Big city

Once Logan returned from his tour in the Old House, he found his Master strangely aroused and frustrated. And when Enoch approached him, Logan decided he would play along. Not as if he had a choice, and by submitting, he could perhaps attain more freedom and use it for his escape. No matter what it took, he would flee and go back to Jerome. At least he would seek to meet him. Jerome would understand. They were spouses. Jerome would understand. Jerome must have been looking for him already, but with his chip destroyed there wasn't anything much any station could have done to find him.

With these thoughts in his mind – dreams of freedom which Xavier Ford's escape had arisen – he gave himself into Enoch's fervent kisses and violent fondling, which ended, of course, with his sire plummeting into him. However, he got a strange feeling through all the mixture of discomfort and pain, that it wasn't him whom Enoch imagined to be in his bed. But then – who was it?

And one name popped into his mind. Grace.
He would have to go and speak to her. He would have to convince her that he had no feelings for her husband. He'd have to try and win her for his ally. He already had Emmanuel, at least partially. Of course, Emmanuel had his own reasons to hate Enoch, but it didn't matter. They were together in this, and Logan sucked at being alone, so he had to find if not friends, then allies. And he would. With Enoch suspecting as little as possible, that his little submissive lover would plan some realistic vengeance, he would make his escape, and then he would find some real allies and come back to strike at the one who'd destroyed his life.

He had a name in his mind now – Xavier Ford. After finding Jerome, he would go to him. By everything he had heard, the man had same reasons hating the vampires than Logan. Of course, his hatred would be directed at Emmanuel, whom Logan wished to keep as an ally, but he felt no guilt about it. He could help him get to Emmanuel, if he would help him put off Enoch.

He nodded to himself, and climaxed violently. He laughed a little and felt proud that his Master had no idea what went on deep in his little mind. No longer would he be foolish enough to tell him. Oh no. He had been killed, he had killed and all that blood in him made him much older and wiser.

He would overthrow them all. He had been a number, but the chip had been taken from him, his life had been taken, and smashed – he would no longer be a number, and if you weren't a number, you were a hunter. Logan Chase would become a hunter, no more would he run, now he would... chase. Hell yeah.

**

Alice stirred and woke from another bloody nightmare at the sound of her cell phone. She groped for it, bewildered who could be calling her. There were very few of those who knew her number and none of them would have had a reason to contact her at such hour.

She looked at the dialling number. It didn't ring a bell. She hummed and switched it into answering mode.

“Alice Meyers speaking. Who is this?”
“Hello, Alice.”

She jerked. The voice was awfully familiar.

“Who is this?”
“You do not remember my voice, do you?”
Alice growled in frustration.
“I will hang up now if you do not tell me who you are. Is that understood?”
So stern, as always, Sofia mused.

“It's Sofia. Sofia Koch. Well, used to be Koch. Do you remember me now, Alice?”
She nodded to herself.
“I do. Hello, Sofia. What do you want?”
And so emotionless, strict to the matter. She had always made Sofia feel as if she cared none at all for her. Perhaps she didn't. She would never know, would she?

“Couldn't you imagine I have just missed you and wished to call you, ask how you are doing?”
“No,” Alice replied sharply. “Not really. You haven't called me since we graduated. So excuse me if I do not buy the story of you simply missing me.”
Besides, what was there to miss. They had always been too different, and all that friendship had been nothing but an endless quarrel.
“Right,” Sofia muttered. “I need your help. Or actually, a friend does.”
“Oh? What kind of help, and what kind of friend is that?”
Sofia sighed. “Jerome. Listen, it's not really on the phone talk. Couldn't we meet some place?”
“No,” Alice replied almost immediately.
Sofia bit into her lip. A lump appeared into her throat. So, it was still the same and even worse.
“Alright. Will you at least listen me out?”
“Okay.”
Sofia sighed to herself. She had always hated her saying “okay” and all the other small words Alice used. They made her feel as if she didn't give a damn about her. Most likely, she didn't.
“I'm listening,” Alice reminded her.
“Yes. Right away.”
And so Sofia told her as much as she knew about Logan and Jerome. Alice was silent, and two times Sofia had to ask if she was even there, to which an upset voice replied that she didn't have the tendency to hung up in the middle of a conversation. Was that what they were having? A conversation?
Sofia felt irritation rise as bile in her throat. She had loved her, she had hated her, and still felt the same. Those feelings had not died.

“I understand that you would want me to help Jerome find Logan – or more precisely – to find him myself. Is that it,” Alice asked when Sofia was done talking.
“Yes.”
“Well, I will have to consider this. I will contact Jerome and let him know when I have decided.”
“And me?”
“What about you?”
“Will you let me know, too?”
“Won't Jerome tell you?”
“Yeah... He will. Nevermind.”
“You know, I hate when you say that,” Alice snapped. “You haven't changed, Sofia.”
“Neither have you, Alice.”
“Okay. So, anything else?”
Sofia hesitated. But there really wasn't anything left to say. Nothing she might have said would have moved Alice. She was made of stone and iron, not flesh and soul. And she had been so madly in love with her...

“No.”
“Okay then. Bye.”
“Alice?”
She had already quit the call. Sofia was left standing, calling out to the cell phone with no one on the other end, looking like a complete fool.
It was hopeless.
Hopeless.
She lit a cigarette and sauntered to the balcony.
Hopeless.

**

James Ford gazed at his two submissive officers and in his mind, he sighed. They were both pathetic, though for very different and opposite reasons.
First there was Joe Charles, a fresh stationary agent, quite recently out of the Academy, and now a hero of the town and the entire mankind. Of course, by what James had already seen about the man, there would have been hard to find a man of better, kinder nature, and he was true to the law, but... He was so very emotional, totally driven by his feelings, his “sense of justice”, and James saw that the man would also break the law if he thought it was wrong and what he felt – right.
Joe Charles would burn out soon enough, like a candle – or he'd be snuffed out, which was also very likely to happen.

Now, Jesus Barrera was a different kind of man, and James was amazed that they had been put together in the first place. But most surely there was a good reason to it, though, since it had been done. He just doubted their efficiency, since they would most likely be spending most of their valuable time arguing with each other. Well, James was here now, and he would let none of such things happen. He was their superior and he would be every inch worthy of the trust laid in him.

“I was told you have a plan, Mister Charles,” he approached Joe. “I would like to listen to it.”
“I already said it was ridiculous,” Jesus commented.
James smiled at him, and watched with satisfaction how the man jerked backwards. Indeed, James had noticed that his smiling could have such effect on the small people.
“I do not remember asking your commentaries about this, Mister Barrera. Also, it is not your business to ridicule your partner's ideas. You are to listen and make corrections when they are necessary. Is that understood?”
He stood very close to Jesus and knew that most feared that little latino. But James felt no fear, not of him, not of anything. He had no time for such weaknesses.
“Mister Charles, please, go ahead and explain us of this plan of yours.”
Joe hesitated. This new team member, James Ford, made him feel very small and insecure. He also made his hair stand up. There was something infinitely cold about him, as if he was void of all human emotions. Joe dreaded this young man, much more than he had ever feared Jesus. With his current partner, he could at least imagine his possible reactions and try to avoid them if they were dangerous or unacceptable, but with someone like James Ford... He looked at him and saw nothing, his own figure reflecting back at him, like a supernatural judge of his deeds, thoughts and emotions.
“I am listening,” James urged. Now really, now the man looked terrified. What a sissy... “Do I have to plead you?”
“No sir,” Joe replied rather fervently. “I was just thinking that since the body was drained of blood, then perhaps it was some sort of a vampire and that... that we should ask them about it.”
“Idea of the fuckin' century,” Jesus rolled eyes.
“Mister Barrera,” James bit. “Once again I will have to remind you that your opinion of the matter was not asked, especially since you have already expressed it. I would kindly ask you to shut up.”
Another man would have been upset when saying something like that, but James had the same polite, cold voice, which sent shivers down Joe's spine.
“Whom would you like to question, Mister Charles?”
Joe swallowed.
“The Freshmen. They have a leader, called Lothar. I was thinking I could speak to him. So far he has proved to be... collaborative with the government.”
James smirked.
“Collaborative? Indeed. M106 is famous for its friendly relations with both vampires and werewolves. How very...convenient. Very well. You have my permission to interrogate the mentioned leader. Take a recorder with you, I wish to have every single word for the protocol.”
His cell phone rang and he backed away to respond. In two minutes he returned to Jesus and Joe, looking every ounce as cold and emotionless as before.

“I just received a message, that another murder of same kind has taken place. The victim is Selma Goodwin. We will look over the crime scene immediately. Follow me, gentlemen.”
“Selma Goodwin,” Jesus asked. “As the Selma Goodwin, Mayor Goodwin's pretty little wife?”
James stopped and eyed him. “You are not to make personal remarks about the victim, Mister Barrera. But the answer to your question would be – yes. Now, can we proceed fulfilling our duties or is there anything else you wish to say?”
“No sir.” If looks could have killed, James Ford would have been stone dead, but since Jesus had little else to offer besides anger, and James was immune to that and any other emotion, then he was rendered powerless. Which of course made Jesus hate the cocky freshman of the capital even more.
James noticed the way Jesus Barrera was staring at him. He couldn't possibly have cared less. If he could, he would have. One corrupt little agent. Once he returned to M, he would report him, of course, and then his superiors could decide what to do with one Jesus Barrera. He had learned enough of his mentality and trigger-happiness. Well, if the man tried anything of the sort in his company... he would see to it that he never made such an attempt again. Obviously Joe Charles couldn't keep his partner under control. James wasn't surprised. He had never expected anything much from M106 and its people.

When they arrived to the sight, the crime location had been shielded and barred from prying eyes of civilians. Major Hobert Holcomb was there, of course, and he was the one to lead them in. James noticed again, that even this one would fret before him. He felt the urge to shake his head and laugh, but restrained himself.

Major Holcomb took them to the bedroom. The corpse had been taken down and lie on the floor, covered with a plastic sheet.
James pressed his lips tightly together as he approached Major Holcomb.
“Sir, I would like to know whose idea it was to take the corpse down from the ceiling.”
Major Holcomb looked at him, bewildered.
“Mine, Mister Ford. We couldn't possibly leave her hanging there...?”
Not a muscle flinched on James' face.
“I believe you should have, since I was sent here to investigate this case, and I find it difficult to do, when I do not see the crime scene in its originality and your men have turned the room into a mess, cluttering it with their own tracks so that I will have so much more trouble finding those of the criminals. I would ask you to not do such a thing again, Major.”

Major Holcomb listened to him like a schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. If the scene would have been a bit less serious, it would have been funny – since it was James who was yet a schoolboy and Major Holcomb should have been his superior, but it was the other way around, and not even by the law, but...
James was from M, sent by the superior senat. This mattered. This made all the difference.

“Yes, Mister Ford. I apologize. My men were too eager.”
“So I have noticed,” replied James, icily. “Your men are eager where it takes patience and observance, and slow when it takes immediate reaction. But I understand, Major. I know you are doing your best.”
And his words and look said it all – that their best was worth oh so little in his eyes and in the eyes of M.
“I supposed you have a video from the crime scene, at least, Major Holcomb?”
“Yes, of course. Mister Ford, we are not so degraded as you think we are...”
James smiled at him.
“I have thought nor said anything of the sort, Major. Now, I would like to see the video, and so would Mister Barrera and Mister Charles.”
“Right away, Mister Ford.”

Joe and Jesus – the latter rather reluctantly – gathered around him when the screen was activated. Joe swallowed again and again at the sight of... the poor woman hanging naked from the ceiling. Crucified. Just like Missis Lowe, Selma had been drained of blood and then nailed to the ceiling of her bedroom.

“I would like tests be run asap,” James told Major Holcomb. “I have read from the report, that the previous victim had been raped before she was drained. I would like to check if the same has been done here.”

“She has,” Major Holcomb sighed. “When we took her down, there were evident marks on her body...”
“Nevertheless, Major, I would like to have such tests run and protocolled.”
“As you see fit, Mister Ford.”
They were hopping at each of his word. How very convenient. But the case itself was puzzling, James found.
“What do you think of these murders, Mister Charles,” he asked Joe, catching him off balance.
“I...”
“Yes?”
“Well, I have been thinking, and I believe they are symbolic. The positions of the victims, I mean.”
“Yes, I understand. Please, continue.”
Jesus made faces behind Joe's back, mimicking him. He was bored and longed to get off. Spending time with James Ford made his skin tingle.
“Well... The victims have been crucified, right...” Joe didn't feel comfortable explaining it to this young man whose glance penetrated him and made butterflies take flight in his stomach. “And they have been nailed into exact same positions. Both women are young and beautiful, they have been stripped... violated...”
“Raped,” James corrected coldly.
“Raped,” Joe repeated solemnly. “And their bodies have been crucified to the ceiling. Not to a wall, not to the floor... I'm thinking that... whoever did this, must have had supernatural strength, because a normal human being is not able to hold up a dead body and nail it to the...ceiling.”
James stood, inanimate, but by the looks of him, he was listening. The truth was, that he listened indeed, almost keenly.
“Proceed,” he prodded in whisper.
“And well, since it's crucifixion, then the only ones that would mock Christian God and his son Jesus would have to be... well, evil. Satanic. I know that one of satanic symbols was a reversed cross, and a polar pentagram. A... a normal body would lie on the ground, facing upwards. An antipodal body would hang from the ceiling, facing downwards. I believe that the killer is performing some kind of ritual. I believe that the killing is not important in itself, but what the killer believes the ritual would achieve.”

“And the conclusion,” James whispered. “What do you conclude, Mister Charles?” The others had fallen silent.
“My idea is that the killer is a vampire, he belongs to a satanic group and is performing some kind of grand ritual.”
James nodded. Then he smiled, and for a moment Joe imagined he could see a much different young man in front of himself, not this cold, distanced... cold agent.
“Very good, Mister Charles. I like your deduction skills. I believe you will prove worthy to the investigation, yet. Now, Major Holcomb, do you see why it is essential that Mister Charles here be granted licence to interrogate the Freshmen? Do you, Mister Barrera?”

“Yes sir,” the Latino muttered under his breath. He didn't give a shit, but hey, if they could go and shoot down some nasty vampires, he was happily in.
“I do, Mister Ford,” Major Holcomb replied. “Joe Charles is one of our finest officers, I have always known that.”
Joe's cheeks flushed red.
James nodded. “He does have potential. I was not sure I would find it here, but it seems that you have at least one. I am glad.”

**

When a shady corridor of the old factory, where Haywood and the Dandelion Pack found their refuge, finally embraced Xavier, the bold hunter collapsed. He'd been running with Michael, hand in hand, sometimes he dragging the boy, but most of the time it was Michael who didn't allow him to give in, then how much the sun hurt and how very much he wished to fall down and never rise again. Michael made him rise – once with tears, and twice he had even yelled at him, telling him what a coward and quitter he is, no sir, you aren't, because you will get up and we will stay alive and go back to Shawn and Goldie and Emory... Blood Brothers, remember, sir, you are their leader. But a vampire cannot lead the Brothers, can he? You are not a vampire, sir, you are my leader, sir.

The boy was really something. He'd most certainly tell Goldie that and give her much credit.

Xavier woke to the touch of cold water pouring into his mouth and smooth homely smelling hands tending his wounds. Two eyes, blue and deep as ocean, gazed at him. Xavier realized he lie in the lap of a woman. She was middle-age, straight yellow hair covering her breasts and back like a luxurious carpet. And yeah, she sure did have big round tits. By the way she was bent over Xavier, he could see right into her cleavage and the nipples were big and round, darker of colour and very much visible through the thin yellow tunic she was wearing. Her hands were heavy and muscular, yet there was that irresistible feminine smoothness about them, which distinguished her from the males. Her features, all in all, were strong, yet she was every bit a woman.

“Hello there,” the woman told Xavier and smiled a little. “Glad to see you awake, Mister Ford. Terrie, go tell Haywood that our guest has woken.”
“Where is Michael,” Xavier interrupted. “The boy I came with. Where is he?”
The woman laughed heartily. “We did not eat him, honestly. He is spending time with Haywood and Bernadine. They were giving him a grand tour, but I think they should be back now. Terrie will find them.”

The one referred as Terrie was just leaving, so Xavier caught only a glimpse of her backside. Another female, but much smaller, a girl by her shape, dark of skin and ebony braids swinging down her back, touching her little round buttocks – she wore a pair of very low cut jeans.

Xavier made to stand up.
“Not yet, mister,” the woman interfered. “You've still got some blisters I haven't reached, but I thought I'd wait until you came around.”
Xavier rolled his eyes in confusion. “Yes?”
She laughed again, but it sounded very friendly. She was amiable. “I am not really into ripping pants off of unknown men. Or vampires.”
The word bit, Xavier flinched. Or maybe it were the blisters.

She smiled at him and nodded. She appeared sympathetic.
“I know you were turned against your will. Haywood told me about you. I am sorry for what happened to you, sir.”
Xavier shrugged. “Well, yeah. It's nothing. I mean – it's done and irreversible, so... You were saying I should take my trousers off? How the hell did I get into these, anyway?”
By what he recalled, he'd been stripped pretty naked back there, in the Old House, and Mike, too. Right now he was attired with a pair of light blue jeans and a white flowery T-shirt.
Oh dear, Xavier sighed. He hadn't ever worn such garbs, not even in his worst nightmares. Didn't these folks have any sense of fashion? What was it with all the flowers and bright candy colours?

“Haywood put these on you,” the female werewolf replied and grinned. “You arrived bloody naked, covered with blisters. Darin lent you some of his clothes.”

“Tell him I said thanks,” Xavier muttered and wondered who was the guy with his build and size, wearing silly feminine out of century jeans and a shirt which could make one's eyes bleed.

“Oh I will,” came a reply. “But you can start with taking your jeans off. There are some pretty nasty blisters on your ass and thighs, too.”
Oh really, Xavier muttered to himself. However, he tried to keep a polite and friendly outlook. He avoided smiling, since he wasn't really in the real mood for it, and uncertain how werewolves would react to random baring of teeth.
“Sure.” He felt like he'd forgotten something. “Listen... Just wanted to ask – what's your name?”
The woman grinned.
“Oh, of course. I so totally forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tara. Tara Rice, but don't go calling me Miss or Missis Rice. I go by Tara, simply.”
Xavier nodded. “OK. I'll take these jeans off now.”
Of course, there was no underwear and so, removing his... well, Darin's jeans – whoever he was – left him buttnaked. There were lots of blisters, indeed. Not as bad as he had thought, though. The sun had been scalding, and more inside than outside. He wondered if he could find anyone willing to explain him why vampires were the way they were. So far, he really hadn't put much effort into knowing the whys. What had been so much more vital, but now – everything had changed. Mike was sure they could go back and all would be well. Xavier wasn't so very sure. He'd taught them all to hate and hunt vampires, and they did.
He could only hope to go and see Shawn again, tell him what had happened. Shawn must have worried sick, and shot some heads off, too. Luckily, those heads would belong to vampires.

“Please lay down,” Tara requested, and when Xavier did, she smeared some kind of smelly herb balm all over his lower body. Xavier winced a couple of times – it hurt like hell, but he sure wasn't going to be infantile, wriggling and mewling. It felt strange having a totally unknown woman touching him all over his bare buttocks and thighs. At least he didn't go hard on women. Mostly. He wondered how exactly vampires had sex... OK, now that was a silly thought. Bloody ridiculous.

To make the situation even more awkward, Haywood and Mike arrived to the site, along with a burly woman with another set of big tits and prominent cheekbones, curly black hair down her waist, and the girl – okay, girlish woman he'd glimpsed of before – Terrie.

“Could I have some privacy,” he mumbled. Or do you all want to see my cock and ass.
Michael actually blushed.
Haywood smirked. “Have you got something that others don't have? Like a third testicle? If not, then I don't see a thing to fuss about...”
Michael was confused if he should laugh, which he wanted, because Haywood was being so funny and cool, or feel embarrassed for feeling funny about something someone had said about his leader.

“Fine,” Xavier grunted. “Stare all you like, then. Anybody else want to see Xavier Ford's infamous blistered butt? Take in line, sell tickets.”

“You know, that's a pretty damn good idea,” Haywood chuckled. “But naah. I don't bother. Instead, I was wondering – what will you do when you get those blisters patched up?”
“Put the jeans back on?” Xavier offered.
Tara grinned, so did the woman with black hair, and Terrie snickered, too, along with Michael, who really tried to control his face, but failed.
Haywood smirked. “After that, I mean. Seriously. What do you plan to do? Go back to your camp?”

Tara was finally done with him, so Xavier could cover up his ass and artillery again, although he was forced to wear those ridiculous jeans, again. He shrugged.
“Sure. Where else should I go? I've got my life there, and my mate. Mike and I'll get going as soon as the night arrives. Not going to try sunbathing again, not any time soon.”

“Are you sure that's a wise idea, Xavier,” Haywood asked soughfully.
“Why wouldn't it be?”
“They might kill you,” the woman with black hair said quietly, with a deep dark voice that sounded like a devilish lullaby.
Xavier snorted. “I don't think so. As far as I know, I'm still their leader, and they're a reasonable lot. Of course, they might have an idea or two in the beginning, but I'm sure we can work this out. And well, if they vote me off and want a new leader – fine by me. As long as I have Shawn by my side, I really don't care if I'm the chief, too. They might just deserve a new leader – one that wouldn't get caught so ridiculously. I'm thinking Emory.”

Michael smiled at him hesitantly, but the others were rather quiet and morose. Xavier puffed. Why did these werewolves have to stick their noses into his business, anyway. Sure, he was thankful to Haywood for saving their asses, and to Tara for patching him up, but that was about it. Right, he ought to thank them.

“Listen, Haywood.” What an awkward name the guy had. “I'm really grateful that you got us out. I am. I most likely owe you my life, as much as there's left of it, and I sure owe you Mike's. I'd like to thank Tara, too, for patching all those bloody blisters. Oh, and the guy who lent me his garbs.”

“Yes you do,” Haywood replied. Now, that was bloody surprising, Xavier told himself.
“We very much jeopardized our neutrality with the vampires, should they find out that we helped the two of you escape. However, I do have a hunch that you'll be a much needed man in the future of this city and everyone's, so... I got you out. You do owe me your life, Xavier Ford – so you damn well better keep it, because if I got my folks in trouble for nuthin', I'm gonna come down and kick your undead ass. Did I get my point clear?”

“Oh, very clear, sir,” Xavier smirked. “You can keep your presages. I'll be out of here asap. Thanks for all the help which I really didn't ask for, but I can take care of myself. I'm a big boy.”

Haywood smiled at him and nodded.
“Of course you are, Xavier. Of course you are.”
Xavier had the idea the man was mocking him, but had no chance to prove it, so...

“If you excuse me,” he muttered. “I'm damn sleepy. I'd like to hit a bed.”
“No coffin?” the girlish woman called Terrie giggled.
“No,” Xavier answered matter-of-factly.
Even aristocrats didn't use coffins any more. Some were said to have coffin shaped beds, but that was about it. Vampires had with time found beds to be much more comfortable. Xavier couldn't agree more. There was just one thing better than a nice cosy bed, and that was naked Shawn on top of one. Hell yeah. Their lovemaking was often so violent that it left marks for weeks and would have been considered a rape by all laws if only it hadn't been so very consensual.