 
to her and when she sipped, it left a sheen on her lips that 
disturbingly made him think of blood. He shook off the fancy before 
answering.

"I listen to music, mostly old-style blues. I cook, although not very 
well yet." Vic grinned, remembering the time the fire department had 
shown up while he was trying to make blackened catfish; the resulting 
smoke had set off the smoke-detectors in the corridor. The result had 
been so over-spiced that it had been inedible. His second attempt 
hadn't been half-bad, though, so he *was* improving with practice.

"How domestic. And do you cook for Mac as well?"

Vic drew his gaze back to Lillie after it had wandered over to his 
partner again. Mac was laughing at something the bartender had just 
said. "What?"

"Do you cook for the delightful young man that you are watching so 
intently?" The smile on her face said that she was teasing him.

Vic shook his head. "Mac likes 'authentic' Chinese food, so he seems 
to live on take-out."

"How long have you been together?" There was no mistaking the 
meaning of her question.

"We aren't lovers," Vic told her. "We've been working together for a 
little over two years, though."

"Really? The way you've been watching him, I would have thought... 
On the other hand, he *did* spend the night with Cash," she said 
thoughtfully to himself.

"I've been keeping an eye on his because he attracts trouble like 
honey attracts flies. After last night, I think I have reason to 
worry."

"You don't seem to worry about the young lady."

"LiAnn is very good at avoiding trouble," he said defensively.

"And are you and she..." Lillie trailed off suggestively.

The slight flash of pain was barely noticeable, unlike the months 
after she'd called off their engagement. "Not for more than a year. 
And before that, she was with Mac," he said, wondering why he was 
telling all of this to someone who was almost a complete stranger. 
There was just something about the woman that seemed to compel him 
to tell her everything she wanted to know.

"I see." There was a wealth of innuendo in the comment. "Well then," 
she finally said, her expression turning seductive. "If you aren't 
involved with either of them, perhaps you'll reconsider my offer?" 
She raised a single arched eyebrow.

"Um..." Vic shifted in his seat uneasily.

"Or don't you find me attractive?"

"No! I mean you are very attractive. It's just..."

"All I'm suggesting is one night," she said. "After all, you're just 
here for the week."

"That's the problem," Vic said, seizing on the comment. "I don't..."

"Do casual sex?" she finished for him, smiling again. "How old-
fashioned. Very well, I won't press. Actually, it's rather sweet."

Vic winced. He was reasonably sure that the comment wasn't *meant* 
to be patronizing, but Lillie struck him as the sort of person for 
whom casual sex was almost a way of life.

"Having fun?"

Vic looked up as Mac and Cash moved to join them. "Maybe not as much 
as you," he said and was surprised to hear a tiny bit of bitterness 
in his voice. Cash's eyebrows went up and he smiled, like he was 
seeing something no one else was. Mac just laughed.

"Well, well, well. Aren't we all the happy family," the Director 
said, seeming to appear almost out of thin air, LiAnn right behind 
her. The meetings must be over for the night, and Vic was a little 
surprised to notice that it was only an hour to sunrise.

The Director turned to Cash. "Marcus?" she asked in a hard voice.

Cash's smile disappeared. "Cameron seems to be having... trouble 
locating him. Until he does, I am Mac's personal bodyguard. Julian's 
orders."

She frowned. "If he continues to have... 'trouble,'" she said, 
imitating Cash's phrasing, "*I* will have a little talk with him. 
Tell him for me; he really doesn't want that. Understood?"

Vic was impressed; Cash didn't even break a sweat. "Understood."

"Good."

As usual, the limo was waiting for them; one of the many that the 
meeting attendees and their people were climbing into. Vic wondered 
where everyone else was staying; their group was the only one at the 
Garden House. Considering how isolationist the different groups 
were, he wouldn't be surprised if every delegation was housed at a 
different hotel or B&B around town.

He was also a little surprised that there were no cops around. The 
conversation earlier with Mac had reminded him just how suspicious 
these meetings would look to a cop. And if they *were* completely 
legit, wouldn't a cop want to make sure that there wasn't any 
trouble? On the other hand, Lillie's comment about 'knowing' cops 
might explain that. Either that or a lot of money applied in the 
right places.

Cash's bike was parked right next to the main door, so he had his 
helmet on and the engine revved up by the time they were ready to 
drive off. As they did, he fell in behind to follow them, watching 
for trouble.

Vic couldn't help noticing that the Director looked seriously pissed 
off. The atmosphere in the limo was tense all the way back to the 
Garden House. Once there, the Director gestured Cash over. "Tell 
Luna he's got a deadline of tomorrow, this time. Find Marcus and his 
friends or I will.

Cash nodded coolly. "I'll tell him."

"Good." With that, she turned and headed up the steps, her heels 
clicking on the marble.

Mac winced, then wrapped his arms around Cash. "See you tomorrow," 
he said, then gently kissed the man.

"Watch your back, gorgeous," Cash replied. He sat on the bike and 
watched as Mac and LiAnn headed inside, then turned his attention to 
Vic, who was waiting patiently. "You have something to say?" he 
asked.

Vic stepped in close, putting on his most threatening expression. "I 
hope you're a better bodyguard than tour guide," he told the man. 
"Because if anything happens to Mac, I'm coming after you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a promise. Letting Mac go anywhere with you was obviously 
a mistake. It's not going to happen again."

Cash grinned. "Mac's a big boy, you know. He can chose his own 
friends."

Vic snorted. "He also has a record of getting involved with 
terrorists, thieves and killers," he said, carefully ignoring the 
fact that that also described most of *his* romantic attempts since 
the breakup with LiAnn. "He's a little too trusting for his own 
good."

Cash's 'I know something you don't know' smile was back in full 
force. "You know, Mansfield, you almost sound jealous. Don't like 
anyone else hanging around your boy?" Vic didn't rise to the bait.

"Just remember what I said," he said, then turned and headed inside. 
LiAnn and the Director had already headed upstairs, but Mac was 
waiting for him.

"What the hell was *that* all about?" he demanded, grabbing Vic's 
arm.

"Just clearing up a few points."

"Oh great. Just... great. What's next, background checks on all of 
my dates? You want to threaten them *before* I go out with them? Or 
maybe I should save myself the trouble and just join a monastery 
now."

Mac was furious, and deep down, Vic knew he had every right in the 
world to be. He was acting like an over-protective brother, or 
worse, a jealous... something. "Mac, what's going on here?"

"You're acting like an ass," was the prompt reply.

"*Other* than that," Vic said tiredly. "And don't play innocent. You 
know something you aren't telling, and it could put us all in 
danger. We're partners, damnit. *Talk* to me."

Mac glanced around, then pulled Vic into the empty dining room. It 
was still before dawn, and while they could hear sounds of life from 
the kitchen, all the chairs were still up on the tables and the room 
wasn't open for service.

"Listen, I *can't* tell you." Vic started to protest, but Mac hushed 
him. "First of all, the Director says she wants you to figure it out 
on your own. Second, even if I *did* tell you, you wouldn't believe 
me. It's..." He paused, looking for words that apparently weren't 
coming. Then he sighed. "It's got to do with the Director: Who and 
*what* she is. If you want to know more right now, you'll have to 
talk to *her*."

Vic wasn't sure he wanted to press anymore -- the Director didn't 
like people prying into her business, even when it was theirs too -- 
and even if he did want to, Mac's expression would have stopped him. 
The younger man looked worried and more than a little afraid. Vic 
decided to take pity on him.

"All right, I'll let it go. For now," he warned. Mac smiled 
gratefully and relaxed. "But we stay here today," he warned. "No 
sight-seeing, no shopping, no nothing. You don't give this Marcus 
person a free shot at you, got it?"

"Got it," Mac said, rolling his eyes. "But it's not like he's going 
to be coming after me during daylight."

"You can't be sure about that." Mac opened his mouth, then shut it 
again. Vic frowned; Mac had seemed pretty sure. "Mac?"

"Ask me again when we get home," was the only answer he got.

The arrival of staff wanting to set up for breakfast interrupted the 
rather surreal conversation they were having and they headed for 
their room and bed.

Once in bed, though, Vic had trouble getting to sleep. His mind kept 
turning over the puzzle of Mac's comments and his own observations. 
He must have been more tired than he thought. Either that or he'd 
seen too many late-night horror movies, since only one explanation 
was coming to mind.

And while he'd called the Director a lot of things in the years 
since she'd blackmailed him into working for the Agency -- although 
rarely to her face -- calling her a vampire was too ridiculous for 
word.


>>>~~~<<<

They didn't wake up until lunchtime. The bruise on Mac's face was 
already fading to a mottled brown and when they ate lunch, he didn't 
look like it hurt to chew anymore. The meal was surprising quiet -- 
Mac rarely did *anything* quietly -- and Vic was distracted by his 
self-imposed job of watching for anything suspicious. He saw nothing 
and Mac seemed completely unconcerned.

Vic still wished he had a gun. Unarmed, he felt naked.

After lunch they found a TV room -- that being the one necessity 
missing from their room -- and settled down for the afternoon. They 
flipped back and forth between a Vancouver-LA hockey game and a 
martial arts flick. Vic hooted at the stupid moves the hockey 
players made, all the while complaining that *he* could do better, 
and Mac heckled the lousy sub-titles on the Hong Kong-made movie, 
suggesting that they'd been written by someone with a Chinese-
English dictionary who didn't understand either language. All in 
all, it was a fun day.

The only problem was that the Director seemed to be deliberately 
avoiding him. Mac had told him to talk to her if he wanted answers, 
but she never emerged from her suite and no one answered the door 
when he'd knocked. Even LiAnn didn't seem to know where the woman 
was, and of them all, the Director-proclaimed 'teacher's pet' was 
the closest to her.

All in all, Vic was starting to count the hours until they headed 
home. San Francisco was turning out to be just a little too weird 
for his tastes.

The Director finally made her appearance just in time to leave for 
the Haven. In that entire time, Mac hadn't been out of his sight 
once, except for when one of them was in the bathroom. At those 
times, Vic was either right outside the door, or when he had showered 
he had trusted Mac to keep his word and not run off.

Through it all, Mac just seemed amused.

But that changed as the sun went down. Vic would have had to be 
blind to miss how Mac got more and more apprehensive the darker it 
got outside. For a moment he reconsidered the exhaustion-induced 
vampire theory, then decided to just chalk it up to worry about what 
was going to happen at the Haven.

Cash arrived a half-hour after sunset along with the limo. He was 
looking very tense, and the bulges under his leather jacket said 
that he, at least, was well armed. When the Director shot him a 
glance, asking the obvious question silently, he shook his head.

Marcus and his cronies were still on the loose out there.

When they arrived at the Haven, they found that Cash wasn't the only 
one who was tense. There were more than a half-dozen faces that Vic 
didn't recognize and they all had the hard and wary look of 
soldiers. It reassured him for a moment, but only a moment. Then he 
got a look at Cash's unhappy expression and Lillie's coldly angry 
one.

"Brujah?" he heard Mac ask quietly and Cash confirmed it, just as 
quietly. The word didn't mean anything to Vic, except in reference 
to some sort of male witch, which didn't exactly fit the 
circumstances.

Vic gestured them into an alcove near the door where coats were 
hung. "What the hell is a Brujah?" he asked them, suddenly tired of 
all the secrets.

Cash glanced at Mac, then checked the area outside the alcove for 
listeners before answering. "A family. A... gang, I guess you could 
call them," he finally said, although Vic had the feeling that there 
was more to it than that. "Marcus is Brujah. Julian ordered their 
leader to bring him in, but either they haven't found them yet or 
they're hiding him." The glare he shot at the room in general and 
the Brujah specifically told Vic which option *Cash* thought more 
likely.

Suddenly Vic had a headache: They were about to spend the evening in 
a club surrounded by the armed friends of the men who had tried to 
kill Mac, and other than Cash, they were unarmed. The hairs on his 
neck were all standing on end and Vic felt like he had target 
painted on his back.

For once, the Director escorted them to their table, then turned to 
survey the room. "If this isn't resolved tonight, the three of you 
will be on a plane to Toronto tomorrow morning even if I have to 
charter one," she said in a tone that didn't allow for protests. Not 
that Vic was inclined to protest; at the moment, heading for home 
sounded like a good idea to *him*.

Then she left for what she'd told them was the second-last night of 
her mysterious meetings. Vic wondered if they would *ever* find out 
what those were about. He doubted it, though. If she didn't think 
they needed to know, she wasn't going to say.

After that, the evening settled down into a stomach-roiling tension 
that left Vic wanting to order a bottle of antacid instead of beer. 
They'd taken their usual table, up against the wall, and Mac was 
sitting closest to the wall with Cash between him and the rest of 
the room in the seat that Vic would have taken if the local hadn't 
got to it first. Vic settled for taking the seat directly opposite 
Cash with LiAnn next to the wall. The smile on Cash's face said that 
he hadn't missed that.

It was going to be a looooong night.

>>>~~~<<<

Despite -- or perhaps due to -- the high level of tension, the 
evening passed quietly. None of them danced, and they all stuck to 
non-alcoholic drinks. Lillie dropped by a couple times to keep them 
up-to-date on the search.

The first sign of relief came just after midnight when Lillie let 
them know that Cameron -- who was apparently the head of these 
'Brujah' -- had just delivered three of the four men being hunted 
for. They were Luna's estate, waiting under guard for their chance 
to explain themselves. However, that bit of good new was tempered by 
the fact that one of the men was still on the loose, and that was 
the ringleader, Marcus.

Still, Vic started to relax. While Marcus still being free meant 
that Mac -- and Cash, he supposed -- could still be in danger, at 
least they now knew that there *was* an honest effort being made to 
find him.

Vic finally managed to loosen up enough to start chatting with Cash. 
The man turned out to be a reasonably okay guy. They might even have 
been friends if it weren't for the feeling that they were rivals for 
Mac, even though Vic had no claim on him except as a partner.

Maybe he was just as bad as LiAnn; not wanting to take a chance on 
the man as a romantic partner, but unwilling to let him find someone 
else. It was a disturbing thought.

But that thought brought something else to his attention.

"LiAnn."

Mac looked over from his conversation with Cash. "She went to the 
ladies room."

"I know that," Vic said, exasperated. He checked his watch. "But she 
*never* takes half an hour, especially considering the circumstances."

That got Mac's attention. He'd known LiAnn much longer that Vic, so 
he recognized the truth in the statement. Immediately, he started to 
his feet.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cash snapped, grabbing 
his arm. Mac jerked it out of the man's grasp.

"I'm going after my partner," he said and pushed past Cash, heading 
for the back corridor where the restrooms were. Cursing, Vic hurried 
after him, Cash right on his heels.

Ignoring the shocked looks he got, Mac pushed open the door to the 
ladies room. "LiAnn!"

There was no answer.

Vic turned to Cash. "Is there any other way out of here?"

Cash nodded to a door at the end of the corridor. "That leads out 
back, but it's wired. Opening it sets off the fire alarm.

"Well, let's find out," Mac snapped, and pushed the door open so 
hard that it actually banged against the outside wall.

There was no alarm.

"Shit," Cash hissed, scanning the narrow alleyway between the Haven 
and the building behind it. There were two dumpsters, but other than 
that was surprisingly tidy. There was no sign of life.

"LiAnn!" Mac shouted, despite Vic's gestures to stay quiet.

"Right over here," a masculine voice said.

The dark haired man who stepped out from behind the dumpsters was 
dressed in clothes that had been elegant, but now were grubby and 
wrinkled. Marcus -- assuming this was him -- obviously hadn't been 
sleeping comfortably the last two nights. But that didn't detract 
from his menace, especially since he had a barely-conscious LiAnn by 
the throat and a gun pointed at them.

"Took you long enough," he said with a sneer. "I was about to just 
kill her and leave."

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, taking a step forward. "You're 
just digging yourself in deeper. This isn't going to change anything."

"No, I suppose it won't," Marcus said, slowly lowering his gun. Vic 
decided that maybe he should start breathing again.

Then the man smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "But at least I won't go 
alone," he said, swinging the gun to point at Mac.

"No!" Vic shouted, already moving.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Nine
----------------------------------------

"He's watching you again."

Mac glanced over at Cash after giving the bartender his order. He 
knew Vic was watching; it was the same thing he'd be doing if their 
roles were reversed. "He's watching my back."

"That's my job tonight," the man said with a grin.

Having Cash watching his back was a weird experience for Mac. It had 
been years since he'd had to trust anyone there other than LiAnn or 
Vic -- and Vic more often than not, it seemed. It wasn't that he 
didn't trust Cash -- he did, which was weird in itself since they'd 
only met a few days earlier. The problem was that he didn't *know* 
the man or how he would react in a situation. Sure, he'd seen Cash 
in a fight and knew he could handle himself, but there wasn't the 
instinctive knowledge of which way he was going to move that he had 
with his partners.

"Relax, gorgeous. It'll be all over soon."

"You know," Mac said with a wry grin, "that could be interpreted in 
ways that aren't exactly reassuring." The bartender placed a glass 
of ginger-ale in front of him. He really wanted a beer, but that 
wouldn't be a good idea.

Cash snorted and scanned the room before turning back to him. 
"That's new," he commented, reaching over to touch the pendant 
resting against Mac's chest.

"Hmm? Oh, that." Strangely, he'd forgotten about the pendant until 
Cash pointed it out. It felt so natural around his neck; like it had 
always been there. "Vic picked it up for me the other day."

Cash grinned. "You two are close, aren't you?"

"Well sure. We've been working together for two years now. Of 
course, when we first met we mixed like oil and water, but we became 
friends after LiAnn dumped him. Maybe we should call ourselves the 
Society of LiAnn's Ex-Lovers."

"*Just* friends?"

Mac flushed at the smirk on the other man's face. The question 
brought to mind some of those fantasies he'd been having about Vic 
Mansfield for months. Fantasies that had seemed completely 
impossible until this trip, when he'd found out that Vic had also 
had male lovers in the past. Now they were merely improbably. "Just 
friends."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Not the answer I was expecting. The way he's been acting; watching 
you, warning me off like a jealous lover... And then there's the way 
you look at him."

Mac bristled. "Vic's an overprotective worrywart, that's all."

"One who buys you jewelry?"

"Why not? I bought him a shirt and an earring the day before that."

"Really?"

Mac was starting to get a little annoyed at the innuendo. "Listen, 
Cash. We are *not* lovers. We're just partners. That's *all* we 
are." And all we'll ever be, he thought a little sadly.

And he knew why, too. After Michael, LiAnn and Claire, Mac didn't 
want to take a chance on anything too serious, which was why he went 
through such a steady string of dates. Vic, on the other hand, was 
*not* the type for casual sex, Moorcock to the contrary. But if he 
ever got the chance at a night, no strings attached, Mac certainly 
wouldn't turn it down.

Not waiting for Cash's response, Mac picked up his drink and headed 
back to the table where Vic and LiAnn were waiting, praying that 
Cash wouldn't press the subject, although he figured he didn't have 
much hope of that. He could feel Cash's amusement as the man 
followed him.

It was going to be a long night.

>>>~~~<<<

It ended up being just as long as he'd feared. Vic finally loosened 
up enough to chat with Cash, even getting a little friendly with the 
man. That made Mac more than a bit uncomfortable, especially since 
Cash's side of the conversation was laced with subtle innuendo that 
went right over Vic's head, although not LiAnn's, going by the 
slight smirk on her face.

Mac had made fun of Vic in the past for being unsophisticated, but 
tonight he was glad for it. If Vic had any idea of the undercurrents 
in the conversation, Mac would be glowing red as if he were sun-
burnt. Besides, after the high-class world he'd grown up in Hong 
Kong, Vic's uncomplicated personality was a breath of fresh air. You 
didn't have to dig through layers of false faces to find the real 
man. Everything was out in the open.

Not that he was *stupid*, of course. When it came to work, Vic was a 
damn good investigator. Better than Mac, in fact. Mac knew he had a 
tendency to be too easily distracted, especially by a pretty face or 
great ass. Vic had only made that mistake once that Mac could 
remember, and he'd made up for it in the end.

That focus on the job was why Vic was the first one to notice that 
LiAnn was missing. After the report that Marcus's goons had been 
captured, Mac had started to relax. He assumed that even though 
Marcus was still on the lam, everything was as good as over. Vic's 
comment brought that assumption to a crashing end.

Marcus had LiAnn. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was true. 
Cursing himself for a fool, Mac double-checked the ladies room, then 
headed for the door to the back alley. Cash seemed confident in the 
security system, but Mac knew from personal experience just how easy 
a fire alarm was to disable.

Vic tried to keep him quiet, but Mac was past caring about stealth. 
He just wanted it to be over. "LiAnn!"

"Right over here," said the voice he was dreading.

Marcus stepped out from behind one of the dumpsters with an 
unresisting LiAnn by the throat, effortlessly supporting her weight. 
The bruise on her temple explained why she looked so dazed.

Marcus no longer looked like he'd stepped off the pages of GQ. He 
was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on the last time Mac had 
seen him. They were badly rumpled now and his hair hung lank. But 
his eyes glittered with a manic silver light and Mac could see a 
hint of fangs when his lips drew back in a sneer. For a more mundane 
threat, he had a gun pointed at them.

"Took you long enough," the Brujah said. "I was about to just kill 
her and leave." His lips drifted towards her throat and Mac's breath 
caught.

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, trying to move past Mac to 
shield him. Mac wasn't interested in cooperating. It was his fault 
that LiAnn was in this mess. "You're just digging yourself in 
deeper. This isn't going to change anything."

The gun wavered, then lowered. "No, I suppose it won't." Mac tensed. 
It wasn't going to be that easy. It never was.

Then suddenly the gun was pointed straight at him. Over the roar of 
his pulse, he heard Marcus say, "But at least I won't go alone."

His finger tightened on the trigger, oh so slowly. It was like the 
entire world slowed down as Mac waited for the bullet that was going 
to end his life.

Mac froze, but neither Cash nor Vic did. Cash threw himself at 
Marcus, while a shouting Vic jumped in front of Mac.

The echo of the gunshot was obscenely loud in the narrow space.

Dimly, Mac heard snarling and the sound of flesh tearing as Cash 
literally ripped Marcus to shreds. LiAnn hit her head again on the 
edge of the dumpster as she fell away from Marcus and lay 
unconscious on the ground.

But Mac noticed all that only peripherally. His attention was 
focused on Vic. His partner collapsed to the ground, a gut wound 
pouring out blood. You didn't need to be a doctor to know that even 
a hospital probably couldn't save him at that moment.

"Mac..." Vic's eyes drifted shut. His face was a pasty white as the 
blood drained away, pooling beneath him on the ground.

"Vic? Vic!" Mac moved to his side, pressing a hand to the wound to 
try and slow the bleeding, even though he knew it was pointless. 
Vic's breathing already sounded with a death rattle.

"Mac?"

Mac looked up at Cash's worried face and hope flared as he saw the 
man's fangs, fully extended. He reached up with a bloody hand to 
grab the man's sleeve. "Help him," he begged.

"I... can't."

"You're the only one who can," Mac pressed desperately.

Cash wavered. "The rules say Julian has to okay..." He cut off, 
recognizing the truth: Vic wouldn't last that long.

"Please," Mac said, begging now. He was sure that there were all 
sorts of logical arguments he could make for why Cash should Embrace 
Vic, but none of them were coming to mind. All that mattered was 
that he didn't want his partner to die. Especially not because of 
*him*.

Cash took a deep breath, then gestured him to move out of the way. 
As Mac scrambled back, the Gangrel took his place, lifting Vic's 
head into his lap. "Vic. Vic!"

The dying man's eyes fluttered open again. They were dim, no longer 
their usual brilliant green, but they were aware.

"Vic, I can save your life, but only if you become like me. Are you 
willing to accept that price?" Mac wanted to yell at him to get on 
with it, but somehow he knew that Cash wasn't going to do anything 
without Vic's consent.

Vic stared up at him, and Mac knew what he was seeing. Cash's eyes 
were glowing with an eerie light, his bloodied lips were drawn back 
to display his fangs. There was no mistaking what he was. Vic's eyes 
widened and what little breath he had left came in a gasp.

For a long moment he said nothing, while Mac's heart pounded. 
Finally his eyes shut. "Yes," was the barely audible reply. Mac 
slumped against the brick wall in relief.

Cash bent his head and Mac watched in fascination as the man's fangs 
sank into Vic's neck. Then Cash's lips sealed around the entry and 
his throat muscles went to work as he started to suck powerfully.

For nearly a minute, that was all that happened. The blood flowing 
from the stomach wound slowed, then stopped. Vic's breathing paused, 
restarted, then stopped altogether. Mac whimpered low in his throat.

Then Cash pulled back and raised his hand. His other hand came up, 
talons extended, and he cut open his wrist. As soon as the blood 
started to well, he pressed his wrist to Vic's lips and started 
talking in a low, hypnotic tone.

"You have to drink if you really want this. If you don't, you will 
die the true death. It's up to you now. It's your choice and yours 
alone."

Behind him, LiAnn groaned and sat up. Her eyes went wide as she took 
in the tableau in front of her. Mac ignored her, his eyes focused on 
the two men.

Suddenly, Vic's throat flexed once, then a second time. Mac almost 
cried in relief as the man started to drink. Already, a flush of 
color was returning to his face.

Just then, the door to the alley flew open and Lillie rushed out, 
followed closely by several armed men. Two of them were friends of 
Cash that he had met at the dance club, Mac was relieved to note.

Not pulling his wrist from Vic's greedily sucking mouth, Cash 
twisted in place to look at the newcomers. "Get a car," he ordered 
one of his friends and the man nodded before disappearing back 
inside. "Marcus is over there, what's left of him," Cash told Lillie. 
"The body needs to be disposed of. Tell Julian and Toronto that 
we're going to the estate. They can meet us there." He looked down 
at Vic and sighed. "They can decide what will happen to us then."

Lillie nodded sadly and went back inside, pausing only long enough 
to squeeze Mac's shoulder reassuringly. Now that the immediate 
danger to Vic was over, he was remembering what Cash had told him 
about Zane and the penalties for Embracing without permission. He 
prayed that the relationship between Julian and Cash -- not to 
mention the circumstances -- would convince the Prince to be lenient. 
Otherwise both Vic *and* Cash could be dead before sunrise.

At the end of the alley, a car door slammed. Two of Cash's Gangrels 
picked Vic up and carried him to the waiting car. Finally paying 
attention to his *other* partner, Mac helped LiAnn to her feet and 
half-carried her down the alley. The car was just barely large 
enough to hold them all, with LiAnn half in his lap and Vic leaning 
against Cash, still not quite conscious, in the back seat and the 
two Gangrel in the front.

Mac slumped against the back of the seat, suddenly beyond exhausted. 
The world had just tilted on its axis and he didn't have a clue what 
happened next. He was probably in shock, he knew. He'd nearly been 
killed and he was now sticky with Vic's blood. A quick glance over 
let him see the wound still showing through the gaping hole in Vic's 
shirt, but as he watched, the edges were starting to pull together.

Vic moaned faintly, and Cash held his bleeding wrist for the man to 
suckle at again. "It's going to be all right," the Gangrel 
whispered, and Mac wondered who he was trying to reassure: Vic, Mac 
or himself.

The car pulled into traffic and Mac closed his eyes, the lids too 
heavy to keep open any longer.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke with a start as the car came to a stop in front of a large 
mansion. It was a beautiful building, practically screaming "money," 
but Mac barely glanced at it as they maneuvered Vic and LiAnn up the 
front steps.

Once inside, Cash gestured for Mac and LiAnn to go into the library 
just off the main foyer while he and the others took Vic upstairs. 
Mac wanted to protest, but LiAnn still had the glazed look of 
someone with a concussion or worse. She needed to sit down quickly 
and she couldn't be left alone. Mac let the rational part of his 
mind take over and did as he was told. He trusted Cash to look after 
Vic, after all.

Really, he did.

About ten minutes later, he heard a car pull up outside. A moment 
after that, the front door opened and he heard Julian's voice. Mac 
closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself for what would 
happen next. It was 'make or break' time.

Julian came into the study, the Director right on his heels. "I saw 
Marcus," he said bluntly. "Where's Cash?"

"Upstairs with Vic."

"What happened?" Julian seemed calm but determined. Mac looked past 
him to the Director, but her expression was impossible to read. He 
took a deep breath and started from the moment they'd discovered 
that LiAnn was missing.

He left out nothing, including his own insistence on rushing out 
into the alley to confront Marcus -- a foolish decision, he knew. 
The only reason he was still alive was because Vic had taken a 
bullet for him. Vic had nearly *died* to save him.

Then he explained how he had begged Cash to Embrace Vic, doing his 
best to take all the blame. Julian just snorted.

"No one *makes* Cash do anything," he said, one corner of his mouth 
quirking up into a half-smile; the most promising sign so far. Then 
the amused smile disappeared. "However, this was not a good decision.

"San Francisco is in a delicate state just now. Since Eddie Fiori 
died, the Brujah have been pushing. They say I show blatant 
favoritism to the other clans. If I allow Cash to get away with 
increasing the Gangrel ranks without permission at the same time 
that the Brujah lose four..."

"He hasn't." Everyone's attention turned to the Director. "Victor is 
*mine*. I did not bring him with me just to lose him to you. When we 
leave in three days, he leaves with us."

Julian's eyebrows went up. "You want to put a fledgling on a plane 
that soon after his Embrace? No Kindred learns control *that* fast."

"He will," she said confidently. "He won't have any other choice. 
LiAnn?"

The oriental looked up obediently, but there was still little 
comprehension in her eyes. In the light of the study, her pupils 
could be seen to be overly large and mismatched in size. The 
Director sighed. "She needs medical attention."

Julian nodded. "Daedelus is well-trained in mortal medicine. He'll 
be here shortly."

"Good. Take care of her. Mac, come with me."

Mac got to his feet and followed her out into the foyer and then up 
the stairs. She unerringly led them to a door that led to a richly 
decorated bedroom. There they found Vic lying on the bed, fully 
awake now. Cash sat next to him, talking quietly, but quickly.

Vic was undressed, his clothes no doubt already disposed of. They'd 
been too soaked with blood, even without the bullet hole, to be 
worth saving. Mac stared in fascination at the man's stomach. While 
the scars from the fatal wound could still be seen clearly, it was 
completely closed and those scars were already starting to fade.

Cash got to his feet as soon as they entered. He half-bowed to the 
Director in a gesture of respect, then stood still, waiting for her 
to speak. She stared at him coldly for a moment. "Julian is waiting 
for you downstairs," she finally said, stepping aside so that he 
could leave. Taking the hint, he patted Vic's hand, then left the 
room, pausing only long enough to brush his lips against Mac's 
cheek. His breath stank of blood and Mac shivered.

Once he was gone, she turned her attention to Vic, who had struggled 
up into a seated position. "Now, this is a fine mess," she said, 
sounding exasperated. The conversation in the study had raised Mac's 
spirits a bit, but now they plummeted again.

"I mean, really, Victor," she continued. "Couldn't you have settled 
for knocking him to the ground? Or *letting* him take the bullet he 
was so obviously inviting?" Mac winced at the glare she sent his 
way. He was going to pay for this; he knew it. "You really need to 
outgrow these foolish heroics."

"It was the only thing I could come up with at the moment," Vic said 
weakly.

The Director sighed. "Unfortunately, I believe you. However, this 
creates a mess that I now have to deal with. I'm sure you've already 
started to feel the Hunger?" He nodded. "Of course you have. 
Controlling the Hunger is the first thing any new fledgling must 
learn. Unfortunately, you don't have much time to do so. You cannot 
stay in San Francisco for a number of reasons, chief of which is 
that you belong to *me*. But you also cannot be allowed out in 
public until you can control yourself. Therefore, I am going to give 
you a little incentive to learn that control very quickly."

She gestured Mac over and he obeyed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 
"Mac will be staying in here with you. He will be your only source 
of blood."

"I won't..." Vic started to say, but she cut him off.

"Don't even think about refusing to feed. Either you would die, if 
you could restrain yourself completely -- in which case I will 
simply kill Mac -- or you would finally lose control of your Hunger 
and kill him in a frenzy -- in which case I will kill *you*. You 
will learn to feed only as much as you need to or else."

Her tone was so cold that neither of them could doubt her 
determination; she would do exactly as she said.

"You have two days until the party," she said once her words had 
sunk in. "You need will to be able to behave yourself in public by 
then. *I* think you can do it. Don't disappoint me."

She turned to leave and glanced at Mac. "I'll have breakfast sent 
up after sunrise."

"Assuming I'm still alive to eat it?" Mac asked wryly.

"Have faith, Mr. Ramsey! You don't really think he'd kill you after 
the lengths he went to keep you alive?"

She smiled and closed the door behind herself. In the silence of the 
room, the sound of the key turning in the lock was almost deafening.

Mac sighed and went to sit on the end of the bed. Immediately, Vic 
scooted over until he was as far from Mac as he could get without 
actually falling *out* of the bed. Mac snickered.

"What's so damn funny?" Vic snapped at him.

"You. You're acting like a virgin on her wedding night. Relax." Mac 
moved closer and this time Vic held his ground.

"Like hell. Doesn't it bother you that the Director just served you 
up to me like a blue plate special?"

Mac shrugged. "Why should it? After all, it *is* my fault you're in 
this mess in the first place. If someone has to pay the price, it 
might as well be me."

That got Vic's attention and he moved closer. "Don't be an idiot. 
She was right. There were any number of things I could have done 
that would have left both of us without a scratch. Instead, I got 
myself shot. *That* is why you're here, facing near certain death 
for the second time tonight."

He looked so morose and penitent that Mac couldn't help laughing and 
once he started, he couldn't stop. Hysteria, the last rational bit 
of his brain told him helpfully. Mixed with a touch of shock, no 
doubt.

Finally, he brushed the tears from his eyes and found Vic staring at 
him with a shocked expression on his face. "All right," he gasped. 
"Let's just say we're both to blame and leave it at that. It just 
means that we *both* have to fix it."

Vic shook his head. His green eyes now had a silver sheen that 
reminded Mac of something, but he couldn't remember what. "I don't 
think I can do this, Mac."

Mac reached out and grabbed Vic's shoulder. "You don't have any 
choice! Cash offered you this chance -- sure, because I begged him 
to -- and you said yes. Now you learn to do this or we *both* die."

"Maybe if I..."

Mac shook his head, stopping Vic before he could continue. He could 
guess what the man was going to suggest. "You heard her. The longer 
you wait, the worse this Hunger gets and the less you're able to 
control it. She should know."

Vic stared at him. "This is what you wouldn't talk about last night, 
isn't it? The explanation too weird to be believed."

Mac nodded. "And would you have believed me if I told you that our 
boss was a vampire?"

"No, I suppose not. The idea occurred to me briefly, but I rejected 
it as too ridiculous to be real. And the meetings? Can you tell me 
about them now?"

"Well, I don't know much," Mac said. He knew they were both just 
delaying the inevitable, but he was a little nervous about it too, 
so he didn't object. "Cash told me that the Kindred -- that's what 
they call themselves, not vampires -- are organized kinda like 
feudal times. All the Kindred in a city are headed by a Prince. This 
was a meeting between Princes to organize cooperation. Things like 
letting Kindred move from city to city when they attract notice and 
the like."

"So the Director isn't just a vampire, she's the chief vampire for 
Toronto?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Why am I not surprised?" Vic muttered to himself. Then he licked 
his lips and swallowed convulsively. His eyes, when they met Mac's, 
were almost completely silver and starting to glaze over with 
hunger. Mac could see his fangs, fully dropped into place. "Mac..."

Obviously, the time for talk was over. Mac shivered and shrugged out 
of his jacket, then reached down to unbutton his shirt cuff. "Cash 
said it was easiest to control the feeding through the wrist," he 
said in a reasonably steady tone, trying for an instructional voice. 
It was difficult enough. He didn't want to make it any harder on his 
partner.

He was both terrified and aroused, though. Cash had a lot more 
experience at this, but his body could still remember how the man's 
Kiss had felt. He wondered if it would be the same with Vic.

He held out his wrist to Vic. "He licked it first and it kind of 
deadened the skin," he said. Vic's fingers curved around his 
forearm, slightly cooler than normal, and he raised Mac's wrist to 
his lips. Hesitantly, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at the 
delicate skin over the big vein there. Mac's breath caught at the 
sensuous rasp.

"Okay. Um. I guess you just bite. But only take a couple swallows 
and stop, okay? It'll probably be easier to control if we do lots of 
little... um... snacks, not a full feeding." He hoped.

Vic bared his new fangs, hesitated, then sank them in.

The initial bite was more painful than it had been with Cash, but 
with the first swallow, Mac's eyes rolled back in his head. Like 
before, the sensations went straight to his groin and he hoped that 
Vic could control himself, since he didn't think he'd be able to 
stop the man.

But if he couldn't, at least Mac would die enjoying it.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Ten
----------------------------------------

Vic drifted into wakefulness not long before sunset. It was a little 
strange, being able to tell how low the sun was on the horizon from 
inside with his eyes closed, but it looked like his life was going 
to be strange from now on. He was a vampire. Even just thinking the 
words was weird.

As he grew more aware of his surroundings, he could hear voices: The 
Director and Mac. Mac sounded like his normal self, he was relieved 
to note, so he hadn't suffered any harm the night before from Vic's 
feeding.

The thought of that feeding woke the mental snarl that the Director 
had called 'the Hunger.' It remembered the taste of Mac's blood, 
sweeter than sweet, more intoxicating than the finest wine. Vic 
could feel his fangs pushing out; yet another strange sensation that 
was now part of his life. Afterlife. Whatever.

Deciding that he'd delayed long enough, Vic opened his eyes and 
pushed up into a seated position. Instantly, the conversation 
stopped and all eyes were focused on him. He shifted uncomfortable, 
suddenly remembering that he was still naked. They hadn't given him 
any clothes before locking Mac in with him.

"How's LiAnn?" he asked, remembering Marcus having her by the 
throat. She hadn't looked good.

"Sleeping Beauty finally wakes," the Director said, a small smile on 
her lips. "LiAnn is going to be fine. She has a concussion, but 
she's already doing better. How do *you* feel?"

Vic licked his lips, wincing as he cut his tongue on a fang, and 
considered the question.  "Pretty good, I guess," he admitted. He 
glanced down at his stomach and noted that there was no trace of 
where a piece of metal had made a large, fatal hole. "Better than I 
should." The snarl intensified. "Hungry."

Immediately, Mac started to roll up his sleeve, but the Director 
waved him off. "Here," she said, holding out her own arm. Vic 
flinched; feeding off her was *not* an appealing idea, although he 
couldn't quite explain why. "Victor," she said in a tone that made 
it clear that this was an order, not an invitation.

Carefully keeping the bedspread wrapped around his waist, Vic moved 
closer to her and bit into the proffered wrist.

Despite his reluctance, the Hunger quickly took over and he 
swallowed greedily. The difference was actually quite interesting. 
Her blood didn't have the bubbling life of Mac's, but there was an 
earthiness to it. Like an aged Scotch instead of Champagne; 
different, but just as intoxicating. A little more mellow than 
Cash's blood, he thought, and wondered if every person's blood would 
be as different to his taste buds. Then he stiffened when he 
realized that he was seriously considering going out and conducting 
a taste-test.

"Enough."

At the order, he pulled away, pausing only long enough to lick the 
wound. He'd noticed during his feedings from Mac the night before 
that his saliva seemed to heal the puncture wounds his fangs left.

The Director nodded, pleased. "And Julian didn't think you could 
learn control this fast. I'm glad to see you're living up to my 
expectations."

"Expectations? You were *expecting* this?" Vic asked, a little 
outraged. She frowned at him and he had to fight to keep from 
cringing.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said in a stern tone. "Of course I wasn't 
expecting this. As I told Mac when he came to me after finding out 
about the Kindred from Cash, I brought the three of you with me to 
see if you would figure it out. Becoming targets was *not* in my 
plans for you. Being Embraced Gangrel *definitely* wasn't in my 
plans either."

The emphasis didn't go unnoticed and Vic's eyes narrowed. "What sort 
of Embrace *were* you planning?" he asked, not sure he liked the 
idea.

She stared at him levelly for a moment. "Brujah, actually," she 
finally said, not bothering to deny the implication that she *was* 
going to have him Embraced, possibly whether he liked it or not.

"Are you *nuts*!?" Mac exploded. "Those thugs?"

The Director turned a glare on him that did little to quell his 
outrage. "Do not judge an entire clan on a single bad example," she 
said, ignoring his muttered 'four bad examples, you mean.' "And 
don't judge the Gangrel based just on Cash. They aren't necessarily 
any better and you would be wise to remember that."

Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but Vic cut him off before he 
could start and get himself in big trouble. "Fine. So now I'm a 
Gangrel. Just what exactly does that *mean*?"

"As a member of the clan or the race?" she asked, allowing herself 
to be deflected.

"Let's start with the big picture first. What exactly is a Kindred 
and what does it mean?"

The Director leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on 
her face. "Well, we don't have time for long explanations; I do have 
to get to the meetings for tonight. However, I will give you a quick 
history lesson.

"The story, as passed through the generations, sounds more like myth 
than history, and maybe it is just myth. Then again, maybe it isn't.

"I'm sure you both know the story of Cain and Abel?" She waited 
until they both nodded, before continuing. "According to the Bible, 
God marked Cain for the crime of killing his brother and he went 
into exile in the Land of Nod. About what that mark was, nothing is 
said.

"According to Kindred lore, the mark of God made Cain the first 
vampire. He sought out his father's first wife, Lilith and from her 
he learned how to use the new disciplines that his mark gave him. 
When he felt she'd taught him everything she could, he left. He 
traveled until he found a town of humans and with his abilities, 
they made him their king and he lived among them for a time, content.

"But as time went by, he became lonely. Despite warning omens, he 
chose to Embrace three Childer so that he would have others like him 
for companions. But the three became uncontrollable, Embracing 
without care. About the time of the great Flood, their own Childer 
rose up and destroyed them, and Cain withdrew, never to be seen 
again, although he did still affect Kindred history after that. Some 
say that the Nosferatu's disfigurement was a curse from Cain for 
some long-ago crime.

"The clans of the Kindred are each supposed to be descended from one 
of Cain's grand-Childer. Each clan has certain traits and abilities 
passed on through the Embrace, as well as those that are common to 
the entire race. In each generation removed from Cain those abilities 
are weaker, but there are benefits to that, although some would call 
them flaws.

"For example, sunlight can kill, but unlike the Vampires of legends, 
not immediately. In fact, you are of a generation far enough removed 
that sunlight won't be *too* much of a problem for you. The older 
generations sneer at that, but I think it's a benefit, don't you? 
But I would recommend you avoid bright, sunny days.

"A stake through the heart won't kill you, but it will immobilize 
you and weaken you enough that sunlight or fire *will* kill you. As 
for garlic, running water and holy symbols? Pure invention. Forget 
about them.

"As for the specific abilities of a Gangrel, I will arrange for a 
teacher once we return to Toronto. You will learn about them then. 
For now, concentrate on controlling the Hunger. That is the first 
and most important lesson that any fledgling must learn. Questions?"

Vic shook his head, more to clear it than anything else. "A 
million," he said ruefully.

She snorted. "Unfortunately, there isn't time to answer them all. 
Make a list. I'll decide which ones I'll answer later. In the 
meantime, I need to be going. LiAnn is down the hall, but the two of 
you will remain here. Oh, don't worry, Victor. Now that the initial 
change is finished, you won't need to feed quite as much. Mac is 
quite capable of safely supplying you with what you need for 
tonight."

She paused and eyed him speculatively. "Mac, go tell Cash to have 
the car ready," she ordered, then waited until he'd left the room. 
"Victor, I know you aren't very happy about it, but yes, I did 
intend to have you Embraced, probably later this year. But not until 
you knew what it meant."

"Why?" Vic had to ask.

She patted his hand. "You are very valuable to me, however I'm sure 
you've realized though that you can't go on working as a field agent 
for much longer." Vic nodded, remembering his musings on that just a 
few nights earlier. "Well, now that won't be a problem, other than 
the fact that you'll have to do most of your work at night. You're 
still in your prime and now you will stay there until you die. You 
should be pleased."

Vic wasn't so sure about that, but he held his tongue. After all, 
Cash had offered him a choice and he'd taken the chance at life. He 
couldn't complain now about what that life was.

The Director got to her feet and headed for the door. Then she 
paused and turned around. "And I was quite serious about control," 
she said sternly. "Tomorrow night, you need to make it through the 
party without giving yourself away to the non-Kindred. If you can do 
that, I will believe that you can be safely taken on a plane. If 
not..." The implied threat was obvious. Vic nodded, completely 
incapable of breaking eye-contact with her.

"I'm glad you understand," she said. Then her eyes narrowed, and she 
muttered something to herself, too low for him to understand. For 
some reason, Vic found the movement of her lips fascinating.

"The car is ready," Mac said, reappearing in the doorway. He eyed 
the two of them suspiciously, obviously wondering about what they'd 
been talking about while he was gone. Vic had already noticed just 
how protective of him the younger man had become in the short time 
since the shooting and it amused him. After all, *he* was the 
supernatural creature now.

The Director left and the door was once again locked behind her. 
This time though, Vic was a little more confident. The Hunger seemed 
to be asleep and he'd proven to himself -- and everyone else -- that 
he could control himself.

He was also starting to feel a little better about what he'd become. 
Last night he hadn't had the time to really think about what he was 
being offered before accepting. Maybe it would have been different 
if he were the religious type. As it was, the whole story about 
being 'descended' from Cain was just that to him: A story.

But he was still surprised that he *was* reacting so well. The 
concept of living off blood was a little disturbing, but the Hunger 
had overcome his natural revulsion easily enough. And the taste... 
well, the taste was addictive, he'd already found.

But even that wouldn't have been enough to save his sanity if he 
hadn't quickly found out that *killing* wasn't a requirement of 
feeding. If it had been, he would have found a way to kill himself, 
even if he had to starve himself to death to do it. Killing a gunman 
in a fight was one thing. He was *not* going to go around killing 
people just so he could eat.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Vic said thoughtfully.

"Good." Mac chewed on his lower lip for a moment, looking around the 
room. Vic wasn't hungry and it wasn't like there was a TV or anything 
to distract them. Mac started opening cupboards and drawers. "So 
what did the queen vamp want to say in private?"

Vic winced and prayed that Mac never used that term around the 
Director. Her sense of humor was a little strange and she might just 
laugh. Then again, she might assign him to the dirtiest job around. 
"Just pointing out some of the advantages of this change."

"Like what?" Mac asked, perking up with curiosity.

"Mainly the never aging bit."

Mac looked like he didn't quite understand, but he nodded and went 
back to searching the room. Vic rolled his eyes. At ten years younger 
than him, Mac wasn't going to be facing the same aging problem for a 
long time yet. He'd understand in a few years when he woke up aching 
on a regular basis, or found that he couldn't quite touch his toes 
anymore.

"Aha!" Mac said triumphantly, pulling a pack of cards and a curved 
board with two lines of peg-holes carved into it from a drawer. 
"Cribbage, anyone?"

Vic snorted, then waved Mac over. He hated cribbage, but at least it 
was a way to pass the time.

>>>~~~<<<

Maybe it was the fact that he'd fully changed -- whatever that meant 
-- or maybe the Director's blood was more... filling. Whatever it 
was, it was just past midnight before the Hunger made itself felt 
again.

It was slow to start this time. He and Mac had abandoned the cribbage 
board for other games earlier. Two-handed poker wasn't much fun, so 
they'd played war for a while, then finally resorted to trading off 
games of solitaire.

Vic was leaning over Mac's shoulder, still wrapped in a sheet, 
kibitzing on the younger man's game when he found his eyes being 
drawn more and more to the large vein pulsing right below his ear. 
The first couple of times it happened, he ignored it, but when it 
happened three times in as many minutes, he finally got the point. 
The Hunger was just a muted hum in the back of his mind, expressing 
an interest, not a need.

"Um... Vic?"

Vic shook off thoughts of just how sweet Mac's blood had been and 
moved back. "Sorry about that," he muttered, a little embarrassed at 
how he'd practically been drooling all over the man's neck.

"Hey, it's okay. If it's time, just say so."

"You sure?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "Would you just do it already?" he said, 
sounding exasperated.

Giving in to the need, Vic leaned forward and started to lick Mac's 
neck. They'd used the wrist the night before, but the long column of 
the man's neck was just too tempting to resist. When Mac's head fell 
back, he sank his fangs into the vein and started to suck.

Vic moaned deep in his throat as the flavor exploded in his mouth. 
It was even better than he remembered. He definitely preferred it to 
the taste of the Director's blood, but he wasn't sure if it was the 
difference between human and Kindred or just the different between 
the persons in question.

Despite the temptation to keep drinking, Vic withdrew after only a 
few swallows, carefully licking the marks away. As he did so, he 
inhaled deeply. Somehow, every scent was sharper, stronger. He could 
smell Mac's supper, even thought the tray was long gone. He could 
smell the lemon of the polish used to clean all the wood in the room.

And over it all, he could smell the musk of a man's arousal -- 
*Mac's* arousal -- and it was even more intoxicating than the taste 
of his blood.

At that moment, the smart thing would have been to move back, get 
some distance between them, but Vic found that he couldn't. Giving 
in to an urge that he couldn't explain, he buried his face in the 
crook of Mac's neck, only this time, instead of using fangs he used 
his lips, nuzzling the sensitive skin there.

"Vic..." Mac moaned. There was no protest in his voice.

Vic lifted his face and turned Mac to face him. The younger man's 
expression was glazed and his pupils were dilated until his eyes 
were almost completely black. "Mac," Vic murmured, then covered his 
mouth with his own. The lips immediately parted and he took the 
implied invitation, diving in to explore.

Once he was satisfied that he'd examined every square centimeter, 
Vic moved on, needing more. He'd tasted Mac's blood, then his mouth, 
and now he was possessed by the need to taste everything else.

He kissed, nibbled and licked his way around Mac's face, absently 
noting how soft the fresh-shaven skin was against his lips. Mac was 
starting to sweat and he savored the salty taste as he lapped up the 
liquid dotting his forehead and upper lip.

He continued his way down the neck he'd so recently been feeding 
from, mapping out every spot that made Mac moan, until he was stymied 
by the collar of the man's shirt. A quick pull, accompanied by the 
sound of ripping fabric, quickly disposed of that obstacle.

Mac's chest was a forest of dark hair, almost making him self-
conscious about his own, mostly smooth flesh. LiAnn had always told 
him that she preferred her men smooth, but he took that with a grain 
of salt considering how long she and Mac had been lovers. She was 
very good at telling people what she thought they wanted to hear.

Mac's nipples were very sensitive, he was delighted to find, and he 
spent a long time tormenting them with sucking and nibbling until 
they were red and swollen and Mac was starting to protest. Deciding 
to humor him, Vic moved instead to bury his nose in the man's damp 
armpit, licking up more of the fragrant sweat there. Once the hair 
was completely saliva-soaked, he transferred his attention to the 
other side, repeating the process there.

But there was another place where the sweat-musk would be even 
stronger, he realized, so he licked his way down further until he 
reached the waist of Mac's pants.  That didn't delay him any more 
than the shirt had. He barely noticed Mac protesting as he ripped 
the fabric apart. Underneath, Mac wasn't wearing underpants, he 
noted with a grin. A convenient time-saver for him.

All clothing now disposed of, Vic buried his face in Mac's thick 
bush. The smell of Mac's musk made his head spin as he inhaled 
deeply. Then he started licking, working his way around the base of 
Mac's erection. It was large and almost purple in color, with pre-
cum rolling down the sides. He decided to save *that* taste of last 
and moved to suck on the man's balls instead. They were swollen and 
heavy in their sack and he sucked first one then the other into his 
mouth. He briefly considered trying to fit both in at the same time, 
but decided regretfully that they were too large for that.

By this time, Mac's hands were desperately trying to get a hold of 
his hair, pulling him towards the erection that looked almost 
painfully hard. He begged continuously in sounds that could barely 
be considered part of the English language. Vic decided to take pity 
on him and licked his way up the erection, catching every drop of 
pearly fluid as he went, until he reached the head.

Vic ran his tongue over it in a slow circle and decided that the 
fluid there tasted just as good as Mac's blood, but then he'd always 
loved the taste of semen. The one night he'd spent with Moorcock the 
year before had reawakened old hungers and now he was ready to 
indulge himself completely. He probed the slit for more of that 
fluid and was rewarded with a small spurt that he let roll over his 
tongue and down his throat.

The Hunger was roaring now, just not for blood, and while he wanted 
to draw this out, he knew that Mac was too close to the edge of pain 
for any more teasing. He took the top half of Mac's erection into 
his mouth and sucked while he wrapped his fist around the base and 
started to pump. Mac writhed under him babbling and when he glanced 
upwards, the brown eyes that met his were completely mindless.

Too soon -- or maybe not soon enough -- Mac howled and thrust 
upwards, pumping out shot after shot of semen. Vic held it in his 
mouth for as long as possible, then let it slowly slide down his 
throat. Most of his past lovers would have spat, but *he* wasn't 
going to waste a drop. Besides, he would bet that he couldn't catch 
anything... unpleasant anymore, so he didn't need to worry if his 
lover was clean or not.

He let Mac's softening cock slip from his mouth with a sigh of 
regret. He gave it a couple licks and Mac moaned, but didn't move.

But the Hunger still wasn't completely satisfied, and he started to 
caress Mac's inner thighs. He nuzzled the base of the cock in front 
of him, but all it did was twitch a little, so he moved lower to 
suck on Mac's balls again.

Mac gasped and spread his legs wider. Vic slipped his hands under 
the man's thighs and pushed them up and back, exposing Mac further. 
He softly scraped Mac's perineum with his teeth, enjoying the 
resulting jump, then zeroed in on his new target. 

He slowly swiped the tight opening with his tongue and felt it 
twitch in reaction. The flavor was musky but clean, with a hint of 
soap from an earlier shower. He'd never had the urge to rim anyone 
before, but he couldn't resist. It was the one part of Mac that he 
hadn't tasted yet.

The Hunger was roaring now and he hardened his tongue into a point 
and started to probe. Every so often, he backed off long enough to 
work up some more spit, getting everything good and wet. Somewhere 
along the line, Mac grabbed his own legs and pulled his knees back 
almost to his chest, letting Vic concentrate on what he was doing.

And the noises Mac was making were wildly enthusiastic about what 
Vic was doing to him. When he checked, Vic found that Mac was 
already half-hard again and he gave the man's cock a slow pull as he 
drove his tongue in as far as it would go.

But that wasn't far enough. He needed to get deeper. He switched to 
using his fingers, but while the heat squeezing them felt good, it 
still wasn't enough.

He moved back up Mac's body and paused with the head of his own 
neglected erection slowly rubbing against Mac's twitching entrance. 
Desperate brown eyes met his and the younger man grabbed him, 
steadily chanting "do it do it do it do it..."

Obeying the desperate order, Vic slowly pressed into the saliva-
lubricated passage. The rim job had been thorough enough that there 
were no signs of discomfort on Mac's face, assuming that he was in 
any condition to notice.

When he finally hit bottom, he stopped and they both moaned. Mac fit 
him like a glove. He pulled Mac's head up a little so that they 
could kiss, then started to thrust.

They quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, like they'd been doing 
this for years. Mac's legs moved to wrap around his waist and he 
used the resulting leverage to increase the pace. His fingernails 
scratched at Vic's back and he knew it was going to sting like hell 
when they were done.

"Mac..." he moaned, and dropped his face to the man's neck.

"Oh fuck, Vic, God," was the incoherent reply. One of Mac's hands 
moved down so that he could stroke himself and Vic responded by 
thrusting even harder. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was 
loud in the room, even louder than their grunts and moans.

Finally, Mac threw his head back and was coming again, although 
there was nowhere near as much fluid this time. As Mac's ass went 
into spasms around his cock, Vic's fangs dropped and he bit down on 
Mac's shoulder with a roar. The sudden spurt of blood in his mouth 
pushed him over the edge and he pumped his own semen deep inside his 
partner.

The Hunger finally satisfied, Vic collapsed on top of Mac and 
slipped into darkness.

>>>~~~<<<

Sometime later, Vic woke with a pounding headache. He felt like he 
was coming down off an all-night bender and the taste of blood was 
strong in his mouth. When he looked down, he was horrified to see 
fresh smears on Mac's shoulder. The bite marks were obvious, just 
starting to scab over. How could he have been so careless?

He still wasn't sure what had come over him. He had *never* used 
anyone like that before. Sure, Mac hadn't protested -- hell, he'd 
participated enthusiastically -- but it didn't change the fact that 
he'd basically *raped* the man, and he didn't even know why. All he 
knew was that he'd looked at the man and had been hit with an 
overwhelming need to have him.

And oh, how he'd had him.

But it wasn't going to happen again, he told himself sternly. He 
didn't want to be another notch on the man's bedpost. Maybe, if he 
thought that Mac was willing to commit to a real relationship...

Then again, maybe not. Mac was his partner and best friend and he 
wasn't sure he was willing to risk *that* relationship, no matter 
how good the sex had been. In the end, sleeping with Stan had ruined 
*their* friendship. He wasn't going to let that happen to him again.

But looking down at the sleeping man, he couldn't help wishing that 
things were different. Mac was an important part of his life and he 
knew that he could easily fall in love with the man. Hell, in a way, 
he already had.

Perhaps someday he would find someone else to share his life, 
although that seemed less likely now. After all, who would want to 
settle down with a vampire?

But for the moment, he would have to be happy with watching this man 
sleep curled up against him and indulge himself in fantasies where 
that was where he belonged.

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

When the sun came up, Vic lapsed once more into a coma-like state. 
Mac found it more that a little disturbing -- the man wasn't even 
breathing -- but took comfort in the fact that it was just temporary. 
He preferred not to think about how close it had come to being 
permanent.

He went into the attached bathroom to shower and shave, washing off 
the last traces of sweat, semen and blood left from the night before. 
His ass ached, but it was a pleasant sort of ache.

When he came back out, the door was unlocked. He pulled his clothes 
back on, trying to ignore how wrinkled they were -- couldn't someone 
have bothered to supply them with clean clothing? -- and headed 
downstairs to find food and slightly more lively company. He was 
feeling dizzy and light-headed, no doubt due to blood loss, and he 
was hungry.

"Mac! How are you feeling?"

Mac smiled brightly at the sight of the man who'd really been the 
start of all this: Cash. He hadn't seen the man since they'd arrived 
at the estate and was glad to see that the man was in one piece and 
looking unconcerned. "Starved. Where can someone who *doesn't* live 
off blood get a meal?"

"Come on, I'm sure we can find you something in the kitchen. I 
didn't see you yesterday."

Mac followed as the Gangrel led the way. "I slept most of the day. 
Exhausted, I guess. The Director must have left orders though, since 
there was a food tray there every time I woke up."

"She does seem rather protective of her people."

The kitchen was deserted, but the cupboards and fridge were well-
stocked, although the baggies of blood, he tried to ignore. Still, 
he found that strange and said so as he pulled out eggs and bacon 
and bread for toast. He wasn't a cook, but scrambled eggs he could 
handle.

Cash laughed. "Julian is a corporate head," he pointed out. "He 
entertains a lot. Plus, it keeps up appearances to have groceries 
delivered."

"The Masquerade."

"Exactly."

"And you two are... okay? I mean, you aren't in trouble over what 
happened with Vic?"

Cash shrugged. "He was pissed, but more with Marcus than anyone 
else. Toronto speaking on my behalf helped. Cameron's pushing to 
have me punished, but considering that it was *his* Brujah broke 
Truce, he doesn't have a lot of say in it. The Brujah have lost a 
lot of power over this," he added with a feral glee.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "You *really* don't like them, do you," he said 
more than asked.

"No," was the fierce reply. Then Cash relaxed a little. "Gangrel and 
Brujah have always been enemies," he explained, "but for me it's a 
little more personal. A couple of years ago, I was in love with a 
niece of Julian's, Sasha. Last of his family's line. Julian gave me 
permission to Embrace her as Gangrel, but Eddie Fiori, the previous 
Brujah Primogen, sent one of his thugs to Embrace her by force. He 
was trying to push Julian into making an illegal move. The Prince 
might make the laws, but he isn't above them, and Eddie was too 
strong to slap down at the time.."

Mac hissed. "What happened to her? And him?"

"The Brujah who Embraced her was killed for it, torn to pieces. 
Eddie died a little while later. He finally stepped over the line 
and was executed. And Sasha..." Cash sighed and dropped his eyes. 
"We tried to work it out, but the blood instincts were tearing her 
apart. Finally, she decided to leave town. I haven't seen her since. 
Last I heard, she was in New Orleans and rising through the Brujah 
ranks there." The regret was clear in his voice.

"But I thought you and Julian were lovers," Mac said in confusion, 
looking up from the frying pan.

"We are." Cash grinned at his expression. "Kindred rules are 
different from human rules. Monogamy is not very common. At the 
time, Julian was sleeping with a human woman who worked for him, 
Lillie and me. Lillie was sleeping with him, Zane and Cameron. And 
there was this cop that they were both trying to seduce. Julian got 
him first, then Lillie, but he eventually chose Gangrel." Cash 
smirked, obviously self-satisfied over that.

Mac shook his head. "I don't think I could live like that," he said. 
He slept with a lot of people, but never at the same time.

Cash shrugged. "Things change when you're Embraced. When you're 
looking at a life-span potentially of centuries, some things aren't 
as important. Plus, we're immune to human diseases, which is handy 
these days."

"What about love?" Mac asked, dropping his breakfast onto a plate 
and sitting down.

"Oh, we love. Believe me, we love. But love and sex aren't 
necessarily connected. Plus, the Hunger is driven by more than just 
blood, as you've already found out." The grin he gave Mac was 
wicked, and Mac shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Right," Cash drawled. "That's why you winced when you sat down. And 
you reek of semen, I might add."

"I showered!"

Cash tapped the side of his nose. "Kindred have sharper senses."

Mac deflated. "I don't know what the hell happened," he muttered.

"Hey, you wanted him, he wanted you. What else matters?"

"Only it wasn't like that," Mac said. "It was out of the blue. 
Totally unexpected."

"And great?"

"Oh, yeah," Mac breathed, remembering. "At the time, at least."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know! It was so intense that I passed out, and I've never 
done that before. But when I woke up, it was like it never happened. 
He wouldn't talk about it. He would barely even look at me. It was 
like he felt guilty or something."

"Maybe he did. If he was swept away by the Hunger, he might feel 
like he took advantage of you. Don't worry, he'll get over it."

"Maybe," Mac said helplessly. "It was weird, though. The look in his 
eyes... It was like he wasn't quite there. And afterwards, every so 
often I'd catch him looking at me with this confused expression."

Cash frowned thoughtfully while Mac worked his way through the 
oversized plate of bacon and eggs. He didn't usually eat breakfast, 
but he was starved. "I wish I could tell you more, but the blood-
bond between us is very weak."

"Blood-bond?" Mac asked around a mouthful.

"When a Kindred feeds someone their blood, it gives them a link to 
that person," Cash said, falling into a lecture tone. "They become 
the most important thing in that person's world. It also gives them 
an influence over the person. Actually, I'm a little surprised at 
how weak my link to Vic is, so soon after the Embrace. Either he's 
extremely strong-willed, or someone is interfering."

Mac's eyes narrowed as he remembered the night before. "Would the 
Director ordering Vic to feed off of her do it?"

"Yeah. A more recent bond to an older vampire..." He paused. "And 
she's Ventrue. One of their traits is Dominate. It lets them 
influence others, *especially* those they have a blood-bond with."

"What, you mean like mind control?" Mac asked in disbelief.

"Not completely. More like implanting a suggestion."

Mac sighed. "Like an urge to have sex with your partner? Great. Just 
great." He liked that even less than Vic having second thoughts. 
"Why?"

Cash shook his head. "Who knows? She's Ventrue *and* a Prince. If 
she did it, I'm sure she has her reasons, but don't expect to 
understand them. Hell, I love Julian and I've been with him for more 
than a decade, but understand him? Not often.

"The blood-bond, sure. She would want Vic bound to her, not someone 
out of town. Ventrue are big into control. The sex, if she's 
responsible, is probably for similar reasons. She wants to tie Vic 
to her. Probably you too."

Mac wasn't sure how getting him sleeping with Vic would do that, but 
it made a certain amount of sense. The Director was very good at 
manipulations. Hell, there were times when she manipulated them just 
for the fun of it.

But if what had happened the night before *was* the Director's 
doing, what did it mean for him and Vic? He knew the ex-cop well; if 
Vic thought he'd been manipulated into sleeping with Mac, he might 
walk. Certainly, he'd never touch Mac again; a decidedly unpleasant 
thought.

But he couldn't help thinking that he should be more careful about 
what he wished for in the future. He'd wanted one no-strings-
attached night with the man and he'd gotten it. Now he had to deal 
with the consequences.

"Good morning, boys. Have a good night?"

The suggestive tone and the speculative look that the Director gave 
him as she came into the room moved the idea that she'd arranged 
things from the 'maybe' list to 'almost certain.' Mac resolved to 
make sure that Vic never found out, for both their sakes.

Mac watched in sick fascination as she pulled one of the small 
baggies of blood from the fridge and stuck a straw in it to sip 
delicately, like one of those juice packs that kids drank. "Just 
dandy," he said, dragging his eyes up to meet an amused gaze. "Would 
have been better if we'd had more than a deck of cards to amuse 
ourselves with, though."

"Oh, I'm sure you found... something to pass the time." She looked 
him up and down with a smug expression, her nose no doubt as sharp 
as Cash's.

Okay, forget 'almost certain.' It was definite. But why?

"So," Mac said, dumping his dishes in the sink and starting the 
water running. "How come you two are up and about while Vic's doing 
a zombie impression upstairs?" Never let it be said that Mac Ramsey 
couldn't avoid a subject.

The Director chuckled, but it was Cash who answered. "The change 
takes a lot of energy, so he needs to sleep a lot. Plus, his body 
is adjusting to a nocturnal schedule. Forcing him to sleep all day 
is the fastest way to do that. Give him a week or two and he'll be 
able to function after sunrise."

"Indoors," the Director added. "It will take a little longer to 
build up any sort of resistance to sunlight. A year or two, at 
least."

"Is that why you can go out in the sun; because you're... um... 
older?" Mac asked, trying to be diplomatic. He could remember seeing 
the Director outdoors during the day on a few rare occasions.

"Partly. I dress to cover. Plus, the Agency scientists have 
developed a handy makeup foundation that provides some added 
protection."

"Really?" Cash perked up.

"Yes, really. Don't worry, the formula one of the things I handed 
out during the meetings. It will be up to the individual Princes 
whether they tell any of their people about it, or keep it for 
themselves.

"But I do prefer the night," she said, returning to the original 
topic. "It's more... subtle."

Subtle wasn't necessarily a word that usually to mind when thinking 
about the Director, but Mac kept his mouth shut.

"Well," she said as he finished washing up. "I've arranged to have 
our luggage delivered here. Remember that the party is tonight. You 
know what to wear. And, no," she added from the doorway on the way 
out, "you may *not* skip the accessories. Ta, ta!"

"Accessories?" Cash asked, one eyebrow gone up.

"Don't ask," Mac said with a groan. "Please."

>>>~~~<<<

Cash had to leave after that, having work to do for Julian, so Mac 
found himself at loose ends. He watched Cash drive away in a car 
with darkly-tinted windows, then decided that he didn't really want 
to return to the 'scene of the crime.' Instead, he went exploring.

The Luna estate screamed money: old money and lots of it. On the 
ground floor alone he saw five paintings that if fenced together 
would bring in six-figures easily. His fingers twitched with old 
instincts, but he restrained the urge. He wasn't a thief anymore. 
Besides, he now knew enough to know that stealing from Luna would 
probably be a very stupid thing to do.

But still, that miniature in the dining room was *very* tempting. 
Easily portable too.

And it wasn't just paintings. The sculptures were just as fine in 
quality and value. Bronze, marble and plaster. Ancient, Renaissance 
and modern. It was almost like a museum. And in the library were a 
selection of rare first editions, some signed by the author. A 
couple were even personally inscribed to Julian himself. The boy got 
around.

The safe was easy to find, but he left it alone. Mac's curiosity was 
running away with him, speculating on what treasures might be 
inside, but decided that getting caught at it would be bad thing. He 
left the computer alone for the same reason.

Upstairs looked to be mostly living areas: bedrooms, bathrooms and 
the occasional sitting room. As he tried doorknobs, he found most of 
them locked. The few that weren't led to rooms that were obviously 
not in use at the moment. Again, Mac restrained his curiosity.

Besides, his lock-pick set was back in Toronto.

By that point, he'd killed a couple hours and the only part of the 
building he hadn't checked out was the cellar. An estate like this 
had to have one, for the wine if nothing else, but he couldn't find 
the stairs. He wondered why anyone would bother concealing the 
stairs to the cellar. Maybe it had been converted to dungeons, he 
thought with a grin. The grin quickly disappeared. For all he knew, 
they *had*.

And through it all, he never saw another soul. It was downright 
creepy. Kind of like the way that the Agency headquarters in Toronto 
always seemed deserted. They never saw any of the support staff 
unless it was needed for a case, and usually that was just Nathan, 
the nervous little twit in the archives with a thing for Vic.

Finally, he gave up and headed back to the library to find a book to 
distract him for the rest of the morning. Then he'd probably use one 
of those empty rooms for an afternoon nap; he wasn't sure that he 
could sleep next to Vic without a major case of the guilts.

He was a little surprised to find LiAnn already there, reading, or 
at least pretending to. She looked very pale, with dark circles 
under her eyes. "Hey, how you feeling?" Mac asked softly when she 
finally noticed him.

She shrugged. "Better. Confused. Scared. Angry. You name it."

"Angry?" Mac asked. He was the one confused at that moment.

"Yes, *angry*." She dropped the book on the table next to the 
loveseat. "Damnit, Mac, why didn't you tell me? You knew about... 
about what was going on and you didn't *tell* me. I thought we were 
partners. I thought we were more." By the end, she had gone from a 
shout to a whisper.

Mac sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She was 
shaking. The last time he could remember her shaking like this was 
the day when she'd come to tell him that she was ready to run from 
the Tangs with him, more than four years earlier.

"You are," he said, rocking her gently. "You're my sister, my 
partner and a part of me. But the Director told me not to, and you 
know what she's like. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell Vic. All 
I could do was sit and wait and worry."

LiAnn pressed her face into his shoulder. "He was waiting for me in 
the back hall, near the washrooms," she said softly. "He was 
pretending to talk on the payphone. He grabbed me as I went past. He 
was strong, I couldn't break free. He dragged me outside.

"He told me over and over again what he was going to do to me after 
he killed you." Her voice was cracking and he held her tighter as 
the words tumbled out. "He was going to torture me and rape me and 
then bring me back so that he could do it all over again, he said. I 
didn't understand! So he bit me and he started... sucking..." She 
was gasping around deep sobs by that point. "I tried to get away, 
but he slammed me against the wall so hard that I couldn't breathe. 
I thought I was going to die."

"It's all right, LiAnn," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You're all 
right. He's dead. He can't hurt you or anyone else."

"He killed Vic!"

"Vic's going to be okay," Mac pointed out.

"But now he's one of *them*. He isn't Vic anymore."

Mac shook his head sadly. This was one reaction that no one had 
expected. "He's still the same person," he assured her. "He's still 
our partner, still the man you fell in love with once. That hasn't 
changed."

But LiAnn didn't seem to be listening, she was so caught up in her 
fears. "I don't think I can face him. I'd always be wondering when 
he was going to turn on me. I just can't deal with that."

Her words sent a chill through Mac. "What are you saying, you want 
to break up the partnership? You can't mean it. We're a *team*."

"I... I don't know. I need some time." She pulled away from him, 
scrubbing at her face. She looked like she wanted to say something 
more, but finally just got to her feet and left the room. Mac could 
already see the recently cracking walls dropping back into place.

He watched her go, a feeling of dread sending chills through him. It 
seemed like his world was coming apart -- his *family* was coming 
apart.

But he'd be damned if he was going to let that happen without a 
fight.

>>>~~~<<<

Feeling more than a little shell-shocked, Mac made a half-hearted 
attempt to eat lunch, then headed upstairs. He went into the room 
next to the one where Vic was, undressed and lay down to sleep.

An hour later, he gave up. Sleep just wasn't happening. Every time 
he closed his eyes he had visions of a future where he was alone. 
LiAnn had left because she couldn't handle Vic's change and Vic had 
left because he couldn't handle what had happened either. The team 
had fallen apart and it was all his fault.

But he needed sleep. If he was supposed to be on display, so to 
speak, at a party, he better not be yawning. But the room was too 
silent and the bed was too large.

And too empty.

Mac sat up and sighed. That was the real problem; he didn't want to 
be alone. He pulled on his clothes, not bothering to do anything up, 
and headed for the room next door. There he found Vic lying in the 
same position he'd left the man in that morning. Mac pulled off his 
clothes again, dropping them next to the suitcases that someone had 
delivered and left next to the armoire in the corner, then crawled 
into bed.

Almost immediately, he started to relax. Vic wasn't going to leave. 
For one thing, the Director wouldn't let him. She got him out of 
jail and she still had a tight hold on him as a result. The same way 
she had a hold on him, he admitted to himself.

And once LiAnn calmed down, she wouldn't leave either. She was just 
upset because of what Marcus did. Once she realized that Vic was the 
same person he always was, she'd be okay.

The team was safe. His family was safe. He wasn't going to lose them.

He curled up against Vic's slightly cool form and drifted off to 
sleep, his cheek pressed against the man's chest. It was a nice 
place to be.

>>>~~~<<<

Sometime later, Mac woke to the strange sensation of his pillow 
trying escape. Grumbling sleepily, he wrapped his arms around it a 
little tighter to hold it in place.

"Mac, I'd like to move."

Mac grunted, trying to get back to sleep. Sleep was good.

"Mac, you need to let go." His talking pillow shifted again.

"Don wanna," he muttered, trying to hand onto that peaceful place 
where he'd been. Vic was making that very difficult, squirming like 
he was.

"Mac!" A sigh. "It's time to get up. If we don't shower and change 
in time for the party, the Director will come looking for us."

That hit Mac like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped over his 
head. "Spoilsport," he grumbled, sitting up in bed. He glanced over 
at his partner and sighed when the man still wouldn't meet his eyes. 
He was not going to let *that* go on any longer. "About last 
night..." he started to say, but Vic cut him off.

"Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"Not even if I want it to?" Mac snapped back, a little tired of the 
self--sacrificing tone that Vic was so good at.

That got Vic's attention and when he turned his head to look at Mac. 
Mac took advantage of the open-mouthed expression to home in for a 
deep kiss.

He had several reasons for kissing Vic. Partly it was to reassure 
the man, in case Cash was right and he felt like he'd taken 
advantage of Mac. Partly it was to reassure himself that even if it 
*was* the Director who'd... arranged what had happened, that Vic 
might honestly want him, if only physically. The immediate response 
he got confirmed that hope.

But mostly, he kissed Vic because the man all sleep-rumpled was 
beautiful and he really *really* wanted to kiss him.

But despite the response, Vic pushed him away. "We shouldn't be 
doing this."

"Why not?" Mac asked, determined to settle matters before it became 
a wedge driving them apart.

"Because... because it will change things."

"Change can be good," he pointed out. "Change is part of life."

Vic shook his head sadly. "Not this kind of change. I've been burnt 
too many times. Stan. LiAnn. I don't want to screw this up too."

Mac reached out to touch Vic's shoulder. "We've all been burnt, Mac. 
My flames were Michael, LiAnn and Claire. Doesn't mean you hide from 
life."

"So what are you saying, Mac? You want to settle down with me in 
domestic bliss? Buy a house with a white picket fence? One next to a 
blood bank, of course." Vic's dripped with sarcasm, but there was a 
plaintive note to it.

Mac flinched, but hid it well. That was moving a little too fast for 
him, although he'd do it if that was what it took. "Does it have to 
be that complicated? Can't we just take things one day at a time, 
one step at a time?"

Vic sighed. "I don't know. Everything is changed. I need time to 
deal with that. I need... time."

Mac pulled back reluctantly. Even though he wasn't really ready to 
settle down, commit himself *that* much, he still found himself a 
little disappointed that Vic had turned the idea down. "Sure, we can 
do that. But it you ever need... um... a meal -- or more -- call me 
first. Please?"

Vic smiled -- a faint one, but a smile nonetheless. "I will," he 
promised. He leaned forward to kiss Mac, then inhaled sharply. Mac 
could see the Hunger starting to form in the man's eyes and tilted 
his head back in silent invitation.

"Hold it right there."

Both of them twisted to look towards the door and the unexpected 
interruption. The Director was standing there; Mac wondered for how 
long. "He can't keep up tonight if he's low on blood. Here." She 
tossed over a baggie of blood, like the one she'd had for breakfast. 
"This should do you. Now, be good boys and get ready. We leave in an 
hour."

She left as quickly as she had appeared, swaying on her high heels.

Mac exchanged rueful glances with Vic. "Flip you for the first 
shower."

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

Vic stared at his reflection in the mirror, tugging at his clothes 
in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. Actually, the clothes 
were probably the best fitting he'd ever worn. They felt like they'd 
been specifically tailored for him -- which they probably had. Even 
the boots didn't need breaking in.

No, it wasn't the clothes that made him uncomfortable, it was the 
persona they projected. The man in the mirror, dressed in glossy 
black leather and pristine white silk, looked dangerous; the sort of 
man you didn't want to meet in a dark alley on the wrong side of 
town. He looked like a... hunter.

Only thing was, this hunter was on a leash.

Vic ran a finger under the gold-decorated black leather collar. It 
was silk-lined, so he couldn't even complain that *it* was 
uncomfortable. Except mentally, that is. The motion that made the 
gold chain that connected to the collar to the matching belt chime 
lightly. Vic winced. He was wearing a collar and a leash. It was 
humiliating.

"Looking hot," Mac said, coming out of the bathroom. In a way, it 
was just as well the younger man had lost the coin toss. If Vic had 
had to wait for him to finish, he'd be heading off with damp hair 
and feeling like he'd forgotten to wash behind his ears or something.

"I feel like a fucking dog," he snapped back, trying to avoid 
looking at Mac.

He'd been quite serious about needing time to think. He was going to 
have enough trouble adjusting to what he'd become without trying to 
deal with a relationship at the same time; especially with someone 
as volatile as Mac. He had to admit, though, Mac had had a point. 
He'd been all hung up on relationships being an either-or situation; 
either marriage or completely casual. Taking it one step at a time 
was actually a good idea.

And the current step was *not* going to involve sex, even if the 
younger man's appearance was making his mouth water.

Seeing Mac's outfit hanging on a clothes hanger was definitely *not* 
the same as seeing it on the man. The leather pants left nothing to 
the imagination, hugging the lines of his legs tightly and showing 
off the fact that a) he wasn't wearing underwear and b) he was 
very... well developed -- something that Vic already knew from 
personal inspection. Over that, Mac wore a white silk poet's shirt 
with flowing sleeves ending in tight cuff and lace trim. The front 
was open to the waist, showing a great deal of dark chest hair. 
Topping it all was a black leather vest.

Together, they were obviously intended to be a matched pair, their 
outfits different in style but the same in color and material. Even 
the accessories continued that theme.

The heavy gold chain wrapped around Mac's neck, resting right above 
his collar bone. In his hand he held the other 'present' from the 
Director. He tossed in from hand to hand, looking at the device with 
an expression of distaste.

Then he sighed and reached under his shirt, fumbling for a minute or 
so. When he lowered his hands, a delicate gold chain stretched 
across his chest. He rolled his shoulders in an unconsciously 
sensual motion, like he was trying to get comfortable.

He looked delicious and suddenly Vic's pants weren't as comfortable 
as they *had* been. Once again, he wondered if his no-sex rule was 
such good idea. Then he threw a mental bucket of cold water over his 
libido. The Hunger was humming, but since he'd fed less than an hour 
earlier, he refused to give in.

Mac took a deep breath and straightened up. "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'm ever going to be," Vic replied, pleased at how steady 
his voice was. He waved towards the door, letting Mac go first.

It was ridiculous, but he was a little scared about leaving the 
room. The man he'd been coming in was quite literally dead. He felt 
like leaving it would be admitting that. In a way, you could call 
the room his womb, and now that it was time to leave it, he didn't 
want to be born.

But he didn't really have a choice, so he steeled himself and 
stepped forward, pausing only long enough to shut the door behind 
them.

Strangely enough, he didn't really *feel* any different. In fact, 
all he felt, heading down the stairs and trying not to stare at 
Mac's ass, was self-conscious. He wasn't looking forward to this 
party. People who knew what had happened two nights earlier were 
going to be watching him closely for any signs of slipping in this 
Masquerade thing, and the ones that didn't... well, he didn't know 
*what* they'd think when they saw him and didn't particularly *want* 
to.

The Director was waiting for them in the foyer, along with LiAnn, 
Cash and the man that Vic assumed was their host, Julian Luna.

Vic felt his jaw drop at the sight of LiAnn. He'd been expecting the 
third member of their team to be dressed in black leather and white 
silk, the same as him and Mac, but her outfit was anything but. She 
wore a silk dress in China red, high necked and sleeveless, a black 
embroidered dragon curving around her slender frame. The long skirt 
was slit all the way up to the hip. Her shoes were black with red 
embroidery with low heels, looking more like ballet slippers. The 
only jewelry she wore was the gold necklace with the scepter charm 
that they'd been given before the start of the trip and a pair of 
diamond earrings.

Next to her, the Director wore a black evening gown, tight in all 
the right places. Over it she wore a black bolero jacket made from 
leather that had a decorative cable design of red, gold and white, 
tying them all together; an unpleasant metaphor, as far as Vic was 
concerned.

As for the others, Luna was in a classic Armani-style tuxedo and 
next to him, Cash looked dangerous in black leather. 

Vic and Mac stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the 
verdict.

The Director walked in a slow circle around them and Vic felt his 
face flame. Next to him, Mac fidgeted nervously. She stopped in 
front of Mac and adjusted the hang of his shirt so that the nipple 
clamps that supported the gold chain were more obvious, smacking his 
hands when he tried to pull it shut again. Then she adjusted the lie 
of Vic's collar and stepped back.

"Very nice, don't you think?"

Luna was smiling, and his expression reminded Vic of the Director at 
her most predatory. "They'll certainly be very popular."

Suddenly, Vic had the urge to head back up the stairs -- run, don't 
walk -- and lock himself back in his womb. If the party was anything 
like this inspection, he did *not* want to be there.

But it was too late to run. Already they were being steered out the 
door and into two limousines.

"Relax," the Director said with a smile from the seat opposite him. 
"You're going to do fine."

"Doing *what*?" he demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Luna's comment about being very popular. What did he mean?"

The puzzled frown disappeared and the Director laughed. "As dance 
partners," she said. "What were you thinking, that you were going to 
be handed out as party favors?"

Said out loud, it sounded ridiculous, but Vic wasn't so sure that it 
was completely improbably. After all, look at the Caligula. If the 
woman was founder of a kinky sex club, complete with dungeons, then 
who knew *what* she and her kind were capable of?

Then Vic remembered that they were also *his* kind now. Somehow, it 
didn't reassure him.

At least LiAnn now looked all right. If there was any bruising left, 
it was disguised with subtle makeup and the hang of her carefully-
done hairdo. She was beautiful.

However, she refused to look at him. Every so often her eyes started 
to drift his way, only to dart away, never meeting his. It bothered 
him and judging by the Director's frown as she watched the 
interplay, he wasn't the only one.

A hand dropped on his knee and squeezed reassuringly before moving 
away again. Vic gave Mac a small smile in response.

Everything was starting to seem surreal. Nothing was what it had 
been before, least of all him. LiAnn was obviously avoiding him, the 
Director was not what he'd thought and Mac had become something less 
than a lover but more than a partner. Vic found himself wondering 
when he'd fallen through the rabbit hole and how he was going to get 
out. Unfortunately, no handy white rabbit ran past muttering about 
being late, so it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare for that matter.

They pulled up outside the Haven, right behind Luna's car. They 
could already hear the music as they got out of the car.

"Welcome!" Lillie said brightly as they moved into the main room, 
obviously there to greet all arrivals. She was dressed like 
something out of a forties glamour magazine in cream and sequins, 
her auburn hair drawn up into a complicated style quite different 
from LiAnn's simplicity. Vic found himself blushing again as she 
stepped close to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome to the 
family," she said softly. "Although *I* think you would have been 
better as a Toreador."

The Director glared at her and Lillie backed off with a smile. She 
didn't seem very intimidated, but she gave the Director a respectful 
nod before heading off to welcome the next group of arrivals.

"They always think that *everyone* should want to be one of them," 
the Director muttered, leading them in. "Don't take it to heart. 
You'd be a lousy Toreador."

The atmosphere in the room was a far cry from what it had been all 
week. Most of the tables and chairs had been removed, forcing people 
to mingle. And mingle they did, although like before, he could see a 
definitely pattern forming. This time, though, he had a pretty good 
idea of just what that pattern was: Clan groupings.

Something else was different, in a slightly more disturbing way. 
During the week, people had occasionally glanced at him, then seemed 
to dismiss him as if he were of no interest. Tonight was a different 
matter. Tonight, eyes narrowed and stayed focused on him longer.

Some of them nodded -- a very small number -- and he felt a strange 
sort of kinship with them. He glanced at the Director.

"Other Gangrel for the most part, I would assume," she said softly. 
"There won't be many here. Most of the Gangrel decided to 
disassociate themselves from the Camarilla in the last few years, so 
they don't have a say in the councils. However, some members of the 
clan are still part of the Camarilla. The ones here are probably 
mostly bodyguards, like Cash."

"Camarilla?"

She waved off the question. "Later. It's not a short explanation. 
Add it to your list." She took his arm and led him into the crowd.

What followed was a blur of faces, both friendly and hostile. The 
hostile ones seemed able to raise his hackles without even a word. 
The friendly ones were a little more comfortable, although to widely 
differing degrees.

The were introduced to both Princes and their entourages from what 
seemed like every major city in North America. Vic jokingly asked 
about a couple of the cities that *weren't* represented and the 
Director responded with a cold look and the comment that *that* 
would have to wait until later too. Vic's list of questions was 
growing quickly.

And it was obvious that while she was introducing *all* of them 
around, Vic was the focus. Everyone seemed to be taking his measure. 
Vic didn't like it: he'd always preferred to fade into the 
background, the observer not the observed. Unfortunately, he didn't 
exactly have a choice in the matter.

Still, it sure as hell beat the alternative.

Finally, she led them over to the bar and Vic breathed a quiet sigh 
of relief. He couldn't remember the names of most of the people he'd 
met and his feet were aching. He was desperate for a drink -- 
alcohol, not blood, although he was starting to feel *that* need too.

Mac ordered a Tsingtao -- his favorite beer -- and LiAnn a white 
wine. Vic was about to ask for a beer as well when the Director cut 
him off, asking for two wines, no other qualifiers.

Vic frowned at the glass he was handed. He didn't much like wine, 
red wine especially. The Director just stared at him until he sighed 
and took a reluctant sip.

The flavor exploded in his mouth and he suddenly realized just *why* 
the mysterious thick red wine was so popular.

"What is it?" Mac asked curiously as Vic fought the urge to chug the 
contents of his glass.

"Blood wine."

Mac paled slightly when Vic nodded in confirmation; the liquid was 
at least half blood, mixed with a red wine. LiAnn flinched, 
something she'd been doing a lot as the evening went on.

"Ah, there's someone I'd like you to meet," the Director said and 
was tugging at his arm to steer him the direction she wanted.

Vic sighed. It was going to be a long night. Again.

>>>~~~<<<

It was well after midnight by the time he managed to separate his 
boss's hand from his elbow and find a quiet spot, away from the 
crowd. The Director had insisted that he dance with her several 
times, as had Lillie, and he'd been... encouraged to dance with 
several other party-goers who'd approached him. He was beginning to 
think that he *was* going to end up a party favor.

But he'd finally found an out-of-the-way spot and a wall to lean 
against. He'd kill for a chair, but there weren't any free ones to 
be found. The band was playing a steamy tango and from his vantage 
point, he could see that Mac had finally managed to coax LiAnn out 
onto the dance floor. He'd never seen them dance together before. 
Mac had described to him what it was like, back when they'd been 
rivals, but it wasn't the same as seeing them.

They moved like one person in two bodies; seamless and perfect. They 
were a beautiful matched pair and he wasn't the only one watching 
them. Vic felt a sudden pang of jealousy, although he wasn't sure 
which one he was jealous *of*.

He'd never danced with LiAnn. Correction, he had. Once. However, 
she'd made no attempt to hide her amusement at his lack of polish, 
so he'd never tried again.

Come to think of it, she'd always been good at putting him down for 
his lack of 'sophistication.' She'd managed to imply without ever 
saying it outright that he was less intelligent than her. Sure, Mac 
had done the exact same thing at first, but he'd never tried to 
pretend that it was anything more than the typical male head-butting 
rituals. They put each other down, they fought over LiAnn. With 
LiAnn, the put-downs were all one-sided and a little more subtle.

Looking back, Vic was surprised that he and LiAnn had lasted as long 
as they had. Even if Mac *hadn't* returned from the dead, they would 
have gone their separate ways eventually. Sooner or later, he would 
have been unable to ignore her attitude any longer. So maybe Mac had 
done them all a favor by giving her an excuse to back out before it 
was too late for them to stay friends.

"Well, well, well. The new dog boy."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected voice, Vic jumped. The man who'd 
slipped up next to him was one he hadn't met, although he vaguely 
remembered seeing him a couple times during the week. But there was 
something about the man that annoyed him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You should. You cost me four of my best men."

The comment told him just who he was talking to. "Cameron, I 
presume," he said frostily. He stood up straight, instantly on edge. 
Unfortunately, there was no one nearby that he knew, let alone 
trusted.

"And you are Cash's little mistake," was the sneering reply. "You 
should be just as dead as *my* people, along with your law-breaking 
sire. The only reason you aren't is because Luna likes the pretty 
ones. Tell me, has he fucked you yet?"

Vic bristled at the man's tone. "I suggest you find someone else to 
blame," he told the handsome man. "Your people got *themselves* into 
trouble by attacking someone under your boss's truce. It was their 
own stupidity that got them dead, not me."

He started to walk away, but a hand like iron grabbed him, stopping 
him dead in his tracks. He pulled, but the man didn't budge. He 
stopped struggling and turned to stare at the man. "I suggest you 
let go."

Cameron stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose. "Watch 
your back, puppy. Your Prince isn't all-powerful and I have a lot of 
contacts."

"Are you threatening me?" Vic asked in disbelief. The man was a 
thug, pure and simple. Hard to believe that he held any sort of 
power, let alone was able to hang onto it. Then again, from what 
he'd been told, Cameron was definitely on his way out.

"Just stating facts, little boy. Toronto isn't out of my reach. 
Remember that."

He let go suddenly, obviously expecting Vic to go flying. Vic just 
shook his head and walked away.

"Are you okay?" Mac asked, coming towards him at a near run, Cash 
right behind him. Vic wondered if they'd been off somewhere together 
and felt that pang of jealousy again.

"Just fine. Cameron wanted to make a few useless threats. Nothing I 
can't handle."

"Don't be so sure of that," Cash said darkly.

Vic snorted. "Yeah, right. The day I can't handle a thug like him--"

"Is the day you die. Permanently. I'm serious," Cash added when Vic 
shook his head. "Do you know what the leading cause of death is 
among the newly-Embraced?"

Cash stared at him expectantly until Vic finally sighed and 
obediently said, "All right, I'll bite. What is the leading cause of 
death among the newly-Embraced." He felt like the straight man in a 
joke.

"Pissing off older Kindred," was the blunt reply.

"And your point would be?"

Cash grabbed his arm and dragged him into a corner where no one was 
watching them, Mac following on his heels. Once they were away from 
prying eyes, Cash slammed him up against the wall. Vic struggle for 
a moment, but he couldn't shift the man anymore than he'd been able 
to break Cameron's grip.

"Listen to me and listen good," he said softly. "Older Kindred are 
going to be stronger than you, with abilities that you won't develop 
for several decades, assuming you life that long. And the older ones 
like nothing better than slapping down uppity fledglings, especially 
from other clans. Don't count on your boss to protect you."

The serious expression on the man's face sent shivers up and down 
Vic's spine. Normally he'd laugh the warning off, coming from 
someone who didn't know him well, but there was something in the 
man's eyes that convinced him that he wasn't playing games. He 
nodded.

Cash relaxed and took a step back. "Learn to watch what you say. 
You'll recognize other Kindred when you meet them. Be careful around 
them until you learn how they'll react. And practice. A lot. Once 
you've learned more, then you can push back."

He lifted a hand and brushed the back of his knuckles along Vic's 
cheekbone and smiled. "Don't worry too much, though. I think you'll 
go far. And if you need advice, someone to talk to, just give me a 
call." He sighed. "I wish I could do more. I always said that I'd 
never abandon one of my childer. The typical Gangrel sire abandons 
his or her childer to find their own way for a decade or two before 
reclaiming them. I didn't want to do that. Unfortunately, your 
Prince won't let me be there for you."

Vic closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm scared," he 
whispered. There was something about the man that seemed to drag 
the admission out of him. Cash's hand moved down to rest on his 
shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "I don't know what's going to 
happen when we get home."

"She's going to find you a teacher, she says. Someone who will teach 
you what you need to survive. After that? Really, not a lot will 
have changed. You're still you. The only thing that's changed is 
that you'll need to stay inside during the day."

"And drink blood."

Cash shrugged. "Whatever. It's not that hard to get used to it."

Vic didn't respond; he'd already learned the truth of that.

Suddenly, Cash lifted his head. He looked like he was listening to 
something that neither Vic nor Mac could hear. "I've got to go," he 
said reluctantly. "Julian needs me."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Cash leaned forward and kissed him.

The man's lips were cool against his, completely unlike the fever-
hot touch of Mac's. Vic's reaction was immediate and unexpected, 
opening up to Cash like he was the most desirable man in the 
universe. Vic was reeling with confusion when the man finally pulled 
away and left.

Vic watched him walk away, feeling more than a little dazed. He 
turned to find Mac watching him with a stormy expression. In fact, 
he'd almost swear that the young man was as jealous as *he'd* been 
feeling earlier.

"An... interesting man," he said, suddenly feeling the urge to tease 
his partner. "I just wish I was going to have the chance to get to 
know him better."

"I'll bet," Mac muttered under his breath. Vic hid his grin. Mac 
*was* jealous.

Vic slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We're heading home 
tomorrow." Thank God. "Then everything goes back to normal, or what 
passes for normal for us."

"I wish I could believe that," Mac sighed. "But I'm not so sure. 
LiAnn's kinda traumatized by what Marcus did to her. She's... well... 
scared of you. Scared of any Kindred. I'm sure she'll get over it 
pretty fast, but right now..." His voice trailed off.

Vic sighed. This explained LiAnn's behavior all evening. "So what 
happens to the team?" he asked, more resigned than anything else. He 
should have known better than to think it was going to go back to 
the way it had been. His mood-swings were starting to give him 
motion-sickness.

"I don't know. Best guess? The Director splits us up until she gets 
over it. Maybe she'll put LiAnn to work with Jackie for a while."

Vic snorted. "Oh, she'll love that," he said wryly. LiAnn had hated 
the blond ex-mob princess with a passion from the moment they'd met. 
Of course, the interest that the bubbly girl had shown in Mac hadn't 
helped matters. LiAnn was used to being the center of the team and 
Jackie threatened that position. Being forced to work with Jackie 
was one of the Director's favorite punishments for LiAnn on those 
rare occasions when she screwed up on a case. "It'll certainly 
encourage her to adapt fast."

Then something occurred to him. "Speaking of LiAnn, where is she?"

Mac blinked. "Um..."

"Shit! She's panicking over Kindred and you left her alone in a room 
full of them? Bright move, Mac."

He  wasn't sure why he was quite so upset; maybe just some leftover 
anxiety after the conversation with Cash. But if LiAnn was as upset 
as Mac had said, leaving her alone was a bad move.

Moving away from their private corner, Vic scanned the room. He 
didn't see LiAnn at first glance. Then he noticed a small knot on 
the other side of the room. Operating on instinct, he started to 
push his way through the crowd, heading for the group, Mac following 
him.

They got some glares from people that they had to push past, but no 
one delayed them. As they got closer, Vic could hear LiAnn's voice, 
raised and with a slightly hysterical tinge to it. The last time 
he'd heard that had been several months before Mac had joined the 
team, when she'd had to defuse a bomb strapped to him without any 
outside help. She'd done the job, but she'd had the shakes for a 
couple days afterwards. She'd said it was because her *last* lover 
had died in an explosion, or so she'd thought.

Finally reaching the slowly growing crowd, Vic grabbed one shoulder 
and pulled its owner away, pushing himself through to LiAnn's side.

LiAnn was squeezed against the wall by a large man who raised Vic's 
hackles. Based on his experiences that night, he would guess that 
the man was Brujah. Vic squeezed between the man and LiAnn.

"I think the lady would like some room to breath," he said, bracing 
himself in case of attack.

"Get lost, Gangrel," the man snarled. "Me and the little lady, we're 
having a private conversation."

Vic glanced around at the small crowd, one eyebrow raised in 
disbelief. The man bristled in annoyance. "Scram, little boy," the 
man snarled.

He shrugged. "Sure. Care to join me, partner?" he said, holding out 
his arm to LiAnn. She hesitated, then slipped her hand into the 
crook of his elbow.

"I'm not finished with her," the Brujah snarled.

"Maybe, but I think she's finished with you. Go find someone else to 
bother."

"You need to learn some manners, little boy. How about we step 
outside and I teach you some?"

"How about you don't," a cold voice said behind him. The Brujah 
turned and Vic saw the Director walking towards them. The crowd 
parted in front of her and he could see fear on more than a few 
faces.

"This doesn't concern you," the man said, blustering. She raised one 
eyebrow.

"My people, my concern," she said gently. "Now, are you going to 
look elsewhere for your entertainment or do I need to have a talk 
with Jefferson?"

Vic didn't know who Jefferson was, but the Brujah paled slightly. He 
glared at Vic and LiAnn, then stormed away.

"Jefferson?" he asked the Director softly.

"Prince of Phoenix," she said equally softly. Then her lips quirked 
into a smile. "I'm surprised you don't remember. I introduced you to 
him earlier."

Vic snorted. "Along with half the room. Is this going to go on much 
longer? It's been a long night." Even he could hear the plaintive 
tone in his voice.

Her expression softened. "Yes, I suppose it has. Well, the party 
will keep going until dawn, but I suppose we can leave now. Our bags 
have already been picked up and loaded in the car."

"We aren't going back to Luna's?" Mac asked in surprise.

"We have a private jet for the trip home and we'll be leaving right 
at sunset. I've arranged for rooms at the hotel nearest the airport."

As she spoke, they drifted towards the front door. Luna met them 
there, Cash at his shoulder.

"Well, it's certainly been an interesting convocation," Luna said 
with a smile, taking the Director's hands in his. "I hope you 
weren't too... inconvenienced by the results."

She smiled back and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, it certainly 
wasn't what I planned on, but no. I'm quite pleased in fact."

Behind Luna, Vic could see Cash and Mac whispering to each other. 
Then Cash kissed his partner and Vic felt that flash of jealousy 
again. He moved over to where they were standing and Cash smiled at 
him.

"Remember what I said," Cash said, slipping him a small business 
card. Glancing down, Vic saw a phone-number on it and slid it into 
his jacket pocket.

"I will," he replied.

Cash leaned over and kissed him softly. "Be well, my Childe," he 
said seriously. "I expect to hear great things about you in the 
future."

Vic swallowed around the large lump forming in his throat. "Thank 
you," he said, almost choking. It was stupid, he didn't really know 
the man, but he was going to miss him.

"Time to go, boys and girls," the Director called. Vic squeezed 
Cash's hand and moved to follow her, Mac at his side and LiAnn right 
in front of him, just like always. It was raining heavily again, 
just like the night they'd arrived. It was an appropriate touch to 
end their visit to San Francisco.

Vic sighed. He couldn't wait to get home.

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

The end of their trip to San Francisco was almost anti-climactic. 
They checked into two hotel rooms not far from the Oakland airport 
for the day; Mac and Vic in one room, the girls in the other. By the 
time they reached their room, all Mac wanted was bed. Of course, 
having Vic to snuggle up against was nice, even if it was just 
snuggle. He was going to miss that when they got home.

This trip had been a weird one all around. Of course, life had been 
weird since the day the Director had walked into his cell in Hong 
Kong and had coldly proceeded to blackmail him into working for her. 
Still, what other job could he have where he got to deal with 
psychotic beekeepers and mad geniuses in their rooftop lairs? Not to 
mention the organ smugglers and terrorist clowns. The mind just 
boggled.

And if he had to admit it, he liked his life now. Sure, working for 
the Tangs was just as exciting at times -- and the rewards were a 
hell of a lot better -- but with the Agency, there was a cause. 
Well, he *thought* there was a cause, even if he wasn't exactly sure 
what it was. And they didn't ask him to smuggle guns.

But now that world had changed. Vampires were real and his boss was 
one of them, and now one of his partners was too. And his other 
partner had received a new trauma on top of an old one that had 
barely started to heal. As for him, he'd made a new friend and had 
his relationship with one of his partners change beyond recognition 
-- for the better he thought.

And once they got back to Toronto, he was going to have to go back 
to sleeping alone. At least Vic wasn't completely rejecting the idea 
of a relationship, but he *was* determined to take things slow. And 
who knew, maybe the man was right. Mac had a tendency to fall into 
bed quickly. Maybe that was why he had such a long string of failed 
relationships behind him.

On the other hand, after working together for more than two years, 
it wasn't like they were complete strangers.

But if that was the way Vic wanted it, that was the way it was going 
to be. He'd prove to the man that this wasn't just an overwhelming 
lust for the man's admittedly gorgeous bod. He was going to prove 
that he had *some* restraint.

Besides, he was looking forward to the chance to seduce his partner 
all over again.

Cash had recommended holding off until Vic got the training that the 
Director said she was going to arrange, though. It was a little 
strange, getting advice from a man who'd been basically a one night 
stand on how to build a more lasting relationship with another man, 
but if it would work, Mac would take advice from anyone, even 
Dobrinsky. And besides, as Vic's Sire, Cash probably had a pretty 
good idea on what would work.

He was going to miss Cash. He might only have known the man for a 
few days, but he still felt a strange sort of kinship with him. They 
had a lot in common. Besides, the man really knew how to party, Mac 
thought with a grin. Like Vic, he had one of Cash's cards tucked 
inside his wallet, with instructions to call anytime, for advice or 
just to talk. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

After the sun came up and Vic fell asleep, Mac left the room to find 
some breakfast. Vic might be able to live on a little bit of blood, 
but he needed something a little more substantial. Hopefully the 
hotel restaurant served Eggs Benedict. He had a craving.

>>>~~~<<<

The phone rang, waking him from a sound sleep. Mac rolled over and 
grabbed it, cursing under his breath in Cantonese. "Yes?" he barked 
into the receiver.

"This is your six PM wake-up call," an overly cheerful recorded 
voice said. "Have a pleasant evening." A dial tone grated painfully 
on his eardrums.

"You too," he snapped at the phone before hanging up. He hadn't 
ordered a wake-up call, but he could guess who had.

Still, since their flight was leaving at nine-thirty, that just gave 
him time to shower, shave, change and eat while Vic did the same. 
Since it wasn't quite yet sunset, he headed for the bathroom after 
calling up room service and ordering a ridiculously priced meal.

By the time he emerged, towel-drying his hair, Vic was up and 
looking at least partly awake. "All yours," Mac said.

Vic disappeared into the bathroom as a knock at the door heralded 
the arrival of Mac's dinner. Mac signed the receipt and found the 
cash for a tip, then dove in. The club-sandwich wasn't the greatest 
and the french fries were cold, but it was food and that was all he 
cared about.

He was polishing off the last of it as Vic reappeared, looking fully 
awake. Mac held out his hand. "Dinner?"

Amazing how casual it had become between them. Vic didn't even try 
to protest, although he kept it short and with no frills. Mac still 
ended up aroused by the feeling of the blood being slowly sucked 
from his veins, but refused to give in to his libido by jumping 
Vic's bones. 

But damn it was difficult.

They actually managed to be dressed and packed by the time the 
Director knocked on their door for the trip to the airport.

"Good evening, ladies," Mac said cheerfully as they headed for the 
elevator. "Sleep well?"

LiAnn nodded curtly, although the circles under her eyes made a liar 
of her. He Director smiled. "Just fine, and you? I don't need to ask 
how *you* slept, Victor."

"I certainly hope I get over this sleeping all day before summer," 
Vic groused. "Fifteen hour naps would be a little ridiculous."

"Oh, don't worry," she replied, patting his arms. "I'm sure that by 
then you won't be quite so much a slave to instinct. Still, you'll 
be very groggy. I'll make sure I don't assign you to anything that 
requires *too* much thought during the day. I know, I'll give you 
Mac's assignments."

Mac stuck out his tongue at her. She just looked amused.

"Now," she said, changing gears, "I suggest you prepare yourself. 
The flight is just under eleven hours and you're going to want to 
feed during that time. Luckily, since it's an overnight flight, I'm 
sure that the two of you can deal with that without attracting 
attention. Make sure that you do," she added darkly. The 'or else' 
was pretty clear in her voice.

In a way, it almost sounded kinky, having Vic feed from him in a 
public place without anyone knowing about it.

That was another thing he was going to miss, the feeding. However, 
while he wasn't exactly a doctor, he knew that he could keep being 
Vic's sole food-source. He could already feel the affects of the 
continuous blood loss, even with Vic's diet being supplemented by 
bagged blood and blood wine.

Then Mac glanced at LiAnn and sobered up. The expression on her face 
was one of fear. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Don't 
worry, we'll let you know ahead of time so that you can go to the 
bathroom or something." Vic winced, but the relief on LiAnn's face 
was obvious.

They arrived at the airport and went through the check-in process 
with remarkable speed. Mac had expected to be running to make their 
boarding call, but they actually had time to sit down and relax for 
a while before the first call for their flight was announced.

"Enjoy yourselves, children," the Director said when first-class 
boarding was called. Just like the flight to San Francisco, she was 
flying first-class while the rest of them were flying coach. Of 
course.

Finally, their boarding was called. This time, *unlike* the flight 
down, LiAnn held back when they reached their seat. Mac exchanged 
glances with Vic and nodded towards the window seat. Vic slid in and 
Mac took the seat next to him. For the first time in their 
partnership, LiAnn *wasn't* insisting on sitting between them. That 
was nice, but the reason for it wasn't.

"What time are we supposed to land in Toronto?" Vic asked in a low 
undertone.

Mac checked the tickets. "Just before five-thirty, Toronto time," he 
replied. "Why?"

Vic shifted, obviously trying to find a comfortable position for his 
legs. Airline seats weren't designed for anyone over five feet. Mac 
had the same problem, but even worse since he was a little taller 
that Vic and longer in the legs.

"Just checking. Don't want sunrise to come while we're still in the 
middle of a busy airport."

"Don't worry. Sunrise isn't until nearly two hours after that. I'm 
sure that the Director will take care of making sure we're safely 
away before then."

"I hope so," the older man muttered.

What Mac was hoping that the in-flight movie was better than the one 
on the other flight. After sleeping days for most of the week, he 
wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep at all, let alone in one of these 
torture devices masquerading as seats. And he had even lower 
expectations for the in-flight meals than he'd had for the hotel 
room service.

Maybe he'd borrow one of those detective novels that Vic had been 
reading all week. Or maybe one of LiAnn's books, although her 
preference for Chinese romances weren't exactly his style. Anything 
to pass the time.

Take-off was right on time, a first for Mac. Once they were in the 
air, he started to relax. It had been a long week, an exciting week, 
a terrifying week.

But they'd survived the experience and they were going home.

Home.

What a wonderful word.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac surprised himself by actually drifting off half-way through the 
movie. The rubber-chicken meal had been horrible, but he'd eaten the 
whole thing in anticipation of needing the fuel.

"Mac."

His name, whispered in his ear, woke him up quickly. He could hear 
the husky note in Vic's voice that already signaled to him that the 
other man was hungry. In fact, the more often Vic fed from him, the 
closer he felt to him, in many ways. Sometimes it almost felt like 
he could read the man's mind.

Mac glanced around. The lights had been dimmed and everyone around 
them was asleep, even LiAnn. He decided not to wake her. If she 
wasn't awake to see, she couldn't be disturbed by Vic's feeding.

He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Expecting this, he'd 
worn a black shirt, just in case a little blood got on it. "Pretend 
you've fallen asleep," he whispered.

Vic picked up on his suggestion immediately; no matter what some 
people said, the man wasn't stupid. He let his head flop to the 
side, onto Mac's shoulder. Then Mac leaned forward and to the side a 
little. That way, Vic's face fell in the crook of his neck without 
looking too forced. He felt Vic's tongue swipe his neck a couple 
times in preparation, then his fangs sank in.

Like earlier, Mac refused to let the feelings overwhelm him. First 
of all, someone had to keep an eye out for any interruptions from 
the attendants or other passengers. Secondly, while he wouldn't 
*mind* joining the Mile-High club with Vic, he didn't think that the 
man, straight-laced as he still was, would go for it. Pity, though.

Finally, he felt Vic's fangs withdrawing, followed a few more licks 
to close the puncture wounds. He could understand why books and 
movies made vampires so sexy; the feeling of fangs going in and out 
was reminiscent of sex, a different sort of penetration.

By the time an attendant came to check on them, they were back in 
position, eyes shut as if they were sleeping.

As he relaxed, Mac reached up to caress the pendant hanging around 
his neck. He wasn't sure why, but touching it reassured him. Perhaps 
it was because it was a gift from Vic. There was something about it 
that made him feel like everything was going to be all right.

He leaned against Vic's shoulder and sighed.

Only three hours left before landing.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac was sitting in a forest glade beside a small pool, relaxing on a 
warm flat stone. The light coming through the leaves and reflecting 
off the water was unusual. Looking up, he could see that it was 
night, but one brighter than he'd ever seen before. The quarter 
moon, to his eyes, was brighter than the sun. And the colors! The 
colors were like nothing he'd ever seen before.

Deciding to just accept it, Mac stretched out to bask in the moon- 
and star-light. He was naked, he noted idly, but it didn't bother 
him anymore than the strange light had.

"Do you have any idea what you look like, lying there?"

Mac turned his eyes and smiled as Vic emerged from the pool, equally 
naked and sparkling with water droplets. "I'll bite," he said, and 
they both laughed at the pun.

Moving gracefully, like a cat, Vic pounced, stretching out over Mac. 
"Absolutely fuckable," he growled in a low, sexy voice, then claimed 
Mac's mouth in a deep kiss.

Mac groaned and arched up into the damp body above his. This had to 
be the best feeling in the world. They were such a good match.

Mac spread his legs and let Vic move into place between them. Thick 
fingers penetrated and stretched him until he was writhing in place, 
begging for more.

Then Vic moved closer and...

"He's not yours," a soft voice hissed.

Both of the men were startled by the unexpected voice. The figure 
that stepped out from between the trees was indistinct, but 
definitely female.

"You aren't welcome here," Vic snarled, getting to his feet, his 
erection still hard and proud between his legs.

"Gangrel fool," the woman said. "He's going to be mine. Sooner or 
later..."

Vic roared with anger and leapt forward, his shape blurring in mid-
air until he was more cat than man. The woman roared just as loud 
and met him half-way.

Blood was already flying as the two fought. Mac ran towards them, 
frantic with worry for his lover. And yet, for some reason he was 
also worried about the stranger. There was something familiar about 
her. Something he should know.

Then he saw the talons aimed at his lover's neck and his heart 
stopped.

"No!"

>>>~~~<<<

"Mac. Mac!"

Mac's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. Vic's 
hand was on his shoulder, shaking him, and he latched onto it, 
reassuring himself that the man was real.

"Vic," he said in relief, then paused. Why was he relieved? He 
reached up to brush the sweat from his forehead.

"Are you all right? You were shouting in your sleep."

"I was?" Mac blinked. "I don't remember." He glanced around the 
cabin. LiAnn and Vic both looked equally worried. The passengers 
nearest them just looked annoyed. An attendant was heading their 
way, but he waved her off. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Must have been a doozy of a dream," Vic said in a forced light 
tone. "Good as the one where Jackie was the Director?"

Mac frowned, then shook his head. Hard as he tried, he couldn't 
remember any details. Just a few quickly fading images. "I was in a 
forest glade at night, but that's all I can remember," he said 
apologetically

"Don't worry. After what happened this week, I wouldn't be surprised 
if we *all* had nightmares." They both carefully didn't look at 
LiAnn, who hadn't been sleeping very calmly on the flight either.

Luckily, before they had to say anything else, the intercom came to 
life, announcing that they were about to land.

They were home.

>>>~~~<<<

The Director must have pulled more than a few strings. They were 
through customs and into a waiting car in almost no time at all.

"Um... My car is in the long-term parking," Mac pointed out as they 
headed away from the airport.

"Not anymore, it isn't," the Director replied. "It's at the office. 
You can pick it up there."

"Couldn't you just drop me at home?" Vic said, already sounding 
tired as dawn approached. "I'll pick my truck up tonight."

"Ah, but you don't know where home *is*."

Vic frowned. "Of course I do," he protested.

"No, you don't. Your things have already been moved," she told him.

"What was wrong with my old place?" he asked suspiciously. They all 
knew that there were cameras and microphones in their apartments. 
What would Vic's place have *now* in the way of surveillance?

She gave him a disappointed look. "Do I *really* deserve that tone 
of voice? There is nothing wrong with your old apartment. However, 
the new one has a bedroom *without* windows. After all, we wouldn't 
want you to climb into bed one morning and forget to draw the 
drapes, would we? You wouldn't do me much good as dust."

Mac winced at the blunt words. Across from him, Vic winced. "No, I 
guess not," he said softly. Mac could understand why he was upset. 
Vic had lived in that apartment for years, since the days when he'd 
been a cop. It was the last piece of his old, pre-Agency life.

"Good. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet. After that, you 
can sleep at the office, since I doubt you'll have time to get home 
before dawn. Tonight, you can check out your new digs."

"Great," Vic muttered.

It was a little strange walking through the always empty hallways of 
the Agency headquarters in Toronto. So much had happened in the week 
since they'd last been there that it seemed like the place should be 
different. Instead, they were exactly the same; brightly lit, 
echoing and creepy.

And coming towards them was Mac least-favorite tormenter, Dobrinsky.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the man said cheerfully as he 
drew up even with them.

"Don't you *ever* sleep?" Mac snapped back. There was something 
about the man that had annoyed him from the day they met. Of course, 
it didn't help that the man was a sadist. He was also the person 
that the Director sent him to for training and punishment, the same 
way that she made LiAnn work with Jackie as a punishment.

"No. I don't," was the simple reply. Then the black man turned to 
look at Vic and his eyebrows went up. Vic was staring back at him 
with an equally surprised expression. "Well, well, well. Look's like 
*someone* had an interesting trip."

"You're Kindred?" Vic said, his voice going up in shock.

"Of course he is," the Director said, amusement in her voice. "Do 
you think I would have anything else for my assistant. He's Ventrue, 
of course."

"Of course," Mac said weakly. He should have guessed.

"Well, I suppose this explains the... person," Dobrinsky's usual 
smile faded as he spat the word, "waiting in your office."

"Now, Dobrinsky. She does have her uses," the Director admonished.

"Rarely."

"And was everything moved?"

Dobrinsky tossed a set of keys to Vic. "All done. Even the eight-
track," he added with a condescending smile. Vic didn't reply, 
except with a small sneer.

The man just laughed and walked away, shaking his head. Mac stuck 
out his tongue in the direction of the back of the man's head. The 
man hadn't said a word to him, but it was instinct. Besides, 
Dobrinsky had just insulted *his* partner.

Of course, just *owning* an eight-track was an insult in Mac's books.

"If you don't need me," LiAnn said, speaking up for the first time 
since they'd left the airport, "I think I'll go home."

The Director stopped and turned to face LiAnn. She took the younger 
woman's chin in her hand and looked deep in her eyes. They stood 
that way for a moment, silent.

"Fine," the Director said, suddenly letting go and stepping back. 
"I'll see you this evening."

LiAnn left quickly, Vic staring after her.

"Oh, don't worry, Victor. She'll get over it quickly, I promise."

Vic exchanged glances with Mac. Neither one of them really believed 
that, but they didn't say anything. Then again, after what Cash had 
told him about the Ventrue Dominate ability, maybe she was right. Of 
course, that would imply that she was going to manipulate LiAnn into 
acceptance.

But then again, she was always manipulating them. Why should this be 
any different?

"Any other surprises in store?" Vic asked, tossing his new apartment 
key from hand to hand.

"Surprises? Me? Whatever do you mean?" The innocent expression on 
her face didn't fool either of them in the least.

"Like Dobrinsky for one. How many other Kindred are there around 
here? Are we the *only* ones who didn't know?"

"Not at all. In fact, most of the people you've worked with are 
perfectly human."

"Most?" Mac jumped in.

"Well, there are a few exceptions," she replied, scratching her head 
and staring at a blank wall.

"Like who?"

She hesitated a moment before answering. "Jackie."

Both Mac and Vic blinked. "Jackie?" Mac almost squeaked. "Jackie is a..."

"Malkavian."

"A what?"

"One of the other clans that you haven't met yet. They tend to be 
excellent information gatherers. Very insightful, in fact. Oh yes, 
and they are all quite insane."

Mac glanced at Vic and shrugged. "That's Jackie, all right," he 
muttered under his breath. "Remind me to avoid her more often."

"Great," Vic added. "Next you'll be saying that Nathan is a vampire 
too."

The Director gave a lady-like snort. "Not likely. However, he is 
very, very useful, so I made him a ghoul."

"A *what*?" Mac said.

"A ghoul. A human who has tasted Kindred blood. It makes them 
more... controllable."

"I thought that made them Kindred," Vic said. He sounded as confused 
as Mac felt.

"No, that only makes them Kindred if they've been drained first. 
Otherwise, they just become a ghoul. Your teacher will explain all 
this."

"My teacher?"

"Yes. Actually, I called ahead. She should be waiting for us."

With that, the Director pushed open the door to their usual briefing 
room.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing, *summoning* me? I'm not 
one of your lapdogs!"

The woman waiting there was one Mac had never seen before. She was 
short, even shorter than Jackie, who was the shortest member of 
their team, and like Jackie, she was compact and muscular. Her hair 
was brown and very short, greased into sharp spikes, tipped in a 
rainbow of colors. She wore a motley outfit pieced together from 
scraps of leather, over a T-shirt that was more hole than cloth.

But there was something strange about the shape of her eyes and her 
ears were more than a little pointed, although not as obviously as 
the Nosferatu he'd briefly met in the Haven's office. And it was 
hard to tell, but it almost looked like her ears were... hairy?

"No," the Director said calmly, coming to a stop directly in front 
of the stranger. "However, you and yours live in this city on *my* 
sufferance. I can withdraw my permission as quickly as I granted it."

The woman snarled, but even though she didn't move a muscle, it 
seemed like she backed down. "What do you want," she snapped.

"Meet Victor," the Director said, waving towards the man. "You are 
going to be his teacher."

She glanced at Vic and her eyebrows went up. "You have *got* to be 
joking," she said in disbelief. "You want me to train your little 
Caitiff? I don't *think* so."

The Director moved, so fast that Mac didn't even see. In a blink of 
an eye, she had the other woman by the throat. "You will do what I 
say, or else," she hissed.

Then equally suddenly, she let go. The woman fell back, rubbing her 
throat.

"Victor's Sire is Gangrel," the Director continued in a perfectly 
normal tone. "He needs training in the Gangrel Disciplines."

"Couldn't his Sire do that?"

"No." The Director didn't explain further.

The two women stared at each other, one probing and the other not 
budging. Finally, the stranger turned to Vic. "Tonight. One hour 
after sunset. Meet me at the Toronto Zoo. Outside the big cat's 
area. Don't be late."

She turned and stormed out.

"That was Moira," the Director said in a wry tone as the door 
slammed shut. "She'd leader for the Gangrel here in town. She'll get 
you up to speed fast."

"Assuming that she doesn't just kill me."

"Oh, she knows better than to cross me," the Director said with a 
cold smile. "No, she'll do as she's told, or else."

"Else what?" Mac asked out of morbid curiosity.

The Director just looked at him and he shivered. Suddenly he didn't 
*want* to know what 'or else' entailed.

"Anyway," she continued, turning back to Vic. "She'll train you 
quickly, if only to get you out of her hair. What she has, that is." 
Her expression showed her distaste for the woman's colorful 
appearance, which was the pot calling the kettle black in Mac's 
books.

"Great. A teacher who hates my guts and wants nothing to do with 
me," Vic muttered. "What could be better?"

"She'll protect you, since I'll kill her if she doesn't," the 
Director said. "She'll drive you hard because she hates you. You 
need both, Victor. I suggest you get a good day's sleep. You'll need 
it."

With that, she headed up the stairs to her private office, leaving 
them alone in the room.

"Well," Mac said. He should head home to get some sleep too, but he 
was reluctant to leave. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to be 
seeing Vic for a while. Not until he finished this training, at 
least.

Vic glanced around. "It's almost dawn," he finally said. "I should 
find a bed somewhere."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Mac thought for a moment, then grinned. Moving fast, before he could 
reconsider, he bit down hard on his tongue until he felt blood start 
to flow. It was going to hurt like hell later, but he didn't care.

Then he grabbed Vic's face between his hands and kissed him hard, 
thrusting his bleeding tongue into the other man's mouth.

Vic went stiff with surprise. Then he grabbed Mac back just as hard, 
sucking on his tongue, obviously tasting the blood. 

By the time they separated, they were both breathing hard. Mac felt 
like he was going to burst the seam of his pants and Vic's jeans 
looked to be in the same condition.

But he wasn't going to take advantage of that.

He smiled at his dazed partner. "I'll be waiting when you're ready," 
he said in a cocky voice. "Don't take too long."

He turned and headed for the door, then paused. "Just remember, it 
doesn't have to be complicated to be real."

And then he headed home.


THE END of San Francisco Meetings

