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There wasn’t much Marc could do but hold Jake as he dry-heaved over the toilet bowl. This was the third time that night, and Jake cursed and then was hit with another wave, with nothing left and his stomach still constricting painfully with the need to just get out whatever was hurting him and failing.
After spitting the bile in his mouth, Jake blindly got the toilet flush and pushed Marc away to sit on the floor with his head against the tiles, trying to cool himself down. He took the glass of water Marc shoved in his face, and rinsed his mouth a few times first before drinking a bit of the water.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” Marc said, not for the first time.
Jake shook his head and regretted it immediately. “Can’t.”
“Come on, we can figure something out to pay. There’s a few low-cost clinics we can try before it gets worse.”
Jake chuckled. It was not just about the money, though that was a pretty big obstacle. He looked at Marc, tired and annoyed at the same time.
“You got our IDs back?”
“I can get us something,” Marc insisted. “I rather get arrested than have you—”
“No.”
“Jake, come on!”
“I said no,” he repeated, and pushed himself from the floor only to wobble and almost fall on his face. He steadied himself at the last second.
“Jail has doctors,” Marc pointed out.
“They ain’t gonna do shit for me,” he said, dragging his feet and making it to the shitty bed where he had been stuck for the last few days. “And you’re not getting life because of me having a stomach bug.”
“Clearly, it’s not just a stomach bug.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jake said behind gritted teeth and moved to laid on his side, his head was pounding.
Marc made that face he did when he was thinking too much. Jake scoffed.
“I can get someone. No IDs, will take cash, no questions asked.”
Jake would absolutely accept that, if not for the fact that they didn't have a dime and even shady doctors wanted to get paid. There were a few good ones out there that would help not expecting anything in return, but there wasn’t one of those in this area anymore.
“I’m fine,” Jake said, then groaned, “I will be fine… couple more days.”
Marc didn't look convinced, but he ended up nodding and brought him another glass of water, and something hot that might have been tea. Jake frowned at the mug.
“When did you get tea?”
“Yesterday,” Marc answered. “I read somewhere hot liquids may help to keep the nausea back. It’s chamomile.”
“You didn’t buy a box of chamomile, did you?”
Marc gave him a little smile. “Even shitty waiting rooms have coffee and tea bags nobody takes. I grabbed some from the workshop.”
“Before or after you got fired for staying with me instead of working?”
“It’s fine,” Marc said. “Reed was a shit boss, anyway. Fuck that guy.”
Yeah, the guy worked Marc to the bone with way more cars than other guys and frequently denied him the extra hours. Marc tolerated it because he paid cash and didn’t ask too many questions before hiring him. There weren’t many jobs for people like them out there.
No papers, warrants over their heads, and unsavory people on their trail. Jake knew they were going to get chased to the edge of the fucking earth by Bushman, and since there was no edge of the earth, they would be on the run until that fucker was dead.
It was his fault. Jake would never forgive himself for failing that shot.
“We have fifty-three cents and a pack of twinkies for the rest of the week,” Jake mumbled. “You should eat them. I would just make them inedible and give them back.”
Marc rolled his eyes, but the comment tugged a smile, and Jake counted it as victory.
“I have some extra cash saved. I’ll get something,” Marc said. “Now drink your stupid tea and don’t puke it. I worked hard to steal those stale tea bags.”
“My hero.”
He drank only a little. It tasted like grass with lemon, but his stomach tolerated it and that was enough for now. Jake felt worse than miserable, and still wouldn't show it because Marc was already worried and upset, and he made idiotic decisions when thinking under that emotional mix. He was already thinking of stupid options.
Like getting arrested just to get Jake a doctor. No, that would not happen. Jake rather… fuck, no. He couldn't leave Marc. They made a promise to stay together after years of being apart.
Damn, he was thinking in worse case scenarios already. The pain was fucking with his head real good. This was just a bug. He was going to get better soon, and they would move to another city to keep the police and Bushman off their trail. Just another day.
“Jake, go to sleep.”
“Uhm?”
“You’re fighting to stay awake. Just sleep already.”
“Stay.”
“Eh?”
“Stay,” Jake repeated, and opened an eye to glare at Marc. “If you leave, you’re gonna do something stupid.”
“Oh? First you didn't want me to stay and now you don't want me to leave?”
“Si, que tiene?”
Marc made a frustrated noise, but eventually calmed down and sighed, nodding.
“I’ll stay.”
Jake knew he would, but only until he fell asleep. Marc was predictable like that. They knew each other, and Jake was sure Marc was going to keep looking for some quick cash and a doctor that won't ask questions and will provide meds without a prescription.
Still, he wanted to delay that song and dance for a bit. So, if he could just keep Marc in their shitty studio for a little longer, then he might even feel better, maybe good enough to keep the doctor away and get the hell out of that city.
The last thing Jake heard was Marc apologizing, but he couldn’t do a damn thing to go after him.
***
Sometimes Marc wondered if they were cursed. The string of bad luck and just the sheer awfulness that had been their lives since they were kids was, frankly, outstanding. From Jake being shipped to live with distant relatives without a second thought, to Marc being left behind in the hell that had become their home, and everything after.
After Randall’s death, everything broke and stayed broken. Marc was trying so hard to maintain composure, but the last time one of his brothers was sick for over three days, he didn't get better. Part of him knew his thoughts were those of worse case scenarios. Randall had been a kid, and some illnesses are just too much for such a small person.
Jake was going to be fine. He had to.
“Fuck,” he cursed softly, staring at the note taped to the Doctor’s clinic, it said they were going to be closed and with no indication as to when they will be back, and Marc didn’t know anyone else willing to help them. “Goddamn it!”
His voice echoed in the hallway, and so did the sound of his fist connecting with the wall next to the door. The pain in his knuckles brought him some release. It didn't last much; the guilt chased it away quickly.
“Injuring yourself in front of the doc’s office only works if the doctor is in,” a melodic female voice said, and Marc almost jumped out of his skin.
His small flinch was the only sign. Years of dealing with danger had taught him to keep his reactions controlled, even if he was screaming on the inside. He turned around and leaned against the opposite wall was a beautiful woman with curly hair. She seemed amused.
Where did she come from? How did Marc not saw her coming?
“Yeah, well…” he didn’t know what to say, so he shrugged.
She raised an eyebrow and then shook her head.
“Doctor’s probably not coming back. She was being harassed by some nasty thugs. It got bad,” she mentioned.
Marc had the feeling that was the case, this particular zone had been in a gang war for a while now, and it was slowly chipping away at anything good. Lately, the incidents had gone down, but not fast enough for people to stop leaving.
“Fantastic,” he deadpanned.
“I saw you a couple of times trying to help.”
“You saw my brother,” at least it was most likely. Jake didn't think twice about defending the street vendors and local owners. Marc also helped, but didn’t stop for conversation.
“And you,” she corrected. “Twins, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is he?” she asked, looking around. “I was hoping to talk to him, but haven’t seen him around.”
“Sick,” Marc said honestly, not sure why he felt the compulsion to just answer her questions. It was a bit weird, but it wasn’t bothering him like it normally would. “Hence, the doctor.”
“Damn,” she winced, then took a card out of her pocket and offered it to Marc. “My boss might know someone. He’s been trying to clean this place. It’s a process.”
Marc took the card and stared at it. She smiled and turned around to leave.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
She turned, walking backwards as she kept going down the hall, a wicked grin on her face.
“Layla,” she winked. “Do call. He’s a bit of an ass, but will help.”
Marc nodded and gave the card another look. It only had the name “Khonshu Corbeau” and a number. What kind of name was that? He lifted his head to call her again and ask, but she was already gone.
***
Jake wasn’t getting better. The fever came back and Marc felt useless. He was also scared, because the idea of losing another brother was too much to deal with. Reuniting with Jake after years apart had been the only good thing Marc could honestly remember happening to him since he was a teen.
Perhaps that’s why, even against his better judgment, he called the number on the card.
“Corbeau,” someone answered, cheerful tone with a British accent. It was a bit more cheerful than anything Marc expected for what may be a drug lord or something of the like.
Marc frowned, “Uhm… I looking for Khonshu. Layla gave me his number.”
“Did she, now?” Grant asked, his tone playful. “What’s your name?”
“Marc Spector, is this Khonshu?”
“Nah, he’s my old man,” the person giggle. “I’m Steven. What can I do for you, Marc?”
“Uhm… I’m looking for a doctor, for my brother. Doc Brett skipped town.”
“Aye, I tried to talk her into staying, but she was worried about her kids. Understandable,” Steven said. “I can get you in contact with our doctor, though. He’s moving in soon.”
“I can only do cash.”
“Okay?”
Marc closed his eyes. He didn't want to say out loud to this stranger that he needs to keep things underground.
“Cash, no background history, Doc Brett… she helped.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure Dr. Badr will—what? I’m on the phone… well you left it here, duh…jezz, fine… Marc, Mr. Corbeau will speak with you now,” Steven said in a cheeky tone, and Marc couldn't help but smile.
“Thanks.”
“You’re being a brat,” a grave voice said, and Marc almost apologized right there until he remembered the man was not yet talking to him. “Where did you get this number?”
“Layla,” he compulsory answered. What was wrong with him? “I need a doctor for my brother.”
“Hmm.”
“Please?”
“I’m thinking,” the man said. He sounded annoyed, and then Marc could hear Steven in the background. Then the phone was put down, but he could still hear part of the conversation. “Seriously? Just because Layla has seen them… I’m not going to… You don’t even know them… estoile be reasonable… of course not… well, it could work.”
There was another shift on the line, and then a long moment of silence. Marc wondered if Khonshu hung up on him.
“Hello?”
“Fine,” Khonshu broke the silence.
“Excuse me?”
“I said fine. Pay attention, Marc. We shall get you sorted out first. I’m sure you know how these things work. You seem smart enough,” the man said, amused. Marc resisted the urge to scoff at him.
“How generous of you,” he snapped before he could think better of it, then cursed himself mentally, but Khonshu laughed. The man actually laughed.
“723 Jayclay, 9:00 pm, don't be late.”
Before Marc could get another word out, the man hung up on him. He looked at the phone and then stood there in silence for a little while.
What just happened?
***
This building had been empty for a long time now. It had classic architecture and didn't really fit the zone anymore. It was understandable that no one could afford the rent it, not the local population anyway. Marc and Jake thought it had been bought by a development company to be turned into office space, but apparently that was not the case.
There was an office, sure. But this looked like the office of an old rich dude, and maybe that was exactly what Khonshu was. Marc was feeling out of his deep already. If this man was a drug lord, it wasn’t like anything Marc had dealt with before.
“I can hear you thinking.”
Familiar British accent pulled him out of his thoughts, and when he looked up, a man was sitting across the desk sideways on the chair, feet dangling in the air. He was twisting a Rubik’s cube without even looking at it.
“Steven?”
“The one and only,” he smiled with bright and pointy teeth. “Did you bring Jake along?”
“How do you know my brother’s name?” he asked, suspicious raising with every second, those teeth were natural? They couldn't be. He had heard people changing their denture as fashion choice but this was weird.
“Layla,” he said with a shrug. “She’s brilliant.”
He didn't know Layla well, but he had no reason to deny Steven’s statement. It felt like he was simply telling the truth, so he just grunted in return.
“Steven, for god’s sake! I told you to stay with Badr.”
Khonshu was standing next to him, and Marc flinched, hard. He didn't hear the door; he didn’t see the man coming. What was wrong with him?
The man was tall, with white hair and dark skin. There was something strange about his eyes, but he was having trouble to focus on them, even while directly looking at the man. It seemed his brain refused to distinguish them properly.
After a moment, he had to look away, only for Khonshu to grab his chin and force him to look at him again, a wicked smile across his face.
“Fascinating,” the man said. Marc wanted to shake his hold, but also it felt like too much of an effort. “Most interesting, indeed.”
“They are going to need a full dose,” Steven mentioned casually, still playing with the Rubik’s cube. “Jake might need double.”
“Definitely,” Khonshu agreed. “Does your brother know you too are sick?”
Marc felt a pit in his stomach and shook Khonshu’s hold away. He had been careful to hide it, not that Jake could stay awake long enough to notice anyway, but still.
“He doesn’t need to,” Marc defended. “How do you even know that?”
Khonshu walked around the desk, motioning towards him with his hand. He rolled his eyes at Marc’s words, like the question was stupid because the answer was obvious.
“You stink with the sickness, it’s poisoning your blood,” he said.
“What does that even mean?”
Khonshu tapped Steven on the head and the younger man jumped off the chair and sat on the edge of the desk.
“It’s not something some antibiotics can fix,” Steven said, looking at Marc with sympathy. It was nearly overwhelming. “But you already know that.”
He looked away, anger and frustration building up inside him. It was Randall all over again, and there was nothing he could do about it. His mother blamed them, specifically his father’s side of the family, saying they carried the sickness. The divorce was inevitable, but their father leaving them behind was not, and still, he did.
Jake was sent away, and Marc wasn’t. He wished every day he had been.
“You shouldn't know any of this,” Marc said. He was too tired to fight, so he sounded mostly resigned. “What do you want from me?”
“Smart boy,” Khonshu chuckled. “I want you and your brother to work for me. My clearly spoiled Childe likes you.”
Steven smiled at that, all teeth.
Marc looked away from Steven’s sharp fangs to fix his gaze on Khonshu, now finally being able to focus on his eyes. Unnatural white and golden iris, black sclera and very, very sharp-looking fangs.
“If I say no?” he asked, unable to look away. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
“Then your brother will die within the next few days, and you will follow in a few weeks or sooner, depending on your mood,” the man, no… the god-dammed elder vampire said.
“You’re being mean,” Steven pointed out. Khonshu just shrugged, unbothered. “Dr. Badr can help you, he’s brilliant… but, you must know that it will only delay things, probably mange them, but not fix them. Especially in Jake’s current state.”
Marc was aware, and it still feel like a punch in the stomach. He had to fight hard to keep his composure and not scream right there. He didn't notice he was shaking until Steven knelt before him and took his hands in his.
“It’s okay, you don't have to accept. We will help you either way,” Steven said, and looked up at his master. Fuck, he could probably kill him before he had time to blink and instead was trying to console him.
Khonshu rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny his Childe’s words, confirming it as the truth.
Childe, not child. There was a distinction.
“I don’t wanna be like you,” he mumbled, earning a scoff from Khonshu.
“Of course not,” the Elder vampire remarked, like Marc had said something stupid. “I’m offering you to serve me as part of my brethren, Marc Spector, not to be of my progeny.”
Khonshu moved so fast Marc didn't see it, but next he was sitting behind the desk again and Steven was standing at his side, formal and imposing.
“I already have a Childe,” Khonshu smirked. He sounded proud. “Consider yourself lucky. He likes you.”
It wasn’t until then that Marc could clearly feel the aura of power emanating from both, and then he finally saw the way Steven’s eyes shifted to reflect the same color as his master’s for a moment, before fading back to normal looking.
He was scared, and he wanted to stay. It made no sense.
“So, what would it be?” Khonshu asked, and Marc reluctantly looked away from Steven to Khonshu.
“I’ll serve you,” he said, a chill running down his spine as he spoke. “But I can't speak for Jake.”
Khonshu tilted his head, then nodded.
“Fair,” the elder extended his hand, and Marc was ridiculously relieved he didn't have to sign a contract in blood or something like that. “We have a deal.”
The way Khonshu’s hand closed around felt nothing like Steven’s, and Marc couldn't figure out why he wanted to feel both again.
***
Jake knew things were fucked, and the worse part was that he was going to leave Marc behind again, and he didn’t want to.
Sure, the fever and puking his guts out was annoying and dehydration was a bitch, but the bruises? Yeah, that’s what clued Jake in that he was bullshitting himself into thinking this was just a stomach bug. Even if he gets some kind of treatment now, this is something that needs more than a few antibiotics and whatnot, this is the kind of illness they can’t afford, monetary and otherwise.
They had seen this before. That’s how they lost Randall. It killed him, and perhaps it killed them too, at least a little.
Jake had a plan. He made it back when he was cut from Marc. He was going to get back to Chicago, so he had to get back to the US some way. Being a minor was an issue. When he got over that, the lack of passport didn’t help. He was a citizen, but he didn’t have enough papers to prove it. It was a shit-show to get that sorted out the right way, but he did. It was so infuriating because, by the time he made it, Marc was nowhere to be found.
That would not stop him, because Jake had a plan and, goddamn it, he was going to make it work.
He wasn’t the only one with a plan. Marc had his own, and it took far longer than they wanted, but they found each other, and they promised to stay together, and now Jake was fucking dying and his promise meant shit.
“It means something,” he heard Marc say.
“Que?”
“Your promise, it’s not shit, and you're not going to die,” Marc declared, like he could change the shitty situation.
“Ah, si… claro,” Jake coughed with a laugh. “Just a stomach bug.”
Marc sat on the bed, and gently but insisting, got Jake against his chest, and showed him a very fancy-looking glass bottle with a shimmering red substance.
“What’s that shit?”
“The blood of a fucking elder vampire.”
Jake waited for the punchline, and there was none.
“Marc, hermano, that’s…” Jake chuckled, “come on…”
He pressed his lips on Jake’s crown. She was shaking, and Jake felt angry and sad. This was not the plan. They were going to get better, not worse.
“It’s real, I promise.”
“You really believe that? Doesn't even look like blood. They scammed you.”
“The thing is mixed with who knows what. But It will make you better.”
“Sure, of course.”
“Jake… please.”
He hated when Marc asked things like that, because he couldn’t say no.
“Va,” he agreed, and clumsily took the glass vial. “I’ll drink it.”
Marc held him tighter. Jake had no idea what that thing really was, but even if it just knocked him out to not feel pain while he kicked, the bucket was enough. The vampire tell was a bit extra, but, hey, it gave him a chuckle.
Was it mixed with wine, perhaps? It tasted sweet and bold at the same time. It was amazing and Jake didn't even like wine. He wanted to drink the whole damn thing, and he did. It was disappointing when he was done. It had been just a little taste, but damn it was good.
And what followed was the best and weirdest sleep of his entire life.
***
“He’s going to be fine.”
Marc turned around and Steven was there. He looked almost ethereal. Marc had to close his eyes to center himself. He was having troubles to get used to the extra level of awareness that he gained after drinking the vial meant for him.
“He will not turn, even if he had more blood than me?”
“Neither of you are going to turn,” Steven pointed out. “The Embrace requires more than just drinking vitae.”
“But it’s doing something,” Marc said. “I can feel it.”
Steven shrugged. “Yes, it bonding you to us, and that comes with some perks. Still, you will have to drink three times to seal the deal.”
One down, two to go.
“That means Jake can decide. He will get better and he can make the choice.”
The way he said it felt more like Marc was trying to convince himself he did the right thing, and he was not doing a great job. Steven noticed this, and walked over to the bed, and sat next to him.
“He’s very important to you,” Steven said. “I would have done the same.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Layla,” he giggled at Marc’s confusion. “Our blood bond it’s not because we had the same parents, but because we have the same Sire.”
“Khonshu.”
“Yep.”
“How?”
Steven looked up at the ceiling, thinking. It was hard to believe he was decades older than Marc, especially with his demeanor. It was still difficult to accept, but Marc was slowly getting into the reality that this was his world now.
Because Jake was going to get better, and so will Marc. The fact that this was possible because Steven likes them didn't escape him. Khonshu seemed interested in him, but he only took his call because Steven asked.
Something dawned on him, and he looked at Steven, unsure if he was afraid or fascinated.
“Layla was looking for me because you asked her, wasn’t she?”
Steven grinned and didn’t look apologetic at all. If anything, that Marc put two and two together seemed to amuse him.
“I was hoping you two would pass her assessment,” he said. His teeth looked sharper, being this close. He pressed his forehead against Marc’s. It felt like he was staring into his soul… and he liked it.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for you,” Marc wasn’t sure why he said that out loud, but he felt the need to be honest with Steven, and the truth was that Jake being alive and well was something tangible, he was once again drifting. He agreed to work for Khonshu, but the elder vampire made it very clear it was because his childe wanted him.
Bushman had wanted him, but Marc did not, and he was still dealing with the pain that attention had engraved on his mind and body. If not for Jake, he might still be under that man’s boot, or dead.
“All is well, Marc,” Steven said. “You and Jake are going to be just fine.”
He wanted to believe that he would be. That these words came from a who knows how old vampire that liked him was a bonus.
***
Jake woke up in a nice, comfortable bed, so his internal alarms were already ringing; his mattress sucked. Not only that, but the room he found himself in looked very nice, the kind of place that would have someone calling the police on him because Jake and “nice” were not used in the same sentence very often.
But leaving that aside, his attention was completely taken over because there was a god-damned vampire smirking at him, sitting on a chair next to the bed, and Jake wasn’t sure what to even say.
He could start with asking where the fuck he was, and where was Marc because this was definitely his doing, if what Jake remembered was any sign.
“Hi Jake.”
“Hi?” he greeted in return. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Steven, and you’re in my house, by the way. It’s been a while since anyone used this guest bedroom so, you might find some dust bunnies.”
Jake was sure even the dust bunnies were going to be nicer than anything he would have seen before.
“So… Marc wasn't scammed whit the Elder vampire blood thing…” Jake wanted to laugh, but he also was still processing what he was feeling.
“One hundred percent real Elder vampire blood. Can attest to it, given that’s my Sire we’re talking about.”
So this vampire was not an Elder. Jake didn’t know shit about vampire hierarchies, so that did little for him, but it was a piece of information he filed in the back of his brain.
“I feel better. Does that mean—”
“You haven’t been turned,” Steven interrupted. “That’s a whole unique process. There are a few things that even in modern times we keep old-fashion. The Embrace is one of them.”
“But that blood did something,” Jake pointed out. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore. Am I still sick and dying?”
“All humans are dying with every second that passes. It’s in their nature,” Steven said solemnly, and after a minute of silence, chuckled at Jake’s unimpressed stare. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist. To answer your question; yes, you’re still sick. But! You have a couple options now that you’re not about to keen over and die, and I’m here to tell you all about them.”
He smirked, all teeth. Jake liked that smirk and it was doing things to him. He should question this reaction closely, but there were other things to worry about, like what the fuck Marc did to get them here.
“That sounds good. In fact, it sounds too good, so I’m waiting for the catch,” Jake pointed out.
“Not sure I’ll call it a catch, is more of a proposal.”
“And it involves me being here?”
“See, that’s one option,” Steven said. “A work proposal. If you accept to work for my family — more specifically my Sire because he will remind you that every time he can — you will have to accept a blood bond; that happens when you drink vitae three times. It is a tie to the vampire who has given you their blood, but has some perks that include a longer life span, because it will counter any illness you blood carries.”
“I already drank once,” Jake said, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes, but you can leave it at that. It takes some time, but the effects will eventually fade, and that leads you to option number two.”
“What?”
“There’s an incredible doctor amongst my Sire’s brethren, and he is more than willing to treat you,” he explained. “You don't have to do anything more than say what you want to do.”
Jake stared at Steven for a long moment and then clicked his tongue.
“What did my idiotic twin do?”
“He accepted the job,” Steven confirmed with a wave of his hands for emphasis. He didn't look surprised Jake knew Marc had done something.
“So, he’s going to have this blood bond thing going on.”
“Yep.”
Jake moved to sit on the edge of the bed and reached to grab Steven by the fancy silk scarf he was wearing. Most likely, he let Jake grab him — and that also was doing things to Jake’s already confusing impression of Steven, but still.
“He’s going to have a blood bond, and if I accept your job proposal, will have one as well… My question is, to whom are we going to be bonded to? You or with your father?”
“Sire.”
“Same thing,” Jake countered. To him it sounded the like the same thing.
There was no way he was just going to let Marc stay here on his own, and Jake was not happy with their current life, anyway. There was a risk this would make everything worse, but that it started with them giving something and not just taking was already a notorious difference. He was being offered and in but also an out, because Marc had already made a deal with them.
Oh, how he loved his stupidly annoying self-sacrificing twin. They were going to have words. He was going to say a thing or two next time they saw each other because Jake had opinions about this incident.
But first…
“So, who is it?”
Steven narrowed his eyes and lowered himself a bit to get closer. So close Jake could feel the cold of his skin. He kept staring into Jake’s eyes as a grin slowly set on his face.
“Both.”
***
Steven liked pretty things, and perhaps it was narcissistic to put both Marc and Jake in that category — their resemblance didn't escape him. But it was not their appearance what caught Steven’s attention.
The first time he saw Marc, it was in the workshop. Marc was trying to be nice even thinking he clearly didn’t want to talk to anyone, and still attempted to explain the older gentleman what was wrong with his car and how it should be fixed immediately, and when it was clear, the man couldn’t effort the whole repair, he wrote something else down so the charges were more affordable, and did the proper repair, anyway.
That caught his attention.
Jake, he saw for the first time driving by, looking for a new client after dropping off his passenger on a rainy day. Steven saw the creeper following the teenage couple first, but it was Jake who stopped the car and got them both in before the creeper could get closer. Both teens had been lost and if not for Jake, maybe they would not have made it back home. He lost the opportunity to make a bit more money that night, but he didn’t care.
Yeah, Steven saw all that. Consider his attention officially caught.
Now, just because Steven liked someone, it didn’t mean he was going to show himself and see how things go. Khonshu was an overprotective Sire, and he wouldn't let anyone too close to him without a full screening first. It was annoying, but Steven couldn’t protest much because he indeed almost got killed for trusting the wrong person.
But his dearest Layla was smart and resourceful, and loved him very much. She was willing to indulge him, and look into the lives of the twins, and found everything she could about them, especially the things Khonshu wanted to know. They got her seal of approval, and Khonshu had absolutely no reason to doubt Layla even if he wanted, because she had never failed him. She had his absolute trust.
It also helped that she was as overprotective as him when it came to Steven. The supreme alliance between them was stronger than anything else and so very annoying, but Steven coped.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Khonshu said, and flipped the page of the book he had been reading. “Your twins are going to be fine.”
“They are late,” Steven complained and kept pacing the room. “You wouldn't tolerate them being late from a simply clean up.”
“You are not being intolerant, my child, you’re worried.”
“Yes,” Steven huffed. “I am.”
“If they got themselves in a mess, they are more than capable of taking themselves out of it. There’s no need for you to worry.”
“I want to get them back myself.”
Khonshu closed his book and looked at him with a bored expression. He placed the book aside and stood up to walk up to him and take him by the chin to look into his eyes.
“They are supposed to serve you, not the other way around.”
“They do,” Steven smirked, letting Khonshu tap his thumb on his fangs. “I’m not serving them. I’m protecting what is mine, Sire.”
Khonshu chuckled.
“Fine,” Khonshu dropped his hand. “Have fun.”
Steven has already on his way while Khonshu went back to his recliner and returned to his book. Whatever was keeping Marc and Jake from Steven would soon be no more.
Steven gave the impression of someone he wouldn't hurt a fly. But you don't become the eldest childe of an elder vampire by being nice.
***
Jake cursed to hell and back, because of course this was a trap and Bushman was after them — after Marc — and even now they were once again fighting for their lives. They were stronger, but Bushman shot him point blank. That was going to leave a mark.
Marc was more than capable of breaking that fucker’s neck, especially now that they were nearly bonded to Khonshu’s family, if not for the tiny little fact that Bushman had two guys pressing their guns to Jake’s head from both sides while he had a hole in his gut. So instead of fighting, Marc was just taking a beating, and Jake felt so fucking useless again.
The moment Bushman once again dragged Marc across the floor and pressed the gun under his chin while taunting him, Jake could not take it anymore. They could brain his fucking brains out, but he would not let that bastard hurt his brother again.
Well, that was his plan. He wasn’t expecting for the thugs to just drop their guns out of nowhere, but Jake took the chance to beat the daylight out of one and shot the other with his own gun.
“Stop.” Thrice dammed Bushman had Marc in a chock hold with the gun to his head and Jake could do nothing about it. “What do you think Marc, should I kill you or your brother first?”
“Go to hell,” Marc grunted.
“Wrong answer.”
Marc didn't close his eyes because he didn't care if Bushman killed him, but he nearly lost his mind over the idea of seeing Jake die in front of him, but nothing happened.
One, two, three seconds passed and the side of Marc’s face was sprayed with blood, not his own but Bushman’s.
The man made a gargling sound, walking backwards while holding both hands to his sliced throat, he tripped and fell to his knees, blood flowing between his fingers. What Marc will never forget was the sight behind him.
Steven’s normally pristine white suite was splattered with Bushman’s blood. He wasn't wearing gloves, his sharp, unnatural long and sharp nails were tainted crimson, they looked more like talons than nails, and Marc shouldn’t find that as impressive as he did. He should be scared, shouldn't he?
But no, this was Steven, and even now, with sharp talons, gleaming fangs and black-and-gold eyes, Marc knew he was safe.
“You’re hurt,” Steven narrowed his eyes, looking from Marc to Jake, both beaten and bleeding. Steven glared down at Bushman. “You hurt my twins.”
The fear in that bastard’s eyes was almost the best thing Jake had seen in years. The only thing that took the top spot was seeing Steven decimating the man without even breaking a sweat.
“Damn,” Jake mumbled, leaning closer to Marc, who was just as entranced by the sight before them as he was. “That’s hot.”
“Jake…”
“What? You’re thinking it too!”
Marc didn’t deny it.
Jake stepped closer when Bushman fell to the ground. If he wasn’t dead already, he would be any minute now; Steven nearly decapitated him.
“You’re not gonna drink it?” Jake asked.
Steven shook his head while looking down at his nails — talons? Wait, no, they were retracting back to nails now.
“I have taste.”
Marc laughed, he actually laughed, and Jake loved to hear it. He kicked Bushman because he could, and if the look of approval Steven gave him was any sign, he could do it as much as he wanted, so Jake got the delight to kick Bushman to death.
All things considered it was a good day after all.
***
Khonshu sliced his own wrist first, then ran his talon over Steven’s. Both let their drop mix in the cups Jake and Marc held. Afterwards, they pulled back. The wound was almost healed already, and still Khonshu had Steven drink his blood and drink from his childe’s wrist, because he was a possessive bastard like that.
Jake wasn’t judging, at least not out loud. He just drank the blood he was given and sealed the deal, just like Marc. Drink vitae three times, and you are bonded to the vampire who provided it.
Khonshu nodded their way and left, saying nothing. Steven stayed. He looked so calm and happy. He liked this side of Steven as much as the one with fangs and gleaming demonic eyes.
Marc reached for Steven and so did Jake, who took their hands in return and pulled them closer.
“I’m very glad you accepted my proposal.”
Marc snorted softly, but his eyes told the story Jake wanted to see since they reunited; he was happy.
“Yeah,” Jake leaned closer, holding Steven’s hand and reached to take Marc’s, the three of them fitted together perfectly. “Best job I've ever had.”