**Interlude 17- A star when dimmed by dawning light; the flicker of a candle blown.

Fabien could not drag his feline-sharp eyes from the delightful image of his beautiful pet panting and glistening amongst his rumpled sheets. The soft clench of his fingers suggested that the boy was exercising some level of self-restraint, and could easily have crawled back across the bed and pulled them close against his chest. Instead, he stole lingering glances of Émile while he slowly adjusted his clothing, the tangle of his hair obstructing the look of affection that had softened his eyes and mouth.

Finally the boy forced himself to leave, and at last Émile was left alone to recover in the quiet solitude of his room. There was a slight unsteadiness in his step as he moved as though intoxicated, his fingers clumsy on the handle of his bedroom door.  After the door had been pulled to behind him, the he slumped against the wall and raked his fingers though his sweat dampened hair. His fingers had not quite lost their quiver, and his breath was still sharp in his throat. He closed his eyes,  savouring the image of Émile's flushed skin with an indulgent satisfaction.

He released a shuddery breath and tore himself away, and the sound of his departing feet upon creaking floorboards was swallowed up by the quiet of his house.

The urchin then went about his day as intended. He partook in a lengthy bath and returned with fresh clothes and hair gleaming. The youth was in high spirits, and there was a gleam of health and vitality in his eyes that had not been there before. His lips seemed caught in perpetual twitch of amusement, and his skin was aglow with life and good humour.

The boy remained mostly out of sight, little chance that Fabien and Émile's paths would cross. No doubt he had taken to disturbing the peace of his dearly beloved friend, who was forced to endure his good spirits and energetic mood. Though should his pet venture from the relative safety of his room, they would find he had left them a portion of fruit and bread as he had promised.

He kept Colombe company during her ritual of household duties, the soft laughter and teasing commentary breaking the otherwise silence of the house. The boy was a useless assistant, far too distracted for folding sheets and lighting tapers, but his boisterous company was at least sure to break up the monotony of her routine.

Émile was at no risk of glimpsing Fabien's lingering looks or fond glances - they remained curled on the bed, the line of their naked back flexing with their breath. Their fingers were curled loosely into their palms, their head bowed so he could not see the flush of their face that had crept down to redden their neck and chest. They did not stir as he dressed. The last image he would have was them sullen, silent, and perfectly beautiful in their repose of spent pleasure among his rumpled sheets.

Colombe had learned very quickly not to scrutinize Fabien’s absences from her room or chores too closely, and there was genuine warmth in her smile when he arrived with damp hair and glowing good humour. She took his hand in hers and briefly squeezed his palm before returning to the pile of freshly washed laundry.

It was difficult to discern how much she had pieced together of the goings-on of that house from the scenes she had witnessed with her perceptive eyes. It was impossible to know what narrative she had woven together of what his interactions with the other inhabitants could mean, as she certainly did not share. In any event, there was no trace of chill in her demeanor as they laughed their way through her daily drudgery.

It was, reliably, his friend who first froze in the middle of chasing the relentless cobwebs from the rafters. Her face fell and her gaze flicked quickly to the door. Fabien, who doubtless recognized this warning, should not have been surprised to find the vampire's silhouette darkening the doorway.

He was dressed to leave the house, his hair tied at the nape of his neck and his staff held loosely in his hand. Colombe's head lowered and she scrutinized his freshly-polished boots in silence.

"Fabien." The greeting melted like warm butter on his tongue. His pale eyes did not quite find his boy. "Fakhir and I are going out."

When he inclined his head in genteel inquiry, the stray hairs that caught the light glowed like silver filament. The voice from the stairs behind him grew louder, suggesting Fakhir was descending to join them.

"Would you care to accompany us?"

"Ha, give it here, I bet I can reach." He murmured in fond amusement, and extended his arm towards the girl.

The sudden stretch of injured muscle and aching bone caused him to flinch and draw a sharply whistled breath between his teeth. He slowly withdrew his hand as Colombe's eyes darkened like bruiseblack clouds veiling the light. The boy glanced over his bony shoulder, and turned sharply at the sight of the master of the house.

All at once Fabien ceased his chatter, his grey-eyed gaze trailing admiringly over the length of his body.

The vampire's offer enticed a smile that rivalled the warmth of spring sunlight to grace his mouth.

"Join you … outside? Outside the house?" He asked with careful slowness, testing to see he had heard correctly.

The boy studied the vampire's expression for signs he had misunderstood, and when there were none, his youthful heart quickened in his chest. Had they been alone, no doubt he would have leapt forward and flung his arms around his master's waist.

"Oui, Monsieur. It would be an honour." He said softly, meeting the ghostly white of his eyes.

"You go then right now? I will get on my boots."

The urchin made as if to leap from the room with breathless excitement of a sighthound. But he did not bound away before his fingers had brushed the back of the Colombe's hand in affectionate farewell.

There was a mote of humour in the vampire's expression at Fabien's careful question.

"Oui," he responded. His pale gaze drifted to Colombe, who did not raise her head. She twisted the rag between her hands as though to strangle it. "Outside. I thought you might enjoy the fresh air."

A hint of indulgence colored the words, as though the boy were a hound that had pleased him and so ought to be allowed a treat, but they were not allowed the time to linger on it as Fabien eagerly accepted and made to leave. Tariq stepped back to let him pass, a hand lifting to stroke his hair as he bound by.

The boy would just catch the vampire's low tone as he left, followed by Colombe's quick reply, though he could not discern what was being said as he lept away in pursuit of shoes.

As he entered the room, Fakhir was finishing what sounded like a request to Lacrima, who was crouched gargoyle-like at the top of the stairs. Her eyes flickered with idle interest over the boy before returning to Fakhir. She answered in the affirmative and fixed Fabien with a look that may have been charitably interpreted as a greeting. She was pale as a spirit in the shadows that cloaked the stairs.

Fakhir turned to follow Lacrima's gaze. She was draped in rich purple velvet that made Tariq and his dark attire look particularly grim in comparison as he rejoined them in the foyer.

"Bonsoir," she greeted Fabien airily. She regarded him with her flash-fire gaze that seemed to see just a little too much of what he'd been up to in the preceding days. "How is your shoulder faring?"

"A question-" Tariq cut him off before he could respond. "As easily answered out of doors." Fakhir's laugh exposed the white of her very sharp teeth and she allowed herself to be hustled, along with Fabien out the door and into the crisp night air with only an over the shoulder farewell to Lacrima.

Fabien stumbled his way into the room, still fussing with the laces of his ill-fitting boots and shrugging his coat onto his bony shoulders with all the haste of one late for a royal engagement. He paused in his enthusiastic dressing when he was momentarily taken aback by the sight of Fakir and her companion on the stairs.

The vampire’s penetrating amber stare made colour rise to the boy’s sharp cheeks. He swallowed firmly, and began to scrape at the soft skin at the back of his slim neck.

“Bonsoir, Madame.” He replied, his voice full of warmth despite his flushed skin. He lifted his head to Lacrima and offered her a crooked smile, his still fingers lodged in the tangled waves of his hair.

The boy was glad of his master’s interruption, and was happily jostled from the room and out into the awaiting night. The first blast of cold air stole the urchin’s breath, and he pulled his collar tight against his scarred throat.

"Lacrima does not come with us?" He asked, faintly concerned as the door was closed behind them. His grey eyes appeared troubled, as though there were precious things inside he did not wish to leave alone for long. When they made to move away, he turned his head and looked up towards the darkened house with its shuttered windows before he turned back to Fakhir. "Pourquoi?"

Now beyond the confines of his home, where every stretch of floor and length of wall were intimately familiar, the boy slowly grew apprehensive. He did not bound ahead of them like a foxhound turned loose to the field, despite the energetic glee with which he had agreed to join them. But instead matched their pace with a hesitancy that once would have been painfully unlike him.

As they walked together, Fabien’s storm cloud eyes drifted up and over rows of buildings softly lit from within by hearth fire and candle light. He observed the outside world the abstract interest of a tourist, as though he did not quite recall his place within it.

No doubt in daylight hours the sight of the trio would have earned a backwards glance and hushed comment or two. The bruised eyed youth with his pale, dishevelled hair dressed like a factory boy in hand-me-down clothes on an outing with visiting gentry.

He only stalled their pace at the sight of a young couple speaking in high, spirited voices. Here he grew still, watching with enrapt fascination as they hurried across the street before being swallowed by the darkness of an alleyway. The boy's eyes grew wide, his lashes wet and cheeks damp, though whether from the chill air or some rising emotion was hard to discern.

His attention was severed by the sound of a cart wheel striking a paving stone, and he flinched back in surprise and cursed under his breath.

“Oú allons-nous?” He pressed, looking between his master and Fakhir with a curiosity that suggested he suspected his master's intentions were not wholly selfless.

Fabien's companions, though very much dead, seemed to come alive in the brittle cold of the night air. Tariq's steps were certain, though silent save for the neat tap of his cane on the street, and one could nearly imagine Fakhir's face warm with a blush. They were ethereal in the dim light.

Fakhir did not have to hesitate with her answer to the boy's question.

"She tends the house," she said matter-of-factly. Her movements were even, the stride of her long legs covering the uneven road with ease, but there was something unsettling in how quickly her bright eyes followed every flicker of movement on the dark street. "She will not miss it - the city weighs on her. And besides, there is much to look after."

"Like your newest possession," Tariq observed smoothly. He was silent as they passed two men arguing on a corner. Their words slurred as their voices rose. They were unreal in the shadows of the night, the red skin of their damp cheeks and the glassy glint in their eyes seeming to belong to another species of creature altogether.

"I hope they have continued to please you," the vampire continued when they had passed. Fabien would be familiar with the question nestled beneath his soft words.

He paused as the boy's attention was stolen by the young couple, and his gaze followed the sound of their footsteps across the street. The sharp sliver of the moon was high in the sky, and it cast Fabien's black shadow in stark relief as he flinched back from the cart wheel. Tariq's gentle hand at the back of his neck was cool as marble. His eyes reflected the pale moonlight.

"Ought we be going anywhere in particular?" There was a feline playfulness in his tone. "It is a beautiful night and I wanted to show it to you."

It was difficult, as always, to think of much else with that hoary gaze fixed so keenly on him. However, the vampire appeared to be guiding the three of them in a meandering fashion to what would soon be the black waters of the riverside.

Fakhir's explanation appeared to alleviate the boy's concerns. But his feline sharp eyes grew wide at his Master's question.

"So this is the topic you choose first for us?" He replied, faintly aghast. Despite this, the night air on his skin, and a welcome reprieve from the confinement of the house appeared to loosen his tongue.

Fabien cleared his throat, his mind freshly branded with the image of Émile's pale back glistening with sweat, and the sound of their softly moaning breath.

"Oui Monsieur, very much." He answered thickly, unable to disguise the desire that still burned molten hot on his tongue

"They would be a good fuck without it, but their great dislike for me adds flavour."

The boy glanced towards Fakhir, his expression tense as he tried to determine how much she knew of what had transpired after their last encounter. And more pressingly, what she would think of what he had done.

He then turned his head to look upon his master's moonlit eyes.

"I am going to enjoy making sure they continue to satisfy me." He said, with the hungry determination of a young lord speaking about a particularly troublesome colt he intended to break.

The urchin took the opportunity to link his arms within theirs, and he strode nestled between them with brazen familiarity of a courtesan.

The tension had bled from the boy's limbs at the comforting touch of his master's hand. When he lifted his chin to look at him, his expression was luminous with adoration.

"And so beautiful that you must also enjoy it together with Madame and I?" He continued to gently pry. "I am glad of it. I longed to get you both to myself again."

Whether applied with intent or not, the warm press of his body was difficult to ignore. Something about the way he looked between them so admiringly suggested his mind was still preoccupied with his morning activity.

Perhaps because of this, the urchin turned their conversation elsewhere.

"Do you know this city well, Madame?" He asked Fakhir as they neared the water, swirling black and hungry and pitted with stars like some serpentine beast of old.

"There are places over there -" He slipped his arms free from theirs to gesture ahead toward a dark hollow beneath the grand stretch of a distant bridge. "- Beneath that bridge, where sometimes the water draws low from the banks."

"Once I crawled inside, under the streets, where tunnels run so deep I've been told they lead to portes de l'enfer."

I mean," he hastily corrected, his grey eyes moving between them nervously. "As we might describe it. I heard also there may be a whole other city down there, with houses, markets."

The boy stepped ahead to lean forward over the stone wall, the wind whipping strands of golden hair about his eyes and cheeks.

"I am sure I heard voices. They were calling to me. Though Jeh- though maybe, it was only the wind.

But... ils semblaient tristes."

"Can such a thing be possible?" He asked them. "Ah, there is so much I want to learn."

Tariq’s teeth were white as arsenic in the pale moonlight when he smiled at the boy’s words.

“Pourquoi pas?” he said, carefully sidestepping a mud puddle gathered thickly in the path. “It is a topic you are never keen to turn aside.”

His thumb stroked the back of his boy’s neck.

“Excellente,” the vampire said, satisfaction soaking the word. “It is what they are for. I look forward to what you make of them.”

When the boy glanced to Fakhir, he would not find the reprimand he sought. She had uncovered her hair and was occupied in intense survey of the stars above. Her bright eyes were rimmed with starlight, her lips pursed as though in thought, and if she was listening to their conversation it certainly did not perturb her.

She looked at him as he took her arm and for a moment there was a stiffness as though she intended to resist. It melted quickly away and she softened, patting his hand with her cool palm as they continued. Tariq easily made room for him to nestle at his side.  

Neither offered the warmth of a living companion, though there was wolfish comfort in the press of their bodies.

“What better company could I have?” the vampire responded silkily. Fakhir exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to respond but was distracted by Fabien’s question.

“Non,” she replied. “Not as you do.”

Her amber eyes followed where he gestured and she contemplated his words. The argument on the street corner broke off and one of the men began to angrily stomp along the same road on which they lingered, his hand on the top of the stone wall for balance.

“Many things are possible,” Fakhir said. “There is no one who counts all des fantômes et les spectres, the spirits and graylings that crawl the earth. Maybe you have heard enfants abandonnés who do not know they have starved. It is written tha-”

“Spirits have little interest in those who do not breathe,” Tariq cut her off. “And what is written in your books is dubious unless you intend to teach him to turn into a bat.” He leaned against the stone wall with an outstretched leg, his teasing words holding no real rancor.

“Peut-être I will,” she replied airily. “Though he would be dead before he mastered it. It took many lifetimes for Lacrima to be as a cat.”

She fell silent as the man whose argument had concluded approached, his hand heavy on the stone wall. When he stepped across their shadows stark on the ground he blearily looked up, squinting. His breath smelled of more tangible spirits.

He made to move out of the way but the liquor and the darkness conspired against him and when the toe of his shoe caught an uneven stone he tripped, falling hard against Fabien as he sought the support of the wall.[/i][/i]

Fabien was so absorbed by his current company that he failed to notice the raucous activity on the street, or indeed much else around him.

Despite his giddy excitement, the moonlit outside world held little interest for the pale haired urchin. His storm cloud eyes never strayed too far from his glowing eyed companions, most of all his master, who held his eyes like the point of a compass drawn quivering towards the north.

The boy’s feline-sharp eyes widened at Fakhir’s words as he regarded the ink black water caressing the river’s bank. He swallowed firmly, and the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck lifted.

”You really think that could be so?” He asked her softly, one hand clasped to white-knuckled tightness against his hip.  “How terrible, not to know if you have died. J'espère qu'ils n'ont pas faim.”

“And do y-

The boy’s words wilted on his tongue at his master’s interruption, and a twinge of disappointment tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was an expression that quickly melted into wide-eyed wonder, and the boy glanced whippet-fast between them with an almost feverish hunger for information. Suddenly he appeared to brighten, and took a sharp step away from the wall to interject with breathless excitement.

“You really mean to say she can ch-

The boy had barely begun to notice the staggering approach of the drunken figure, his young mind too absorbed with hungry spirits, bats and changelings. He was completely caught off guard by sudden impact, and what may have been only a slight jostling caused the boy to veer back with exaggerated indelicacy that tore the breath from his lungs.

He reached out for something to support him, but the movement twisted his injured shoulder in such a way that caused a soft gasp and small whimper of pain to escape his throat.

Thankfully his feet did not give out from under him, though the boy was left half hunched and grimacing.

“Facile là-bas, mon ami.” He hissed through gritted teeth, as the screeching pain of unhealed muscle and aching bone causing his limbs to tremble faintly.

The youth did not respond with further hostility, but recognised the stranger’s mistake was unintentional. No doubt it was not the first time he had been stumbled into by a late night drunk. He turned aside, cradling his injured limb against his chest, and content to let the poor fool continue on their path.

Fakhir had moved as though to intercede, but pulled up short as Tariq’s cool hand was on Fabien’s shoulder in an instant. His silhouette was tall and severe at the boy’s side. The drunken stranger was darkened in his long shadow.

The man staggered to regain his balance. His eyes narrowed at the youth’s response and he took a step forward, moonlight striking his face.

“Regardez où vous allez, ‘friend’.” It was the liquor and not any scrap of common sense in his head that coated the spat word in venom.

The crisp night air seemed to sharpen, brittle as ice, as the vampires at the boy’s side bristled.

Tariq, to his credit, remained silent despite the dangerous glow of his pale eyes. He turned aside to let the intruder pass, but the fool of a man did not move. His ego pricked, he lifted his hand to strike Fabien as one would a disobedient servant.

For one long moment, it was as though time held still. The man’s hand was suspended in mid-air, black with shadow and rigid with intent to smack some respect into the urchin.

It did not fall, as in the next moment Tariq had grasped his wrist. It was impossible to reconcile that this creature was of the same flesh as the vampire that held him. His ruddy cheeks quivered with palpable pain as the vampire wrenched his wrist to the side, menace radiating like heat from his fierce features.

The stranger struggled, indignant, but the vampire held fast and he was soon forced to be still, wincing at the pressure to his shoulder.

Fakhir’s bright gaze was not on their quarry, but on Fabien.

“Sayed-” she began but Tariq cut her off.

“You have so rudely interrupted our pleasant evening.” The good humour was stripped from his tone, revealing cold venom beneath. “I have to insist you do us the courtesy to make amends.”

The stranger flinched. He opened his mouth to speak but the vampire’s grip on his shoulder tightened and all that came out was a gasping whine of breath.

“You will begin with an apology to my dear companion for laying a hand on him,” the vampire continued. There was something in his tone that vibrated sonorously in the cool night air and it seemed the most reasonable request in all the world.

The man nodded slowly. “Veuillez m’excuser,” he stammered. His eyes were white when he looked to Fabien.

“Fabien.” The vampire’s tone softened at the quiet word. “Do you accept this man’s apology?”

Fabien’s bony shoulders softened under the weight of his master’s hand, and he released a slow, shuddering breath.

The urchin’s brow lifted in surprise at the stranger’s disagreeable remark, and he clenched his jaw and attempted to straighten his spine. It seemed for a moment that he had almost forgotten how he appeared to the world, how he had always been perceived by those around him - a whelp of the underworld, raised barefoot in the mud.

The youth’s smoke grey eyes grew dark. and dislike coloured his sharp features like blood through water. He did not reply to the man’s contempt, but lifted his chin just a notch, a thoughtless gesture that almost seemed to insolently encourage further violence.

The swiftness of the vampire’s response made the youth startle, and his heart leapt as though a beloved wolf he had tamed had turned suddenly snarling. His attention moved swift as a hare back and forth between the vampire’s clenched hand, to the stranger’s pained expression.

He did not see Fakhir’s eyes on him as he observed the suffering inflicted on this drunken fool, whose arrogance had  turned to white pain. With his lower lip caught between his teeth, there was almost something cruel in the curve of lips, something which seemed to suggest he relished his master’s brutality. His eyes were hard, his features as impassive as a judge at the gallows deeming this punishment fair and justly owed.

But it was the sound of pain which seemed to rouse him from this voyeuristic pleasure, and his eyes grew wide when the apology came.

“Oui, Monsieur.”He replied breathlessly, and turned to lean his weight against the vampire’s side. He reached out to touch him on the chest, his lockpicker’s fingers affectionate over his clothed skin.

"I think this man has learnt his lesson-” he continued, “-and will be on his way now."

Fabien turned his grey eyes back to regard the stranger, hoping to find confirmation in a gesture or a rasping word..

"Oui?"

The pale hair tied at the nape of the vampire’s neck had fallen over his shoulder as he held the stranger by the scruff like a disobedient dog. He had softened as though with intent to release his prize, but at Fabien’s gentle touch a spark seemed to pass from his fingers that tightened Tariq’s hold.

The stranger was nodding in furious acknowledgement of the boy’s pardon, but the vampire’s grasp caused him to wince. The boy did not need to be told how merciless that grip could be.

“Yes, on his way,” the vampire agreed silkily. “On his way to - as I understand from your disagreement - to falsify documents to ensure those who are too poor, too sick, too elderly are forced on the street so you can sell their home to someone with more wealth for your pocket. Or have I misunderstood you and your friend’s discussion?”

The stranger’s face had gone white as these sins were rattled off so offhandedly, and he stammered a hot defense. “Ce n'est pas tout à fait-”

Something passed between Fakhir and Tariq, some look or gesture that Fabien did not see, and she stepped forward and took the stranger firmly by his chin. He fell silent as he looked into her amber gaze.

“There is no need to protest, sadiki,” she said warmly, her eyes bright as embers among coals. “No need to lie among friends.” She cocked her head, a flicker of amusement in her face. Tariq held the stranger still, and there was something coy in both of their demeanour, like two sleek cats toying with a mouse.

“It is your right to take, non? You have always known yourself better than others.” Her gaze was so intense it seemed it might burn a hole through the back of the man’s head. “Just as your maid - what was her name, habibti?”

His mouth opened and he inhaled a deep breath. He did not speak, but after a moment’s pause Fakhir continued. “Elise?” The man shuddered as she seemed to pluck the name from the air, but he did not break eye contact.

“Yes, loyal Elise, whose ankles you broke with a switch when she shattered your favourite teapot during afternoon tea.” Her tone was calm, warm, as though they were speaking of a curiosity and nothing more.

“Yes,” the man said dreamily. “I taught her a lesson.”

“You did,” Fakhir agreed warmly. Tariq stroked the stranger’s skin almost affectionately, though his hollow gaze was on Fabien.

“Do you think we ought to let him be on his way, Fabien?” His voice was a conspiratorial purr. “He could leave to spread his petty arrogance. Or... perhaps it is in his stars to have an accident on this very bridge on the way home tonight.”

Fabien remained nestled devotedly at his master’s side. His feline-sharp eyes were still narrowed in dislike, despite the leniency of his decision.

The boy’s head turned slowly at the vampire’s words, and he watched his lips carefully as he spoke. He met this first revelation with youthful confusion, as though unsure why he should care about this man’s sordid business. But as he continued to listen, a dawning comprehension made his eyes grow wide and upper lip curl from his teeth with loathing.

The urchin’s darkly ringed eyes returned to the stranger as his master continued to relay his crimes.

“Oh… un asticot,” he snarled beneath his breath.

When Fakhir stepped closer, the youth watched her with fierce interest. His shoulders had stiffened, and the points of his fingers dug deep into the coarse palms of his hands. His displeasure was almost palpable, it blazed beneath his skin and caused his teeth to grind slow and hard against the soft flesh of his inner cheek.

Hearing of the brutality inflicted on this monster’s servant was almost too much, and the boy recoiled with a shudder of disgust as though struck. He took several uneven steps away until his back met the comforting coldness of stone once more, and the boy’s hands reached to grasp it.

At the sound of his name, his eyes unthinkingly returned to his master.

“That is what he was speaking of? This is what he has done? Maybe worse?” He asked softly, as his eyes moved between his companions, though he required little convincing.

“Je pense qu'il devrait être obligé de payer.” The youth rasped simply, his voice thick with revulsion. “He … he should not be allowed to do such things, to anyone, ever.”

Something hardened in the boy’s body like petrified wood, and his next words were dripping with anger.

“He should suffer.”

The finality of this condemnation made the boy startled, unsure of what such words could mean.

“But that is - ” he stammered softly, his eyes on the vampires as he spoke, “- that is not in my power to truly decide, I can’t-... not even if I… want it.”

Tariq’s body against Fabien’s did not grow warm - without fresh blood in his veins it lacked the capabilities, and he remained cool as a corpse. However, the boy could feel the coiling of his muscles as they grew tense, like a cat preparing to pounce.

It was Fakhir who answered him. “There is always worse,” she said, her voice even. She released the stranger’s chin and regarded him coolly. “There is nothing his kind will not spoil.”

Tariq was silent. His blind eyes were looking to Fabien for a response, and when it came it was like the severing of a taut wire.

“Non,” he said softly. The glint of his eyes was like the steel blade of a dagger abandoned on the cobblestones, aflame with danger. “But it is in mine.”

Fakhir’s wolfish eyes were intent on the stranger, but at the boy’s stammered reply she broke away. Her gaze was so bright and predatory it almost hurt to meet. But she shook her head and took a step over to Fabien, her hand cool and comforting at the back of his neck.

The stranger was trembling, his eyes wide and winking in the moonlight. He did not speak, did not struggle as the vampire slid a practiced hand to the corner of his jaw and tilted his head to the side, pulling aside his collar. The skin of his throat was smooth and white. Even in the dark, the boy could see the pulse fluttering beneath his jaw.

Tariq bent his head over the man’s shoulder. The stranger shivered but he was as one transfixed, mesmerized by the veil of moonlight and the assurance with which the vampire held him, and he did not balk even when lips grazed his skin.

“My boy would have you suffer,” he whispered, his words intimate and warm as though murmured to a lover. “Mais je suis miséricordieux ce soir.”

He bit into the pulse of his neck as though into the firm skin of a ripe apple. The man’s cry was more shock than pain, and he jerked with wide eyes into Tariq’s chest. The vampire held him in a firm embrace and the stranger grasped him tightly, holding his forearm like one drowning.

A single black rivulet escaped the corner of the vampire’s mouth before disappearing into the man’s collar. It left a stain dark as a smear of chokecherry juice.

Fakhir’s hand at the back of the boy’s neck tightened. Her eyes were hungry, her nostrils flaring at the scent of blood charging the air metallic and hot. But her gaze dropped to Fabien and her grip softened.

Fabien’s quivering shoulders steadied at the cool press of Fakhir’s hand. He released a soft breath, and lifted his head to meet the molten gold of her eyes.

“I don’t… he does not bring me when …so I haven’t seen-,” he whispered nervously.  

The boy’s pale skin was goosepricked and his bruised eyes so dark the pupils had melted into black, indistinguishable from the grey. His head remained turned up towards Fakhir, his eyes locked on hers, away from his master and the unknown man whose fate he had sealed.

The youth pressed his arms firmly against his sides, every muscle of his body tight with apprehension, and the fingers of his hands slightly contorted as though affected by paralysis.

Eventually curiosity tugged at his neck like a leash, and the boy dared to steal a glance of the stranger now trapped in his master’s embrace. His eyes quickly returned to Fakhir, and he studied her carefully for signs of disapproval, unsure whether it was appropriate to watch, whether this was something sacred he should not witness.

His attention returned again, and this time the boy grew more indulgent. He did not look upon the stranger, did not search for signs of fear and regret in his eyes. Instead, his eyes trailed admiringly over his master’s limbs.

The grace and power in the lines of the vampire's body tempted Fabien's heart to quicken its pace. The urchin’s breath paused when the vampire’s lips parted, when his teeth sank into flesh as unresisting as hot butter.

The back of the boy’s neck warmed as colour returned to liven his sharp cheeks and smooth brow. His hand loosened from his hip and slunk up to stretch his own scarred throat. He pressed the tips of his fingertips into wounds that could still elicit a deep, satisfying ache even after the flesh had fused and silvered with time.

The boy caressed his neck with almost jealousy, as though he desired to replace the hapless fool who had luxury of spending their last breaths in his master’s arms.

“He is lucky this night,” the boy breathed, unable to disguise the flush of heat in his voice. “Avoir une si belle mort.”

When Fabien looked back to Fakhir, he found her eyes fiercely trained on the scene unfolding on the dark bridge.

“Il veut que vous le voyiez.” Her voice was cool and gentle as the night air. It was a contrast to the taut set of her jaw.

Tariq’s mouth had brought the stranger to his knees. He had weakened beneath his teeth, growing loose and swaying until he finally sank, quivering, to the street, his arm wrapped weakly around the vampire’s leg.

Tariq let him fall. He was a moon-dappled beast, powerful and graceful in turn in the quickening dark. His blind gaze was on the stars as he gestured to Fakhir, who stepped away from Fabien without a second thought. She reached for Tariq and he yielded, her fingers tangled in strands of silver hair loosened from their binds as their mouths met. The man on the street was quiet as a hare, his throat blemished with a smear as dark as his hollowed eyes.

The taste of blood on the vampire’s lips sent an electric shiver crackling down Fakhir’s spine and she pulled away with eyes glowing amber. She crouched, her velvety shadow like the great wings of a vulture, and gently tilted the man’s head back to expose his throat. There was no resistance as his head lolled weakly on his neck. She bent low over his throat, ivory teeth glinting, before Tariq’s advancing silhouette cut her from Fabien’s view.

The vampire was quickly upon him, the press of his body forcing the boy’s spine to connect solidly with the wall at his back. His hips pressed impatiently against his stomach, and Tariq tilted his chin back with a thumb to kiss him with a mouth that tasted of metal. His breath was hot against his lips, his mouth hungry and eager.

Their mouths met again and again, any protest the boy had quickly smothered by the vampire’s zealous affection. His hands held him tightly, near frantically. When he pulled away, it was to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and his lips were stifling in their affection.

He murmured something that sounded old as the stones beneath their feet into the skin of his neck. Fabien could feel his body shivering faintly as he pressed his bowed head into the boy’s chest and remained there, his limbs thrumming hot with their stolen blood.

Fabien's lips parted as a question for Fakhir blazed hot on his tongue. It burned to nothingness when his eyes returned to the sight of his master.

The urchin's features were fox sharp with concentration as he watched her slip away from him. Without her comforting presence at his side, he began to appear nervous, all at once fiercely aware that she had anchored him in some way. Now their contact was severed he was adrift, a lamb lost deep in a tangle of trees, separated in some unfamiliar dark.

Fear had only began to pierce his skin when he was distracted from this creeping terror by his companion's mouths pressed together. Suddenly the boy's skin was aflame beneath his ill fitting clotes, his breath tight in his chest. He reached back to grip the cold stone, his limbs tense as he watched on unblinking and spellbound.

Fabien startled at the press of the vampire's body, his attention severed and reclaimed by his unseeing eyes. He could not match the vampire's vigour, and gasped against him, breathless until he was moaning hotly against his tongue.

He willingly, temptingly offered him the smooth stretch of his throat with its hot skin and wild pulse.

"S'il vous plait." He urged in a whisper, as though it were a stray thought dislodged accidentally from his brain.
 
He left Fabien panting, happily overwhelmed if not mildly frustrated. His features were luminous with pleasure, his bruised eyes wide and lips glistening and the metallic tang of blood upon his tongue.

The urchin lowered his head to breathe in his master's scent, and pressed his lips to the moon white of his crown. He wrapped his scrawny arms around his shoulders and held him while he regained his breath.

When he managed to find his tongue, his voice was uncommonly gentle, almost soothing in its roughness.

"Ah, what stirs you so, Monsieur?" He asked thickly, with his lips pressed close to the vampire's ear. "You make me regret every night I have not spent at your side."

While the boy's tone was warm, it was not without its sharp inquisitiveness. "And regret more we had not left your bed at all."

Fabien had not even begun to fathom what this reaction could mean the reason for the vampire's fierce pleasure. He had returned to him before, hot on blood and eager to lay his hands on him, but not in this way. Somehow, it felt different. As if he had done something to inspire such a response.

His feline-sharp eyes attempted to seek out Fakhir in the dark, her words fresh as a razor cut in his mind.

"Maybe - s-should we not return there now?" He sighed, still close to his ear. "Before another comes by, non? Before the tongues wag?"

Beneath his teasing, some animal unease could be felt, buried earth deep in his consciousness. A need to run, to hide, the muscles of his body and his youthful organs were primed for it.

But it layered heavy above with all the fascination and desire his unearthly companions could arouse in him. Old mortal concerns left floating black under the surface. They whispered of what happens when one is found dead, the ties and connection, the threads that bind friends, colleagues, family. The sudden absence of light in a room, of missing shoes, the questions such things could inspire in others.

This deep recollection of how the outside world worked for him, with its rules, confinements and punishments.

The vampire did not immediately respond to the boy’s gentle observations. He seemed insensible to his quiet questions, still shivering with the internal alchemy of unlocking blood, the tantalizing re-awakening of nerves and veins. He allowed himself to be held. His body was warm in the boy’s arms.

When he raised his head, his pale eyes were unearthly in the moon-soaked night.

“You make me regret every night you have not spent at my side,” he breathed throatily. The press of his body was hungry. It forced Fabien’s back to grind into the unrelenting stone behind. “It pierces my heart with delight that you do not shrink from me, mon bon, bon garçon.”

Fakhir approached on silent feet, carrying in her arms what appeared to be a bundle of fabric. It was only the arm hanging limply from its side that betrayed its grim nature.

The ease with which she lifted the body to the top of the stone wall was uncanny. She quietly regarded the black waters below. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright as a flickering candle flame in the sharp sliver of moonlight. The bundle of cloth before her did not stir.

“There is no one coming.” Her voice was hoarse in her throat, her laughter low and quiet. “And this one will not be missed til morning.”

Tariq had nothing to contribute to this observation, preoccupied as he was with slipping his hand up the front of the boy’s shirt, his palm warm against a trembling stomach. He bit his ear sharp enough to elicit a protest. His breathy sigh was a growl in his ear.

“And so many are waylaid before they make it home,” Fakhir finished. She tipped the still body over the edge. It hit the black river with a dull splash that sounded too distant to be of any interest. She did not watch it fall. Her eyes were on Tariq, whose lips were pressed against the taut skin of Fabien’s neck with animal desire. Her own lips were parted in wolfish interest.

“Oui,” Tariq breathed. His breath skittered hot along the boy’s collar. It smelled of wine and copper, a primal, earthy scent that raised the hairs on the back of the neck. “We should return.”

The crook between thumb and forefinger pressed into the pulse of Fabien’s throat while his other hand slunk dangerously low beneath the smooth skin of his navel.

”Si vous insistez,” murmured Fakhir, a note begrudgingly. She passed the pair and stepped toward the street. After a moment, Tariq reluctantly disentangled himself from the boy and followed, though he did not allow him to stray from his side.

Fabien was far, far too susceptible to the vampire's praise. He did not fully allow him to finish, before his mouth was on his lips to hush his dangerous tongue.

"N-non, Monsieur, not from you." He replied hastily.

The boy was glad of a distraction. He managed to drag his eyes from his master and over to the lifeless shape in Fakhir’s arms. His breath paused.

While no stranger to death, the disquieting.stillness of a body was inescapable. The absence of what had once been another living creature, with their own passions, failings and wants. He grew uneasy as he watched Fakhir, beautiful and eternal, with the now lifeless stranger in her arms.

The urchin was never more fiercely glad of the vampire’s wandering hands. His breath hot against his skin, and the grind of his hips against what was fast becoming painfully aroused skin.

“I forget still- ah,” he hissed at his master's teeth, “-h-how much more you can see than I. Pardonne ma langue insouciante."

Fabien buried his flushed face against the vampire's shoulder to stifle a low whimper of yearning.  

He flinched against him, disturbed at the small sound of a dead weight breaking the surface of the water. But he did not shy away, nor grow sullen and withdrawn. Only continued to allow the vampire perfect access to his gasping throat. His limbs were clay in his hands, his body yielding to his every want.

All the while, he continued to softly question Fakhir, one hand grasping at the vampire's chest to claim a fistful of shirt white-knuckled in his palm.

Once released he stumbled forward, delirious on the vampire’s pleasure. Panting, he swept back his hair, glad to put some space between them to allow his frantically beating heart to settle.

He carefully tugged his clothing back into place, clawing back a sense of decorum with trembling hands.

"I-I am s-sorry to have ended our walk so early." He breathed, and his attention returned to Fakhir as he continued to straighten out his crumpled collar.

“I had wanted to… to learn something of you both, your past together.”

The boy pressed affectionately into his master’s side as he lifted his grey eyes back to him. He was failing in his feeble attempts to mask his desire. To disguise that his body was not now fiercely burning for his master’s hands, his mouth.

"Will you let me join you and Madame Fakhir again sometime, Monsieur? Now that you know I won't cause you trouble?"

"I enjoy being with you, this way." He sighed, as he inhaled to savour the night air and drank deep of what he could see of the vast sky.

Tariq allowed himself to be quieted by the press of Fabien’s mouth. His lips parted to him, his teeth dangerously sharp against his tongue.

His hands were loath to leave the boy as they began to walk. The vampire’s fingers rested along the scarred skin of his wrist, as though relishing the quick flicker of his agitated pulse beneath his fingertips. Fakhir drifted a short way ahead, the rich purple velvet of her dress almost black in the night air. Her head was tilted back and her amber eyes were on the stars. The wooden stem of the pipe clenched between her teeth gave her silhouette a jaunty air.

Tariq’s teeth were white in his wolfish smile. “I do not think you should have to wait to join us again,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to continue our evening in my chamber, if there is more to discuss.”

Something passed between the vampires at his idle words - some unfathomable insight that flashed like lightning, arcing between them quick as thought - and Fakhir stepped back and took the boy’s unoccupied elbow so he was nestled between them. His companions, sated on blood, were wickedly self-indulgent with the press of their bodies against his. Her skin was warm, her touch familiar. The cool night air was flavored with the heady scent of the smoke she exhaled.

“I think you could learn something of me,” she agreed, smoke curling from between her teeth. An intimation of something dark and thrilling purred along the edges of her word. Her eyes were so bright, burning coals lined in black. “If you wish it.”

It was clearly an invitation. The somber silhouette of Tariq’s house stood dark and quiet on the horizon as they approached. The windows were beginning to brighten as the first orange rays of dawn diluted the night.

Tariq’s voice was low. “C'est à toi de dire, of course. It is only courteous to offer our esteemed guest a taste of your throat in exchange for what she has to share.”

Fabien's breath was still sharp in his throat. His skin hot beneath his clothing, despitr the soothing gusts of cold breeze that stirred his hair.

Any attempts at gathering his senses were thwarted by the press of the vampire's fingers against his skin. Nor could the delights of the outside world quite capture his eager attention.

When his master spoke, the urchin lifted his head up towards him.

"Ah really, Monsieur? But I would like that, very much." He sighed.

"Always it is good to-...to lea-" the youth trailed off as Fakhir drew near.

The boy's heart skipped at the press of their bodies against him. His grey eyes grew bright as he looked between them, like a young heir suddenly fallen into their fortune.

If he had thus far not quite grasped the reason for their sudden closeness, Fakhir's words provided a sudden sharp clarity.

The urchin's pale skin flushed from his throat to the tip of his ears.

He floundered for a reply, as his lips shaped words he did not quite possess the knowledge of.

"O-oui, Madame." He replied hoarsely.

Thereafter it was a blessing he regained his sense enough to understand his master's words. The boy's feet grew clumsy, and a faint tremble started in his agile hands.

"If … if it does not displease you, Maître?" He rasped, as he began to bear weight on Fakhir's hooked arm to support his weakened limbs.

"Then avec plaisir."

Fakhir supported Fabien’s sagging step with ease. He could feel the strength in her grip, the flex of muscle in her abdomen as she laughed with fierce delight at his breathless response.

“Au contraire,” Tariq said, and the spark of illicit danger had jumped from her words to set his aflame. He pressed his fingers into Fabien’s palm. “It would please me very much.”

Better not to think of what stories the neighbors would have concocted about their return home, about the master of the house pressing his mouth reverently into his guest’s scarred wrist, of the bright-eyed woman sweeping her arm across his lower back to gesture them all into the blackness of the house. Better still to not linger on the delicious scrape of sharp teeth in the kisses that made their way up his shoulder as the door shut behind them.

Once inside the familiar shadows of the house, it was as though several things happened in hazy succession. The vampires cajoled him with such persuasive firmness he was as one compelled. They were in high, predatory spirits, their laughter pouring rich and dark as wine from their flushed mouths. They tempted him upstairs, their skin warm against his, and into the bloodied heart of Tariq’s bedchamber. The sun was beginning to rise as Fabien was disrobed by familiar hands. The light stained his skin a gossamer scarlet as he was guided to bed.

And then - the cool bedclothes were a delightful contrast to his companions’ warmth on his bare skin. He was in his master’s bed and Fakhir was cradling his head in her hands as Tariq kissed him. The kisses were deep and self-indulgent. He could feel Tariq’s firm body, the hard heat of his arousal. Fakhir was less sharp, though not much so, her thighs deliciously soft beneath him. She was wearing terribly little and her breasts were heavy against the side of his head.

“My good boy,” Tariq murmured, his voice warm as amber. His pale eyes were half-lidded and his palm stroked the smooth skin of his lower stomach affectionately. There was pride in his praise. It was clear he was enjoying showing his boy off.

Fakhir’s mouth pressed beneath the boy’s ear, her hand gently holding him by the jaw. She smelled of sweet smoke and the crushed green stems of wildflowers, the coppery edge to her scent intimately familiar. Her lips brushed soft against the skin of his throat. Her voice was a husky whisper.

“Will you permit me un petit bisou, Fabien?” What a thrill it was to have his name held so gently between those cruel teeth.

Fabien, usually so vocal and spirited, had fallen into the quiet stupor of a fawn caught between hungry wolves.

As they made their way through the house, the boy's grey eyes stirred nervously back and forth between them. His lips were parted, as though he was on the verge of speaking, but no objections or queries came. Just the flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hitch in his breath as he felt their hands on his skin.

Once laid in his master's bed, the youth's heart continued to beat as frantically as a wild rabbit. His hands were restless at first, unable to settle, nor keen to relinquish their grip from his wind tangled hair. Though the gentle self-assurance in the way Fakhir held him seemed to soothe some of his unease.

At the press of his master's mouth, he was all at once lost. His bruised eyelids fell shut, and the taste of him almost had the youth groaning with want.

The boy's fngers grazed the underside of his silvered throat reverentially as he spoke. His praise was almost too much to bear, and Fabien bit down upon his lower lip to suppress his response - a soft plea, an agonised whimper.

When his hand moved so dangerously low, the pale haired urchin could not quite prevent the eager stir of his spine, twisting serpentine against Fakhir. Nor disguise the painfully hardening flesh between his legs, which twitched eager for attention.

The urchin shivered when Fakhir's lips met his skin. Some tension bled from his body, and he reclined more softly against her with a low, appreciative sigh. He gently tilted his head into her hand, graciously offering more of the pale stretch of his throat like one might serve wine to an emperor on bended knee.

At the sound of his name, he attempted to meet her bright eyes. His response came swift, in a thick tangle of words and hot longing.

"ah - o-oui...oui, Madame." He croaked.

The dark outline of a triumphant fox on his ribs danced, animated by each sharp intake of breath.

The wan morning light fell in bloody patterns over the triad’s skin. Their limbs were tangled together like a den of sharp-mouthed foxes, their shadows blurring into one another. The scarred stretch of Fabien’s throat was dappled a soft crimson as he offered it to Fakhir’s hungry mouth.

Tariq’s hands were steady on his companion’s skin, but there was a wolfish spark of silver in his pale eyes at the half-formed whimpers he swallowed. His hand slipped lower, coaxed by the boy’s stirring want, across the smooth skin of his pelvis, the crook of his thigh. He found the eager skin between his legs and his fingers curled playfully about the hardened skin of his shaft, his thumb teasing the head as though it were his divine right.

Fabien’s hoarse answer stirred Fakhir into delighted movement. Her lips brushed against the delicate skin of his throat. Her breath was warm. He could feel the hard teeth like shards of glass drawing across his neck.

His master drew him into another deep kiss, his fingers brushing Fakhir’s on the side of his face as his tongue flicked over his lips. They did not speak, but there was some dark undercurrent flowing between the vampires, some pulse of meaning that he could not quite grasp.

Singly, they were intense. Here, with both their sharp focus on him with almost painful intensity, they were so potent as to nearly overwhelm. Their warm hands firm on his skin and their predatory mouths tracing reverential patterns over his blue veins asked nothing but that he let himself be wholly devoured for their pleasure.

Fabien could feel the vampire’s breath hitch and get lost in his throat as Fakhir’s teeth pierced the skin with a bright flash of pain. His blood spurted hot over her tongue and she moaned against him. He could feel her tighten beneath him, her hand clasping eager on the side of his jaw. The hand between his legs, no longer teasing, stroked him hungrily.

A thin trickle of blood ran down the curve of his neck and spattered on his chest. In the dim light, it was black. Tariq bent his head, his mouth hot and his tongue rough as he lazily licked it from flushed skin.

Fabien scarcely remembered to draw breath. He was in their thrall. His wet lips parted, and the sinews of his throat flexed at the brush of Fakhir's mouth.

The boy sighed, his thin limbs lax as he allowed himself this small moment to indulge in the gentle brush of her lips. But before he had time to gather his senses, his breathing had deepened. Soon it was made coarse again and faintly groaning as his master's hand moved so tantalizingly over his throbbing skin.

The urchin writhed serpentine against Fakhir, his pulse a nervous flutter beneath the scrape of her teeth. When his master's mouth returned, this time he found the boy whimpering against his tongue. He opened to him, hot and gasping and briefly distracted. So when the pain came, ice cold and sudden, it drew air from his lungs.

He flinched against Fakhir's chest, his body instinctively responding with grasping hands that sought and found her thigh with a trembling necessity. But he remained still in her arms, allowing her to take from him without jerking refusal or sudden terror.

It was difficult to say which excited him most, the delicious, aching pain that made his spine bow into her, or her moaned enjoyment felt deep in his skin.

Fabien's finely shaped eyes fogged and grew heavy lidded, but did not stray from his master mouth. He studied the familiar curve of his lips, he agonised over the beauty of his hands as they worked over his skin. He watched him, drinking in his sightless eyes as though they were the only thing that might anchor him to the bed.

The boy was tense, full of grasping animal desperation under their hands. His fingers dug into Fakir's blood warmed skin, his cock twitched wet in his master's hand.

Had he desired to remain reserved, to keep quiet and meek, the ability had been stripped from him. He could not withstand them both, and so too soon had his ragged breaths turned into firm, whining moans.

A straining tension was growing in his lower body, a fierce trembling in his thighs as his hips rolled like waves lapping the shore to meet the vampire's palm.  The boy was slick with arousal. His lean body shivered, and he yielded perfectly to their every want.